Ardent Justice

by Research Professor Of Social Policy Peter Taylor-Gooby

  23

  Ade sat on the train, leaning against the window and staring out, the rhythm of the wheels drumming away beneath her. She tried to find words for it, but they wouldn’t fit and they became jumbled. She felt empty. She saw Paul’s face in the darkness, the expression in his eyes as Jones forced him down into the car. I can’t ever go back to the squat, she thought. Casey was right. I just brought them trouble.

  She looked round at the other commuters. A young man sat opposite her, his head in a cycling magazine. He looked up at her and she turned her head. The older woman next to her, smart suit, hand-stitched brief-case on her lap, was reading the Financial Times. ‘Christmas Comes Early for the Revenue’ read the headline. She stared at the paper:

  ‘“Recent events have led to an unprecedented inflow of tax from the UK financial sector. “This underlines the success of our relaxed approach to tax collection”, said Chancellor Spalden today, announcing further cuts in Revenue staff. “We trust the City and the City trusts us. Why waste money on tax gatherers?”

  “Britain’s revenue service is the finest in the world,” responded Dr Fingle for the Opposition. “The Chancellor should not try to divert attention from multiple failures by attacking hard-working public servants. He has done nothing to address the unease following the City Vampire scare and failed to halt the wave of copycat muggings.”’

  I have to get Paul out, but… Her thoughts spiralled away. They need Paul in the squat, they’re his family. Then Morwen was there in her mind too, and it was Morwen that first day coming towards her in the office, not Morwen behind the glass screen in Bronzefield.

  They were running scared, those bastards in the city. For some reason. Maybe word about the Model had got out, and they’d all seen Webster pay up. They knew he wouldn’t meet an assessment unless he had to, so they’d guessed that the revenue knew a lot more than it ever had about whose snout was in which trough. No-one wanted to be last, you might end up in court with the people you did business with turned Crown’s evidence. Cool. That’s what Paul would say. Then there were the muggings.

  If she stopped the investigation into Webster, Paul would be OK, they’d let him out, she’d see Paul again, but then Webster and Ronnie Wells and all of them had won, and she had lost and Morwen had lost and it had all been for nothing.

  If she kept on, the money would come in and maybe they wouldn’t cut social housing and the health service and child care and the buses and the railways and the carers for old people and the fire service and everything else quite so much.

  She’d see him again, she heard it drumming out from the wheels. She’d see him again. Not like that, I’m not letting them beat me.

  She stood up and pushed past the businesswoman and off the train. She walked up the escalator, past a huge bespangled Christmas Tree and a man dressed as a teddy bear shaking a tin for the Food Bank and handing out wine gums, and out onto the street. No-one had even started thinking about the Christmas decorations in the office yet and Christmas was nearly there.

  She had to find a way through all this, she had to make it all work. Why were there so many people on the pavement, so many people in her way? The vampire scare was over, that was obvious. A portly man in a dove-grey overcoat lumbered in front of her. She dodged round him. The young woman in the red anorak was nowhere to be seen. A stooping man with a scrawny dog on a piece of string thrust a sign at her: “Ex-Army, no job, no home, no dole.”

  She hurried past, then stopped, went back and dropped all the change in her pocket into his hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ he shouted after her. ‘God Bless.’

  Ade stood in the doorway to Denny’s office. The Special Advisor was in Denny’s chair behind the desk, her hair tied tighter this morning and the make-up too carefully applied over her cheek-bones. Denny was on the upright chair between the bookcase and the window. She seemed somehow smaller than when Ade last saw her, folded in on herself. She looked up and gave Ade a warm smile.

  The advisor fixed her eyes on Ade. ‘Close the door. Sit.’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Ade. The advisor did not respond.

  ‘My Minister is concerned,’ she said after a moment. ‘Seriously concerned.’

  She touched the tips of her fingers together.

