Cause And Effect

by Pete Adams

  ‘Sorry, Len, back to work, eh?’

  ‘No,’ and Len smacked a labour party membership card onto the table.

  ‘Len, I don’t know what to say?’

  ‘All evidence to the contrary.’

  ‘But, in the interview room, you said you voted Tory?’

  ‘I knew where you were coming from, and Buddha was a filthy paedophile, so I humoured you, within the scope of my representation of course, and it worked, did it not?’

  ‘It bloody did that, son,’ and Jack felt better than he had done for a very long time, his body coursed with energy, and felt the invigoration he usually felt after sex; he was alive.

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘Yes, my old china, Christ I didn’t just say that out loud did I?’

  ‘No, but I know one thing... actually two.’

  ‘Okay, son, fire away,’ just a little Riverdance, and Jack started dancing and listening, arms by his side, eyes down admiring his shuffling feet, thought he could have been a dancer, had even considered ballet, but his feet were too big for the poncy shoes.

  ‘One, Mandy cares about you a lot.’

  Jack stopped dancing and looked at Len. ‘Second?’

  ‘She has a point about your listening.’

  ‘Ha,’ and Jack leapt, bent his arms; he was doing “Step in Time,” and Len enjoying watching, answered his phone on, “Let’s go fly a kite, although the weather’s shite.”

  ‘Len, what’s that racket?’

  ‘Should I offer you some guesses, Mandy?’

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘In one, he’s still in deep doo-doo, but he’s happy, seemed worried he had spoken some of his thoughts.’

  Mandy hemmed, ‘He does that.’

  ‘Well, he did, but I said he didn’t, I do not want to know about your sex life. Mandy, are you there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s okay, I have finally started working with real people. I’m going to wrap up soon, but tell me one thing?’

  ‘Anything, Len?’

  ‘What comes after Mary Poppins?’

  Mandy laughed and suggested he make a run for it.

  Forty-Seven

  Mandy put the phone down, wishing she had kept the conversation going so she could hear her plonker of a man happy in the background. I’ll give this for Jack, she thought, when he bounces back, and she spent the rest of the morning, lunchtime and afternoon with a glowing sensation that made her want to step-in-time.

  Jo-Jums led the team debrief, Paolo had wrapped up the skinheads, one or two leads but nobody was holding their breath. Chilly had caved when he learned the women were ready to testify; Mandy felt pleased Meesh could stay out of it. Jo-Jums had worked the conspiracy angle and determined there was a person or persons unknown who funded the skinheads, as well as an Islamic cell, maybe, as Jack had intimated, to generate street discord, codenamed Moriarty, currently reading Boratarty on the crime wall, in a box now, with lines coming out of it to other fields of the investigation; a growing web of intrigue. Finally, the drugs set up was to be allowed to run under Cyrano, this could be funding the conspiracy, and so may prove a better route to the instigators; a leg on the crime wall back to the spider.

  Mandy reported to the Commander and Chief Constable and they decided how much to reveal. Spotty was called in for the latter part of the meeting. Mandy turned things over in her head, work, and personal thoughts. She had been flustered this morning, Liz and Carly still at her home. She had not allowed for the abandonment of youth, and her own confused feelings seeing her daughter happy with a woman. Most of all she thought about Jack. Worrying had clearly been a waste of time as Len had done the trick. She thought about the sex; there was time to work on that, but it was nice. Thought about him looking at her and how much she liked it, looked at Spotty, who was not so much leering as drooling.

  ‘Mandy, want to share your thoughts?’ The Chief Constable asked.

  ‘I was thinking I ought to poke Spotty’s eyes out.’ The Chief, Commander and Mandy shared enjoying the bemused look on Spotty. ‘Spotty, you will get better looking at women, but a tip, we always know, it’s whether we allow you to continue to look.’

  Jack was aware Michael and Colleen were hesitant around him. He reassured them he was now as right as rain, ‘Well I would be if I could find the biscuits, and had a cup of girl grey to watch Amanda on the telly.’

  ‘Sit down, Dad,’ Michael switched the telly on and handed his dad the conch, the TV controller; “Whoever had the conch has control,” he would say, "Lord of the Files." Jack turned the sound down on the telly.

