The Judge rises. I sit dazed in the dock. Everything that I touch tingles. I have regained my faith in human decency … and not on account of twelve good men and true but of one seven-year-old girl. If you were to challenge me now – if only you could challenge me now – to justify my belief in an innate and uncompromised ethical code, I would look no further than Pagan. She had no system of words nor any means of comparison, but she knew that what your father did to her was wrong. It violated her natural morality. Why else did she hide behind Patience? A name which had at first threatened her sense of self became its safeguard. As soon as I understood the truth behind her claim that ‘he has never hurt Pagan’s bottom’, I knew that we would win the case. What is more, I am confident that her scars will heal. Patience’s pain has failed to penetrate Pagan. She has been protected by something stronger than flesh.
I become aware of people. I switch my thoughts to thanks. I am warmed by the wisdom in Rebecca’s eyes.
‘You made it all seem so easy.’
‘It was.’
Max is shuffling impatiently beside us, like a little child shouting ‘me, me, me’, as his parents embrace. I clasp his hand; he slaps my back. Several of the jurors come to congratulate me. The badgelady throws her arms around my neck. I turn to the gallery, where the spectators are dispersing. Only my mother remains seated, clutching her handkerchief to her face. I am startled; I cannot remember when – if ever – I have seen her cry. She has always regarded tears as an indulgence on a par with the Catholic liturgy. Now that she has given into them, I am strangely moved.
Max directs my attention across the Court, to where your father is arguing with Bridges. I catch the words ‘outrage, conspiracy, abuse’; although I cannot tell whether the allusion is sexual or judicial. I move towards them, followed by the rest of the group.
‘I will not go,’ he shouts, ‘I demand to see a lawyer; I demand to see my wife. The child is lying. She hates me. I never go near her; it’s my wife who puts her to bed.’
‘I should remind you, sir, that you’re under caution.’
‘William, tell them who I am. Tell them I’m Edgar Mulliner. This can’t be happening to me.’ Bridges snaps handcuffs on his wrist. ‘Take care; I’m arthritic! William, fetch your mother.’ William sits stock-still; his hands lie limp on the wheels. ‘Your mother, you useless lump!’ William rolls slowly away from him and towards us.
‘Where’s his wife?’ I ask Max.
‘Presumably in one of the witness rooms downstairs. He was allowed in court, as they weren’t going to call him.’
‘Too risky,’ Rebecca adds, ‘I intended to play on that.’
I make my way to Bridges. ‘Look!’ your father snarls at me. He holds out his manacled wrist. ‘Are there no depths to which you won’t sink?’
‘I was acquitted. What more do you need?’
‘I’ve been in charge of men,’ he shouts, ‘fighting men.’
‘I think you can close your case now, Sergeant.’
‘Yes, sir, I’m inclined to agree. I’d like to apologise for any misunderstanding … though I’m sure you can see what it looked like to us.’
‘Give a dog a bad name, eh?’
His eyes stray to the dildo on the Court Associate’s desk. ‘Or else a bone,’ he grins and leads your father out. I turn to William, whose entire chair is shaking.
‘I’m so sorry. I can understand how you feel.’
‘You understand nothing.’
‘Hadn’t you better explain to your mother? She’s still waiting to give her evidence.’
‘My opposite number should have alerted her to the verdict,’ Rebecca says, ‘although not to the aftermath.’
‘I’m saying nothing,’ William asserts. ‘I owe her nothing. She’ll hear nothing from me.’ I find his fervour perplexing; but my reflections are curtailed by the Usher’s request that we clear the Court.
As we walk back into the Grand Hall, I become aware of a figure stumbling towards us. ‘What’s happening?’ your mother asks. ‘They told me you’d been acquitted. Why?’
‘Because I’m innocent.’
‘Where’s Mr Mulliner? Where’s my husband? William!’ She pounces on your brother, who has swerved his chair to the back of the group. ‘William, where’s your father? Answer me!’ He says nothing but wrenches her hands off his arm and turns his chair to the wall. She tries to pull it back; but, even in her frenzy, she fails to lift the brake. She gives up and veers round towards us. Three lawyers from another court stop to watch.