  ‘First we have a violent assault on one of your cases. Not good. We have the police interviewing Revenue staff, most notably yourself, in this office. Not good. Then we have all these rumours about vampires in the city. Not good. Then we have an upward trend in receipts, led by this office. Good. You’ve seen the FT, of course. Then there’s a massive ex gratia payment, again through this office. Good news for you, record income. Then there’s a rumour about ransom demands and police involvement. Unconfirmed. Not good. Not business-friendly. Not at all.’

  She paused and frowned at Denny.

  ‘Then there have been questions in parliament about extortionate Revenue tactics. Not good.’ She sighed. ‘Then her Majesty’s loyal opposition starts talking about bloodsucking fat cats and muggings in the city, not good. The tabloids love it. Not good.’

  She leaned forward.

  ‘Ms Corey. I make that seven “Not goods” and two “Goods”. You’re five down. Have you anything to say?’

  ‘I know no more than anyone else about events in the City. But they do seem to be helping the Revenue in its mission of tax collecting. Naturally I’m delighted to work as part of an excellent team in an effective office.’

  Denny nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ said the blond woman. Ade could see the grey at the roots of her hair. ‘The politics of tax collecting is not simple. I recall I encouraged you to be more business-friendly in your methods. In particular, in relation to Mr Webster. Business-friendly. Being stabbed in the neck is not business-friendly.’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’ Ade felt a tightness in her chest. ‘I can’t believe….’

  ‘No one is making any accusations whatsoever, Ms Corey. But let’s not waste time. We think it appropriate…’ she smiled over the word, ‘…for you and the Revenue to part company. Thank you for your service.’

  The advisor bowed her head slightly. Ade stared at her. She wants me to say something, to protest. Tough.

  ‘Clear your desk. One month’s pay in lieu of notice. Taxed. Good day.’

  She slid back her chair. Ade sat there, not moving.

  Denny slammed her hand down on the desk. ‘No!’ She pushed herself to her feet. She was shaking her head from side to side. ‘No. You can’t do that. I will not allow it. My staff have rights. I simply won’t allow it.’

  ‘Calm yourself. Please sit down. Rights. I think we can dispense with those in this matter. I’m afraid there is a discrepancy in your expenses, a trip to …’ she glanced at a slip of paper she held in the palm of her hand, ‘Middlesbrough, has come to light. No evidence it was ever authorised. No one can find the paperwork, it’s all disappeared. Been lost somewhere, you know how these things happen.’

  She looked up, and Ade realised with a shock that the Advisor hated her. ‘Puts you in a difficult position. One month’s notice is generous.’

  ‘But…’ Ade said, ‘that was three years ago, when I was training. I was shadowing Morwen.’

  ‘Morwen Archer. That hardly helps your case, does it?’ The advisor smiled. ‘The decision was made upline.’ She nodded towards the ceiling as if the Minister were floating somewhere above them.

  Denny was talking over her, her voice unnaturally deep, the first time Ade had heard her raise it. ‘She goes, I go. And half the office. Then you’ll have some headlines. Close down the office that’s brought all the money in from the fat cats. That means everyone out there on the street has to pay more. Not good.’

  Denny plumped down into her seat and sat there breathing heavily.

  Ade felt like everything was being taken away from her. The
investigation’s closed down, at least they’ll let Paul out, they have to let Paul out.

  ‘Don’t think I’ll stop,’ she said. ‘There’s the union, there’s appeals, there’s the courts, there’s newspapers, everything will come out, all the tax scams, how you tried to gag me.’

  The advisor pursed her lips. She glanced from Denny to Ade. Neither of them spoke. She shrugged. ‘Have it your way.’ She paused for a moment, as if considering options, then said: ‘I believe Mr Affarn is a friend of yours? He faces serious charges.’

  Ade found herself gripping the edges of her chair so tight her fingers hurt. ‘What’s Paul, Mr Affarn, got to do with this?’

  The advisor’s eyes were fixed on her. She stretched out her right hand in front of her, palm upwards: ‘Your resignation.’ She stretched out her left hand, next to it: ‘Mr Affarn’s release.’ She clapped her hands together: ‘Deal?’

