Roskov, Book 19

Ricky Roskov Book 19 Copyright © Geoff Wolak This book is a work of fiction, technically accurate in the detail of geographical locations, and the time period history. It is young adult romance, conspiracy and murder-mystery. Britain’s phallic symbol Sat eating at 6pm, in the café at the new offices, the news appeared on the wall-mounted TV, and the staff here were all soon wondering why London’s Big Ben clock tower seemed to have been playing “Happy Birthday” at 11.45am today. A few Japanese tourists had been filming at the time, as well as a documentary film crew from BBC Northeast, and they caught the odd sound made. The good news was that Big Ben was back to chiming out at the right hour, the police suggesting that it had been a student prank perhaps – a prank played inside one of Britain’s most guarded buildings. But since the Home Secretary had a wife whose birthday it was today, fingers of blame were playfully being pointing his way by the media. The news also showed concrete pillars now being removed from the collapsed Higgins building, and these pillars had been drilled and detonated, the drilling having been done at 60% down angle. Experts now suggested that the thermite would have cut the steel at 60%, causing it to slide down and to snap the remaining concrete, to then issue a massive lateral force against the other concrete pillars – mystery solved. Just that the Government were very annoyed at someone bringing down a tall tower in London, and the cost to the taxpayers. Thermite was now banned in the UK unless with Home Office approval, ten years in prison for anyone caught with it. David Hutton turned up at 7pm, on his way home, and he sat with me for a cup of tea, his tie loosened. He began, ‘There’s a local nursing home that’s mostly posh people, and they want a partnership with us. They have a new building - with a mortgage, and they don’t want to sell – or go bust because of us.’ ‘How many rooms?’ ‘They have two floors on a building that is a kind of “Z” shape in nice gardens, forty rooms on the top floor, thirty on the ground floor. They said they’ll split the floors to be Phase Two and Three, Phase Two up top and with a coffee room and extras – just to please us.’ ‘What … kind of partnership?’ I asked. ‘Forty percent to us, we buy in at a fair price, and we supply the food and drink, and it would be a Roskov-Hasselmere Home.’ ‘Tell them yes, and to get a move on.’ His eyebrows shot up. ‘That was a quick decision…’ ‘It was never my plan to destroy the competition, the good places, and this way we get extra capacity, and they’ll also split the phases and stimulate the Phase Two people. Where is it?’ ‘South, not too far from the posh home, our GPs could visit it.’ ‘Call the home now, then my newspaper and give them the detail; I want more homes like this to come forwards. We have the local warehouse, so … we can make some extra money.’ ‘Hang on.’ He stepped away and made a call, then a second call. Back with me, he began, ‘My second call was Grove House Nursing Home, and I told them that Hasselmere would merge with us, and now they’re keen for their own deal.’ ‘How big is Grove?’ I asked. ‘It’s the biggest in Leicester, and semi-posh, nice grounds. It has a hundred rooms. It’s north, rural, not far from Crockerton.’ My brow pleated. ‘Big place … on the left as your drive north?’ ‘That’s it, can just see it through the trees. They want to build another wing as well.’ ‘Make sure that they’ll split the phases and stimulate the residents.’ ‘Many are starting to copy us, they fear not doing it.’ ‘So strike a deal, a good price, food and drink from us as soon as the ink is dry. And the fact is … that there are hundreds of these homes dotted around the country, many in places where we’d not go, small towns. ‘We want super-sized places, but that means they get centred in big cities. Have Bill do some research, and see if there are similar-sized homes in Coventry, Derby and Nottingham.’ ‘Bound to be a few of them.’ ‘If you think a place is suited … buy into it, don’t wait for me, but don’t target the places housing poor people.’ ‘They’re not worth targeting, they’re small and … generally pretty crap.’ I nodded at that. ‘Go buy some shares on behalf of the consortium, at your discretion. And tell the nursing homes that if they want wheelchairs or strollers or beds to speak to us first.’ He headed off home to his girlfriend, not a long drive; he was not a London commuter with a train and two buses to get home. Sat there, I could not imagine getting a train and a bus home, in the rain and the cold. In the morning, my local newspaper was detailing the new nursing home deals, jobs secure in those homes, residents secure. At the old offices, at 10am, David came and found me. ‘BUPA want a deal; they do nursing homes as well as hospitals and they want to expand their capacity as well. They mostly do posh and … very posh.’ ‘How big a place would they build?’ I asked. ‘They have a BUPA home in Nottingham, capacity is just two hundred people, but they want to create a few large places. They admit to having had a sniff around our posh place, Ronnie Masters House.’ ‘I would have thought that they could just build a big place without us…’ ‘They could, but they quite cheekily suggested that we front most of the building costs and that we retain forty-nine shares, and we then supply furniture