  Colleen sat on the settee, ‘You okay, Jack?’

  ‘Shush, I’m trying to listen where he’s hidden the biscuits.’

  ‘Oh, Jack,’ and she rushed to his lughole, ‘let’s go fly a kite although the weather’s shite,’ she sung.

  ‘Colleen, you’re too smart for my son. How’s your dad these days?’

  ‘Pretty much as you, my mum stops him from punching Michael’s lights out, but he knows I’m happy.’

  He hemmed, ‘It’s hard being a parent.’

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The telly’s starting.’

  ‘Probably time to get your mum and dad round for dinner, what d’you think?’

  Michael came in, ‘Coooeeh light refreshments.’

  ‘He does it better than you, and I will ask them.’

  ‘Ask who what, babes?’ Michael asked, setting a tray onto a side table.

  ‘Jack wanted Mum and Dad round for dinner.’

  ‘Yeah, what with Martin being with Meesh, we have a lot of food over,’ Jack jibed.

  ‘Oh good, I like my dad with a shiny nose,’ Colleen quipped, and Jack thought last word, she is good, then turned his attention to the telly, his mug of girl grey and a couple of ginger nuts.

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Sorry, I was thinking about Biscuit, it’s his funeral tomorrow.’

  ‘You going?’

  ‘I am, darlin’...’ his mind now pleasantly distracted watching Mandy, she’d let Spotty lead to stop him looking at her arse, thought, one arse man knows another arse man. He took a sip of his tea, dunked his ginger nut and saw a stunned Colleen. ‘What? I didn’t just say that out loud did I?’ Part of the ginger nut fell into his girl grey, ‘Feck.’

  Colleen was not one to be deterred by a minor dunking incident, ‘You did, and I will be keeping my arse out of your line of sight in future.’

  ‘Too late, sweet’art.’

  Mandy summarised the briefing notes, wrapped up the charges, and introduced the conspiracy thesis they had settled on. Jack had asked for a link to the local demos, and finally she reported that lines of enquiry were still open, principally looking for whoever set this in motion.

  Mandy had arranged for Spotty to call on Bernie, who she had conspiratorially primed, ‘Commander, can you tell us how Inspector Austin is please, I understand the request for the tribunal to be postponed has been turned down by the Chairman of the Police Committee?’ a polite reference to Pugwash, also what she had agreed.

  The Commander answered as agreed, ‘Inspector Austin was blown up in an operation rescuing a young boy and two civilians. He slowly recovers and we have high hopes he will be back leading his team soon. We are, of course, disappointed the tribunal is even taking place, and the fact a postponement was not allowed...’ he paused, ‘...it would be an understatement to say I am disappointed.’

  ‘Superintendent, would you say this is a result?’ a follow up.

  ‘I’m pleased we have a number of perpetrators charged,’ Mandy answered, ‘but as Inspector Austin said the other day, the leaders are still out there, so success? No, we have a police officer’s funeral tomorrow, another woman died, and there are women and children scarred for life. So, not a result, in so much as we will celebrate, more a catalyst to drive on.’

  A BBC Journalist pushed, ‘Commander, can you comment on how your ability to pursue this investigat
ion will be hampered by the proposed spending cuts, and can you comment on the reported conversation Inspector Austin had with the Home Secretary?’

  ‘The Police do not comment on Government policy.’ The Commander responded, a chuckle from the journalists. ‘Superintendent Bruce will answer the second part of your question.’

  ‘Thank you, Commander,’ Mandy paused. ‘It is important to remember Inspector Austin had just been blown up, and it came as a surprise to him the Home Secretary had been listening in to what Jack thought was a personal conversation.’

  ‘Superintendent, is it true he called the Home Secretary a “short arsed bald cretin”?’

  She smiled and replied coolly, ‘As I said, DI Austin had just survived an explosion and the fact he thought he was talking to Bill Vague is a reasonable mistake to make.’ There was more laughter as everyone caught on to the subtlety of her reply. ‘However, I can tell you when Theresa Green visited Jack in hospital, he was able to say he thought she had more hair than comes over on the telly,’ the press were enjoying themselves. ‘Seriously, and despite Inspector Austin’s well-known political views, he appreciated the hospital visit from the Home Secretary and the encouraging sign was they shared a joke or two, his, and she laughed, so there may be something to worry about with the Home Secretary; he did say she had nice wellingtons, but he had just been blown up.’

