An Honest Deceit

by Guy Mankowski

  I looked at my hands.

  Art looked between the two of us. ‘Really, Ben? So I’m assuming here you have no gambling habits, drug addictions, or exotic mistresses that we need to know about? Am I right?’

  I looked at the floor. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘As a teacher I always gave it all I had. My own reputation, my own ‘Fitness To Practice,’ was only ever questioned after I had raised concerns about the schools enquiry.’

  Art looked over at Phillip. The half-crescent glasses jumped as he crinkled his nose. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Because these are the only snags that could, you know, hold us back here.’ He shuffled the papers in front of him, and I guessed at a furtive mental calculation going on in his brain. ‘So I think we’ve covered the major considerations,’ he said. ‘And I am grateful to you, Simon, for your counsel.’

  Phillip had proposed I use his lawyer. I had almost forgotten he was sat in a corner behind me. Our debate about whether to employ him had been a short one - I had argued that his costs would cripple us and Phillip had firmly said I had no choice. Simon Bracewell had joined the meeting late, but with enough confidence to suggest he was well-prepared. The learned air offered by his grey curls was offset by a slim, almost muscular physique. As I looked at him I was reminded of that John Major quote, when he spoke of an England composed of ‘long shadows on cricket grounds, warm beer, invincible green suburbs’. Bracewell seemed to be a product of that retreating world.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Simon said, nodding. ‘It looks as though you have a very strong case, Ben. You can, by all means, now make your predicament public. If you talk to the media using the language we agreed, the school can’t successfully sue you. But there is one condition. We have to be able to argue -’

  ‘Not argue - prove,’ Art said.

  ‘My apologies. Prove that you have exhausted all available complaint procedures before you take the matter public.’

  I shuffled in my seat. ‘Juliette spoke to the schools statutory body yesterday,’ I said. ‘She told them that we’re planning to submit a formal complaint about Kraver’s bullying. But they told her that they could not consider such a matter while I am answering questions about my Fitness To Practice.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Art said. ‘So, can you see what my face is doing right now?’ He smiled, an act which comically lowered his nose. I laughed. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Now, why might I be smiling, Ben?’

  ‘Stop showing off,’ Phillip said.

  I turned to Phillip. ‘You’re the biggest show-off in the world,’ I said.

  ‘Art has a right to feel confident about this,’ Bracewell said, moving his chair in line with Phillips. ‘Because Kraver has now done everything possible to prove that this is a classic case of an employer targeting a whistleblower.’

  ‘A whistleblower?’ I asked.

  Bracewell nodded. ‘That is what you are now, Ben,’ he said. ‘You have blown the whistle on the cover-up around Marine’s death and as a result you are now in the latter stages in ‘The Life Cycle Of A Whistleblower’.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain what you mean,’ I said.

  ‘Ever heard of Patients First?’ Bracewell asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘It’s an organization set up to defend people who’ve blown the whistle on dangerous practices in the work place, and then seen themselves harassed as a result. Have a read of this on the way home,’ he said, handing me a double sided print-out. ‘This article explains how right now you are experiencing a backlash for simply blowing the whistle against an employer with something to hide. I’ve become pretty familiar with this story in recent times, Ben. I’d say that you were at Stage 23 by now. Where employers ‘spread the word that the employee will not be coming back’?’

  ‘They have,’ I said.

  ‘So what’s our next step?’ Phillip asked.

  ‘The next step is for you to officially sign me as your agent,’ Art said, walking round the desk. ‘Done, and dusted. Then, over the next few weeks, we prepare to share your story, on national television.’

  I sat up straight. Phillip, his fingers immovable, seemed unmoved.

  ‘National television?’ I said. ‘I thought you were just going to try and raise my profile.’

  ‘Ben,’ Art said, standing over me. ‘The one tiny little detail Kraver hasn’t factored in, is your public profile. He has probably decided that if you do speak out in the news he can use that to strengthen his argument, and say you are unmanageable.’

