by D J Harrison
‘To set against this, we have an intelligent, able young lady with a good job and more than adequate income. You have no drug addictions or alcohol dependence. Since those regrettable incidents, you have led a blameless life, you are obviously devoted to your son, you place his wellbeing above everything else and have demonstrated this by taking the opportunity on every occasion access has been granted to you. Furthermore, while your son has been in your care, no harm has befallen him and you have scrupulously adhered to the custody arrangements and returned him to his father at the allotted time. On the whole, I would say that the character question is one with points on both sides, but that there is insufficient weight there to deny you custody of your son.’
I feel ecstatic. This judge has been through everything the real judge will and is giving me my son.
‘So I’ll get him?’ I ask.
‘On balance I doubt that your character would preclude it. However, I now have to consider the child’s welfare. The court has to put this on the top of its priority list. You can show that you can provide him with a good home and are a loving mother. The question of the father’s access would have to be decided, but that can be a matter for agreement or direction by the court.’
I like this but I’m learning not to interrupt. Anthony is obviously used to delivering these long-winded deliberations in court without any interruption.
‘I now turn to the paramount question of the child’s welfare. Whereas the court would be in possession of long and detailed reports, I am, for the sake of reaching a considered opinion, assuming that these reports provide no negative indications for either party. Under the circumstances, I think this is a reasonable approach. Young Toby has a stable home life. He lives with his father, his stepmother and a baby sister. He is settled, in a good school, and enjoys the company of his friends as evidenced by the recent birthday celebrations. His health is good, his academic progress satisfactory and he shows no signs of upset or distress. There is a natural bond, an important fundamental relationship between mother and son. The courts recognise this and place due emphasis upon it. The balance has to be struck, however, between the needs of the mother and those of the child. Where an infant is concerned, the presence of the mother can be of paramount importance.’
I’m beginning to feel sick to my stomach. It’s as if I’m hearing the sentence of death handed down. There suddenly appears to be only one outcome.
‘On balance therefore, I would advise you that the court would be unlikely to uphold your appeal for custody. It would almost certainly decide that uprooting the child at this stage in his life would not be in the overall best interest of the child. I’m sorry I can’t be more positive.’
He looks up. I can’t stop my tears.
‘However, the arrangement you have currently, access only at the whim or discretion of his father, influenced no doubt by his new wife, is both unsatisfactory and unfair. I strongly advise you to set aside a custody appeal, at least for the time being. Apply instead for formal access arrangements. If I were sitting I would find it hard to resist a plea for alternate weekends and two or three weeks during school holidays.’
11
It is a mistake arranging this meeting directly after seeing Stephen and the judge. This should be light relief, at least for me. The tapas bar fronts onto Deansgate, but I reach it by simply walking out of the solicitor’s office, down a short passage and in through a rear door.
Simon Constable, O’Brian’s accountant, is already half way through a bottle of red wine. It’s a while since I last saw him, back in the days when any new set of accountancy rules spawned a series of discussion meetings that ended in boozy lunches. The interest he showed in me then, although firmly rebuffed, is obviously still there to the extent that he jumped at the chance to have lunch with me.
Looking at his perfect haircut, clean-shaven face and immaculate white shirt and tie, it is hard to believe this man is anything other than perfectly law-abiding. Anyway, that’s what O’Brian wants me to find out, at least to the limited degree that involves O’Brian’s interests.
‘Ah, Jenny, lovely as ever, you are looking well.’
‘Thank you, Simon, I could say the same about you,’ I smile. No packet of money this time, at least not yet. This is about his salacious ambitions and seeing how far I get with those to begin with. We order food, then I ask, ‘Anyway, how’s business?’
‘Business is good, at least the insolvency side is. We’ve got more work than we can handle.’
‘Don’t you feel a bit guilty about the way you take over struggling businesses, sell their assets, pay yourselves enormous fees from the proceeds and send out a report telling the poor creditors that they’re getting nothing?’