  Mandy stood and let Spotty lead them out. She knew Jack would be watching and he did not need to see a young lad leering at her bottom, that was his job, and long may it last.

  Forty-Eight

  Jack was asleep in the armchair when Mandy came in at about nine; is this prophetic she thought? So what if it was, the butterflies were fluttering, and in that she trusted. He opened his eye, she was on her knees, between his legs and looking straight at him.

  ‘How’d you get in?’

  ‘I cut myself a key.’

  ‘Should I be alarmed?’

  ‘Not unless you have someone else in your bed?’

  ‘You’re all I need sweet’art.’

  She leaned over and they kissed, ‘Right answer,’ and they went up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Jack was out of practice on the bra strap, but there was time she thought, and he still had his pink hand.

  The next day was Biscuit’s funeral. Mandy stayed home with Jack, they cuddled and talked, Mandy about Liz and Carly, her feelings and asked how he knew, similarly with Frankie and Connie? “A twitching in his eye,” he irritatingly said. She stroked and kissed it gently. ‘It’s like you’re a Klingon?’ Jo-Jums could speak Klingon, he told her. ‘Tell me, Jack.’

  ‘Luv, truthfully, I don’t know, but I spent a lot of my younger life trying to figure women, even started reading Venus and Mars but had to stop.’

  ‘The fact you started is impressive, why did you stop?’

  Was she ready for his home-grown philosophy? Was he brave enough to impart it? Throwing in a contingency wince, he chanced his arm, ‘Since the sixties, men, me in particular, have been trying hard to be what is now termed politically correct, to go out of their way to put themselves into the position of women and to understand them, presuming this is what women wanted? In my view, that’s when men started to lose their identities as men. This is not a chauvinist argument, what women have achieved is right and proper and about time. My view is that if you can be a decent man, you can have a decent relationship with a woman, as a man, and we are different. I try to understand women, but it’s an impossible task and has the potential to destroy a relationship, because it’s a lifetime goal that may only partially be achieved. If you expect instant results, you are doomed. I tried, but never really understood Kate.’ Mandy had a momentary flutter. ‘Right or wrong, this is how I lead my life, how I have spoken to Michael and Alana when they asked,’ he laughed nervously, ‘what is it?’

  She looked into his soul, ‘Colleen and Michael have gone to school, we can make a noise.’

  They slept a little more and when Jack came back from the bathroom, Mandy was awake, ‘Give that week or two, sweet’art.’

  ‘Jack!’

  He smiled, having just demonstrated clear differences between men and women, ‘Relaxacat, I’ve run you a bath in the other bathroom, it’s ready, but I want to wash you.’

  Mandy felt titillated, ‘There’s no time, but you once took a rain-check on my bath at home.’

  ‘Taps in the middle?’ and he put his head to one side and grinned, recalling the phone conversation outside C&A’s.

  ‘Do you want to stay at my place tonight?’

  ‘Mandy, I would love to have a bath at your place, I’ve a feeling I might get dirty today.’

  ‘Just get dirty tonight,’ and she ran tippy toes to the other bathroom.

  Returning she felt aglow from the bath and had a double take as she entered the bedroom, Jack stood, dapper, in a smooth, charcoal grey suit, white shirt and a black and white jazzy bow tie, a black silk hanky in his top pocket.

  ‘Close your mouth, we are not a codfish,’ he said.

  ‘You look stunning.’

  ‘So do you, luv.’ She smiled and waltzed to where her own grey suit hung, and started to get dressed. ‘I’ll make some coffee, thought we could stop off somewhere for brunch as the sceptic tanks say?’

  ‘Lovely, is that what the Yanks say?’

  As Mandy drove off, she took Jack’s good hand and put it on her thigh, a flutter of concern, ordinarily she would have to knock it off, not put it on. His hand was there now, smoothing and stroking, ‘Sorry, luv, I was thinking about Biscuit, do I detect a button here?’

  ‘It is a suspender button, Jack, do I have your attention now?’

  ‘Mandy, it’s not just sex, I love you, and I’m thinking of taking you on a date.’

