by Gill Mather
So this morning it didn't overly concern him to repeatedly pick up the `phone to a caller who hung up straight away and he didn't bother any longer to check the caller’s number. He knew it worried elderly people when this happened, fearing being targeted in some way for other more direct action later. But he just hung up and forgot about it. It was a terrible nuisance though. He’d had to hurry to the `phone several times for dud calls this morning including rushing back from putting out the bins and other stuff. Plastic tubs of paper and cardboard, of carefully washed and de-labelled cans and bottles. Carefully by Grace.
On the hundredth ring, or so it seemed, Emma had at last answered as Don had gone out. Luke hadn't known Emma’s mobile number or the landline number. He just had his mother’s mobile number. He hadn't wanted to ask anyone for a number by which to contact Emma. He’d casually asked his mother last week what her boyfriend did for a living and she’d said he was a web designer. Then he’d looked up Don’s website and had got the number from that. It hadn't been that difficult. Yell.com had produced names of web designers in the area and one had come up with Mayfield Cottages as the address.
He’d rung the number and frustratingly the father had answered over and over again, until suddenly Emma’s sweet voice had come on the line instead. Though confusingly at first she’d said in an American accent:
“This is your local weather station. You can expect heavy snow this afternoon coupled with hailstorms and the odd tornado. If you’re really unlucky, you’ll get a tropical hurricane and possibly some bouts of extreme sunshine. Watch out for heat exhaustion. For further information press one.”
She usually put the `phone down at this point. She knew she shouldn't do this and it might actually lose business for her father but most people thought they’d called the wrong number and would call back again. But the caller on this occasion said quickly:
“Emma? Is that you?”
“Oh God!” she said recognising his voice immediately. Where had her vocabulary gone all of a sudden?
“Yeah, OK very funny. Next time I want a weather update, I’ll go on the Met Office website.” Without further preamble he said, “I wondered if you’d like to meet up sometime.”
“Oh. Umm, Sunday’s my only day off.”
Well, he thought, she hadn't said no. “I can wait. You should have been at that festival. It was brilliant. And my tent was far too empty all weekend.”
“Gosh,” said Emma, squirming internally at her lack of sophistication, little knowing what an attractive feature it was.
“Maybe we could meet at the Duck and Lizard at lunchtime Sunday then.”
Emma swallowed. “OK,” she croaked.
“Say about twelve thirty?”
“Yes. That sounds fine.”
“Good. Then it’s a date.”
“Yes. Good.” She put the `phone down and collapsed onto the settee near the extension. And she hadn't even thanked him for the painting. Oh God, she was so gauche!
DON AND HIS LUNCHEON companions were looking at the menu in this popular restaurant in the nearby County town. The other men at the table were Solicitors and appeared to find it essential to meet Don and thrash out with him in a social situation their requirements for their new website. Rather belatedly in this day and age, it had suddenly dawned on them that an inferior website might reflect badly on the firm. In Don’s experience, very little of any use ever got decided in an informal setting but the partner with whom he was dealing, a company law man, had been very forceful over the issue. Don would have happily gone to their office or had them over to the house, though in most cases a face to face meeting simply wasn't necessary but this apparently wasn't acceptable.
Accordingly he had dressed reasonably smartly and driven himself off to this centre of town eating establishment which the partners had all been able to walk to. It soon became clear that these men hadn't the least idea what they wanted to put in their website or how they wanted it to be presented and that this meal wasn't going to produce any meaningful result. It was simply a ritual they insisted on observing. Or possibly just an excuse for a jolly that they could put through the books because he was a supplier of services and, as it was a Friday, possibly they wouldn't be doing much more work before the weekend started.
He’d still have to see one of them at a later date to do some serious talking and explaining; and also they had still to agree what his fee should be. He had already earmarked the man, Martin, he thought he’d get most sense out of. Martin was drinking only soft drinks like Don himself was while the others were sloshing down the wine. They could after all stagger back on foot to their office and sober up before driving home later.
The meal was very good and, while the others rather talked down to him not knowing he had a law degree and had practised as a barrister in a former time, he got on well with Martin who it turned out was the criminal partner. Don’s early work had mostly been criminal cases and he would probably have specialised in it had he not had to jack it in. He still tried to keep up with new law and developments online now such that as he talked to Martin, he noticed him looking consideringly at Don from time to time. Therefore in due course it seemed only sensible to make Martin aware of his background and briefly the reason for having given up and having started a new career, though the information about his early career was all available on his own website if any of them had chosen to look. Probably not as he’d been recommended to them by the firm of chartered accountants for whom he’d been writing a site a few weeks earlier.
They talked about the sorts of cases Martin got to deal with. Everything and anything it seemed. As the other three partners filled each other’s glasses over and over and indulged in professional gossip, Martin divulged that his services were regarded as a rather unsavoury but necessary adjunct to the others whose commercial etc clients would have gone elsewhere and possibly never come back when they had problems of different kinds if the firm hadn't had a criminal department.