‘That pretty well sums it up.’ He smirks. ‘What about you, how are you getting on?’ His face suddenly clouds over as if he’s had a disturbing thought. ‘You’re not in need of a job, are you?’
‘Relax, Simon, I’ve no intention of coming back into accountancy, even if they’d have me, which I doubt.’
He visibly brightens. ‘How about your personal life, has that settled down now?’
‘Not really. I’m divorced, my son is living with his father.’
He looks happy at this news. ‘So, footloose and fancy free?’ he smirks again.
A deep well of nothing opens inside me. I am swallowed up by overwhelming sadness. I feel a longing for warmth, love, friendship, fond laughter, honesty and compassion. A relationship that offers all of these and one more thing, safety. Until I feel safe I’m unable to even consider it. This man is pleasant, good-looking and rich. He’s also married, unfaithful and devious. Looking at him now makes me feel very unsafe and I struggle not to lose myself in the emotional turmoil boiling inside me.
This should have been a half-serious enquiry, to put O’Brian’s mind at rest. Instead there’s something very upsetting about the situation. This man is a prominent business man, husband, father, pillar of society. Yet he’s meeting me in this back room of a quiet restaurant in the obvious hope of getting his hands and more into my knickers. My stomach churns. I push away the plate of patatas bravas and sip some water.
Simon calls for anther bottle of wine.
Excusing myself, I stand for a few minutes in the sparsely appointed ladies’ toilets. There is a feeling of unease that I’m unable to breathe away. It would be simple for me to walk out of here, turn left up the stairs and away from Simon, and intrigue and pain. I could tell O’Brian his man is trustworthy; he’d be pleased about that.
The thought of that smug look makes me shudder. I doubt I can pass muster under that piercing gaze if he asks me how hard I tried.
‘I went to bed with him, Peter, let him do what he wanted, still he wouldn’t betray you,’ I imagine the conversation and Peter’s reply: ‘Only the once? Couldn’t you have tried a bit harder? Maybe he’s weakening. Go back and have another go.’
I walk out of the toilets and turn right down the steps to where Simon waits patiently, fiddling with his Blackberry.
‘It’s delicate.’ I get to the point before his fantasies about me lusting after his body get too set in his mind. ‘It’s about O’Brian, Peter O’Brian. You’ll be aware my business does a lot of work for him. That’s not a problem. Things are going well. It’s just that I’m worried that we’re getting too dependent on him, that we’ll get into what my business studies tutor used to call the Marks & Spencer Syndrome, where we’re totally dependent on one customer.’
‘So you’re concerned he’ll start squeezing your prices, exploit his position?’
‘No, not that. I’m aware he drives a hard bargain, that’s not my worry. It’s the financial security of the business that bothers me. Construction is having an even harder time than other sectors.’
‘Ah.’ He looks relieved. ‘Then you shouldn’t worry, O’Brian is in good shape, even in these parlous times. Amazing shape really, considering the plight of his competitors. He seems to be able to pull work out
of nothing.’ Simon tops up my glass even though I’ve not yet taken a single sip of the wine.
‘Thanks, I’m grateful for your reassurance, though I do need to find more work outside O’Brian’s, become less dependent.’ I try to look like I’ve been struck by a good idea all of a sudden. Judging by his flushed expression I’m wasting my acting skills. ‘Maybe you could help.’
‘We already have security included in the service charges we pay for the office,’ he says.
‘I was thinking about some of O’Brian’s customers, you know the ones he builds the big houses for, maybe that would be a lucrative market for us.’
‘Quite possibly, you should ask Peter for a list, I’m sure he’d be happy to help.’
‘At a price,’ I say. ‘He’d make sure he got his share of anything we did. No, I need to find another way. I’d rather pay a one-off commission to you than a continuous one to O’Brian.’
He shows no reaction to this suggestion, positive or negative.
‘I tell you what,’ I say. ‘Give me the list, I’d be happy to contribute a year’s university fees for your lad, whether we get any work or not.’
