The Secret Anatomy of Candles

by Quentin Smith

  “Lazlo called,” she said rifling through papers on her desk.

  “Yes, I saw him at The Swan.”

  “Oh.”

  “I will probably finish late tonight and sleep here,” Jasper said.

  “Again?” Stacey frowned.

  “Will you please bring a couple of almond croissants with you in the morning, and pick up a new white dicky dirt from Greenwoods – size seventeen remember.”

  “A what?” Stacey made a face.

  “A shirt, haven’t you learned anything working with me for five years?”

  She tipped her head and dropped the lipstick and hairbrush into her small, black leather handbag.

  “Thanks Stacey,” Jasper said with a warm smile.

  But the smile was corrupted by muscle tugs around the corner of his mouth and cheek. Embarrassed, Stacey pretended not to notice.

  “I did find a message from Mrs C.”

  “Yes?” Jasper’s eyes widened and he looked at her expectantly.

  “But it was from several days ago, saying she was off to London for an appointment in Harley Street.”

  “Harley Street?”

  Stacey shrugged and moved to the door.

  “Good luck with Mrs Kowalski. She’s very upset.”

  Debra Kowalski was sitting in a leather high back chair, taking in the eclectic mix of furnishings in Jasper’s office, when he returned. Behind an immaculately neat cherry wood desk topped with burgundy leather inset hung several framed certificates. In the corner stood an imposing drinks cabinet in matching cherry wood which was open, displaying crystal-cut glasses and several spirit bottles. Half way between the desk and the cabinet in a square terracotta pot stood a large, spiky cactus with side branches resembling a policeman directing traffic.

  Jasper caught Debra’s gaze currently directed at the single bed in the far corner that was made up and covered with a midnight black quilt, courtesy of Stacey.

  “I often work late and sleep in my office,” Jasper explained, as he slumped into his throne-like desk chair.

  Debra sniffed and quietly blew her nose into a small crumpled tissue, held in a tightly clenched fist.

  “Stacey told me a little about your background. I am really sorry for your loss.”

  Debra’s face screwed up with emotion and she held a balled fist against her chest.

  “I am so angry, yet so empty inside at the same time. I have lost everyone, and everything.”

  Jasper felt her gentle, lilting, east coast American accent soothing him. He let her regain her composure, then leaned forward on his elbows and pressed his fingertips together.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I have come to you because I was told you are the best, and I want justice for my son.”

  Jasper nodded but said nothing. He lowered his arms and then folded them as he became aware of the coarse tremor in his left hand.

  “I met Harry when I came over as a graduate student to research dental health in the severely mentally disabled. Harry lectured in English literature at Durham University and we married a year later. My parents died long ago and I made my life here with Harry. We were very happy.”

  Debra paused and looked down.

  Jasper used the silence to remove his jacket, revealing bright red braces cutting into a loose fitting white shirt, and draped it over his chair back. Pulling open the top drawer of his desk he produced a dictaphone.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, “I take terrible notes.”

  Debra nodded distractedly.

  “I struggled to maintain a pregnancy and it took so many years before one finally made it into the second trimester. Then, following a series of nose bleeds, Harry’s leukaemia was picked up. Chemotherapy almost killed him, and I didn’t think he would live to see his son born.”

  Jasper felt the warm tics pulling at his left eye. Fortunately Debra spent most of the time gazing into her lap, but nevertheless he felt compelled to rub his brows repeatedly. The self conscious awareness of his outward appearance at such close quarters to his client was making him uncomfortably moist beneath his shirt.

  “You know, I could never explain to Ollie that his father had died. He was too young to understand and even remember Harry. As a consequence we have never grieved together, it has always been just me suffering, with little Ollie playing at my feet. He was such a precious child, my only living flesh and blood, my only memory of Harry. I promised him I would keep him safe, Mr Candle, no matter what, and I failed him.”

