Internment

by Gill Mather

  However since a lot of them were private clients paying good money, they had to be pampered and indulged to some extent. Of course it wouldn't have been appropriate to start mouthing off at legally aided clients either, but paying customers could to a slightly greater extent expect their whims to be at least accorded some attention. You couldn’t just say to them that the public purse wouldn't pay for this or that outlandish course of action. You had to be a bit more subtle and suggest they might be wasting their money. But at the end of the day even private clients had to be told that a judge would take a dim view of an application which was vexatious and whose only purpose was to get at the other party or which had no prospect of success at all and that they as Solicitors had a duty not to bring such applications. Thanks goodness they could cite the Resolution Code of Practice and the various Guides to help persuade clients to be more reasonable.

  One such client was sitting the opposite side of the desk from Ali now. Charlotte Tippett, known as Sharl, a year or two younger than Ali herself, being funded and egged on by her nouveau riche parents, was adamant that her husband wasn’t going to see the children.

  “He’s only saying he wants to see them to get at me. He weren’t interested in them when we was together.” She pronounced it “tergevva”.

  When asked to expand, she said that the children were in bed when her husband got home from work and he only played with them at weekends. That he wouldn't be able to cope with the children on his own.

  “How old are they?” Ali looked at the file. The children were aged eighteen months and three years.

  “I imagine they would have been in bed by the time most people get home from work. You say he played with them at weekends though.”

  “Well he minded them while I went out with me mates. He probably didn’t, you know, like actually play with them.”

  “So, how much of the time did he spend with the children at weekends.”

  “Just when I went out. With me mates.”

  “Yes so how often did you go out? Was it during the day or evenings?”

  “Well,” the client said defensively, “I `ad them all week. I’m entitled to a break aren’t I?”

  Ali rifled through the correspondence. “His Solicitors say you went out most weekends for periods ranging from a couple of hours to all day and at least one night most weekends.”

  “So he looked after the kids `cos he had to, not `cos he actually wanted to. That don’t make him a great dad.”

  “Well it makes him look like a responsible one.”

  The client started to get aggressive. “What? Are you saying I’m not a responsible parent then?” And then she came up with the trump card. The type of threat any nasty child would use if it couldn’t get its own way. “I don't ‘ave to use this firm of Solicitors you know. I’m only here `cos my dad says Mr. Trimble’s a great bloke at the company stuff. If I say I’m getting crap service, then my dad’ll take his business elsewhere.”

  Ali tried to calm the girl down though she felt no sympathy for her whatsoever so far. She suspected that Alison felt the same and that was why Ali was seeing her instead. Ali didn’t directly answer the girl’s initial question.

  “Your husband has never made any allegations about your fitness as a mother. That’s not what the dispute is about as I understand it. The children are with you and no-one’s challenging that. We’re just talking about your husband being given the opportunity to see them and moreover them being able to see their father.”

  The client grunted and looked sulky.

  “If their dad is a good dad, then do you agree that they’ll benefit from seeing him.”

  “But he ain’t. He don't care.”

  “Is there anything at all you like about him?”

  “No. He’s a total wanker.”

  “Does he have any friends?”

  “Course he does. Loads of `em.”

  “So other people like him and think he’s OK but you don’t.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So other people, people who like him, may think he’s a good dad.”

  “Well they might.”

  “Obviously you and he don't get on do you?”

  “Not now, no.”

  “But just because the two of you have fallen out, are you saying that that automatically makes him a horrible person and a bad father?”

  “Well no.”

  “So others might think he’s a reasonable father.”

  “Maybe. But it’s not them’s got to hand the kids over to him.”

  “Well perhaps your parents could help with that. You’re living with them at the moment aren't you. Maybe for the time being you could be somewhere else when he came to collect the children.”

  “Gawd. Are you kidding. My mum and dad `ate him. It’s them that….They don't like him anyway.”

  “So why’s that?”

  “Well he’s posher ’an them. They don't like it. `Specially me dad.”

  Ali declined to ask for more detail. So far as she knew, Charlotte’s father was in the scrap business. Anyway it was irrelevant just how much further up the social scale this husband was than these parents who seemed to be prepared to help wreck their daughter’s marriage over some petty sense of inferiority.

  “Do you think you ever had a good marriage?” she asked instead.

  “Well. It was OK to begin with. Yeah. It was…good,” Charlotte said wistfully.

  “So what do you think went wrong?”

  “I s’pose I was a bit young to settle down and have kids. Actually, you probably guessed I was already pregnant when we got married.”

  Ali had indeed already done the basic maths.

  “So what went wrong?” she asked again.

  “Our son Jason cried all night for almost the whole of the first year. I asked my mum and dad if they’d have him for a weekend or two but they wouldn't. I was just exhausted. Then Kyra came along and she was just the same. We rowed a lot. My mates was going out having a good time so my mum says, let Pete look after them. Pete said let them, me mum and dad that is, have the kids and we’ll go out together but me mum and dad wouldn't. We were short of money. I just couldn't cope any more. So I took the kids and went home to my parents.”