  Ade felt her thoughts tumbling over one another. There was nothing she could hold on to. We need the tax to get the housing and the health service and everything. I need Paul, to see him again. They need him in the squat. Somewhere right at the centre was Paul’s face as Sergeant Jones forced him down into the car.

  ‘And the squat? They leave those people alone?’

  The advisor sniffed: ‘Detail.’

  Ade stared directly at her for a few moments. She felt as if her heart was breaking. Then she picked up a sheet of paper from Denny’s desk, scribbled on it, folded it and flung it at the advisor.

  ‘Deal,’ she said.

  The advisor opened the sheet, scanned it, cast one look at Ade, and stalked out of the room on her kitten heels.

  24

  Ade sat against the window at the back of the café, her coat wrapped round her. She stared at the Christmas tree on the counter, so heavy with baubles it seemed certain to over-balance. The street was dark, busy with people making for home. She listened to the conversations, everyone talking about what they’d have for Christmas dinner and how many they’d cook for. Pigs in blankets, she thought, and white sauce, every time. And brandy butter. And brandy on the pudding. And sherry and red wine and white wine and the rest of the brandy. She traced a trail across the condensation on the glass. In her flat just up the road. With Paul. And Johnno and Nadia and all of them. Forget about everything else, just live your own life. No one could blame you, could they? Just for doing what everyone else did?

  ‘I knew you’d be here.’

  Paul! Next second he had his arms round her and she luxuriated in the rich scent of his hair. Then he was kissing her.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ she said. ‘It’s so good.’

  She kissed him again. He was here, she’d made it happen, and it was the right thing to do. Denny would have done it, anyone would have done it. And she’d be with him, she’d help him, they’d do the best they could for homeless people.

  ‘Ade, you got me out. I know it was you. How did you do it?’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She cupped his face between her hands. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘You didn’t… give up, did you? Let them all go? Like that copper said. He was sniggering, but I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘No, not that. It wasn’t that.’

  ‘Knew you wouldn’t. I’d feel bad.’

  ‘No, I packed in my job. I stepped out of it all. I just had to get you out.’

  ‘You done that for me?’ His eyes glistened. ‘No-one’s done anything like that for me before.’

  ‘No problem. Everything’s sorted.’ She put a grin on her face. ‘Just like you’d say, it’s cool.’

  Why do I feel my heart is breaking?

  He took her hands and held them in his. ‘But what will you do now?’

  ‘Whatever comes next. I don’t care. I used to care about all sorts of things, making people pay the right tax, getting on at work, my dad, all that, but I don’t anymore.’

  ‘But you’re going to keep on aren’t you? After Webster and the bastards?’

  ‘Webster…’ She looked at the window. ‘That was part of my old life. Maybe you can’t do everything.’

  ‘Look, I’m happy, I’m with you, I’m so happy.’ He was on his feet, his arms spread wide, shouting round to the café: ‘Listen: I’m so happy!’

  Silence. Ade looked round at all the pale faces staring up at him. Then someone crashed a pan onto the stove in the kitchen. She sank down on the table, her hands in front of her face.

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ shouted someone.

  ‘Merry Christmas’, then ‘Have a good one,’ and the babble all round them redoubled.

  ‘I’ll never come here again,’ she said.

  ‘They’ve forgotten already.’ He laid his hands on hers and leaned across the table, not smiling, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘And it’s true.’

  He was holding her hands tight in his:

  ‘So we’re going to fix him, aren’t we, this Webster? Come on. Tax-woman and Robyn, remember? Black buddy? How we going to do it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Every time I think about it, it seems harder. They all stick together, they’re all up there and they’ve got so much. I got you out, that’s something, isn’t it? Every time we go after them, we get somewhere and they brush it aside. And it costs us, it costs the heart out of my breast. I thought maybe I wouldn’t see you again, ever. Like Morwen, only worse.’

  She felt the tears come, spilling over her cheeks. She didn’t want him to see her crying like this.

