As they walked out to the car she said, ‘Have you ever met anyone grumpier than that fucking old misery?’
Sean said, ‘Is that what you call a rhetorical question?’
She didn’t answer.
She was still fuming. Pete was the kind of glass-half empty guy she despised. She knew journalists were supposed to be cynical, but she had always believed that that related to the stories they covered, not to how they related to each other. But Pete never saw the life, or light or humour in anything.
As they drove to the college Alix said, ‘He’s a killjoy, a doubter and a back-stabber. He talks about everyone behind their back.’
‘Like you’re doing now?’ Sean asked.
‘Oh shut up.’
The timing of the netball team’s next practice had been contained in their notes in the last issue of the paper, so Alix and Sean arrived just as the girls were gathering on the gymnasium court but before their coach turned up. They all expressed disappointment and concern, but didn’t actually know a lot about Anna. Sean got them together for a photograph. He stood on a bench looking down at them and, bearing in mind what Rob had said, he instructed them to stop smiling. ‘You’re worried about your teammate, remember?’
One of the girls, Caitlin, said, ‘We’re only smiling because your zip is down.’
‘Think I’m going to fall for that one?’ said Sean.
‘Up to you, but your cock’s hanging out.’
The other girls creased up, and Sean had no alternative but to check.
‘Oh very good,’ he said. ‘Now, c’mon, your best glum faces.’
As they tried their best to compose themselves the doors at the back opened and Alix saw a young man in a retro yellow tracksuit crossing the gym. As he saw the girls posing, he clapped his hands together and said, ‘Come on, now! This is supposed to be a practice!’
The girls immediately dispersed and began to throw their netballs around. Alix put her best smile on and stepped forward with her hand out. ‘Hi, hello,’ she said. ‘Mr Donegan? Alix Cross, I’m from the Express...?’
‘Hi, yes, hello, we spoke on the phone. Patrick, please.’ He was, she thought, very handsome. And fit. ‘And I told you we can’t really talk about it – you’d need to call the school, and probably the Netball Association.’
‘Yes, and of course I’ll do that. But you must be really gutted, losing one of your players like—’
‘Nice try.’
‘I’m really not... look, all I’m saying is that if we speak to them we’ll just get a dry and dusty statement, but if I can actually get some quotes from you and the girls it’ll make for something much more interesting, might even help get Anna back.’ He pursed his lips. It wasn’t exactly a no, so she pressed on. ‘Could you not just tell me a little about her? How long she’s been with the club, how you came to be working with her... even off the record?’
‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘maybe if you buy me a fruit smoothie and a power bar I might be more inclined to say something.’
Twinkly eyes, too.
‘What about a coffee and a doughnut?’
‘Do I look like I eat doughnuts?’
A bit overconfident maybe, but that was no bad thing.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Alix, ‘but you’ve got smoothie written all over you.’
He grinned. She grinned. They grinned together.
Sometimes, she thought, this job has its bonuses.
*
Michael was still a cub reporter, though he bristled when Pete called him one. Pete told him that if he managed to complete his first solo magistrate’s court without messing it up, he would give serious consideration to reducing the number of times he got the cub treatment.
The court sat once a week, on a Wednesday. Magistrates deal with relatively minor offences – thefts, burglaries, assaults, drunk and disorderly, and a lot of motoring cases. Though it’s not written down anywhere, the job of the magistrate is basically to agree with whatever evidence the police present. His or her job is to find nearly every defendant guilty. If they’re really not guilty the defendant can pursue it through a higher court. Very occasionally the magistrate will side with the defendant, but these cases are few and far between. Everyone accepts this: the Department of Public Prosecutions, the police, the defending solicitor, and even the soon-to-be guilty party usually comes round in the end.