  ‘Either that, I thought, or he has decided Ben doesn’t have the guts to make the matter public,’ Phillip said. I winced. ‘Sorry,’ he added.

  ‘Don’t you want to finally start to get ahead of him?’ Art asked.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I am going to get on the phone to Craig Peterson, and see if I can get you a slot on his Saturday night show,’ Art said.

  ‘This Saturday?’

  He laughed, dryly. ‘Well, I’ll see what I can do. Don’t worry, we are going to prep you every step of the way.’

  ‘And I’ll be by your side too,’ Phillip said. ‘Wondering why my agent hasn’t got me an interview on that show, yet.’

  Art ignored the dig. ‘He’s a big fan of Educating Bristol, this Peterson,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘He’s got the biggest viewing figures of any talk show right now, and he’ll be over the moon to bag the first interview with you since ‘Bristol’ went stellar.’

  ‘You really think he’d be interested?’ I asked.

  Art nodded. ‘He’ll ask about ‘Educating Bristol’, some of its funny moments,’ he said. ‘But I will make sure he has a good enough stretch to question you about Marine.’ He removed his glasses, squinting at the thought of something. ‘At that point in the interview you do have to grab the reins, Ben. Tell him the rumors about this David Walker, about you pushing Katy Fergus to testify to the school’s enquiry. About how they whitewashed what really happened on the day Marine fell. Your meeting with Kraver, and this whole Fitness To Practice debacle.’

  ‘Yes,’ Phillip said, gripping the arms of his chair and nodding.

  ‘At that moment we turn the whole spotlight from you, onto Kraver. Bam.’

  ‘Jesus,’ I said, looking at the ceiling.

  ‘Ben?’ he said. ‘Look at me.’

  I focused warily on the quivering man before me. ‘You do what I am telling you and you will dismantle Kraver’s case in a matter of minutes.’

  ‘I like the sound of that,’ I said.

  ‘Your suspension will be lifted and your money problems -’. He feigned an explosion with his hands. ‘Boom. They’ll be gone. If you do exactly as we say.’

  ‘I will give it my very best shot.’

  ‘You do understand that when you are on the show you need to be charismatic, angry, and articulate, all at once?’ Art said.

  ‘That could be a problem,’ Phillip said.

  ‘I take it you’re joking,’ Art said, a little testily.

  ‘He’s got a point, actually,’ I said. ‘When I get nervous, I clam up,’ I said.

  Art shook his head.

  ‘You will speak,’ he said. ‘Or you will lose everything.’

  SIXTEEN

  JULIETTE TEXTED ME that evening, asking when I would be home. As I drove through the city, I felt as if I was approaching a graveyard, in which our joint ambitions had begun decaying.

  The city was cool that evening, and along the coastal road children trailed on bikes, along the path overlooking the sea. The ocean was a calm, flat blue surface, and I felt unable to pull any emotion from my surroundings. I needed an injection of belief before I could return home and continue the fight. But guilt sagged in me. How could I argue for my right to return home, when I had betrayed Juliette’s trust? As I drove, following the smooth horizon of the sea with my eyes, I realized that any comfort I had derived from Violet, any anger I had felt against Juliette, was nothing in comparison to the permanent guilt I would now be living with. If I was to admit what I’
d done I to Juliette I would be inflicting her with more pain, just to assuage my own guilt. But if I was to keep it secret I would be allowing a wound to fester, that would destroy any joy of living. I had made a mistake, but I couldn’t confess it. But even more worrying, Violet seemed to have started to play an important role in my life. But there was no way I could say that, and admit to have felt something for her.

  I watched gulls, circle overhead, ready to pick at any abandoned remnants they could find. I knew that soon karma would catch up with me, and then I’d be rightly left out in the cold. Picked at by anyone who bothered to address me. I needed, on that drive home, to find the courage to allow me to face up to the days ahead. But guilt flattened me, and indecision almost made me ease my foot from the accelerator and turn towards the sea.

  I drove the car to the end of our street, sun flashing in the windows of each of the houses before ours. In them I saw a glancing image of Marine, dancing. I parked, tried to shake the image from my head.