  Debra tried to stifle tears, swallowing hard and wiping her puffy eyes with the tissue. When she spoke again it was with a blocked nose.

  “Despite my apprehensions about the MMR vaccine I took Ollie to have it. Harry believed in it and so did all the medical advice, so I trusted them. But it didn’t save him, and I just don’t understand why.”

  This time she sobbed and even Jasper felt a pang of sympathy for the grieving mother cloying at the back of his throat. Suddenly he wanted a whisky.

  “Would you care for a drink?”

  In the midst of a noisy nose blow, Debra looked up at Jasper in astonishment.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I keep whisky in my office. Would you like one? It may help.”

  Debra was taken aback by this suggestion.

  “Well, OK,” she replied.

  “Neat, ice, water?” Jasper asked as he clinked crystal glasses together at the cabinet.

  “On the rocks, please.”

  Seated back at his desk with the warming reassurance of Chivas lingering at the back of his mouth, Jasper was ready to continue.

  “What happened to Ollie?” he asked.

  Debra hadn’t touched her whisky yet.

  “Ollie was exposed to a child with measles at school and despite having had his first MMR vaccine, he became infected. He got really sick and ended up in ICU with… ”

  Debra began to sob again. Jasper wanted to reach out and touch her gently on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, forcing herself to continue. “He developed encephalitis, and… he did not… recover.”

  Jasper looked down at his glass while Debra wiped and cleared herself. He was moved by the sadness in her voice and wondered if it was because it resonated so close to home.

  “Do you have children, Mr Candle?”

  The suddenness of the question surprised Jasper and he stumbled to an answer.

  “No, not yet, unfortunately, no God forbids.”

  Jasper felt her eyes observe the bed in his office and he realised what conclusions she might be drawing from it. If only it was as simple as that.

  “To lose a child as young and vulnerable as Ollie is the greatest burden of guilt and failure imaginable, Mr Candle. It is indescribable. And it’s worse when you know that his death was avoidable, caused by someone else’s irresponsibility.”

  Jasper’s attention was immediately heightened.

  “What exactly do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward.

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it? A boy in Ollie’s class, a boy whose parents had knowingly denied him the MMR vaccine, brought measles into the school. If that child had been vaccinated, as he should have been, this would not have happened. They effectively killed Ollie.”

  Debra’s penetrating gaze held Jasper’s for the first time.

  Jasper scratched his head as his brain processed the permutations of her allegations. Was it against the law not to vaccinate a child? Was an unvaccinated child, or its parents, guilty of endangering members of society? Had a crime been committed? After all this was no trivial outcome, a healthy young boy was dead as a result. Could it be proved that the accused was responsible? These thoughts tumbled about in Jasper’s head as he tried desperately to recall any pertinent legal precedents.

  “This is quite an allegation, Mrs Kowalski,” he said finally.

  “My only son is dead. The boy who infected him, and many others at the school, is still alive. His negligent parents have a lot to answ
er for, in my opinion.”

  Jasper nodded thoughtfully and drained the last of his Chivas. Suddenly his arm jerked and swept the glass off his desk, sending ice cubes tumbling across the dark blue carpet. He felt Debra’s eyes on him and wondered what she must be thinking. He decided not to even attempt an explanation and boldly ignored the incident. Wishing to shorten the awkward hesitation, he quickly met her eyes and continued.

  “I am not even certain if it’s compulsory for all children to be vaccinated in England, or whether any laws have been broken? I need to do some research into vaccination law and I will have to investigate, painstakingly, the events leading up to your son’s illness. This would be a complex case, Mrs Kowalski, be under no misapprehensions about that.”

  “I want someone to pay for taking Ollie from me.”

  “This is a case quite possibly without precedent. I can make no promises.”

  “But can you help me?”

  Jasper’s gaze was held by her resolute and determined eyes. They had a power and intensity that disarmed him.

  “I will do my very best. Help you I certainly can. What I cannot be certain of is the likely outcome, not until I have done more research.”

