Papercuts

by Colin Bateman

  ‘Her handshake? Warm? Strong? Clammy?’

  ‘I didn’t really notice.’

  ‘You can tell a lot by a handshake. She couldn’t take her eyes off you, noticed that.’

  ‘Maybe she’s a lesbian,’ said Alix.

  ‘That must be it,’ said Janine. She pointed a finger at Alix. ‘Leave you to it. But chin up.’

  And then she was away before Alix could ask her what she meant.

  In his office, Rob installed the two kids on his swivel chair and quickly called up an old Tom and Jerry from YouTube. Rebecca stood looking out at the newsroom. Alix came in carrying a coffee and sat at a desk.

  ‘She seems nice,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘What?’ said Rob, looking up from the screen.

  ‘The girl. You seem to get on very well.’

  ‘Who, Alix? Yes, she is nice. But all strictly professional.’

  ‘It’s okay, Rob.’

  ‘What’s okay?’

  ‘For you to meet someone else.’

  ‘I haven’t met someone else.’

  ‘Okay. Whatever you say.’ She moved back across to the desk, and stood with him, looking down at the screen. She stroked Jenny’s hair. ‘You’re happy here?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s fine. But it’s temporary. Soon as the other stuff is sorted, I’m gone. You know that.’ He smiled down at the toddlers, who had been immediately mesmerized by the antics of the cartoon mouse and cat. ‘Thanks for bringing them.’

  ‘They need to see their dad in the flesh.’

  Rob ruffled Jimmy’s hair. Jimmy pushed his hand away.

  ‘They’ve grown,’ Rob said.

  ‘Rob, you Skype them three times a day.’

  Rob raised his hands and held them about a foot apart. ‘On Skype,’ he said, ‘they’re about this size. Anyway – what about you, have you met someone?’

  Rebecca looked at him for a little too long before she said, ‘No, of course not.’

  *

  The court ended, finally, at about four. The last hour had been spent on a careless-driving case that was boring in the extreme and would make about a paragraph in the paper, but he’d had no choice but to sit through it and await the inevitable outcome. Guilty as charged. Michael was just crossing back on to Main Street when he heard a clip- clopping behind him and the lovely girl from before drew up alongside.

  ‘Thought it was you!’ Shona gasped. ‘You move at some speed.’

  ‘Well, y’know,’ said Michael, ‘stories to write.’ But he slowed his pace.

  ‘So tell me,’ the girl said, ‘how come you live here and I’ve never seen you around?’

  ‘Ah, well, y’see – I’ve only recently moved down, when I got the job. I’m from Belfast really, Holywood Road.’

  ‘Ah right, that’s why – I mean, small town, even if you don’t know everyone, you kind of recognize their faces. How’re you finding it? Not a bad wee spot, is it?’

  ‘Loving it,’ said Michael.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, mostly. Don’t really know my way around prop- erly yet.’

  ‘Do you ever go to the Goat’s Toe?’

  ‘The wah...?’

  ‘The Goat’s Toe? It’s a pub. They’ve great wee bands on most weekends.’

  ‘Oh – right, yeah, I think I’ve been past it, never been in. I usually go home on weekends, you know, Belfast...’

  ‘One of my mates is having a party there on Saturday. I mean, it’s open to the public and all. You should come down. I’ll even buy you a pint.’

  Michael could feel himself blushing again. He said, ‘That would be really... nice...’

  ‘Nice...’ the girl laughed, ‘is that the best I get? Sure your old granny is nice...’

  ‘I didn’t mean...’

  She was laughing again. He laughed, too.

  He was more than half-way back to the office, but he was debating continuing on past.

  She said, ‘That was a real drag in there, wasn’t it? In the court? But my bro didn’t do badly, did he? I mean, £75 fine, that’s not so bad. Coulda been sent away.’

  She stopped suddenly. Michael, surprised, took another few steps before he realized. She was standing, brow furrowed, looking worried and rather pale.