‘Will someone tell me where to find my husband?’
I step forward. ‘He’s been arrested, Mrs Mulliner, for abusing Pagan. She identified him in court.’
‘You’re a liar, a poisonous liar! Tell me the truth. Where is he?’
‘He’s in the hands of the detective who dealt with me. I expect they’re setting off for Brighton. If you’re quick, you may be able to hitch a lift.’
‘No! He’s a good man, a decent man. William, tell them.’ He keeps his face averted and an eloquent silence. ‘They hate him; they’ve hatched a plot between them. Never have children. You must never have children. They’ll picnic on your grave.’ She sags; her strength ebbs before my eyes. Rebecca goes to her aid.
‘You should sit down, Mrs Mulliner.’
‘Who are you? No!’ She shakes her off. ‘We’ve been married for fifty years; I was a war-bride. And this is how you repay him.’ She hurries from the hall, sliding dangerously on the marble floor. William wheels himself to the lift, while the Usher leads the rest of us to Pagan.
She is sitting in a small anteroom playing with Marcia, whose arm I failed to identify. She has her back to the door and does not turn as we walk in.
‘Hello, darling.’ Her spine tenses. She slowly swivels, drops a domino and bursts into tears. ‘What sort of hello do you call this?’ I squat and open my arms. She runs into them so hard that I lose my balance, and then buries her face in my jacket. Somehow I feel the wetness through the cloth. Then she looks up, throws her arms around my neck and half-punches, half-smacks my shoulder.
‘Where did you go?’
‘They wouldn’t let me visit you.’
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘I wanted to see you too.’
‘They said you’d been gone to prison.’
‘Here I am.’
‘Marcie says I won’t ever have to see Grandpa again.’
‘You won’t.’
‘You said that before.’
‘This time it’s not just me.’
‘Can we go home? To Holland Park.’ She turns to Marcia. ‘I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to finish the game. I’ll say you won.’
‘We’ll declare a draw,’ Marcia concedes. ‘But I’m not sure that you can go home quite yet.’
‘Why not?’ She clings to me. ‘You said!’
‘What’s wrong?’ I am equally perturbed. ‘Surely you can’t send her back to her grandparents now?’
‘No, of course not … Maybe we can discuss this somewhere private. Then we can come back to Patience.’
‘Pagan!’ I say. ‘And I refuse to decide anything more behind her back.’ I appeal to Max and Rebecca. ‘How can they stop me taking her now?’
‘I see the problem,’ Max declares with maddening moderation.
‘It’s the Court Order, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ Marcia replies. ‘Whether we like it or not, you’ve been denied contact. And until we can get it revoked …’
‘You’ll what? Return her to her grandparents?’
‘No, I’ll do suicide!’
‘Don’t worry, darling, they won’t take you.’ I press her to my chest. ‘What if they let Mulliner out on bail?’
‘We’ll apply for an Emergency Protection Order. I can ring up a magistrate who’ll give me one within the hour. We’ll transfer her to a local children’s home.’
‘She has a home with me.’
‘I’m sure that it’ll onl
y be temporary, but it’s the best we can do.’
‘It sounds exactly like the prison that her grandfather held over her head.’
‘I don’t want to go to prison.’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t.’
‘The law is the law. There’s nothing we can do until we go back to court.’
‘Not again! I seem to have spent the best part of the past two years in court. I wonder why I don’t take up permanent residence. Yes, there’s a thought. Instead of cutting legal aid, they could raise money by hiring out rooms.’
‘It’s no use upsetting yourself,’ Max says. ‘She won’t be sent back to her grandparents, and it’s only for a few days. But we have to go through the correct channels. You wouldn’t want them to hold it against us later.’
‘Can’t we make a special application? Is there no legal equivalent of a late-night chemist?’
‘This is the last lap, I promise,’ Rebecca says. ‘Not much longer to wait.’