The magistrate rarely hands out custodial sentences. If he does, usually they are suspended. He imposes community service, he fines and he chastises. The court is small and busy. In a weekly sitting the clerk of the court will rush the magistrate and the attending police and solicitors and soon-to-be- guilty parties and witnesses and relatives through the evidence; maybe seventy or eighty cases will be heard, often before lunch. There is so little room in the court and so many soon-to-be-guilty parties attending that there is no space for the public, for those who just want to listen to the proceedings. If someone is sentenced or fined, if someone admits to stealing women’s knickers off a clothes line, pissing up a well lit alleyway or getting into a fight with a policeman, nobody in the town would know about it if it wasn’t for the young cub reporter sitting with his back to the body of the court. Michael’s job was to report the proceedings accurately and in detail. For most, the true punishment is not a fine or the suspension of a sentence, it is seeing their case reported in the paper. It’s all about the public shame and the stick they have to take from family and friends.
Michael collects the summonses and charge sheets for the upcoming sitting on the day before and duly notes down the details of every case. If it seems interesting he flicks quickly through the statements if they are attached, just so that he has a broad idea of what is coming. Then, when he attends court the next day, he can concentrate on recording the evidence. The days when shorthand was absolutely essential for journalists are long gone, but Michael has his – one hundred words a minute and proud of it.
Michael is not a stranger to the court, he’s been there maybe a dozen times before, usually with Pete, once or twice with Alix, following their lead, writing his own versions of the cases and then taking note as they picked holes in the results. But there were less holes each week. Last week there had only been a couple of minor mistakes, and now Rob, on Peter’s advice, judged him good enough to cover the court by himself. Michael was anxious the way a driver is anxious when he passes his test but then drives the car for the first time without someone to watch over him. Qualified but nervous.
The morning session passed quickly. No surprises. His notes were neat and proficient and he knew he had a few good stories. There was a particularly vicious assault. There was a shoplifter who stole a packet of minced steak by slipping it down the front of his tracksuit and into his underwear; nothing unusual about that until the defending solicitor said the meat was fit for re-sale, which had the whole court groaning and laughing.
When they broke for lunch Michael bought a sandwich and sat on the sea wall opposite the old and crumbling courthouse building. It was a warm day with a nice breeze that rattled the yachts in the marina behind him. He bit into his sandwich and put his face up to the sun and closed his eyes and chewed and enjoyed the heat.
‘Hi – hello, sorry to trouble you?’
Michael opened his eyes, blinking, and saw that there was a girl of about his age standing in front of him. Her hair was dyed red, and short, and she was, he immediately decided, very pretty. Michael didn’t know many girls, and had been out with even fewer. This unfamiliarity often caused him to blush. He blushed now.
She said, ‘Sorry – didn’t mean to disturb you, but I couldn’t help but notice, you were in the court earlier?’
‘Yuth,’ said Michael, trying to swallow.
‘Just, I didn’t catch what they said about starting again after lunch – was it half one?’
‘Two, I think,’ said Michael.
‘Oh right – that’s better. I’ll have time to grab something.’
‘Abso
lutely,’ said Michael, and he waved his sandwich for emphasis, which resulted in half of its contents sliding out and landing at the girl’s feet.
She said, ‘I was only asking a question, no need to throw it at me—’
‘Sorry – sorry...’
She burst out laughing. Michael looked relieved. He smiled at her. She smiled back. She looked about her, and then sat on the wall beside him.
‘It’s nice to see the sun out,’ she said.
‘Aye.’
She nodded across at the court. ‘I don’t like it over there. Scary people, and I’m not just talking about the ones up on charges. Those lawyers, solicitors, whatever you call them, they’re all very sure of themselves aren’t they?’ Michael nodded. He thought she was lovely. ‘I saw you scribbling away at the front. You do the write-ups for the paper?’ Michael nodded again. ‘That must be pretty interesting? Plenty of head-the-balls, yeah? What was that guy with the mince down his trousers like?’
‘It was funny,’ said Michael.
She smiled up at the sun. Then she turned her full beam back on Michael. ‘So, are you not going to ask?’
‘Ask what?’
‘What I’m doing in court? I could be an armed robber, or an international... horse thief or a confidence trickster or something...’