‘O’Brian wouldn’t be happy.’
‘O’Brian need never know. My lads can knock on plenty of doors, it’s knowing where to start them off.’
‘I see, so it wouldn’t be anything direct or overt?’
‘No, if I get the business then as far as O’Brian is concerned we got it through a direct marketing campaign. The fact that some of his ex-clients came to us is pure coincidence.’
‘Ten grand, you say, in cash,’ he whispers.
‘No, six. Yes in cash.’
12
Twelve noon on a Friday is the traditional deadline for tenders, especially local authority ones. Also customary is that these are delivered by hand, as close to the time as possible. It’s five minutes to when I hand my envelope in at reception, have it stamped and receive my receipt. As I turn away from the desk, I become aware of Jim Almond at my side.
‘Nearly forgot.’ I smile at him, hoping he feels the innocence that I am trying to radiate. He is holding two envelopes.
‘Everything okay, Jenny?’ he says.
The foyer of Stretford Town Hall is no place for me to confirm or deny my complicity in his attempt to pervert the local authority procurement process. I point to his documents.
‘Having two goes then, Jim?’ I keep smiling, exuding what I hope is casual bonhomie. Inside I wish I’d sent Emma to make the delivery.
Jim is looking intently at me as if unsure about something. He is holding one envelope in each hand now, as if weighing one against the other. The giant clock behind the desk indicates one minute to twelve. With a sigh, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders, he selects an envelope and passes it over. As the clock tower begins to strike he is handed his chit of paper.
‘Do you fancy lunch, Jenny?’ he asks. I pretend to consider it while thinking about all the awkwardness and evasion that would be involved.
‘Thanks Jim, that’s kind of you. I have to be getting on though.’
Jim walks out of the building with me, still clutching the remaining envelope.
‘What’s with the other document?’ I ask. ‘Shouldn’t you have delivered that as well?’
‘Ah, no. I had two bids prepared, one a bit higher than the other. I wanted to see if yours went in or not before I decided which one.’
13
‘They got in through here,’ Mick explains. ‘It’s an old brick wall, they pushed it with the lorry until it fell over.’
The man standing in the rubble is unhappy and he has every right to be. He winces as if in pain as we approach, his huge chest heaving in frustration.
‘Morning, George.’ He looks at me and nods. ‘Bit of a mess here.’
‘It’s a bloody disaster, that’s what it is. I pay you good money to protect against this sort of thing, don’t know why I bother.’
I refrain from pointing out that it’s his wall they knocked down and that I have a man in hospital. ‘What did they take, George? Anything special?’
He freezes at the question, stops breathing entirely then lets out a gush of despondence.
‘What do you mean, special?’ He looks at me intently.
‘Mick says they took a trailer. Seems a lot of trouble to go to, there’s lots of them parked up on the side of the road.’
‘They took a fully loaded trailer, hooked up a unit to it and drove it out through here. Nobody stopped them.’ George looks unhappier by the minute.
‘Alan tried,’ I say, ‘and now he’s in Hope Hospital. He raised the alarm, called the police and called Mick. Then he went out to confront them, which he shouldn’t have done, he did his best, George. They only got one trailer.’ I look around the crowded yard. ‘It could have been much worse, do you know what the trailer was carrying?’
George’s face transforms from angry red to pale white in an instant. ‘No,’ he replies much too quickly. ‘I’ll need to check the consignment notes.’
‘Look, George, I’ll make sure you get what you need from us for your insurance claim. I’ll also let you know how Alan is recovering. Meanwhile do you need me to arrange some temporary fencing and put some extra men on tonight?’
He nods glum acceptance.
‘And I’m going to find out who’s responsible. I’ll be making my own enquiries, see what we have in the way of CCTV records, that kind of thing. Believe me, George, I’ll not rest until I get to the bottom of this.’
We leave him, still looking very glum. Mick grimaces as we get into the car. ‘Something wrong there, don’t you think?’ he asks.
