by Tim Parks
Funny bloke, Daniel remarked later that evening. He put down his papers. At the kitchen table, Max Jordan was sitting over coffee after his lesson. It’s lovely of Hilary how she makes the boy feel at home, Daniel was noticing. How so? Max asked politely. Oh, he denies everything, Daniel laughed. Police remove fragment of leather jacket from window thieves broke. Police raid defendant’s council house where they find leather jacket. Tear on leather jacket exactly matches fragment from scene of crime. Accused is arrested and charged, but denies everything. Claims he never saw the jacket before. Somebody planted it in his flat.
Oh no! Max laughed. It’s incredible they bother with some trials at all, Hilary remarked. She was bent down looking into the oven. My wife is a beautiful cook, a beautiful musician and a beautiful person, Daniel told himself. Max was improving his Mozart, the sonatas Gould had sighed and grunted over. Above her left ear, wisps of hair had escaped their clips. Her backside was still tight in tight jeans. She doesn’t smoke, drink, or dye, Daniel marvelled. He just couldn’t get over how comfortable life was, and he said: Not at all. The chap might perfectly well get off.
He slipped the case bundle back in his bag. It was time for his whisky, his evening whisky. I like Max, he thought. It’s nice to have a handsome young guest. But that’s what I meant, Hilary protested. He liked the boy’s formality and politeness. It drives me mad, she said, how many people get off. Then the room was suddenly transformed by a fragrance of fresh baking. Hilary stood proudly, knife in hand. But how can he? Max enquired. His ears were rather large. There was a youthful naïveté about him – Daniel sensed – Would he care for a whisky? – that meshed exactly with Hilary’s nervous, rather bossy determination to please. But Daniel actually enjoyed her bossiness these days. Max showed no resistance to her opinions on how this or that piece should be played, then rapidly lapsed back – even a layman could sense it – into a natural, sentimental generosity. He plays beautifully, Daniel thought. People lay themselves bare at the keyboard, Hilary would always say when discussing her students. And now she said: Oh you wouldn’t believe, Max, you just wouldn’t believe the people Dan managed to get off when he defended. The bloke who stole his own car for the insurance and still kept driving it around! Scot-free! The dealers who always say the police planted the drugs on them. As the ice crackled under the whisky and the sponge-cake steamed, Daniel felt entirely happy. It makes you sick, she laughed. Max was also laughing. We’ll make love later, the judge promised himself. He was aware of savouring the moment’s happiness. I’ll get fat, he thought, I’ll grow jolly and complacent.
But surely – Max already had crumbs on his wet young lips – surely if the police have the fragment, if the fragment, I mean the bit of jacket, matches . . . You really mustn’t underestimate, Daniel interrupted his guest, then immediately was interrupted himself. In the sitting room the phone had begun to ring. There was a moment’s uneasiness as husband and wife exchanged glances. You must never underestimate, Daniel repeated, the effect on twelve honest men and true of the offended denial. But Hilary had stiffened. It was exactly the same time as the call yesterday. Deliberately, Daniel did not move. It was Hilary who usually answered the phone. He would not have her imagine that he was eager to get there first. Those days were over. But there’ll be witnesses, Max was protesting. He seemed oblivious to the sudden tension. There’ll be people who’ll say the jacket was his!
The phone rang on. Hilary was hovering. Daniel refused to let it bother him. He was enjoying the conversation. He made a comically expansive gesture. Picture it, he said: some steamy-faced little cockney, thirtyish, but could be fifty, whose wife and three kids have all given evidence that he was watching some soap with them at the moment of the crime, goes into the box, stares the jury right in the eye, bangs a meaty fist on the rail and shouts: I di’n’t bleedin’ well do it! That’s all I know. I never sin this jacket nor whatever it is, not nowhere anytime in my life!