He told Don that recently he had had a flurry of child sex abuse cases which hadn't previously been the case. Rape and sexual assault cases had always been fairly common but the victims had mainly been adults. Now there were many cases of child sex abuse, some of them historical. It seemed that it was either a bandwagon the alleged victims wished to jump onto or else as genuine victims the spate of cases in the press in the last few years gave them the courage to come forward and say something at last. Martin wasn't sure which it was yet. He hadn't he said had enough cases so far to be able to form a view. He suspected it would turn out to be something near 50:50.
And there was a different climate abroad these days towards victims who came forward including children. They were not to be regarded with suspicion and doubt any longer. This could lead to early arrests and interrogations. His clients, all men up to now, were appalled and frantic at having been arrested on suspicion and hauled off to the police station for questioning with almost no warning.
In fact it was now regarded as infra dig for investigators to automatically doubt the word of the alleged victim. The pendulum had swung the other way and the default position was to give credence to an alleged victim's story and seriously investigate it, sometimes to the detriment of the effort put into examining the alleged perpetrator's account. It was accepted too that victims wouldn't always come forward immediately and so forensic evidence wouldn't necessarily be available to prove anything either way. The main thing, Martin said, that his clients often had on their side was that, being unknown members of the public, the press weren't especially interested and therefore you didn’t get hundreds of other alleged victims coming forward to establish a pattern of behaviour.
Martin said he got to deal with these cases himself, leaving the assistant Solicitors in the criminal department to get on with the speeding, drunk driving, shop-lifting, mugging, etc cases. The word “shop-lifting” of course struck a cord with Don. He wondered if this firm had represented Grace but of course he couldn't ask Martin and wouldn't
dream of raising the issue with Grace again. Probably not. There were lots of firms who dealt with crime.
Martin told Don that he collaborated to some extent with the civil litigation department whose corollary was a sudden increase in the number of cases of both historical and current sexual harassment although they got to deal with these cases from both sides of the fence, that is to act for both claimants and defendants.
Martin hoped this new area he was being forced to practice in wouldn't become a speciality. Undoubtedly some of the men were innocent and needed to be represented and defended but for those that fairly clearly weren't, he said it left a vile taste in the mouth and he had a hard time forcing the nasty details from his mind.
At that point Martin had coughed and had turned the conversation to more mundane topics such as the dreaded tendering process for legal aid crime duty contracts and why incidentally he couldn't drink any alcohol. He might get called to the nick at any time even though he didn't act as a duty Solicitor any longer. If one of the firm’s clients needed him then he would usually have to turn out, a potential interruption that, he said dryly, barristers presumably didn't have to worry about.
They broke up the “business lunch” as the commercial etc partners insisted on calling it at about three forty five and Don agreed to telephone Martin the following week. The others seemed more than happy to leave it to Martin. Martin said that in the meantime he’d email some material to Don; partner and staff profiles, departments, general ethos, etc though they’d have to have some new photos taken. Martin said he’d work on it over the weekend. Don thanked them for his lunch and said genuinely that he’d enjoy dealing with Martin regarding the website. Martin was he thought probably about early to possibly mid-thirties to his own sixty years but young people these days seemed to have such sophistication, to have learned so much in such a short time. And of course they were many of them very computer savvy. It was a job to keep up with it all.
THE INTERIOR OF THE Duck and Lizard was dim as it always was, especially coming in from the bright sunshine, and pretty crowded being Sunday lunchtime. There was a buffet serving roast dinners despite the fact that it was getting on for eighty degrees in the shade at the moment. All the doors and windows were open to allow a flow of air through the building and it was actually cooler in here than outside. Emma wondered if Luke was in the pub garden but couldn't see him through the windows. However she’d been spotted. As she turned back she saw his tall frame walking towards her.
“Hi. Come and sit down. I’ve got what must be the last table.” He led her to a small table in the corner with just a single settle. “I had to let some people have the other chairs. I’ll go and get you a drink. Cider?”
Emma nodded. She realised that she hadn't said a word yet as he strode off. She looked idly at the bar menu on the table while he was away though she wasn't hungry. In fact her stomach was churning with nerves. Apart from how he himself affected her, there were the things she knew about him or at least his father and the fact that she’d sort of led him on the last and only time they had met by not telling him exactly who she was. But when he came back, seeing her with the menu in her hand, he looked slightly worried asking if she wanted anything to eat. He showed relief when she said no she didn't and she guessed that as before he didn't have a lot of money on him. He put her drink down in front of her and sat down very close to her on the settle.
“So what have you…?” he started.
“Luke I need to….” she said at the same time and they both stopped.
“You go first,” he said.
“I just wanted to thank you for the painting. I know I’ve probably just got it on loan really. If you need it back any time I’ll understand. But it’s lovely.” She looked down at her hands. She wanted to say sorry for having kept her identity from him the last time they’d met. But instead she asked him if he’d walked here.