  I let myself in through the front door, moving lightly upstairs. As I eased inside Christian rushed up to me, silently. I picked him up, and inhaled his scent. I felt so consumed with love for this fragile mix of bones and flesh- the only remaining mixture of Juliette and I. I promised myself that I would never leave him again. I looked up and saw Juliette, stood a few feet back. She noted the ferocity in my embrace of our son, and I felt ashamed.

  As Christian played with a toy crane at our feet, I told Juliette about the meeting in London and the plan that had been developed. Our bodies mirrored one another as we sat on opposite seats, hunched. As I spoke, I looked carefully for her reaction. To my relief, I saw that she was starting to nod. When I stopped talking the silence in the room came as an undeserved balm.

  ‘I have been thinking about what we can do well,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper. ‘I have been talking to your colleagues. They are more supportive than you realize.’

  I looked up. She kept nodding, her thoughts gaining momentum.

  ‘Kraver called them all into the staff room the day after he threw you out, you know. He told them that they would be ‘undermining the cohesion of the school,’ if they got in touch with you. That is why you’ve heard so little from them. Everyone’s scared.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  ‘All except one,’ Juliette said. She stood up, and sat on the sofa next to me. She placed her hand on top of mine, and the energy of this gesture sparked my body back to life.

  ‘You, you mean?’ I said.

  She smiled. A couple of new lines had appeared at her eyes. ‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘But also Lorraine Hannerty. She thinks Kraver is hiding something big. I convinced her to collect some information about him. Some testimonies from the other staff, about their view of the situation. I had no idea you were planning to go on national TV, but I- I was trying to be useful.’

  ‘Juliette,’ I said. ‘You are much more than just useful. It is going to be one hell of a fight. But if we’re going to win, I really think we need to be a team from now on,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ she said, a small fire burning in her eyes. ‘I am sorry I reacted the way I did.’ She looked directly at me. ‘I really admire how you have never stopped fighting for Marine.’

  ‘I’ve made some mistakes too,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ she whispered, standing up.

  She stood there for a second, and I wondered what else she was going to say. But then she moved to the kitchen, and switched on the taps. I listened to her fill a glass, and I exhaled.

  + + + + +

  I was torn between wanting Art to call, and hoping that he never would. The next day he rang just as I was about to shower. In a yelping voice he told me that in two and a half weeks I would indeed be interviewed on the nation’s favorite talk show. Just as I was digesting this news he also told me that in a few hours I would have ‘the honor’ of being paid a visit by a ‘thrusting young publicist called Emilia, who will give you a crash course in being on TV’.

  ‘Some teenager is going to be telling me how to sit up straight in my own home?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s just brilliant,’ he said. ‘They say you can’t polish a turd, but this girl could wrap it in enough glitter that it sparkles under the spotlight.’

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  ‘I’m not saying that, publicity wise, you’re a turd. Of course not, Ben. But she’ll polish you ‘til you sparkle like the Fourth of July.’

  I responded to the news of this impending visit by rushing into the bathroom, as a hot surge of poison rose in my throat. I hacked it into the bowl. The act of ejecting it made me so dizzy that I stayed in there, clutching the towel rail.

  Juliette rushed in, her arm snaking around my shoulder. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘There’s no way I can do it,’ I said. ‘I’ll end up vomiting in front of millions of people.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It will all happen one step at a time.’

  Emilia’s arrival was preceded by a flurry of unpunctuated texts through to my phone. She asked about parking, told me her driver was lost, and then told me the matter was solved all before I’d had the chance to reply. Moments later, I answered the rap at the door to be greeted by the sight of a Tasmanian devil wrapped in a pashmina.

  Emilia spoke in the excessively sensual tones of a public school girl raised to overpower people. She placed me in a wicker chair by the window, and barked questions about my early life.