Again Max laughed, and what Daniel loved to do was to swirl his whisky twice around the glass and then down the first half in a gulp so that it rose to his head with the same rush as the smell of fresh baking from the oven. Hilary made for the door. We’re going to be ex-directory in the new house, she grimaced. Too many phone-calls. Oi’ve got now blee-in’ oidea ’ow it got there! Daniel was good at accents. He raised his voice above the ringing phone and made the gesture of banging his fist. All the man has to do, he told his wife’s piano pupil, is to sow a seed, you see, of doubt. In the jury. One tiny seed of doubt and in no time at all it will shoot up into a towering beanstalk of innocence. Again he brought the tumbler to his lips. The ice clinked. Apparently Max’s father was a mathematics professor. Parents separated, Hilary had said. A nice boy, she had insisted, as if to explain why she had accepted a private student after such a long time without. He’s already played a number of small concerts. Daniel leaned over his whisky: All I can tell yer is, if it took free blokes to do the break-in, it’s pretty bloody queer the cops come right off to the one poor bugger’s ’ouse what’s lost ’is bit of jacket. Pretty blee-in’ queer is all I say.
The phone rang. If the answering machine was on, it would have kicked in by now. In the sitting room a door opened. Daniel had a glimpse of his daughter coming in from the stairwell. Immediately his wife changed direction. Oh but you’re soaking, Sarah, she shouted. The girl was drenched. The phone drilled. The whisky was rising to Daniel’s brain. But what about the loot? Max demanded. He seemed engrossed in the conversation. Or fingerprints? Only now did Daniel notice that the young man wore a rather extravagant earring. Get your shoes off, at once! Hilary cried. She always went over the top with Sarah. You’re muddying the carpet! Computer components, Daniel said. All recovered a few hours afterwards in a stolen van. No prints.
Then it was Tom, charging in from the bedroom section of the flat, who actually took the call. The ringing must have finally penetrated his Discman. Why doesn’t anyone ever answer the bloody phone, he shrilled, dashing across the room. In his freshly broken voice, he said. Hello, Savage. Then, No, it’s his son. Quite unnecessarily, Hilary was tugging Sarah’s wet coat off. The girl was defiant, her hair dripping. Tom raised his voice: Dad, for you! Someone called Min, Minnie?
Sorry, Dan, I thought it was you. The voice was a whisper. Dan? And only now – though crossing the room he had sensed the memory coming – did Judge Savage connect. Minnie! Only on hearing the distinctive voice, the broken accent. He caught his breath, closed his eyes. Then I couldn’t hang up, she explained. She spoke as if whispering through a blocked nose. It would have been too suspicious, wouldn’t it. That’s perfectly all right, he said quietly. It was not. What can I do for you? His tone was too polite. He was aware of aping the normal. His hand was shaking. Damn, damn and damn. Can’t you speak? she asked. No, that’s fine. But now Daniel was distracted by his wife’s extravagant fussing: Oh please don’t go, Hilary was turning to Max. Sarah’ll just get these wet clothes off, won’t you love, and come and join us. She is determined not to listen in, Daniel realised, to show she trusts me. In his other ear, Minnie’s voice was irritatingly faint: Just say, I’m busy tomorrow, if you have a problem. Really no problem, Daniel insisted. But why was she speaking so softly? He could hardly hear her. Why was she calling? Behind him, his son Tom dropped heavily on the sofa, sprawling for the remote. There was a blip of volume before he got the mute on. Oh, hello there! Max called, coming across from the kitchen. Apparently he knew Sarah already. Daniel half turned, receiver glued to his ear. Shush! Hilary hissed. Your father’s on the phone! The channels flickered one after another. A man on his scooter in the desert. It’s only, I’ve been trying to phone for ages, Minnie said, but it’s always someone else answers. That’s fine, he repeated. Really, Hilary was insisting to Max, it’s not late, do stay! Daniel was disorientated. I should be alarmed, he thought. He said: I’m usually in chambers late afternoon, early evening, if there’s something you need to discuss. Well, I can hardly strip in the front room, Sarah was s
aying. She smiled sarcastically at her father as if it were ridiculous of him to be speaking on the phone while she stood at the door dripping wet with her mother tugging at her clothes. Embarrassed, Max had moved to stand behind Tom, watching the TV. But how did you get so soaked? Hilary went on. You look like Ophelia dragged from her lily-pond! No, look, Minnie was saying. Daniel tried to concentrate. This was frightening. It’s a bit complicated. I’ve a favour to ask. Let me meet you this . . .