  ‘Don’t cry. They ain’t ever going to take me away from you. And you’ve got to keep fighting. I need you to do that.’ He was wiping at her cheeks with the tips of his fingers, so softly, so gently.

  ‘But I said I’d call off the investigation, go soft on them – business-friendly, they call it – so they’d let you out. Then I found I couldn’t do that so I resigned. Chucked it all in. I did it for you.’

  ‘Who cares? Forget the spreadsheets. We’ll do a break-in, get all the evidence. He’s a bastard. We could kidnap him.’

  ‘It’s not so easy. The evidence is all hidden somewhere in his computer. Kidnap’s a serious offence. They’ll lock you up forever.’

  ‘The computer? No problem. I know kids can turn computers inside out and put ‘em back together so you won’t know.’

  ‘It’s not like that. This is the real world. It’s secret, there are passwords, surveillance software. These people have got money, they’ve got the best security in the world. They’ve got the Minister, the City cops on their side. We’ve got to think about it.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s who you are. They can sack you but they can’t stop you being who you are.’

  Ade glanced at the window. When the glass wasn’t fogged up you could see the tops of the Canary Wharf skyscrapers towering above streets where people had once lived. Canada Square and, beyond that, the Shard and the Gherkin and Leadenhall and Fenchurch Street and Gresham Street and the Lloyd’s Building and all the city spread out, the Thames snaking through it, everything linked up, everything tied together, the city exposed in Morwen’s spreadsheets, Webster’s city, the city she hated, the city she’d looked down into and through in her dream. The city of traders and brokers and dealers and tax-dodgers, everyone busy, hand over fist, all of them men, all of them joking, sneering, sniggering, all of them suddenly looking up, all of them pointing, all of them laughing at her. And beyond the Towers and the river, the streets and the buildings reaching further than she could see into, a blue distance of parks and bus-routes and schools and playgrounds and health centres and the flats and houses where everyone lived; all the people who really made up the city, who needed hospitals and pensions and ambulances and schools and clean water and nurseries and buses and colleges and a living wage, who needed a decent chance, who needed Morwen, who needed Morwen and Ade, who needed her.

&nbs
p; ‘You all right?’

  Ade had her face pressed hard against the glass. Paul was leaning over her, his arm round her, supporting her.

  The table attendant stood next to him: ‘Anything I can do? You want the full English? Real or veggie?’

  ‘Real,’ she said. ‘He’ll have unreal. And coke. Diet for him. And I want a Golden Syrup cookie.’

  ‘OK.’

  She winked, whipped round and picked her way expertly between the tables towards the serving hatch. No one paid her any attention. She does that a thousand times a day, thought Ade, ten thousand times, and no-one ever notices her. She thought about the Golden Syrup, the way it coated your tongue, the taste so powerful you couldn’t think about anything else at all. Is that my life? Nadia cut her hand because that was pain she could control. And I’m happy, I’ve got Paul back, we are going to live a normal life, just like anyone else. But there’s something we need to sort first.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘Eat up, we’re going to see someone. And does your phone do video?’

  ‘What?’

  She sat down again.

  ‘I’ll explain. We need someone who can get into Webster’s office without anyone noticing, who does it every day, but first we need an address. Here’s what we’ll do.’

  25

  Ade led the way through the lobby and up the flight of marble stairs, her hand on the brass rail.

  ‘Taste,’ said Paul looking round. ‘There’s a lot of taste round here.’

  ‘Just follow me. I’ll do the talking. Bet you didn’t know this place existed just off Bishopsgate, up the road from my office.’

  They followed the staircase as it swept round a series of curves and came out at one end of a long gallery, lit by tall windows in one wall. Ade’s immediate impression was of drapery, long velvet curtains, elaborately looped, even the cloths on the tables drooping down in exaggerated folds to the floor. The room seemed to absorb sound and almost absorb light. The thick dark carpet matched the curtains, and matched the polished black wood-block flooring showing round the edges. She heard Paul mutter ‘taste’ just behind her.