Judge Savage

by Tim Parks

  Well anyway, Sasha wanted to be in the car with Mr Grier. I could see her pulling his sleeve.

  And presumably this was something Mr Sayle objected to.

  Dave? Oh no! Gillian Crawley was shaking her head. For the first time she smiled. No, anybody could go with anybody at the bridge and Dave was like the first one to encourage all that. I mean, it was his idea.

  Please continue.

  Well, Sasha, Miss Singleton and Jamie Grier started arguing, without Mr Sayle now. Then he started shouting.

  He who, sorry? Who started shouting?

  Jamie, he started shouting at Sasha, and we could hear him a bit now because he came over to the car. I mean, it was his car, and he told us to get out and put the seats up and either Sasha went away with him now, or never. He said it was all . . . beg your pardon. She stopped and looked around.

  Yes? What did Mr Grier say?

  He said it was all, er, wank what we were doing and kiddies in the playground playing silly wankers.

  So, Mr Grier came to the car and insisted Miss Singleton left with him.

  That’s right. Then I think somebody telephoned Sasha, on her mobile, like, because she stood there talking on the phone forever, I remember she had a hand over her ear because of the traffic while me and Stu got out of Jamie’s car. She must have talked at least five minutes because Jamie was getting really angry like and making faces at her and like scissor movements with his fingers, meaning cut the conversation and we were winding up the seats. Like I said he was pretty far gone. Like with drinking.

  Miss Crawley, we are all doing our best to follow your account, but could you please just remind us exactly where everybody is at this point.

  Gillian Crawley looked alarmed, as if terrified that she wouldn’t be believed. I’m scared of them, she announced. She jerked her head towards the dock at the back.

  The court was dead silent.

  Judge Savage interrupted: Miss Crawley, you have sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Could you tell us where everybody was at this moment, counsel repeated.

  I said: Janet was with Simmons in Simmons’s car. At the other end of the bridge. Away from town. Riley and Davidson was standing at the parapet looking at the road. Stuart Bateson was with me and we were winding up the seats of Grier’s car because we thought like he wanted to go. Dave wasn’t there, he always went down to talk to the prostitutes. He loved doing that, only sometimes there was a pimp with them who got pissed off. Sorry. Angry like. Sasha was on the phone. I remember she was laughing. You see, Ginnie Keane used to phone us when we were on the bridge and ask who we were snogging while we were there because Mr Sayle had used to try to get her to kiss everyone and she stopped coming. Jamie was like really furious and banging his fist on the car. It’s his dad’s car.

  Gillian Singleton had started to speak very quickly and breathlessly. Her counsel exchanged glances with Judge Savage who remained impassive.

  Sasha stops talking on the phone and says if he was going to be so bloody possessive he could forget it. Something like that. She went to get hold of Riley. Riley, I mean, he’s sort of the group loser. But Dave liked him. Jamie shouted, if you do that, something is going to happen. He had opened the back of the car and got out a big stone and he carried it to the road. He’s always very jokey, like you don’t know if Jamie’s being serious. He shouted, and we could hear because he was really really shouting and we were right there: Whoever hits a car can take his woman off and enough of this shit. I don’t know if he brought the stones on purpose. Anyway he threw one off right away without even turning to look at the cars. Sasha like was terrified and runs down for Dave. He came running up and Jamie threw another. We were standing in the road, I remember, on the bridge, like, because a car went by fast, I mean over the bridge, and we had to get out of the way. David said: You’re drunk Jamie. That was about when my sister got out of the car, the Golf, with Simmie, it was John’s car, John Davidson. And that was when Jamie said I’m going to keep throwing stones till she tells you how much she likes sucking my cock in your bed. We heard it because we were less than five feet away. When you’re in church, he shouted. At Dave this is. Jamie kept shouting and calling Dave wanker. And then I missed some because my mobile rang and I went and got back in Jamie’s car so I’d be able to talk.

  Who phoned you? counsel asked.

  It was Ginnie Keane, said Gillian Crawley. Like she’d called Sasha, now she’s calling me.

  And why did she call you?

  She – Gillian Crawley hesitated – she was in bed with her boyfriend. She was phoning all of us and asking when we were going to stop playing silly buggers and have real sex in a bed, Ginnie’s sixteen. She’s younger than the rest. Then I heard the accident, there was a kind of bang, and everybody was saying run. Run. I didn’t know what had happened really.

  Do you know the time of that phone-call?