‘Well I’m... pretty sure you’re not.’
‘Of course I’m not. But I was just wondering – you couldn’t lend me twenty quid? Just to get some lunch? I left my bag at home and I’m bloody starving.’
‘I... uh... I’m not sure if I have...’
‘Stop! For goodness sakes! I’m only joking!’
She giggled. Michael joined in.
‘Oh – right, yeah. Good one.’ He looked about him, embarrassed, aware that his face was now lobster-red. ‘So – ah, why are you here, then?’
‘It’s my brother Declan. The eejit. Walking home from the pub and some of his mates offered him a lift, so he jumps in. Before he knows what’s happening, they crash the car and run off, and he gets nabbed by the cops.’
‘Ah right – yes, I saw that on the list. Joyriding. There’s, uhm, a lot of it about. You’re here for moral support?’
‘Aye – he’s not a bad lad, y’know? It’s more mum I’m worried about – she hasn’t been at all well, this’ll... it won’t help.’ She shrugged and studied the ground. Michael wasn’t sure, but he thought she looked as if she might burst into tears. ‘Anyway,’ she said suddenly, standing up, ‘I’d better go and get that lunch while I have the chance. Nice talking to you. I’m Shona, by the way.’
‘Hello, Shona. Michael.’
She gave him a final smile and moved on. Michael felt warm all over. And a twinge of despair coursed through him because he hadn’t said more to her.
*
Rob was used to the Chinese restaurant at night with its subdued lighting further muted by the red shades on the table lamps and the heavy red drapes. By day it all looked rather threadbare and run-down – not entirely unlike its owner, who was sitting opposite Rob at a window table. They had a Coke each.
‘My father opened this restaurant forty years ago,’ Mr Smith was saying, his face drawn, his hair tinged with grey, ‘first in town, people didn’t know what to make of it... but now we’re a...’ He clicked his fingers, looking for the right word.
‘Fixture,’ said Rob.
‘Fixture. Yes indeed. This is home. My children only ever speak English. They damn well don’t want to work in a bloody Chinese restaurant, that’s for sure. That’s why I have to bring people in.’
‘Illegals.’
‘How do I know? They present papers, they look fine. Now three of them will be on plane home tomorrow.’
‘Including Anna?’
‘No, Anna, not yet anyway. She has a visa, but it is out of date. The community association has solicitors, this problem is not uncommon, so we will see.’
‘And what about you, will you be punished for having them?’
‘I will be fined. It is not the first time. So they will fine more, perhaps. Maybe I will be out of business.’
There was a small plate of fortune cookies wrapped in cellophane sitting beside the condiments. Rob lifted one and raised an eyebrow.
‘Do you think it’s worth...?’ he asked.
‘No. They’re bullshit, we buy them in bulk from a wholesaler in Newtownabbey. But feel free.’
Rob set it down again. He glanced up at movement outside, and saw Alix. She gave him a little wave as she moved to the door and came in. Rob introduced her to Mr Smith, who shook her hand but then said he’d better get back to work because he was short-staffed. He thanked Rob for calling in and hoped he could do something to help Anna. Rob promised to do his best.
Mr Smith began to check under the tables around them as he made his way to the kitchen, but was still within earshot as Alix slipped in opposite her editor and immediately said, ‘This place is a bit of a dive in daylight.’
‘Shhhhhhh. Jesus.’
Mr Smith pushed through the doors without looking back. Rob shook his head.
‘Sorreee...’ said Alix.
Rob gave a small sigh. ‘How did it go with the netballers?’ he asked.
‘Mmmmm, not sure. I tried to sell them on launching a campaign to free your friend, but they weren’t particularly interested. I called by the Chinese community association. They said they were looking at the case but couldn’t comment and nearly had a fit when I mentioned a campaign. They’re all the same, aren’t they? So bloody PC. If it’s not that it’s data protection or they’re frightened of being called a whistleblower or...’
