'Will, I need a favour,' was what the first line the text said, and as I continued to read it my heart sank.
'Jenny has ditched out and Megan insists she is going to concert! She has Jenny's ticket - please would you go with her? She is on the train, due in at 17:05. Love Lizzie xx'
I groaned. It was from Lizzie, my older sister, by eight years. It was bad enough that I was having to babysit my eighteen-year-old niece, when she came down to her first pop concert, but now I was going to have to go as well. Had her friend Jenny been going, then I would happily have waited in a nearby pub and picked them up after, but with Jenny ditching Lizzie didn't want her little Princess going in on her own.
I had to get some more information so reluctantly phoned Lizzie. We hadn't spoken in almost eighteen months, so this wasn't going to be very easy.
"Hi Lizzie," I responded when she answered, "Go on, what's happening?"
Lizzie recounted what was in her text then she continued.
"I've no idea why Jenny can't go, maybe Megan can fill you in, but I realise it's a pain in the arse for you, but I wasn't happy with her going on her own. I hope you understand."
"Yes, I'll take her," I replied, "Been a while since I've been at a gig. Not quite Covent Garden, but I'm sure I'll cope for a couple of hours."
"Thank you Will. Megan has something else she wants to talk to you about, but I won't spoil her news, she can tell you when she gets there," Lizzie continued.
"Oh? Sounds interesting!" I feigned interest, but again my heart sank.
"I am sorry to lumber you with this Will, can I call you again next week?" asked Lizzie, and I could almost hear the pleading in her voice.
"Yes, sure, how about next Thursday?" I suggested, actually desperate to finish the call.
"Great, I'll speak to you then. Bye," and the line went dead.
I breathed a sigh of relief, I had until Thursday to think of some excuse to get out of speaking to her. Things had not gone well the last time I had spoken to Lizzie and our older brother James.
I was the youngest in the family, the runt of the litter, which was a good description, although we didn't keep pigs on the farm. I grew up on a farm, just twenty miles or so south of the Lake District, mainly beef cattle and some crops. It had been in the family for about three generations, and I knew from an early age that meant that it would be James who carried on the tradition. Fine by me, he was virtually running the place by the time I was leaving school and Lizzie had also married into local farming stock.
So, when the time came, I took my leave and headed to the bright lights of London. That didn't go down very well with the family! I had no job, but did have good qualifications, and a little savings tucked away. Then I had one of those moments of serendipity.
I had found work in a pub just near the Stock Exchange, and as usual after a hard day on the floor many of the Traders would hit the pubs to celebrate or commiserate. Well one night, just such a Trader was in the pub to commiserate. I was a friendly ear to hear his woes, and when he happened to say he needed an assistant, well, I offered my services.
I became his lucky penny. Within two years, Robert had outperformed the market by a ridiculous amount, and he found himself managing a huge Hedge Fund. Needless to say, as a result I did very well too, and having completed my Financial Exams, I was suddenly earning unbelievable sums of money. Certainly, for a little Northern Boy.
By the time I was twenty-six, I had earned my first million and used it to buy my current house just off Edgeware Road. It's now worth four times what I paid for it fifteen years ago. Somehow, I also managed to stay one jump ahead of several of the big financial slumps that hit over the next couple of years and continued to bring in ridiculous sums of money, by thirty I had another million, by thirty six, another two, to the extent that at the age of forty one, I had a cool five point three million in the bank.
This was when the family trouble started. They knew I was doing well, but not how well. I knew they were not. Farming has never been a 'get rich quick' business and most farmers are well-overdrawn at the bank. So, I decided to try and alleviate these worries and paid off both James' and Lizzie's debts, anonymously. Somehow, they found out and hence the bust up about eighteen months ago and little communication since. Enough said.
It was now quarter to five and Megan would be appearing at Kings Cross in about twenty minutes. I left work early, and caught the tube to the station, arriving with five minutes to spare if the train was on time.
It wasn't, as usual, but it was only five minutes late, and this gave me enough time to find the platform she would be arriving at. I stood behind the barriers as the train pulled in and began to disgorge its passengers. I hoped I would recognise Megan; it must have been three years since I had last seen her.
Fortunately, Megan recognised me, as I found myself staring at a very sexy young woman, as she walked towards me. I was almost licking my lips.
"Hello, Uncle Will," grinned the young woman.
"Holy Shit!" managed to escape my lips.
The young woman who stood before me was not the fifteen-year-old Megan I remembered. Gone was the gangly, flat-chested, tomboy, dressed in jeans, and big baggy jumpers. She was still tall, and a bit gangly, but she had obviously been a late developer, and she was definitely not dressed as a tomboy.
Megan had on, fortunately, a denim jacket, under which she wore a very tight black cropped t-shirt, which hugged her quite ample breasts. On her lower half she wore a skin-tight white miniskirt, a bit longer than some of the 'belts' that you see some girls wearing, but not much, and a pair of Roman sandals that snaked sensuously up her calves. Her long blonde hair was severely tied back in a pony-tail, and her perfectly made-up face showed off her sparkling blue eyes and her perfect bee-sting lips.
"Betcha wish I wasn't your niece, don't you, Uncle Will," questioned Megan as she leant forward to give me what seemed like a slightly longer than necessary kiss on the cheek.
"Well Megan, you are a picture indeed!" I replied, trying to recover, "Does your Mother know you are here dressed like this?"
"Of course, she doesn't!" giggled Megan, "It's bad enough Jenny can't come, without Mum freaking out about what I'm wearing. I changed on the train on the way down. Do you like it!"
"Very nice!" I replied nodding, and yes, I thought, I did wish she wasn't my niece. Megan's appearance brought back several memories of past girlfriends who had often been several years younger than me, but we had both been after the same things, sex and money, so none of them had lasted too long.
"So where are we going?" enquired the excited young woman, who was obviously desperate to sample some of London's delights now that she was old enough.
"Well your concert is over near Battersea, so we'll need to take a couple of trams then we can eat over there. If that's OK?" I suggested.
"Sounds great!" she replied, and looped her hand through my arm, and we headed off to get a tram on the Victoria Line.
Megan was like a rabbit caught in headlights as we walked through the crowded station. But I have to admit, she was getting as many admiring glances as she was passing out too.
We hadn't picked the best of times, or direction to be heading in and getting onto the busy platform and then on to the equally crammed train was another new experience both for Megan and me. It would normally be a couple of hours later before I ventured home, when things had started to die down a bit.
Unsurprisingly, we found ourselves standing on the packed train, her firm young body squashed against mine, as the train careered about on its rails. It was only an eight-minute journey to Victoria station, so I thought I'd better start up some sort of conversation.
"So, why no Jenny?" I asked innocently.
Megan flushed slightly, then began laughing.
"It's so funny!" she giggled, "Her Mum found her fucking three guys from the Rugby Club last weekend and wasn't very impressed!"