  Her first interjection came only a few questions in. ‘This,’ she said, mocking my crossed legs and hunched shoulders, ‘makes you look like you’ve just backed your car onto your neighbor’s poodle.’ She pumped her fist. ‘Make it look like you have a spine in your back. Nice clear breaths, and project. Your mumbling would be fine if you were a cokehead in a shambling indie band. But if you’re going to convince the nation you’ve been wronged, we need some vim.’

  ‘I don’t want to end up doing all those cheap politicians tricks. Staring straight at the cameras, gesturing with a thumb.’

  ‘I’m not trying to turn you into JFK,’ she said. ‘I don’t think even I could do that in an hour.’

  ‘Why don’t I try and cook an omelette at the same time, as well?’

  ‘Don’t take the piss, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘You’re a long way off getting on a primetime cookery show. Right, let’s go again.’

  I wanted to just focus on preparing myself for the interview, but my thoughts kept straying to the upcoming hearing. Letters would come through about it on a regular basis, but all of them were frustratingly light on any content. Each letter hid its meaning behind a web of bureaucratic language. Having read the first five I realized that Kraver wasn’t actually trying to offer me any information about the hearing through them. He was leaving a paper trail. I couldn’t work out why he wanted to leave a paper trail, and I didn’t raise it with anyone because I feared what the answer would be. He still felt a few steps ahead, while I was just lacing up my boots.

  From then on, the interview with Craig Peterson was no longer my main concern. I had a hearing to prepare for, which would happen three days before I went on TV. I told myself that it was the hearing that would definitely shape the course of my life.

  SEVENTEEN

  WHEN I CAME HOME that night, after another evening of preparation, the house was dimly lit.

  On my way home I’d had a text from Violet, asking when we could meet. Her direct choice of words played on my mind. It felt risky to tell her that I couldn’t see her. What if she turned angry? What if she then told someone about our night together, who used it against me? I needed her support, but I couldn’t keep her too close either. But what would she do if she felt at arm’s length?

  I dropped my bag on the floor, and called out for Juliette. My voice echoed around with an almost garish resonance. I felt as if I was screaming in a graveyard.

  I could hear a peculiar scratching sound in the living room. Like someone was trying to get i
n.

  I followed it, hearing it grow as I moved. The room was dark, and the window to the city was open. The thin white curtains around the frame appeared to billow in and out of the illuminated skyscrapers on the horizon. The scratching was coming from the side of the window, where Juliette appeared pressed against the wall.

  When Juliette didn’t answer, I wondered if Violet had rung the house. If Juliette already knew. But as my feet stepped closer to her, I saw that she wasn’t ignoring me but that her attention was occupied. She was drawing on the wall, a large red crayon etching onto the brittle white surface the outline of a woman crouching. Hunched. As if shielding herself from invisible blows.

  When she heard my footsteps she dropped the crayon with a clatter and rose to embrace me. When I took her in my arms her body felt ready to disintegrate. I made her see my eyes. She twice moved to hug me and I gently eased her gaze back to my face until she softly nodded. Then she grasped me, and her desperation was so great that I did not know what to do with it. I realized that I was not simply a person on a mission to get justice, but that I also needed to bring my Juliette back to life too. I had to do something, to make some change in her world, to allow it to all make sense for her once again. Otherwise, I knew that soon her flesh would crumble before me. I thought of Marine, cold in the ground, and the thought of her mother lying down beside her. The threat seemed very real, and the fight ahead very clear.

  As she wrapped her body around me, I tried everything I could to let my soul fill my arms and torso and limbs, to rejuvenate her, but her soul was too crushed, and her darkness beat me. Some bleak spirit had taken hold of her, and somewhere within her frail flesh I could feel it whipping around, with a confidence that I could not combat. As I held her in my arms I felt the void inside her, and my tears began to fall. Her thighs closed around my back as I stood firm on the floor. The soft lilt of her sobbing mingled with the stirring of the lunar curtains. Through them a vast beam of moonlight projected into the house. I felt as though Juliette was trying to drink something from me. She held me in the way that an animal holds onto its parent in the wild. My tears began to gather on her shoulder but she did not move.