  The girl shook her head. I remember what was on the radio. It was The Offspring. My friend’s got a girlfriend and he hates that bitch. I was annoyed like because Ginnie was talking and I wanted to listen. It was like my favourite song.

  Counsel turned to the judge: Your honour, the defendant informed her solicitor of this phone-call only yesterday. I was immediately in touch with the phone company involved and various radio stations, after which I discussed the matter with my learned friend Mr Sedley who agreed that he would make no objection to admission of this evidence. In fact – counsel consulted his notes – the phone-call is recorded as commencing at 10.48 on the evening of March 22nd and as terminating at 10.52. Meanwhile the Yeah Channel, a local radio station, has confirmed that the song Miss Crawley has mentioned was the penultimate song before their 11 o’clock programme change on that evening. Mr Whitaker, you remember, made his emergency call from the side of the road at 10.55.

  All this, then, seemed to fit. But who had telephoned Daniel Savage on his mobile early on the Sunday morning? And why did his life now seem to be a tightening net of telephone conversations or discussions about telephone conversations or verifications of telephone conversations, all of them on mobiles, when only a few months ago, he had sworn he would never get a mobile, so superfluous did they seem. Only a few months ago, Hilary had said: We should never have put the phone in the bedroom. And she had said to Max that same evening, In the new house we will be ex-directory, won’t we Dan? All this started with a phone-call, Daniel thought. Out of the blue. Even if the marriage was burnt-out then, it was happy. Actually, it was happier burnt-out than not. He had been exquisitely happy, he thought, that evening, watching Hilary bend down to pull that cake from the oven, while the phone rang in the background. After calling his wife to ask if she had phoned him, he called Max. It was rather early for a Sunday morning.

  I’ll get him for you, said an abrupt male voice.

  Hello, Mr Savage, the young man said.

  I hope I didn’t wake you up?

  No, not at all. What is it?

  Since he hadn’t even given Max his mobile number Daniel had nothing plausible to say. Closing the door of Frank’s flat behind him, he took refuge on the stairwell.

  Yes? Max asked.

  I’m worried about Hilary, Daniel said. I suppose you heard that I am not living with her at the moment.

  I’m very sorry about that, Mr Savage.

  And now I hear you are no longer taking lessons with her.

  That’s right, Max said.

  It’s rather sad, because I thought this was just the kind of thing that would keep her sane.

  Well, it’s nice of you to say that, Max said warmly.

  Anyway, I just spoke to her and she seemed so frantic, I thought perhaps it might be an idea, if you were to get in touch, I mean, if you could spare the time.

  There was a pause. Max said: I can’t do that Mr Savage. I’m so sorry.

  Daniel didn’t know what to say. He had walked down two floors and now started walking back up again, his footsteps echoing in the st
airwell. There was such a solemn and decisive ring to Max’s voice that it seemed evident there was something behind it. And at the same time a determined hostility to any enquiry.

  I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Max now said at his most formal. How’s the music getting on, Daniel asked. Max explained that he had had to ease off a little because of pressure at work. We’re installing a new computer system. He had to relearn all his software. Give my regards to your parents, Daniel said. If the boy suspected irony he didn’t show it.

  I’ve only given the number to two or three people, he then found himself saying quite incongruously to the young clerk Laura. So I thought it might be you. Oh, Mr Savage! The young woman didn’t disguise the fact that she’d been woken. I’m so sorry, I was sleeping late. Daniel had an obtrusively clear image of how Jane used to answer the phone in bed. He begged forgiveness. He remembered how, in some hotel bed together, she would take phone-calls from Crawford, winking at Daniel as she spoke. I’m so sorry, I just wondered who it could have been, he said. Not to worry, judge, she told him. Arthur popped his head out of the door above. We’re off, he called. We only have the van till lunchtime.

  THIRTY-ONE

  DANIEL HADN’T SLEPT. Moving even the smallest pieces of furniture exhausted him. I really mustn’t be alone, he thought. A sharp pain shot up the side of his face with the damaged eye. The sideboard was massive. Then towards twelve Christine arrived. They had almost finished. What shall I do with the ashes, she confided. She was heavily made up. Daniel didn’t understand at first. Martin’s of course! They would be ready Thursday she had been told. Her dress was downy peach. What can there be to be ready? she shrilled as if scandalised. Grinder, Frank told her calmly. They grind up the bones, love. She stared at him, eyebrows wrinkled in shock. Usually people stick’em in the garden, Frank went on. Oh, but I’m selling the house, Christine cried, I won’t have a garden! The men were carrying out the last small things. There’s only a window box in the flat, she protested. You know Dan’s old flat I suppose? I can’t put his ashes in a window box!