“No. I got a lift with my dad again. We passed your house but, sorry, I couldn't stop off and offer you a lift. In the circumstances,” he said meaningfully shaking his head. “Tut, tut!” He looked her face up and down with a half smile, his eyes lingering on hers. She saw he had long dark lashes and irises that looked brown from a distance but were all sorts of different colours close to.
Emma swallowed. “I’m sorry about that. I didn't mean to….deceive you. I suppose I thought at first that Alex would have told you who I was. And when I realised she hadn't, I didn't know what to say.”
“No. I can see how that might’ve been difficult. Alex obviously knows though. But then I reckon she’s got something on most people. She’s a little minx is Alex.”
“The question is why would she want to have something over other people?”
“Insecure perhaps?”
“Well it’s never seemed that way to me,” said Emma. “In fact I quite envy her. You know, for how savvy she is.”
“I don't think you need to envy her Emma,” said Luke, looking her face over appraisingly. “Not one little bit.”
Emma blushed, wishing she could do something about that but he was saying: “Er….does your father or my mother know you’re with me?”
“Well I haven't told them. I don't actually see much of them. I’m working most of the time. What about your mother? Have you told her?”
He shook his head. “Nor my dad. He’d probably freak out. No. I don't tell him anything if I can help it.”
They talked on about their parents. Odd topic of conversation Emma thought for a first date if that’s what it was. Usually her parents or the bloke’s would have been the last thing she’d discuss with anyone. A total non-subject. But this wasn't a normal situation. From what Luke said, it sounded as though he blamed her dad for inveigling her mother away.
“But isn't your dad rather domineering from what you’ve said?”
“Yeah he is but he’s always been like it. She wouldn't have left if she hadn't met someone.”
“Yes but in that case if it wasn't my dad, it might have been someone else she met. Maybe she was ready to leave anyway and my dad just came along at the right time.” Quite why she was defending her father she couldn't say. But she knew he wasn't the sort to break up a solid marriage, or any marriage for that matter. She didn't know, hadn't wanted to know, the exact details of how her father and Grace got together, but she felt sure that somehow or other, Grace must have left her husband before her father became involved with her. She thought of asking Luke since he surely would have known but felt it would be a little too intrusive.
“I don't think so,” he was saying to her last comment, “things weren't perfect, but I don't think she’d have left if he hadn't at least encouraged her.” Then he answered her unspoken question for her. “At Easter, I went away for a couple of weeks to visit a mate whose family had moved to Cornwall and do some painting down there and when I got back, my mother had gone. She sent me an email the day I got back to tell me not to worry about her and she’d get in touch and tell me where she was when things settled down a bit. A bloody email! My dad was going fucking berserk. Christ it was awful. If I’d had the train fare I’d have left straight away and gone straight back to Cornwall and stayed there.”
Emma could have said: Yes, but I have it on good authority that your father’s a serial adulterer. That may surely have had something to do with your mother leaving him! But of course she didn't. For a start Luke probably didn't know what his father got up to and for another thing she’d have to say how she found out and break her confidence to Alex. Though of course she hadn't promised Alex not to tell. Alex had just presumed.
However there had been a couple of weeks apparently when Luke had been out of the way. Something must, Emma reasoned, have happened between Grace and Greg during that time that Luke didn't know about. And if she recalled correctly, her father hadn’t told her about Grace moving in until at least May that year. It lent weight to her theory that her father hadn't necessarily been the precipitating factor leading to Grace’s departure. She m
ust’ve lived somewhere else for a time.
“Well,” she said amid these speculations, “it wasn't exactly great for me coming back from uni and finding everything different at home. Loads of things had been changed and having someone else living in the house. Of course I’d been told he was living with someone but I’d just thought it would be a sort of granny type person. But instead….the way they are together….”
“What do you mean, the way they are together?”
Emma coloured up. She wished she hadn't said the last part.
Luke’s face looked like thunder. “What? What about it?” Emma couldn't say.
“You mean all lovey-dovey? Is that what you mean?”
“Well I suppose so.”
“Not worse? Surely not more than that? Oh God! The bastard!”
More than anything she wanted to tell him what his own father was like but she couldn't. “Luke. I’m sorry but they’re together. I’ve had to try and get used to it. I don't like it but I’ve had to. I just keep out of their way. Do you mind if we talk about something else. And actually, I’d rather you didn't say things like that about my dad.” It was after all his mother who had left. “I wish it hadn't happened but it has.”
“Sorry,” he said.
Emma tried a small smile. “You called him a wimp the last time we met. I know you didn't know I was his daughter then. Actually I thought it was quite funny. But he’s not a bastard. Not at all.”
Luke sighed. “No. I don't suppose he is.”
“Anyway. It’s my round. I’ll go and get them. You’d better guard our table.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He got up and stood aside to let her out and by the time she got back he’d lightened up and they chatted generally.
“I’m surprised you weren't sitting outside so that you could have a smoke,” said Emma.
“I’ve stopped. I only did it to annoy my dad. He used to go ballistic if I ever lit up indoors.” Luke laughed. “I can't afford it anyway.”