‘What do you mean?’
‘George seems very cagey all of a sudden, normally he’s right as rain is George,’ Mick frowns.
‘He’s upset, it’s understandable,’ I say.
‘Yes, but he’s too upset for my liking.’
‘You were the first here, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, Jenny, I jumped in a van as soon as Alan called me. By the time I got here they were gone. I took Alan to hospital, they’d given him a bad beating.’
‘How long did you take to get here?’
‘Not more than twenty minutes.’
‘And there was no sign of them?’
‘No.’
‘So they knock down a wall, get into a yard with dozens of loaded vehicles and steal only one?’
‘Not only that, they had to do a bit of shunting.’
‘What?’
‘The trailer they nicked was blocked in, they had to move at least two others to get at it.’
‘And they did all this and left within twenty minutes?’
‘Yes, Jenny, do you see what I mean?’
‘I do. I wonder what was in that trailer?’
‘George already knows, I could see it in his face.’ Mick’s mobile purrs and he answers it with a wave of apology. ‘Yes, oh God, I’ll tell her.’
He turns to me. ‘Alan’s dead, those bastard thieves killed him.’
*
My flat on Salford Quays was the second one Gary provided me with. The first, much nearer the city centre, turned out to be a very ad hoc arrangement but this one has provided me with a safe haven for almost two years now. At least there’s been no repeat of the attempts on my life. I still sleep in the same bedroom in which I was once attacked.
After Gary’s death I discovered that my apartment was rented from a property speculator friend of his. This guy went bankrupt in spectacular fashion and I was able to buy my home from the receivers. My landlord had paid one hundred and twenty thousand pounds for it, I managed to persuade the receiver that as sitting tenant it would save them a lot of time and legal expense if they sold it to me for sixty-two thousand pounds. I’m not sure it’s a great investment in these troubled times, but it’ll do until I buy a nice house for Toby and me. Meanwhile, it represents the bonus I got when the caravan sites began to pay off.
The stack o
f toys in the corner of the lounge remind me with a pang of anxiety that Toby hasn’t been here for months. The sooner Stephen sorts out some proper access the better. Meanwhile, he’s told me to avoid any confrontation with Tim and especially with his wife.
There’s nothing in the fridge worth eating. I promise myself I’ll do a big shop tomorrow and fill it with wholesomeness. Meanwhile, I settle for a late supper of toast and marmite and then go to bed, head full of Toby and remorse and anxiety.
The telephone clamours for attention, dragging me from my bed. The flat phone almost never rings. The lads know I’m available for them at any time but they know I prefer a text message, if it’s really urgent then they ring my mobile. Nobody even knows the number here, I’m not sure of it myself. It’s 2 a.m. I pick up and expect some apologetic wrong number.
‘Jenny Parker?’
‘Yes, who is this?’
‘You are messing with us.’
‘What are you talking about, who are you?’
‘You think you’re smart, that you can interfere with our business. We’re going to get you, we’re going to make you suffer, we’re going to destroy you.’
The phone goes dead. I ring 1471 but the number is blocked. Whoever it was sounded really upset.
14
‘Good news.’ Stephen’s voice on my hands-free.
‘I could do with some,’ I reply. I’m feeling deep despair as my mind turns to Toby.
‘I’ve spoken to the police,’ Stephen says. ‘There will be no charges brought against you regarding the incident at Mrs Mather’s flat.’
‘Is that it? Is that the good news?’
‘I thought I’d let you know.’ Stephen sounds sheepish.
‘Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment. What about the girls, did they get taken into care?’
‘They wouldn’t say. All they told me was that the Crown Prosecution Service decided there was insufficient evidence to obtain a conviction against you.’
‘So a woman sees atrocious acts of sexual depravity involving under-age girls and all the police can do is reluctantly drop charges against her? What kind of society is this? Someone needs to do something about these men. If the police won’t then I will.’