‘I don’t recall mentioning a campaign.’
‘It just came to me. It’s one way to do the story, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s a rubbish idea.’
‘Well, we’ll see. Same story with the Border Agency?’
‘Same again, PR guff. Nobody wants to rock the boat.’
‘So...?’
‘So... it’s our job to rock the boat?’
‘Well, a gentle shake mightn’t do any harm. Mr Smith thinks he might be able to get me in to see her, where she’s being held.’
‘You?’
‘Why not me?’
‘You actually write a story?’
‘I write stories all the time.’
‘You re-write stories all the time. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen you write a story.’
‘In all the four weeks I’ve been here.’
‘Even so.’
‘I’ll have you know, I was a very fine reporter.’
‘Even if you do say so. I’m happy to go in and talk to her.’
‘No, I’ll do it. It will do me good.’
‘Okay. All right. How old did you say this girl is?’
‘I don’t know. She’s at college but a bit older than your average... why do you ask?’
‘Just wondering.’ Alix gave him a look and a smile.
‘Oh, for goodness sake.’
‘You forget, I’ve seen you work your moves.’
‘You’ve... you mean—’
‘It’s fine. We had a lot to drink. Don’t worry about it.’
‘I wasn’t. At least not until—’
‘Relax, Rob, I’m only winding you up.’
But she was giving him a coy look.
He nodded slowly. She was already leaning half-way across the table to him, her arms folded. He folded his own and matched her position. Their heads were really quite close.
He said quietly, ‘Do you want to know something?’
‘Mmmm-hmmm?’
‘I think it’s time we... got back to work.’ He gave her a wink and pushed up out of his chair. ‘Coming?’ he asked as he began to walk away.
He was grinning to himself. But then he thought he heard her say ‘You wish’. He couldn’t help but burst into laughter. When he turned to her, she looked a bit flushed. ‘I can’t believe I said that,’ she said. ‘Said what?’ Rob asked. ‘Never you mind,’ she answered,
brushing past him.
*
Ten minutes later they were still laughing and joking and winding each other up when they entered the office and Rob stopped short so quickly that Alix stumbled into the back of him. Rob was staring across the office at a tall, striking and somewhat statuesque woman standing talking to Gerry. She was holding two toddlers by the hand. Alix apologized and asked what the matter was, but Rob ignored her. He pushed through the swing door into the office proper.
‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he said. The woman turned. She immediately let go of the toddlers’ hands and they ran into Rob’s arms. He lifted them up and peppered them with kisses. ‘Daddy wasn’t expecting to see you guys,’ he said between hugs.
‘We were able to get an earlier flight,’ said the woman.
Her accent was English, and to Alix’s ears, rather plummy. She was tall, broad-shouldered, almost Amazonian, and pretty with it. She wasn’t even looking at her husband. Her eyes, which appeared large and very blue, were boring straight into Alix.
‘Have you met everyone, then?’ Rob asked.
‘Gerry’s been very patient with me...’
‘My pleasure,’ said Gerry.
‘And this is Alix... one of my reporters. Our reporters. Alix, this is my... Rebecca.’
Rebecca put her hand out. Alix took it.
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ said Alix.
Rebecca, not to mention Rob and Gerry, looked at her as if she was mentally impaired. It had just come out. She was trying to be funny, but it came out as take-the-piss-out-of- my-accent.
Rob tried to cover the embarrassment by jiggling the kids in Alix’s direction and saying, ‘And this is James, and this is Jenny, two little people we got from the circus.’
Rob then ushered Rebecca and the kids into his office as quickly as he could and closed the door. Pete, having missed it all, came out of the kitchen, and asked Alix where she was with the Chinamen story and she hissed at him that she was on it and hurried past him to make a coffee. Janine came up to her as she waited for the kettle to boil and said what a turn-up for the books that was. She knew Rob had kids but thought he was divorced. Maybe he was. But what a beautiful woman. Janine asked what her grip was like and Alix said, ‘What?’
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