‘Pagan’s keeping calm, aren’t you?’ Max says. ‘You’ll show Leo that he’s being a silly old fuss-pot.’
‘Why?’
‘So you’ll come back with me,’ Marcia tells her. ‘We’ll go and play with all the other girls and boys. And we’ll see Leo again very soon.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow, if you like.’
‘Really?’ Pagan and I ask in one voice.
‘No problem.’
‘Will you come tomorrow?’
‘I promise. So you’ll be a brave girl, won’t you?’
‘I don’t want to be brave. I hate being brave. When people say brave, it means horrid.’
Marcia takes Pagan out. I walk with Max and Rebecca down the main staircase and into the reception area. A policeman warns us that a large crowd has gathered outside, along with journalists, photographers and camera crews; but, this time, I am not alarmed … quite the reverse. I step into the street to a burst of audience applause, which is, for once, not orchestrated by a studio-manager. I tell the reporters what I feel in new-minted clichés: I dismiss all the doubts of the last six months; I thank my family and friends and everyone who has stood by me; I stress how much I look forward to resuming work on the show and, most of all, to being reunited with Pagan.
I am surrounded by loyal supporters.
‘You did it; you showed the bastards,’ Edward says.
‘We’re so proud of you,’ Melissa adds.
‘I did nothing. Apart from entering my plea, I never uttered a word. It was all down to Rebecca.’ Smiles and sentimentality abound.
‘Of course, it’s goodbye to my project. I’ll never make a diary out of a single day.’
‘Sweeney!’ his mother sounds affronted, as though selfishness were confined to the young.
‘Joke, Mum. I’m really glad you were let off, Leo.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be able to find you something else.’ I feel responsible for his abortive research. ‘Maybe Rebecca knows of another trial you can watch.’
‘Great. Do you? I’d like something sexy. Especially with a pop star or an MP.’
‘I’ll see what I can rustle up,’ Rebecca laughs.
Another wave of well-wishers reaches us. My mother pushes her way to the front. Her eyes are raw. ‘Thank God!’ she says, ‘thank God!’ But, for once, the words appear to be an expression of relief rather than an injunction. ‘I love you, Lenny,’ she says, pressing her lips to my cheek. Aunt Violet, no longer intimidated by either my height or my notoriety, envelops me in the same ample hug that she did when she was still Auntie Vi. Further friends are distinguished solely by their sex: male handshakes and female kisses. Then David crosses the divide and gives me a long kiss full on the mouth. My mother looks uneasy. I remember my courtroom pledge and introduce them.
‘This is David Sunning. He used to be my researcher.’
‘Is that all I was, Leo?’
‘And my lodger.’
‘Is that all?’ He looks at me and I know that this is my one chance to piece together the fragments.
‘And my lover. He used to be my lover.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ my mother gulps, clutching her handbag to her breast. For the moment, I feel that this is as much as I can expect and leave her to Aunt Violet and a celebratory visit to St Paul’s.
I edge my way across the pavement and through the throng. There is no sign of the Maastricht man or any of this morning’s bigots. No doubt there will be more trials for them to picket tomorrow, but I refuse to think of that now. A woman thrusts a large bunch of lilies in my hand and disappears before I can thank her. Across the road, I see the three young men from my fan club, lifting their LEO placards high above their heads. I have never before been aware of my name’s anagrammatic potential. I walk over to them, shake their hands and shift their letters, so that they reflect my overwhelming emotion: OLE!
FOUR
royal borough of
kensington and chelsea
Schedule Two Report
Under Rule Twenty-Two (Two) Adoption Rules 1984
In the matter of the proposed adoption of Pagan Mulliner by Leonard Peter Young.