Leave off! Ow! There was a sudden clatter. For a split second – one ear exposed to home and the other firmly pressed to the disturbing past, to make contact, to exclude contact – Daniel supposed the sound had come from the television, so sudden was the leap in volume. But the screen was mute. A man in yellow shorts was about to take a free kick. No, it was the girl, Minnie. Leave me alone! she was shouting. Bloody hell, leave me alone! Then came something fierce in her own language and a man’s voice, bantering. I’ll have to change phones, she confided, dropping the whisper now. My dad, she explained. Daniel rolled his eyes for his daughter’s benefit, as much as to say, these people bothering me after hours with their stupid problems! Though usually no one bothered him at all. Having protested she couldn’t strip, Sarah had started peeling off her sweater, which brought her tee-shirt fleetingly up over her bra. Some kraut team, Tom was explaining to the ever polite Max. You can see from the ads round the pitch.
Waiting for the girl to change phones, Daniel noticed a sodden pile of roughly printed tracts on the low table by the door: In His Image, For Your Salvation. Fuck you, he heard a faint voice. This chapel thing was just a phase, he hoped. I’m phoning my black pimp lover, Minnie yelled, if you want to know! Daniel winced. Brilliant, Tom said. In Judge Savage’s head, the whisky was making it that bit harder either to keep things apart or to put them together. How alarmed should I be, he wondered? That’s wet too, his wife was saying, you’ll have to pop to your room. Hilary’s voice was oddly menacing. Just pop into your room and change, love, and then we can all have a nice drink together. Again there was a shout in the distance. Something fierce, in Korean. For some reason Sarah wouldn’t budge. Suddenly, standing by the door, their awkward daughter was giving the unusual spectacle of appearing rather pleased with herself. Now she peeled off her yellow tee-shirt too. Sarah! Hilary was trying to speak with her eyes. To plead. Max must have seen, but had turned back quickly to the football.
Coming to his wife’s aid, receiver still at his ear, Daniel began a pantomime of grimaces to get Sarah to go to her bedroom. In the background Korean voices continued to argue. It seemed there were more than two. Oh please! Sarah laughed, unbuckling her jeans. Then she started to mimic him. She rolled her eyes and mouthed remonstrations. He almost laughed himself from sheer exasperation. Hilary was suffering. It’s only the same as a bikini on the beach, Mum, the girl said calmly, slipping out of her jeans. If I really have to change. But this wasn’t true. The white cotton of her underclothes was damp. Her nipples and hair were dark. Max dutifully kept his eye on the ball. Minnie still hadn’t come back to the receiver. Unusually, Hilary was at a complete loss, Daniel noticed. What was this call about? How many years since he’d spoken to the child? How dangerous was it? Hilary had picked up the wet clothes. Sarah’s body was wiry and hard. Again Daniel heard a shout in the phone, echoed by Tom’s, Bloody Borussia, can you believe it! I don’t understand you, Sarah laughed. She was shaking her head.
Then all at once his other ear was shocked by sobbing. Minnie must have picked up the extension with a yell. Oh please! the voice began, Daniel! Daniel! Then, just as Hilary was forced to hurry off to the bedrooms to fetch the dry clothes herself, the line was cut. The girl’s voice was gone. Daniel collected himself. More loudly and pompously than was required, he told the microphone: If it’s just a question of redistributing clerical duties in the interim, I’ll have no difficulty supporting you. As soon as he got off the phone, he demanded of his daughter what on earth had got into her. What in heaven’s name was she playing at, stripping by the front door! But already his eyes were casting about for the whisky glass.