  “But what can you do for me, Jasper?”

  It was the first time she had called him by his name. He liked how it sounded.

  “In the normal course of events, if we prove our case, there will be the satisfaction of apportionment of blame. Verdicts will attract compensation which, though money can never replace Ollie, seeks to acknowledge your suffering. But most of all I can help you find closure through this process, closure that helps you to regain your life and begin again. I believe closure is essential in this process.”

  Jasper knew that this was going to be one of the biggest challenges of his career. From the outset he did not know whether he could even build a case against anyone, let alone a three year old boy. But he pitied Debra Kowalski’s desperate situation, and he almost felt her pain.

  “What’s this other boy’s name?” Jasper asked.

  “Seamus Mallory.”

  It was late when Debra left and Jasper helped himself to more Chivas to quell the increasing irritability in his facial muscles. He reflected on the whisky glass incident, a worrying and socially embarrassing development. He banished concerns of potential professional consequences from his mind, not permitting himself to think that far.

  Lying down on his black quilted corner bed, he picked up his iPhone. No calls from Jennifer. He dialled their home.

  “The Candles are out. Please leave a message after the beep.”

  Terminating the call, he dialled her mobile and was diverted to mailbox.

  “Hi Jen. Been another long day, but you’ll be pleased to know, a successful one. Be home soon. I’m not sure… where you are. Everything OK?”

  He paused.

  “Call me. Love you.”

  Why had Jennifer been down to Harley Street in London, he wondered? She had never mentioned anything when they had last spoken. And where was she now? Perhaps she had gone on from London to visit her sister down in Esher. His shoulders rolled in a brief contorted paroxysm and he cursed out loud.

  “Brad Pitt, damn this chicken plucking thing.”

  Perhaps he too should see a doctor, he thought, staring at the cactus that never moved.

  TEN

  Jasper twisted self consciously in his chair, a padded leather high back, one of ten arranged in a very voyeuristic circle. The chair beside him was empty and Jasper kept glancing at it and then at his watch. His chair was positioned in front of the bay window in the large room and he liked to think that it was for the purpose of admiring the view behind him that the rest of the group looked constantly in his direction. But, of course, there was also the real reason why they were all looking at him.

  “Welcome everyone. It’s gone six thirty already, so we should begin,” said a small man wearing a brown plaid jacket, green knitted tie and a warm fuzzy beard like a chipmunk. A simple white badge pinned to his lapel read ‘Dr Montgolfier’. He pulled a pair of horn rimmed spectacles off his face and looked around the group, sucking on the curved end of the frame.

  “We have a new member tonight and I would like to welcome him to our session,” he continued, smiling broadly and gesturing towards Jasper with outstretched spectacles.

  Jasper managed a weak smile and stared back at the varied faces leering at him from the accusing circle of chairs. He wondered if he seemed to them as unusual and weird as they looked to him. What on earth was he doing here? And where the hell was Lazlo, this was all his idea?

  Jasper became aware of a patient silence and then realised that everyone was still peering at him expectantly.

  “Well, introduce yourself and tell us a little about you,” Montgolfier said, replacing the spectacles on his nose.

  Jasper cleared his throat and, with a final nervous glance at the empty chair, faced the group.

  “My name is Jasper. I am a little too close to fifty for comfort. I am a lawyer.”

  The group smiled in response and some made encouraging sounds.

  “That’s good, Jasper. Get it out,” Montgolfier said rather patronisingly, with a phony grin.

  “Well, here I am, for help, I guess. A friend and I agreed to do this together, but… he is… I’m not sure where he is,” Jasper stumbled, waving a hand towards the empty chair.

  Ripping his spectacles off his nose again and crossing his legs, Montgolfier leaned forward.

  “Are you married, Jasper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you happily married?” a raspy voice from Jasper’s left asked.