  “I’m surprised they agreed. I mean they didn't want to help with babysitting and so on.”

  “They were pleased I’d left him.”

  So these well off parents wouldn't help with a bit of babysitting but now readily agreed apparently to having their daughter and two small children living with them full time. They were also seemingly prepared to finance a potentially contentious and expensive divorce but wouldn't give their daughter a bit of financial help towards keeping her marriage together.

  “Can I ask Charlotte whether you still have feelings for Pete?”

  Charlotte crumpled and started to cry. Ali suddenly felt sorry for this young girl who was being manipulated by her parents into doing what they wanted, regardless of whether it was the best thing for her or not. Ali wanted to go round the desk and put her arm round Charlotte but didn't think it would be very professional.

  “Charlotte. You don't have to go ahead with this divorce if you don't really want to. At least not immediately. There’s really no hurry at all. You can give yourself as much time as you need to decide properly. In the meantime you could see Pete sometimes with the children and just let things take their course until you’re both ready to make a proper decision.”

  “Me mum and dad’d be furious,” Charlotte sobbed.

  “Well they don't have to know do they? You could take the children out somewhere and meet Pete for an hour or so at the weekend. I could try to fix it up with Pete’s Solicitors. I could call them now if you want.”

  Charlotte looked up uncertainly, hanky at her nose. She said nothing, and neither did Ali. She certainly wasn't going to put more pressure on this vulnerable girl.

  “Yes,” Charlotte said at last. “Can you ring them?”

  So Ali did so and
they managed to get Pete on his mobile and made an arrangement for that Saturday afternoon in a park. Charlotte said her dad would be going to watch Colchester play and her mother always went clothes shopping on Saturday afternoons.

  Charlotte bit her lip and asked that no-one at PWT told her dad. Of course not said Ali. Charlotte’s case was entirely confidential and Charlotte went off happier than when she’d come into the office and said she’d let Ali know how it’d gone next week.

  Ali just hoped she’d done the right thing. She made a vague note about the interview and told Alison not much progress had been made.

  CHAPTER 19

  In the clefts of the rock, In the secret places of the stairs

  (The Song of Solomon 2)

  BY THE END OF THE week, Ali couldn't believe she’d actually slept with Hugh. It seemed a couple of centuries ago. She had to pinch herself to know she wasn't dreaming the whole thing. The bathroom encounter had happened on another planet in another galaxy.

  Friday came and, though she was working both nights at the S&S, Ali hoped so much that Hugh would say something. Perhaps an invite to see a film, dinner somewhere. Or just have a coffee together. She’d cheerfully have `phoned in sick and foregone the precious income she earned working at the S&S.

  But all Hugh said when he saw her leaving the office with her bar gear to change into was: “Don’t work too hard.”

  But Friday night was so busy that Ali had no time for once to dwell on the pleasures of the flesh. She didn't finish until 2 a.m. and luckily got a lift home with the manager to spare her father dragging himself out of bed.

  She had thought about going into the office the next day as she knew Hugh often worked Saturday mornings but she was asleep until nearly midday.

  “Mum! Why didn't you wake me up?” she said crossly.

  “You’re wearing yourself out,” was her mother’s reply. “Anyway you’re doing an early shift today aren’t you? You’ll be off again soon. Those skinflint Solicitors certainly don't deserve to have you going into the office on Saturdays as well. They’re working you ragged and not a penny to show for it. Your father’s very unhappy about it. If it goes on much longer I think he’ll march in there and say something.” And on and on and on.

  “Well that’s filled in half an hour nicely,” said Ali huffily. “I’ll barely have time to shower and get changed now.”

  She was starting at 4 p.m. and finishing at elevenish. Again it was busy. The tips were good and Ali thought she might even be able to afford that strapless number she had her eye on for Jan and Matt’s sixth anniversary bash.

  At ten thirty five she was winding down when she saw a figure at the end of the bar nursing a Coke. Ali had barely if ever seen Hugh out of a suit and had to double take. He hadn't shaved, his hair was tousled and he looked younger and utterly gorgeous in very tight jeans and a slim fitting shirt.

  Ali finished serving her customer and went over. They looked at each other. Her heart missed a beat and she couldn't tear her eyes away. Her mouth went dry and she moistened her top lip slowly with her tongue. She didn't mean it to be provocative but perhaps it looked that way.

  “Will you come home with me?” he said.

  Ali blushed all over and had to fight off a wave of lust. To hide it she gave a silly saccharine smile and said in a rather high voice:

  “Oh. How nice. Thank you very much.”

  Hugh looked at her strangely.

  “I’d better go and `phone my dad or he’ll be turning out soon.”

  And she tottered off on legs of jelly to where they hung their outdoor clothes and rifled in her coat pocket for her mobile. Her mother answered sleepily and when Ali said she didn't need a lift and would probably stay the night at a friend’s, her mother said:

  “Is it a young man?”

  “Oh well….er…it’s er.…”

  “You will be careful won't you Ali? Good night dear.” And her mother put the `phone down.

  “The car’s in the car park at the front. I’ll go and wait for you,” said Hugh when she got back.