  ‘Are you all—?’

  ‘Yes – yes, fine. Really. Are you... I mean, do you have to go back to work right away?’

  ‘Well, I...’

  ‘Do you fancy getting a coffee? That court really freaked me out.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Michael, ‘that would be really... nice...’

  *

  Rebecca, Alix decided, had thick ankles. Which matched her thick legs. Come to think of it, her back looked quite thick too, and slightly hunched.

  Rob had walked Rebecca and the kids as far as the corner of the street and was now turning back towards the office. Alix kept her eyes down as she unlocked her car. She got in, closed the door and started the engine; then there was a tap on the window. Rob nodded in at her. She managed a quick smile as she brought the window down.

  ‘Off anywhere nice?’

  ‘Pete talked to a guy from the Border Agency, he’s willing to meet for a coffee.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s off the record. I wanted to do it over the phone but he said he couldn’t be sure I wasn’t recording it, so it’s face to face.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll get what you need.’

  He nodded. She nodded.

  She said, eventually, ‘Your wife seems nice.’

  ‘Up to a point, yes she is. Was just seeing them off. We’re separated.’

  ‘None of my business, Rob,’ said Alix.

  ‘No, I know... I mean... I’m just saying. It’s not a secret.’

  ‘Well, sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Sorry you’re separated. It can’t be easy.’

  ‘No. I mean, yes, it’s the right thing, but hard... on the kids, and not seeing them.’

  Alix nodded. ‘Anyway...’ she said, ‘time and the Border Agency wait for no man, or woman...’ She realized she was babbling, but couldn’t help herself. ‘Better hit the road.’

  Rob stood back. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘don’t take no prisoners.’

  She blinked at him. ‘Okay.’

  Alix put the car into reverse and started to move back. Rob waved her off. She waved back. Her car was an automatic, so there was no clutch for her to rest her left foot on. Instead her whole leg jangled up and down, beating out a distress rhythm in Morse code, at least until she realized what she was doing.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ she said out loud.

  She drove to the shopping centre on the edge of town. She met the Border Agency guy in a Costa Coffee. As arranged, she carried a folded copy of the Express; he was sitting right at the back, leaning back against the wall so that he had a clear view of everyone else in the restaurant and anyone else who came in. He looked nervous. Anxious. She crossed to his table and introduced herself; she asked if he wanted a coffee, but he indicated the full cup in front of him; she said she would pop up and get one for herself, and he looked pained at that. Alix went anyway. She had already deduced that this guy was a bit of a twat. They usually were, these government types, deluded as to their importance to the grand scheme of things. She would have her coffee. And buns. She came back with them and he gave her a look that said he didn’t have all day, although being a civil servant meant that he probably did. She took out her notebook and asked him if he minded. He gave a slight shake of the head and said, ‘No names.’

  She said, ‘Too late, I’ve already given you mine.’

  He did not smile. He stirred sugar into his coffee. He said in a dull monotone: ‘Anna Ng. Her visa ran out four months ago, and there probably wouldn’t have been a problem renewing it back then, but after so long – we’ve been told to take a harder line.’

  ‘It does seem very hard.’

  ‘No, actually, all we’re doing is enforcing the rules that
are already there.’

  ‘The raid on the restaurant – was that just a random check?’

  His eyes shifted to the door and back. ‘No, we were acting on specific information.’

  ‘You mean a tip-off?’ He nodded. ‘Where does that sort of thing usually come from?’

  ‘Usually from a member of the public, or perhaps a business rival.’

  ‘So someone phones up and maybe says there’s half a dozen illegals working in such-and-such a place...’

  ‘Usually.’ He hesitated then. He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Not in this case. The information we received was specifically about this girl. The other lads were a happy accident.’ He reached into his jacket and removed a folded sheet of paper. He opened it, then scrutinized the clientele of the café. When he was satisfied nobody was watching he put the paper down on the table and then pushed it across to Alix. ‘The caller was anonymous. But this is the number it was called in from.’