  This nervous frivolity is obscene, Daniel thought. He carried out the famous fire-irons. She’s definitely on drugs, he decided. What shall I do with them, she said again. He couldn’t think what to say. It’d be like the pot of basil, she insisted, in Byron. Keats, Arthur said. Christine burst into tears when the van was loaded. She hung on to Daniel. Come and stay with me tonight, she muttered. Please. He was exhausted from sleeplessness. He oscillated between dazed disorientation and a shiny, talkative lucidity. She muttered the words, but not so low that the others couldn’t hear. It was more as if she herself didn’t want to know what she was saying. Don’t go to a hotel, Dan, stay with me tonight.

  To-ni-i-ght! Frank sung as soon as they had pulled away. To-ni-i-ght’s the ni-ight! Oh, with one custom-made, record-breaking, ocean-going Panama barge pole, thank you very much, he laughed. The swamps you get into Daniel Savage, the jungles. Daniel in the lioness’s den, Arthur laughed. She could chuck the ashes in the zoo, Frank laughed. That small Georgian tallboy is a gem, Arthur said. A killing, he announced. He rubbed his hands. Daniel had never seen him so excited. Then going round the ring road they saw that the bridge where Malding Lane crossed the road was at that very moment being festooned with flowers, with wreathes, with a banner announcing Goodbye Elizabeth. She must be dead, he realised. Public have gone soft, Frank opined unimpressed. Soft in the head. Every death is their own death these days. Lady Di syndrome. Left here for the pub, Art, he shouted. Where are you going, man. We’ll deliver the battleship later. Hang a left! Arthur braked hard. The furniture shifted. The van drifted into a quiet side street, a traditional beer garden. And it was here, sitting at a wooden table outside the Belgrave that the phone rang again, Judge Savage’s mobile. Oh, don’t mind us, noble Squire Juan! Frank cried. I’m desperate, Minnie whispered. Dan, help me!

  Call the police, he told the girl. He wouldn’t listen. I’m with people, Minnie. He was harsh. He hadn’t slept. He had spent the morning helping to sort out the gloomy furniture in his dead friend’s gloomy house. Martin was dead. It was Martin wanted this stuff not me, Christine kept saying. Isn’t it gloomy? They had found nothing on pulling out the sideboard drawers. Above all, though, Daniel had spent the morning seeing himself through Frank’s eyes. I am ridiculous in Frank’s eyes, he thought more than once as they shifted the furniture. Oh, but you were always a pushover, his brother had been saying. He mussed Daniel’s woolly hair affectionately, sitting at the grey wooden table, outside the Belgrave. To-ni-ight! Almost anybody could get Dan to fag for them, he told Arthur as the American arrived with the pints. That word fag kills me, Arthur smiled in his soft way. He shook his head. To-ni-i-ght! Always a pushover, Frank repeated. He was mussing his brother’s hair when the mobile rang. I’m desperate, the girl said.

  It’s a sort of formula she has, Daniel thought. Or women in general. From memory he was able to give the Broughton Drive police station’s number. I can’t, she said. Call them. He gave her Mattheson’s name. When the desk sergeant answers, you tell him you have to speak to Inspector Mattheson, okay? You can even say I told you to call. Judge Savage. M-a-t-t-h-e-son, he spelt it out. Walking up and down the pavement with the phone at his ear, he saw the two gays with their beers were giggling their heads off. Please Dan, the girl was saying in a low voice. Please, let me explain. He was exhausted. It went far beyond the sleepless night. I’m with someone, he said. Such a pushover, Frank was laughing. I was telling Art about when you let me cut those druidic signs on your back. Yes, with a knife, Frank shook his head. I had this sharp little sheath knife. It was Martin stopped it. I was going through a wild patch. I told him it would make him more English having druidic signs on his back. Daniel didn’t remember that part. Anyone else would have told me to get stuffed, Frank laughed. It was just a quirky memory now. Call the police, Daniel had closed the conversation, if you’re really in trouble, Minnie, call the police. I personally cannot help.