  It was about another ten minutes before Ali slipped in beside Hugh. He was listening to the news and moved off as soon as she had strapped up.

  Neither of them said anything. Ali looked at Hugh. He seemed to be giving off waves of electricity. At least that’s how it felt. She was physically uncomfortable, hot and breathless and like a balloon about to burst. She touched his left hand and he let her take it off the steering wheel and draw it to her mouth and kiss it. He stopped the car and took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.

  “Oh Ali,” he said. “I’ve missed you so.”

  Ali could say nothing at all.

  It seemed a lifetime before they got to the public footpath. He put his arm around her and she managed to control herself until they got inside the house. He kissed her hands, undid her blouse and kissed and licked the tops of her breasts showing above her bra while running his hands up and down her body and through her hair.

  “We should go upstairs,” he said thinking about the spiders, so they did.

  Before long she was begging him to enter her. And he kept on kissing her. Most men didn't do that. It was intoxicating. And he didn't go in for all that enthusiastic thrusting either that most men seemed to think would transport a woman to another plane. He was firm and gentle and Ali wound her legs around his and they moved perfectly together. He kissed her all the time with his tongue deep in her mouth. Just like last time it went on for a long time. She’d had no idea before that orgasms could be so frequently and easily come by or so knee tremblingly volcanic. She wondered briefly how Hugh did it for so long but who could care.

  Afterwards he kissed her gently all over until she went to sleep sighing deeply.

  IF POSSIBLE, THE next morning was even better. Ali felt dizzy from it, but strangely dissatisfied and unsettled, as though, having experienced such heights, she was never going to be able to get enough of it. She couldn't keep her hands off him. When he got up to go to the loo or get them a cup of tea, she felt as though a large part of her had been wrenched away and she wanted to run after him and attach herself to him to be complete again. What was she going to do when she went home that night? She literally choked at the thought of it.

  “You all right?” said Hugh when he came back with their second cup of tea.

  “Yes,” she said rolling her eyes and breathing hard into the pillow so he couldn't see her face.

  “What do you want to do today?”

  Ali had had to laugh.

  “We could go to a pub somewhere and get lunch or go for a bracing walk. The public footpath has some wonderful views further along. Why are you laughing?”

  She looked at his kind concerned face and wanted to take it in her hands and kiss it forever. She wanted to tell him she loved him to distraction, that she was bereft when he wasn't within a few inches of her. She wanted to crawl right inside his body and be absorbed into him.

  “Now why are you looking so sad?”

  Ali pulled herself together. “A walk sounds lovely.”

  She couldn't eat any breakfast. Her stomach was churning. Sick of love, wasn't that what The Song said. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.

  The walk was nice. With her arm through his, Ali just about managed.

  Hugh cooked them something stir-fried for lunch. And afterwards, amazingly, they went back to bed. And then he took her home. Ali asked to be dropped some way from her home. She didn't want any invites in for coffee and a thinly veiled grilling.

  Before she got out of the car she asked the second most important question that had been troubling her on the journey back.

  “So. No names, no pack-drill again this week?”

  “I think it’s for the best. For the time being.”

  So no updating of her Facebook page then to tell the world that Ali and Hugh were an item. No twitters with veiled references to their activities. No instant messaging all her friends and ass
ociates about his exceptionally wonderful qualities.

  He looked at Ali. “You know what dreadful gossips they are in the office, some of them. Those girls!” He shook his head. “I don't want you being subjected to smirks and innuendo.”

  “Right,” said Ali who would willingly have swapped the cloying silence about their relationship for a bit of harmless nudging and winking. “But I don't care about that.”

  “Well I do. I don't want you to lose respect. And as for me. It would make me look somewhat predatory don't you think. Having a steamy relationship with a junior unpaid member of the firm.” He smiled. “And you could hardly go about telling everyone you had seduced me.”

  Ali didn't say anything.

  “Let’s just give it a little while shall we and see what happens.”

  “Right,” she said again and got out of the car. “See you tomorrow.”

  The first question had been when she was going to see him again, as in see him. But she didn't want to appear too limpet-like.

  And when she got in she raced up to her room and stayed there.

  MONDAYS ARE ALWAYS dull and miserable. This one was actually bright and warm and Ali made a pact with herself to turn over a new leaf and concentrate on her career. PWT knew she was looking for a training contract and so allowed her to spend any free time on the internet looking for possible openings and sending out hopeful CVs. First thing Monday morning wasn't the best time to look for new stuff but she tried anyway.

  There were a few possibilities. She now had about four months’ experience so it wasn't almost nothing any more.

  A large firm in Chelmsford, Lakes, were looking for paralegals with a view to possible training contracts so she filled in the online application form and uploaded her CV. Might lead to something.

  There were similar situations on the website of a smaller more specialised firm in Cambridge. They were big in civil rights. Unlikely she’d get one but she had to try. In the unlikely event she was successful, it would be a bit of a hike to Cambridge every day. Maybe her parents would help her out to get a small car and she could do a travel-share. It would cost an arm and a leg by train and take hours.