Unnatural Relations

by Mike Seabroook

  The judge meanwhile had spotted Christopher's parents. "Are they Rowe's parents?" he asked vaguely in the direction of the counsel seats. Compton nodded. "Let them be brought forward," rustled the judge.

  "Dear God," muttered Hope-Thomson in a very low whisper to Compton. "Hasn't he had enough blood for one day, that he wants to have the poor bloody parents' throats as well?" Compton grimaced at him and spread his hands wide. Hope-Thomson got up and hurried across to the Rowes, bringing them back with him and gently pushing them into seats. He himself stood behind them, ready to help them up if necessary.

  "Please be seated, Mr and Mrs Rowe," said the judge, switching on a genial, fatherly tone. "I thought I should like a word with you before you leave. I'm afraid it must have been a great ordeal for you to hear such unsavoury accounts of your unfortunate son. But I shall be relinquishing him into your hands very soon, and I think it may be of some assistance if I offer you a couple of suggestions."

  "Thank you, my lord," said Robert Rowe. His tone was polite, but sounded as if had issued from the depths of an icebox. Lane, craning his neck to see, observed that Rowe was almost as scarlet in the face as Jamie had been a moment or so before. "Thank you very much, my lord," Rowe repeated, "but I think you've done everything you could for my son. I think we shall be able to take care of him for the future."

  The judge looked narrowly at him, but chose to take the words at face value. "I'm sure, from what learned counsel said, that you will," he said, with a benevolent air. "I don't know if your son is a churchgoer, but I suggest that he may find the help he needs to mend his ways in prayer. I hope so. The only other piece of advice I feel bound to offer you is that which I gave your son himself. Keep him away from the other boy, Potten, at all costs. And now, Mr and Mrs Rowe, I entrust your son to you. There are a few formalities, which your solicitor will attend to. I wish you good day."

  As the Rowes, speechless, were being gently led from the well by an almost equally dumbstruck Hope-Thomson, there was a sudden sound at the back of the room. Every head turned to the back, to see Lane whispering fiercely to Jamie. The judge looked on with some interest. "Is that the Potten boy?" he asked Compton, who nodded, wondering if there was any limit to the judge's capacity to upset people, or whether he was actually contemplating having the boy brought forward. Compton hoped not, judging that he looked quite likely to hurl himself on the judge and gouge his eyes out. In a moment his fears were all but realised.

  "Let the boy's guardian step forward," he said.

  Lane froze in disbelief. Then he turned to Jamie and turned on him his steeliest glare. "Jamie. On your honour, you will NOT move from this seat," he hissed at him. "I command you, remain here - whatever he says," he added. Jamie shrank back on the bench and nodded dumbly.

  Lane stepped forward and entered the well. "You are..." said the judge interrogatively.

  "I am Dr John Lane. I am headmaster of Oldacre School. Also the guardian pro tempore of James Potten," Lane intoned in his iciest and most headmasterly tone, reserved for quelling only the most troublesome of parents or mutinous of boys.

  "Well, Dr Lane," said the judge, deciding to forgo benevolence in favour of a businesslike manner, "you heard what I had to say to the boy Rowe's parents. I am sure you will co-operate to the full by ensuring for your part that your ward is prevented from any further contact with the other boy. I'm sure you will agree with me that it would be most perilous for both of them..." He left the words hanging in the air.

  Lane looked steadily at him with his most frigid stare. "My lord," he said, "you may rely implicitly upon my judgment in all matters to do with children and young people. I have many years' experience of attending to their every need, bodily and spiritual, and I am, of course, especially aware of what is good for James Potten. You may rest assured that he will be permitted no contacts with anyone whom I consider to be any kind of threat or hazard to any aspect of his well-being. As to James Potten's future relations with Christopher Rowe, it remains to be seen whether in later years, when they attain the requisite age of consent, they wish to renew the acquaintance. For myself, I shall wait for that time and allow my ward to choose for himself." He shut his lips in a hard line and stood magisterially, gazing levelly at the judge.

  The judge flushed. "Am I to credit the evidence of my ears, Dr Lane?" he said. "Do I then take it that if these two boys saw fit to resume their... their practices when they came of age, you would condone it?"