1. The Child
a. Pagan Mulliner was born on the 26th July 1986, at the Portland Hospital, London Wl. Her current address is 64 Addison Avenue, London W8.
b. She is illegitimate.
c. She is of British nationality.
d. She is 4’ 1” tall, of medium build, with long chestnut hair and fair skin.
e. She is a sensitive, intelligent child, with a warm disposition, who is loving and loyal to her friends but wary of strangers. Though naturally docile, she is prone to sudden mood swings and to temper-tantrums when crossed. Her general development is appropriate for her age.
f. She has no religious background, apart from attendance at Sunday School when staying with her grandparents.
g. She is the subject of a Residence Order in favour of Leonard Peter Young, the prospective adopter, made on the 12th May 1994 in the Brighton County Court.
h. Not applicable.
i. She visited her maternal grandparents between July 1992 and February 1993 and lived with them between February 1993 and March 1994, at which time her grandfather was charged with abusing her. Since then, she has had no contact with either grandparent.
j. She was taken into the care of East Sussex County Council and placed in a Brighton residential unit between March and May 1994. While this served to remove her from an abusive environment, it was clearly unsuited to her long-term needs. The rapid turnover of children and staff only increased her insecurity. The Manager of the Unit recommended that she be returned to the care of the prospective adopter.
k. Apart from the fourteen months between February 1993 and May 1994, she has lived with the prospective adopter all her life.
1. She attended Thomas’s Kindergarten, 19 Ranelagh Grove, London SW1, between September 1989 and July 1991. She attended Thomas’s London Day School, 17 Cottesmore Gardens, London W8, between September 1991 and February 1993. She attended St Andrew’s School, Monmouth Street, Hove, between March 1993 and May 1994. She returned to Thomas’s London Day School in May 1994.
m. Following a recommendation from the Court, she sees Dr Ruth Lister, a consultant child psychiatrist at the Tavistock Clinic, London NW3, twice a week.
n. She is the prime beneficiary under her mother’s will and heir to her artistic estate. The property is held in trust for her until she reaches the age of twenty-one. The prospective adopter is the sole trustee.
o. It is her express wish to live with and be adopted by Mr Young, whom she regards as the one stable factor in her life and as her father in all but name. She has no strong religious feelings, apart from a general distaste for Christianity which she associates with her grandparents. (It is unclear what she means by her various references to a ‘Temple of Love’.)
2. The Natural Parents
The Mother
a. Candida Milli
cent Mulliner was born on the 12th October 1954 in Peterborough District Hospital. She died on the 15th November 1991.
b. She was unmarried.
c. She first met the natural father at school and remained close to him for the next twenty years; although, after university, their paths diverged. Pagan was conceived during an isolated sexual incident.
d. She was 5’ 10” tall, of medium build, with long raven hair, fair skin and dove-grey eyes. Her strong features were striking rather than beautiful and she enjoyed experimenting with her appearance. Indeed, she is often unidentifiable in photographs.
e. From information furnished by the prospective adopter, it would appear that she had a magnetic personality and was always at the hub of any gathering. She had an incisive mind and a witty tongue, with a tendency to favour the latter. She was a strange blend of the anarchist and the conformist, who longed for acceptance and yet revelled in outrage. She would keep even her closest friends at a distance, while at the same time craving their intimacy. She doted on her daughter and cared for her constantly until incapacitated by illness. She faced death from Motor Neurone Disease with inspirational strength of character.
f. She was brought up in the Church of England but, in later life, became a committed atheist.
g. She obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree (Aegrotat) from Cambridge University.
h. On leaving university, she took various unskilled jobs while trying to establish herself as an actress. Her performing career failed after a season as a dancer in a London nightclub. She found her vocation in photography, for which she received international acclaim. A major retrospective of her work is planned for the spring of 1996 at the Museum of Modem Art in New York; it will then visit the Pompidou Centre in Paris and the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London. This revival of interest in her mother may well affect Pagan.
i. She was adopted as an infant by Edgar and Muriel Mulliner. She was the illegitimate daughter of Linda Davies, a seventeen-year-old sales assistant, and an unidentified father. Linda subsequently married and raised two daughters, both of whom now have children of their own. She has never told her husband of Candida’s birth and is adamant that she wants no contact with Pagan. There is no known hereditary disease in the family.
Pagan and her parents Page 41