  Alix could not help but look surprised. It was not what she had expected at all. She studied the number, then nodded across at her informant and said, ‘Thanks, that’s brilliant.’

  She said it was brilliant, but she wasn’t sure that it was. It wasn’t the type of story she was planning on writing, and she wasn’t sure what difference it made to Anna’s situation. Perhaps if she worked for a tabloid or a daily newspaper she might have found some use for it, but as it was this was just the number for someone sneaky. The man from the Border Agency was already pulling his coat on. He said, ‘Tell Pete that’s us even, and not to call me again.’

  He would have walked off without another word if Alix hadn’t said, ‘Excuse me – but what’s going to happen to Anna?’

  ‘That,’ said the border agent, ‘isn’t my department. But usually – I’m not saying she won’t be able to renew her visa, but she might have to go back to China to do it.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do to help her?’

  ‘Look – everything feeds down from the top. We just do what we’re told. But they do respond to bad publicity, or maybe to politicians getting involved.’ He gave her a quick nod and then was gone.

  Alix sat with her bun and her coffee and looked at the piece of paper. It wasn’t exactly WikiLeaks. She sighed. She folded it away. Then she looked at her bun. She took the smallest bite out of it. It had looked fabulous, and now it tasted fabulous. But she pushed the rest of it away. She didn’t want to end up with thick ankles.

  *

  It was a weekly newspaper, but since Rob’s arrival it now boasted a Facebook page, a Twitter feed and a website that did something more than just try to sell you a subscription. The content on the website was free; it showed a selection of the best stories from the previous week’s paper, and also regular daily updates. Not everything that appeared in the paper was displayed on the website and vice versa. Nowadays a lot of the boring guff that the editor had felt obliged to print in the past turned up on the site instead – at least that way there was a public record but they didn’t have to add expensive extra pages no one was really interested in to the paper. Rob thought it was a good idea to run edited versions of the court reports almost as soon as the petty sessions finished – if readers wanted to find out all of the salacious details, they would have to buy a hard copy. He knew from the stats that this was the most visited section of the site. So the pressure was on for Michael to get his reports out quickly. He worked methodically through them as soon as he got back to the office; he wrote good, clean, crisp copy and delivered it to Pete; Pete pointed out a couple of errors, but said Michael’s first solo effort was reasonably good. This, from Pete, was like getting the Nobel Prize for Literature. Michael gave an appreciative nod, while inside his soul did a few cartwheels and a handstand. There was no hanging around either – twenty minutes after he delivered his final case, they were all up on the website. Thirty minutes later Pete took a phone call, and his face, dour and pale normally, grew more animated and puce the longer it went on. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t giving him time to respond; he only managed a few buts and honestly, madams and if you could just before being mercilessly shut down. Michael tapped away on his next story, but couldn’t resist a little smirk; it wasn’t often he saw Pete on the back foot; rattled, even.

  When he came off the call, Pete didn’t say anything. He resumed his subbing. When it was coffee-break time he got up to go to the kitchen, but then said, ‘Michael, could I have a word?’

  Michael jumped up and bounced in after him, all right with the world and determined not to let old misery guts bring him down. Pete was leaning against the counter, arms folded, looking grim. He said, ‘We’ve had a complaint.’

  ‘We’re always having complaints,’ Michael said, moving across to pour himself a cup, ‘people get annoyed by everything...’

  ‘A complaint about one of your cases.’

  And that stopped him. Suddenly alarm bells were going off. He was aware that his face was reddening.

  ‘Mine?’ he asked innocently, though he was also aware that it sounded a bit like a squeak.

  ‘Some fella called Declan Connelly was done for joyriding this morning.’

  ‘Yes, he was. He was fined, as I recall. Joyriding.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, it seems he’s just been round to the woman whose car he stole, who at considerable risk to herself called the police and appeared as a witness, and he started boasting that he’d fixed it so that his name wouldn’t appear in our paper. I checked the story, Michael. There’s a Declan Donnelly, not Connelly.’