  "When they are adults within the meaning set by your masters in Parliament, my lord," said Lane in the same freezing tone, "I shall accord them the freedom of choice that is not in any case mine to withold. I am enlightened, my lord. I bid you good day." And before the astonished judge could say a word to stop him Lane stalked majestically out of the well, to the back, swept Jamie up and went out with his arm round the boy's shoulders. In the courtroom the judge sat looking blankly after the departing pair. The silent cheer that went up from Compton, Hope-Thomson, Christopher, his parents and several others was almost deafening.

  ***

  The moment the padded courtroom door swung to behind them Jamie frisked up and down beside Lane. "You were great, sir," he crowed excitedly. "He didn't know which way to turn when you batted him into the middle of next week.

  I couldn't've done it half as well myself." Lane, who had not been sure whether he ought to show his amusement or register official disapproval, was not quite proof against that, and chuckled. Two policemen who emerged from the other door from the court in time to hear, went out of the foyer grinning. One of them turned and winked at Jamie as he went. "Well, Jamie, I'm not sure I should encourage you in disrespectful attitudes towards venerable members of the judiciary, but if a pair of policemen think it's funny I suppose it counts as some sort of official sanction. And I must say, he was a very unpleasant piece of work."

  "He was horrible, sir," said Jamie, soberly. His elation had passed quickly, and he looked serious again. "It is over, isn't it? It really is over?"

  "Come and sit down for a few moments," Lane said, and led Jamie to one of the leather benches set in alcoves round the foyer. He sat silent for some minutes, and Jamie waited, not wishing to interrupt his thoughts. "I think you can say that the worst part of it is over, for Christopher, at least," Lane said eventually. "His barrister made much of the difficulties that he's likely to face in future, but I think it's possible that he was exaggerating that a little, for extra effect. He was probably just doing everything he could to persuade the judge to temper justice with mercy..." He sank into thought again.

  "I don't think there was any justice there to temper, sir," ventured Jamie after several more minutes had elapsed. "That judge was so... so prejudiced against Chris, he'd made up his mind before it started what he was going to do. He never listened to a word that barrister said. I thought it was a jolly good speech, didn't you?"

  "I'm glad to hear somebody thought so," said a voice. They looked up, to see Compton, minus his wig and gown, who had appeared from yet another door in time to hear Jamie's last words. He glanced at his watch, and dropped onto the seat beside Jamie. He dumped a large, shapeless bag, the same royal blue colour as Jamie's blazer, on the floor in front of him. Something hard inside it made a muffled thud. Jamie looked at it with interest. "For my wig, gown, briefs and so forth," said Compton, seeing the look.

  "That was a pretty good affidavit," he went on, nodding courteously to Lane over Jamie's head. Lane smiled. "He's got the making of a considerable talent as a writer," he replied, looking down at Jamie. "He intends to be a writer of some kind - I take it that ambition is unchanged, Jamie?"

  "It's the only thing I'm interested in being, sir," said Jamie. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

  "Of course," said Lane, noticing that the question had been addressed to him for form's sake, but seeing that it was really meant for the barrister. "Sir, why do barristers have blue shirts but white collars, please?"

  Compton grinned. It made him look absurdly boyish. Hard
ly older than Christopher, thought Lane and Jamie simultaneously. "These simple questions are always the unanswerable ones," he said. "As far as I know, it's just part of the uniform."

  "Did you really like my statement, sir?" asked Jamie, greatly daring. "I thought it was extremely well constructed," assented Compton. "If you did it without H-T's help as he claimed, I'd say it was pretty remarkable. I've certainly seen opinions prepared by eminent members of my profession that read less fluently."

  "Well, there you are, my boy," said Lane, rather proudly. "A feather in your cap, if nothing else has come out of this miserable affair." He turned back to Compton. "I was impressed by your submission, if I may return the compliment," he said gracefully. "I can't claim to have any experience in legal matters, but it seemed to me that you made the best of what I should imagine must have been a virtually impossible job."

