Lucius the Club | Page 4

was more in the same vein.
After we'd finished our drinks, she took me upstairs to bed.
*
Mama and I were very close. You've probably gathered that by now. But our relationship was also somewhat unorthodox, in that we had sex together, regularly, from my puberty onwards.
'You're never going to be God's gift to the ladies, Lucius.' That's what she told me. 'You may have a club foot and a funny face, but there's nothing wrong with your willy, and I'm going to teach you how to use it.'
She did too. And although I find it passing strange now, I never complained at the time.
After Mama had broken me in, so to speak, taught me the basics of sex, she found other women for me. By that time she was really quite a famous actress. She was never a Deborah Kerr or Julie Andrews. She wasn't that kind of star. But she got lots of parts in films, playing the ordinary girl next door - glamorous when she needed to be, a bit plain if the part required it. Not huge parts, but regular. She was popular. She was cheerful. She was no threat to anyone.
And so, by the time I was fifteen or so, there were always young actresses who had figured out that Mama might be able to put in a good word for them with people who made important decisions. And Mama probably pointed out to them that she would appreciate it if they would give Lucius a little entertainment. Which, gritting their teeth, they did. But some of them got a pleasant surprise, and said so. Because I'd had a very good mentor.
Mama always took the view that it was contemptible for a man to just shove it in, finish it off, and then go to sleep. I was taught to do things the proper way. And I must say it is a skill that has made me a few friends, over the years.
*
The next day I started to give some thought as to how I was actually going to do the job. Killing Billy Marwell, that is. But Mama was ahead of me.
'Come,' she said, and led me downstairs to the cellar. There, after moving a few old trunks and suitcases, she pulled out a couple of loose bricks in the wall and produced something wrapped in a filthy old towel. It was a sawn-off shotgun.
'Your Grandad's,' she said proudly. 'Very powerful, Lucius. Stop a charging bull, this would.'
I took it from her, because actually I knew quite a bit about shotguns. Much more than she did.
We had a weekend cottage in the country, a place we called The Farm, though there wasn't a farm attached - just a small wood. And friends in the country had arranged for me to be taught how to shoot by a gamekeeper, some years earlier.
I checked the gun over. It seemed to be in good order, though I was a little nervous about that short barrel. Saw it off too short and the shot will come back at you and do you a serious mischief. Or so I'd been told - and that was by people who looked as if they knew what they were talking about.
While I examined the gun, Mama chattered.
'This is stage two, Lucius.'
I looked at her. 'Stage two of?'
'Giving you a reputation as a man who knows what he's doing.'
'Stage one being?'
'Stage one was when you sacked the accountant.'
Ah. Yes. The accountant.
When I reached the advanced age of sixteen, Mama decided that I must become head of the household in terms of handling the money. Mama had divorced Jack by then - perfectly amicably, and he kept in touch - but Jack wanted out. He was, in truth, a rather peculiar man, driven by some strange needs; but whatever the matter of that, the divorce meant that he was no longer there to pay the bills and do all the other things that needed care and attention. So Mama put me in charge.
After about six months, I discovered that our accountant, or business manager I think he called himself, was on the take. When I was sure of the facts I asked Mama what we should do.
She seemed almost pleased. 'Oh,' she said, 'we must sack him. Publicly. Make a bit of a fuss. Oh, it will be such fun, Lucius!'
It didn't seem like fun to me. I checked and doublechecked, and on the quiet got another accountant to go over the books with me. It wasn't difficult - lots of men were happy to do a favour for a woman like Mama. Nor was it difficult to see what our accountant was doing. He was just charging outrageous fees for simple work. Keeping money in his own account and earning interest from it.
Mama wrote a