  ‘Shite,’ said Michael, ‘I’m sorry, Pete, I must have pressed D instead of C.’

  ‘And you also accidentally gave him an entirely different address.’

  ‘Oh – Christ. I’m sorry – I must have got him mixed up with someone else.’

  ‘Really, Michael?’

  There was sweat rolling down Michael’s brow now. He avoided eye contact. He pretended to look about for the sugar to put in his coffee.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said, ‘and sorry. It’s my first time and... swear to God, it won’t happen again.’

  ‘I’m not sure he’s the best person to swear to Michael, because he’s less forgiving than I am. Y’see, Declan Connelly was boasting about it before the case even went live on our site.’

  ‘That’s not poss—’

  ‘Michael.’

  His eyes finally moved up to meet Peter’s. ‘It’s not what...’

  ‘The truth please.’

  Michael put a hand to his forehead and rubbed at it. ‘It... Someone asked me to leave it out.’

  ‘For Godsake, Michael...’

  ‘I know, but they said their mum was seriously ill and if she saw it in the paper it would finish her off, and all I did was change it a wee tiny bit and the address is actually his sister’s address and he stays there all the time and—’

  ‘Michael!’

  ‘I didn’t think it would do any harm...’

  ‘You didn’t bloody think at all! Michael – it’s a basic principal and you know it – every name goes in. Even if the boss gets done for speeding, it goes in. It’s the only fair way. And if we start to leave things out, change the facts when we feel like it, then people think we don’t give a shit about the truth, then they’ll stop believing anything we write. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes! I’m sorry. I didn’t...’

  ‘Just get out of my sight, Michael.’ Michael stood there, shaking his head. ‘I’m serious! Get out of here before I fucking clout you!’

  Michael let out a loud sigh and moved to the door. He hesitated. ‘Pete... I really am sorry. What... what’re you going to do?’

  ‘Me? Nothing. It’s not really up to me, is it? It’s up to Rob.’

  ‘Rob? But, sure, you think he’s a...’

  ‘I know exactly what he is, Michael, and he still is. And no matter what I think of him, I care about this paper, and I care about its reputation, and I care about journalism. And you’ve crossed the line.
’

  Pete lifted his cup and brushed past Michael. He marched straight across to Rob’s office; Michael felt like his heart and stomach had dropped out of him; he had been stupid, stupid, stupid, head turned by a pretty girl and now he was going to get sacked for it.

  But Rob was still out.

  Pete gave Michael a withering look and returned wordlessly to his desk. Michael sloped into his. There was no relief. It was only a delay in execution.

  *

  Because Rob was new in town, and didn’t really know his way around yet, the Hong Kong Palace had become quite a comfort to him. But now, he realized, he could never go there again. It was part of a story, an important enough story in its own way, but even after it was printed and long forgotten by the readers, its very existence would create a barrier; if Mr Smith was unhappy with it, even if he was happy with it, it would alter their relationship. He would no longer be an anonymous customer. If they hated the story they would spit in his curry; if they loved it they would give him extra portions. He said all this on the phone to Alix that night. He had called to check how she was getting on and to fill her in on his meeting with Anna; he didn’t stop to think that it was a conversation they could and perhaps should have had in work the next morning, at least until she’d already answered and immediately asked about Rebecca. He told her his wife was out with the kids with friends in Belfast; there was a little bit of coolness; but he kept talking and she slowly warmed up. When he told her about his reluctance to return to the Hong Kong Palace because of the story, that it would compromise his journalistic principles to dine there, she immediately said, ‘That’s bollocks. We had a court case about someone getting done for shoplifting in Tesco’s last week – are you never doing your weekly shop there again?’

  ‘I go to Sainsbury’s,’ said Rob.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘It just doesn’t... feel right.’