  Compton grimaced. "There was very little I could do, really, I'm afraid. I didn't know this judge before today. I mean, I'd asked about him, and I hadn't taken much encouragement from what I'd heard, but I never expected him to run it against me from the start like that. I could see from half-way through your boy's affidavit that it was going to go against us. After that I chucked my carefully prepared submission on the fire and improvised. Not that I got any further, but I should think if I'd used my original draft he'd have been reaching for the black cap." He shrugged. "When a judge is against you like that there's not a lot you can do, I'm afraid. You go through the motions and devote most of your mind to spotting things to use in your appeal."

  Jamie's eyes widened. "Will he appeal?" he said before he could stop himself. "Sorry, sir," he added, to Lane, realising he had interrupted. Lane nodded. "No, there's no possibility of any appeal in this case," said the barrister. "And in any case, there's no point. He's got away as unscathed as he could have hoped to. I think 18 months is grossly excessive - I would have expected six months at the outside, and so did Frank H-T, but as soon as I saw how the judge was running the case I upped it to a year at least. But the point is, James - it is James, isn't it?"

  "Jamie."

  "Well, then, the point is, Jamie, that he hasn't actually been sentenced to anything - anything that matters, anyway. At least, you can look at it like that. I mean, he hasn't gone inside, and so long as he keeps his nose clean for two years, he's got nothing to interfere with his life in any way. He doesn't strike me as the type to offend again; so really the only way he's suffered tangibly is in getting himself a criminal record. Not agreeable, but he's free, and he can get on with his life."

  "How about..." began Lane, then stopped. "Are we detaining you, Mr Compton? I imagine you have other calls on your time than to sit talking to us."

  "No, no, I've got no more cases. Just back to chambers to swot for the next one. I'm being led in a big one next month, and I've got to spend the next three weeks trying to learn a bit about computers. Big computer fraud case. And a big chance for me," he added. The boyish grin appeared again.

  "I'm sure you'll seize it with great aplomb," said Lane. "Judging by the tenacity and ability you showed in there this morning. Courage, too, if I may say so. I was most impressed by the way you held your corner when you thought the judge was exceeding the proper limits."

  Compton frowned. "He did more than that," he said. "It was a quite outrageous thing to say, and I nearly used that very word. It would have been a big mistake."

  "I noticed," said Lane.

  "Well, some people would say I should have swallowed it," Compton- said reflectively. "They'd have a point, too, because a judge like that is quite capable of getting his own back by taking it out on the client. But I thought he oughtn't to be allowed to get away with everything. He obviously enjoys riding roughshod over people."

  "Well, I certainly share your opinion," murmured Lane. "I wonder if I might ask one more thing." Compton nodded. "Of course."

  "You are considerably more knowledgeable than I about such things, Mr Compton. Do you really believe that the boy will suffer greatly in the future from the exposure that this case will bring him? Jamie is worried about it, and I ventured to suggest that you were perhaps exaggerating a trifle for the judge's benefit when you emphasized that aspect of the matter."

  "You were quite right, sir," said Compton, and he was pleased to see Jamie's face light up. Then he saw that the boy was looking past him and was clearly no longer aware of his existence. He turned, and saw the Rowes coming out of the court with Hope-Thomson. Christopher was looking across at Jamie. Compton glanced quickly from one to the other and back again, and was a little awed at what he saw. Hope-Thomson said something to Robert Rowe, who spoke to Christopher. Christopher turned to his father and nodded, but his eyes hardly left Jamie for a moment. Meanwhile Hope-Thomson was making his way across to them.

  He gave a friendly nod to Jamie, who had spared a moment to glance at him before fixing his eyes on Christopher again. "Dr Lane, how d'you do," Hope-Thomson said. Lane rose to his feet and shook hands. "Off the record, congratulations," said Hope-Thomson, with a slightly conspiratorial smile. "That demolition job on Pennington was worth being in court for."

  "Thank you," said Lane. "I've been feeling a little apprehensive since I left the court, wondering whether I ought to have made what I felt so plain, but my small gesture of distaste seems to have received unanimous approbation."