  She laughed into the steering wheel, ‘A date? Now you’re cooking.’

  Jack put his serious head on, she noticed, and paid attention, ‘Amanda, do you mind if I ask you something?’

  She seized, ‘No?’

  ‘Do you fuck on your first date or do I go home and masturbate?’

  ‘No hope of you growing up, I suppose?’

  ‘What and lose my boyish charm.’

  ‘I’ve got news for you, boy.’

  Mandy turned down towards the Roman fort and the small village of Portchester; a nice pub for lunch.

  Forty-Nine

  They were at the crematorium in plenty of time. Mandy helped Jack from the car, he was still sore, they kissed and she straightened his bow tie. ‘You know you have style.’ She put her arm in his and they walked towards the chapel; the first time I have put my arm in his she thought, and snuggled into him.

  ‘Cold?’ Jack asked.

  It was a glorious day, but there was a cooling breeze, not quite summer. ‘No, I’m feeling a bit Roman Candle, enjoying the feeling of being with you, is that bad?’

  Jack stopped and turned, ‘Yes, you are a very bad girl.’

  ‘Oooh, and what are you going to do about it?’ Mandy replied with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Later.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve gone all weak at the knees, Master.’

  ‘A bit unseemly?’

  ‘Hello, Sir, have you met my Master, Jane?’ Mandy replied to the Commander, ‘you may not recognise him, a suit, bow tie and no mango.’

  ‘Poncey if you ask me,’ the Commander replied, standing with Dorothy, his wife.

  ‘Delores you look lovely.’ The Commander went to correct Jack, thought better of it.

  They headed towards a large gathering of blue uniforms which Jack thought should have been furtive guys in trench coats. Mandy peeled off to greet people, he felt a momentary panic, and Mandy noticed. Christ she thought, and pushed her way back and raised herself to his ear, ‘I’m with you.’ She felt him grip her arm; he’s not even close, and then, of course, this was where Kate was cremated.

  The cortège stopped at the approach road. Uniformed officers lined up behind for the last few hundred metres, and at a snail's pace, it ea
sed to the chapel doors. The family stepped out of the following cars and Biscuit’s widow walked determinably to Jack, a fixed stare before she slapped his face, hard. There was a collective intake of breath from mourners as she put her arms around his neck, hugged, and kissed him. Mandy heard what was whispered as she gently released the sobbing widow’s arms. Jack blubbered also, a blossoming red mark on his good cheek.

  The widow tugged Jack and started to walk back, beckoning Mandy to follow. She did, feebly, wobbling in high heels, whispering, ‘What the fuck Jack?’ He put his arm around her waist to steady her and they stood with the family. The coffin was hoisted on the pallbearers’ shoulders and they processed.

  In the chapel, Mrs Biscuit directed Jack and Mandy into a pew behind the immediate family; Stairway to Heaven played. Mandy whispered in Jack’s ear, taking a discreet look back at Father Mike, resentful he was there, ‘What did she mean Del-Boy had been to see her? You knew Biscuit, didn’t you? That was why you were so upset, wasn’t it?’

  Jack nodded, he was crying, and Mandy felt simultaneously anger and guilt for tackling him. The Vicar was on his feet to start the ceremony. Jack thought this should have been Father Mike and looked around, saw Mike, and also the knob dignitaries; Top Cops, Councillors, at least Pugwash hadn’t shown, he was worried about that and how he would have reacted. The ceremony stumbled on, and Jack was shaken from his thoughts when the widow got up to speak, her children clinging to the hem of her skirt, to be gently steered back to their seats by the sister. The commotion eased, and she spoke of Biscuit, a good husband and father, ‘I had agreed the Chief Constable would say a few words, but it should be someone who really knew my husband. If Inspector Austin would do my family that kindness?’

  She strode deliberately to Jack and Mandy thought she was going to slap him again, and thought, go for it girl. But the widow gently sought his hand, tugged, hugged and kissed him, as he stood. Mandy felt confused, jealous; how can I be so unreasonable? The widow sat, clutched her children as Jack made his way to the coffin and rested his hand on it, his good one, the pink one swung by his side. Mandy saw his pink hand, his eye, and all of his flaws, but most of all saw he was struggling to get going.