  In a warehouse behind Doherty Street, they went meticulously through two chests and three cabinets and found nothing. Yesterday’s photos had been burned. Martin is gone, Daniel thought. What I choose for myself, he used to say, I choose for the whole human race. He had chosen to die. I burned all the photos of moths, Christine said when they delivered the sideboard at Carlton Street. There were thousands, she protested. Her voice again became theatrically shrill. Thousands! I told the gardener to burn them. I hope the buyer will keep him on. Would you like some tea? He’s such a nice old stick, she said. I want nothing to do with the place, she confided in Arthur. I’m not going to put the ashes in the garden. He was trying to find a piece of cardboard to balance up one wooden leg. The sideboard wobbled. Nothing! She had taken a liking to the American. Hot damn, he said. Now a drawer wouldn’t fit. He was crouching down. As she had previously taken a liking to Max, Daniel remembered. They had left together that day he came home, hadn’t they? Was that why Hilary had stopped the lessons? Let me try, he told Arthur. The younger man was mopping his sweat with a red handkerchief. Trying to force the drawer into its slot, Judge Savage dropped it on his foot. He hopped about his old living room in pain, causing considerable amusement. Then they sat down in his old Carlton Street kitchen to drink Christine’s strong black tea. Done, Frank said. That’s it. Back at his brother’s flat toward five, Judge Savage packed his case and his dispatch bag and descended the stairs. Sorry about this morning, Frank laughed. Got out of the wrong side of bed. He stood, penitent and portly, at the decaying door to the street, while Daniel climbed into his car. See ya.

  Judge Savage drove to the Cambridge. I should have chosen another hotel, he told himself, climbing up from the underground car park. But he and Martin had studied at Cambridge. He and Hilary had had a blazing row in the foyer of this hotel. He stood for a moment with his bags just inside the swing doors. He felt he had loved her then, when she shrieked at him in the foyer of this hotel, when she beat her fists on his chest. You’re worn
out, he told himself. His head was spinning. Always a pleasure to see you Mr Savage, the man on reception said. The word gent came to mind. The old receptionist is a gent. He took coats and carried bags. Soon to be Sir Daniel, I believe, the gent said. Daniel didn’t disabuse him.

  In his room, he watched a programme about the migration of birds. Nature programmes fascinated Hilary. Almost the only good thing about England is its nature programmes she once said. She had that habit of speaking of England as if she wasn’t English, though they almost never went abroad. Daniel felt uncomfortable abroad. In England he was English, but in France he was just black. Sleep will overtake me, he said out loud, taking a beer from the fridge. This isn’t even a crisis, he laughed. Just a Sunday evening to be got through.

  But I’m desperate. Minnie told him. She phoned again while he was in the shower. Desperate. He rushed out, slipping on the tiles and stood naked and dripping on the pale pink carpet before the mirror. Who had he hoped it would be? It’s hopeless, Minnie said. I’ve called three times, this Mattheson, and he said he would call me back. He didn’t.

  The shower hadn’t cleared Daniel’s head. It was an effort to understand. They’re holding me here, I can’t leave, she was saying. A pushover, Frank had laughed. Did you hear, Minnie said, that there was a raid yesterday. It’s complicated. They arrested loads . . .

  The call was cut off. Just matter, Judge Savage thought, staring in the mirror. You’re not ageing well, Savage, he told himself, seeing his naked body, beer bottle in one hand, mobile in the other. He had dreamed of a gentle civilised ageing beside a fireplace with a wife and children and a dog. One might well just be matter, but one dreamed these things anyway.

  Her name was Sue, he was saying a few hours later. She gave me her mobile number, but it’s not answering. Sue. Dark skin, he described. Yeah, pretty much like mine. More or less. She’s Brazilian, I think. Sue, the girls laughed. Sue! Oh come on! The bridge was fifty yards away with the flowers flaming up white and red in the rhythm of headlights, a great bank of burning flowers along the ring road. But I’m called Sue, a little Indian girl giggled. What’s wrong with me. Me too, another voice said. I’m called Sue. What’s wrong with me? He couldn’t see anything wrong with any of them. We’re all called Sue, they giggled. But then he could barely see them in the dazzle of headlights and the gloom of the lay-by. Goodbye Elizabeth, the banner on the bridge said. The girls stood together in their short skirts giggling. It was two in the morning. Police! someone shouted. Judge Savage spun round. Just joking. Spinning round he had almost fallen over. Oh Sue, behave! a voice shrilled. Be-have! They shouldn’t let me drive at all, Daniel thought, driving carefully to the house where she had taken him. It’s a scandal that I’m driving, he thought. What’s wrong with the other girls, sir? the Hispanic man asked. With all respect, sir, he said. He was most polite. When pressed, he shrugged his shoulders: Some of the girls, the police wanted to see if they entered the country illegally. They’ve been rounding them up.