TWO
THE CLERK REPORTED no calls or messages when he arrived at court. Daniel had slept poorly. It was foolish to drink so much. He scratched at a stain on his robe. And to force the poor boy to drink too. Poor Max. But Hilary hadn’t seemed suspicious of his sudden rush of party spirit, his determined festive extravagance. If there’s wine in the fridge, out with it, he had said. I have an announcement to make, he declared. He winked at Sarah. Your honour, I have a piece of information to convey, Counsel for the Prosecution announced no sooner than the court was assembled. A pompous man. Daniel was ten minutes late. The jury had barely been trooped in than they were being trooped out again. A high window showed still bare branches gleaming in rain. I’ve bought a grand piano for the new house, he told them. Sarah had refused the smart clothes her mother brought and gone to her room to put on her sloppiest. Why? For our 20th anniversary, he announced. A Steinway. Yes, the very same that Hilary always sat at in Blumenthal’s when she chose pianos for friends. The same those friends never bought. But he had. He had put down a deposit. And already, Daniel thought, as Tom and Max applauded and Hilary gasped and embraced him, already the instrument was doing its job, its music drowning out the unpleasantness of Sarah’s provocations, of that strange and worrying phone-call. His wife folded her arms around him. It was money well spent. She was laughing and weeping. The English were such dilettantes, Hilary would complain on leaving Blumenthal’s, the way they always went for the cheaper things, the Yamahas, the East European stuff. How was it, Daniel wondered, hugging his ever so English wife, that she always talked about the English as if she were German, they Spanish, or Greek? May I smoke? Max had enquired amid the general festivity. His politeness was touching. Hilary hated smoke and said, Of course, Max.
Your honour, the elderly prosecutor told Judge Savage, your honour, the police have just this moment informed us that the stolen goods in question, which, as you will remember were recovered soon after the crime, were, er, stolen again last night. In exactly the same manner and from the same place, defence counsel added with a hint of a smile. Despite evident differences in age, temperament and class, both advocates, Daniel observed, were performing their roles in exemplary fashion. The prosecutor coughed: Since the material in question, more than thirty thousand pounds worth of computer hardware, was essential to the operations of the company who owned it, we allowed them to take possession on the understanding that certain items would be available as exhibits as and when required. That, I’m afraid, will no longer be possible. Defence counsel’s smile broadened. The bright young man seemed extremely pleased with himself. Why? Daniel wondered. The business of the jacket would surely be damning enough. Prosecution counsel had said nothing about dropping the case. Nor did the crime’s repetition exclude the defendant’s having taken part in the earlier theft. I wonder if you could fetch me an aspirin? he asked the usher.
Then when the defendant was brought in, it turned out he was black. Was this, perhaps, Daniel wondered, why the case had been assigned to him? So the accent was West Indian, not cockney at all. Glancing around the court, he saw that in fact he and the man in the dock were the only two non-whites present. Why had Minnie called him, of all people, almost seven years on? The only non-white judge on this circuit. A special favour, she said. What favour? Daniel invited the defendant not to interrupt the court by constantly muttering to himself. No doubt she had had other affairs since. Leaning forward from his seat the man was bull-necked and brutally handsome. Why come to him? You will have your opportunity to give evidence, Mr Conway, all in good time. Mr Cunningham? he invited the prosecution to resume. A judge ought to have everybody’s names on the tip of his tongue, Daniel had long ago decided, though he was acutely aware of having had no time at all to collect his thoughts today. Sleep had been a lurid melodrama of which he remembered only the violent awakening, tossed into the morning as if from an angry sea.
It’s bloody stupid, Mr Conway interrupted again. It’s pathetic! He raised his voice. Once again Daniel warned that he would be removed from the court and tried in his absence if he didn’t observe the most elementary of rules. It is within my power to order you downstairs, Mr Conway. As he spoke, firmly and softly, the contrast of his own measured Oxbridge accent with the defendant’s rough street Jamaican could only alert the alert, Judge Savage was aware, to the cleverness of those who had made his appointment. His close friend Martin Shields had put it thus: They chose the only one of us who really is one of us, but with boot polish on his face. That was at the chambers party. Chromosomatism! Martin joked. They had had a lot to drink. Martin’s wife Christine had tried to shut him up, but Daniel insisted that he didn’t mind. They were old friends, he and Mart. On the contrary, he agreed. Of course, it was political correctness. He had been chosen to redress an embarrassing imbalance. I may have a little light tan on my cheeks, but at least I’m a red-blooded heterosexual, he laughed. He roared with merry laughter. It was his party after all. Hilary hadn’t taken offence. They danced together. Martin had been overlooked again. There isn’t room for all of us, he acknowledged. Not now the others have to be brought in too. He meant the blacks, the Indians, the women. It was the third time they had invited Martin Shields up to interview, the third time they had denied him even so much as the position of recorder. He would never make it now. But then the imbalance was embarrassing: not a single non-white judge on this circuit. No point in being bitter, Martin would say. He had started a collection of British fungi. He began to talk about fungi. And moths. British moths.