  “Now Brian, that’s a little personal for the first five minutes,” admonished Montgolfier, shaking his head with disapproval.

  Jasper managed a weak smile and felt his face beginning to twist and pull under the spotlight. He rubbed, and he massaged, but he knew the corruptions would not dissipate.

  “Don’t mind Brian, he just knows the ropes,” the counsellor said. “What kind of lawyer are you, Jasper?”

  Jasper rubbed his twitching eye.

  “I am a compensation lawyer, you know – negligence, hospital claims, accidents – that sort of thing.”

  “Like an ambulance chaser?” Brian’s throaty voice cut in.

  Jasper nodded meekly, not wishing to make eye contact with Brian.

  “Don’t worry, there are no doctors in this group,” Montgolfier said jokingly as everyone laughed, breaking the nervous tension. “Apart from me that is.” More laughter.

  Jasper crossed his legs and folded his arms, closing up self consciously.

  “Any children?” the counsellor asked.

  Jasper’s shoulder twitched twice and then rolled forwards. He had to move quickly to disguise the demonic contortion and began to feel perspiration breaking out on his upper lip.

  “No, we’ve not managed any.”

  Jasper began to squirm under the interrogation. He had had misgivings about this right from the start and had only agreed to attend because Lazlo had been so persuasive and insistent.

  “Right. So you must be a very busy man then.”

  Jasper wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

  “He doesn’t look happily married,” Brian’s gravelly voice interjected again.

  “Brian, why don’t you start now by telling Jasper a little about yourself, then we’ll quickly go around the circle so Jasper knows everyone,” Montgolfier said, returning the spectacles to his nose and flicking over a page on his clipboard.

  Jasper felt a weight lift off him as the spotlight turned to another member of the group. The tic on his face was spreading and now his lips were curling ever so often. He could feel the perspiration under his arms and shifted about in his chair.

  “I’m Brian, I’m forty one, and my wife left me for the bricklayer who was building her a new kitchen. So now I live above a chippie on my own. I drink a bottle of wine a day, which is better than a month ag
o when it was a bottle of gin every day. I put that progress down to this group therapy with Dr Montgolfier and my new friendship with Mandy. Thank you, Mandy.”

  Brian looked warmly across the circle towards a petite woman with freckles and long, straight, orange hair. As all the other faces turned towards her she blushed deeply. Jasper cringed and cursed Lazlo.

  “I think this illustrates that each one of us has stress points that can weaken under strain and why our dependence on alcohol can become a subterfuge. Now you know too, Jasper, why Brian asked you about your marriage?” Montgolfier said, pointing the frames of his spectacles first at Brian and then at Jasper.

  Jasper nodded with a small forced smile.

  “So, would you like to attempt Brian’s question now, Jasper?” Montgolfier said.

  Jasper avoided Montgolfier’s intense but friendly eyes, glancing instead at Brian who sat smugly with arms folded.

  “Am I happily married?” Jasper repeated the question, gazing down at his hands as they trembled in his lap, aware of the twitches eroding the dignity of his face. The question ricocheted about in his head and for a brief moment he became oblivious to the group staring at him. Normally he was the one asking difficult questions of others, manipulating their emotions and exploring their weaknesses.

  He returned to the discomfort of his situation, under the scrutiny of strangers, with all his physical peculiarities on display for the leering group to gossip about. Worse than all of this, however, was that he felt unsure how to answer the question. He did not even know where his wife was, or who she was with, so an answer would be very speculative.

  “Brad Pitt! I don’t need this.”

  Jasper jumped to his feet and walked out of the room to a stunned silence. He was not embarrassed, but as multitudes of spasms rippled across his face and arm, in a satanic violation of his body, he felt uncomfortably hot with prickly humiliation.

  Later that evening as he sat at his desk pouring over legal statutes, searching for legal cases involving vaccination disputes, Jasper noticed two messages awaiting him on his iPhone. The first was from Montgolfier.