  "He asked for that and more, Dr Lane," said the solicitor, "and it was sheer good fortune that you happened to be there to hand him his deserts. He's probably got away with disgraceful behaviour like that hundreds of times, and it's nice to see people like that get their wings clipped just occasionally. Changing the subject slightly," he said, "Michael, are you rushing back to chambers, or have you got time for a quick one? I've just got a few more things to say to the Rowes before they go on their way, and then there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

  "I wouldn't mind a pint," said Compton.

  "Right. Well, look, Michael, can I see you in a quarter of an hour? Where shall we say - what about the Green Man?" The barrister nodded assent. "Right," said Hope-Thomson. "I'll see you there. Saloon bar. Now, Dr Lane, I wonder if I could draw you aside for just a moment. There's one thing I'd like to discuss with you very briefly." He nodded to Compton, walked away a few paces with Lane, and spoke to him for some minutes, with Lane nodding gravely from time to time. From their glances at Jamie and the Rowes it was evident what they were discussing.

  Compton picked up his blue bag and moved away. "Well, goodbye, Jamie Potten," he said as he went. "Good luck with the writing." He noticed the reluctance with which Jamie dragged his gaze away from Christopher, and came back for a moment. "If you'll take a word of advice from a stranger, who doesn't wish either of you any harm, you'll stay away from Christopher Rowe. It can't do either of you anything but damage to see any more of each other, and it could be disastrous for him." He saw the pain in Jamie's eyes as he said it. "You'll get over it, you know," he said gently, "and so will he."

  "You don't understand," said Jamie. "But thank you for being so decent. And for trying so hard for Chris. Nobody could have done better." For a moment Compton felt an odd sensation of having spoken to a child and been answered by an adult. Then he said "Well, goodbye, then," and went into the street.

  "With that bloody Pennington that makes two people today who haven't listened to a word I've said," he commented a few minutes later in the Green Man, handing Hope-Thomson a scotch and soda. "Did you see the way they were looking at each other, those two?" The solicitor nodded gloomily. "Couldn't very well be off seeing it, could you?" he said. "They were practically lighting up the foyer there."

  "Do you know, that's exactly how I felt. There's more trouble lying ahead there, if they're not careful - or more likely if others aren't careful of them."

  "I had a word with that headmaster," said Hope-Thomson. "He's got his head screwed on the right way. He's desperately fond of the boy, you can see that a mile off, but I'd say if anyone can control that li
ttle bugger, he can. The boy's very fond of him, too, of course. That was obvious. But how much it'll weigh against this thing he's got with the other boy... they looked like Nelson Eddy and Jeanette McDonald." Unfortunately he said it as Compton was taking a long pull on his pint of lager. His involuntary snort of laughter hit him before he could get his nose out of his glass, with the result that he inhaled half of it down the wrong way and blew the rest explosively all over Hope-Thomson's suit. When Compton had been thumped on the back, and Hope-Thomson had mopped his suit with his handkerchief, and they had both finished gurgling with laughter, Hope-Thomson raised the subject of the case he wanted to discuss, and they forgot Jamie Potten's and Christopher Rowe's existence.

  FIVE

  For Christopher and his parents the short drive home was a sad, silent affair. Robert parked outside the house. "I think I'll go into the office for an hour or so," he said. He looked over his shoulder at Christopher in the back of the car. "Unless you'd rather I stayed here," he added. "I took the whole day off. Would you rather I was here, Chris?"

  Christopher looked at the strain in his face, the tightness round the eyes and the bags underneath them from lack of sleep and worry. "No, Dad," he said sadly. "I've given you enough trouble to last a lifetime. You'll be better off with a bit of company. I'll be all right." His father smiled at him, but he couldn't conceal the relief in his face.

  "Why don't you go for a drink with the people from the office tonight, Bob?" suggested Audrey. "You need a bit of normality for a while, and I've got a lot to talk about to Chris. University and everything."

  "I might do that," admitted Rowe. "In fact, I think I'll walk in. I won't have to worry about the car then." He started the engine again, and ran the car into the garage. They got out, and he prepared to set off for the town centre. "Dad," said Christopher quietly. "Yes, Chris?" he replied, turning back.