Playing Nice

by Delaney, JP

  “Unbelievable,” Pete says furiously. “They’ve twisted everything. That chocolate was before we even knew David had a medical condition. And I swear those books weren’t moldy.” He snaps his fingers. “Wait a minute. There’s proof we care about David. A film of me reading to him on Facebook. And Lucy calling me a marvel.”

  He gets out his phone and starts scrolling. After a few moments his shoulders sag. “She’s deleted it.”

  “Or rather, Miles has,” I say slowly. “He has access to her Facebook account.”

  “I’m afraid that kind of thing’s to be expected,” Anita says. “The family courts are, quite literally, a law unto themselves. Everything hinges on the interests of the child—and, since that’s a call usually made by a judge sitting on his or her own without a jury, tiny scraps of evidence can become quite significant. But don’t despair. They’re also pretty good at seeing through all the chaff and focusing on the real issues. And just as with Theo, we’ll argue the no order principle with David—that the status quo is best for all concerned. If we can get the social workers on board with that, the court is likely to agree.”

  Pete nods. “That makes sense. Any social worker worth their salt is bound to see through this nonsense.”

  I say slowly, “I don’t want to do that.”

  They both turn to me—Pete surprised, Anita concerned.

  I add, “We’ve got to fight for Theo, obviously. But we can’t abandon David. Yes, I think Lucy loves him in her own way, but Miles—deep down, I think Miles despises him. I think he only wants to keep him for Lucy’s sake, and because he’s hoping for a massive payout if his lawsuit’s successful. And he’s our son. I won’t leave my child to be brought up by a man like that. I can’t. I want to fight for David, too.”

  50

  MADDIE

  PETE LOOKS AT ME, aghast. I stare back at him defiantly.

  “It’ll be harder to argue,” Anita says mildly. “Effectively, you’ll have to mirror what the Lamberts are doing—a Declaration of Parentage Order, a Child Arrangements Order, and a Special Guardianship Order. But you’re eight weeks behind them—which means the first hearings in Theo’s case will take place before you’re even off the starting blocks with David.”

  “He’s my child,” I repeat. “I can’t leave him to be brought up by that—that monster. All along, we’ve let Miles push us around. Well, it stops now. He’s picked the wrong family to bully. If he can fight for both kids, so can we.”

  “Mads…” Pete says. “Are you really sure about this? Bear in mind how complex David’s needs are. Could we really cope with that?”

  I look at him steadily. “I know what I’m asking is unfair, because as the primary carer you’ll be the one who has to do the most for him. Don’t forget, we should have access to the money from his hospital settlement, which will help. But even without that, you’re a brilliant dad and a really caring person. I think you can do it. But it’s got to be a joint decision. If you don’t want to, we won’t.”

  After a moment, Pete blows out his cheeks. “All right. Let’s beat the bastard at his own game. Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying that. But you’re right. We need to rescue David, too.” He turns back to Anita. “Is there anything else?”

  “The final document here is an application for child maintenance for David. Again, you could reciprocate by making a similar claim for Theo, but of course David has significant extra expenses associated with his special needs, including a full-time nanny.” Anita looks up from the papers. “Given what you’ve told me about the Lamberts’ situation, I imagine they’re just trying to add an element of financial pressure on top of everything else. Speaking of which, you should be aware that fighting for custody of both children is going to be a lot more expensive than arguing for the status quo.”

  “How much?” Pete asks.

  “If the case is straightforward, I’d estimate between fifteen and twenty thousand pounds. But something tells me this one won’t be—straightforward, that is. The other side is already throwing everything they’ve got at it. I think they’ll take every opportunity to escalate it further. So really, the sky’s the limit.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d act on a no-win no-fee basis,” Pete says hopefully.

  Anita shakes her head. “My time costs are three hundred pounds an hour plus VAT. And starting from the moment you ask me to act for you, you’ll need to pay me weekly. If you get into arrears, I’ll have to stop work. I’m sorry if that sounds brutal, but this is a small practice and we’re good at what we do. If you need to take out a second mortgage on your home, which is what many of our clients do, I have a colleague who can help with that.”

  Pete looks at me. “We’d better speak to your dad.”

  * * *

  —

  THAT NIGHT, I SKYPE my parents. I do it in the bedroom, leaving Pete downstairs. He doesn’t object. We both know my dad is going to point out that we were bloody fools for not taking his advice sooner.

  To be fair, he hears me out. Telling him what’s happened, I find myself crying, almost for the first time since the Lamberts’ legal bundle arrived. Pete and I are still trying to be positive for each other, reassuring each other that the Lamberts’ lies won’t be believed. But now, putting everything that’s happened into words, I sob like a little girl.

  “Okay,” Dad says when I finally get to the end. “So what’s the plan?”

  I smile through the tears. It had been a catchphrase of my childhood—What’s the plan, Madelyn?—said every time I got into trouble or faced some knotty problem. “We need money. We’re going to fight for them both.”

  There’s a long silence before he says, “There is another option.”

  “Such as?”

  “Pack a bag for you and Theo, go to the airport first thing tomorrow, and come home.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t do that. Besides, I think they’re going to notify the passport people.”

  “The judge won’t rule on that until the first hearing, though, will he? If you leave tomorrow, you’ll be fine. And once you’re home, there’ll be nothing they can do. We’ll tie them up with lawyers if necessary. By the time they get anywhere, Theo will be at school here in Australia and it won’t be in his interests to be uprooted again.”

  “And Pete?” I say gently. “What about him?”

  “Well, that’s between the two of you. But if he loves you, he’ll follow you. It’s not like he’s leaving behind some high-flying career, is it?”

  Just for a moment, I’m tempted. To walk out of this mess, to leave everything behind and flit back to my family on the other side of the world. I’ll get another job in advertising, and Pete will be in a foreign country, as a travel journalist should be. Perhaps he can even work for a newspaper again. But I can’t do it.

  “I can’t leave David,” I say. “If I came home, I’d be abandoning your grandson.”

  Dad doesn’t reply for a moment. “You were always headstrong, Madelyn.”

  I start crying again. “Like father, like daughter, then. Will you lend us the money?”

  He sighs. “I’m a businessman, girl. A bloody tough one at that. If I’m going to lend you money, I want a return on my investment.”

  I don’t understand. “What do you mean?”

  “A time limit on how long you’ll stay in the UK.”

  I stare at his grainy face on the iPad screen.

  “I love you,” he adds. “And I miss my little girl. I miss you like hell.” His own voice cracks. “I can stand another year of this, but then I want you back for good. You can even bring that bludger you’ve shacked up with—I’ll find him a good job in my company if needs be, something to make himself useful. It’s not much to ask, is it?”

  “I know you love me, Dad,” I whisper. “I’ve always known that.”

  “Well, then. Let me know how
much you need, and I’ll wire it to you.”

  * * *

  —

  AFTER THE CALL IS over, I cry some more, then wash my eyes with cold water before going downstairs.

  “How’d it go?” Pete asks softly.

  “It was fine,” I say shortly. “We’re remortgaging the house.”

  51

  PETE

  WE BOTH TOOK THEO to the Lamberts’ next morning. We’d talked long into the night about whether to go at all, but, as Maddie pointed out, it would be crazy to pay a lawyer three hundred pounds an hour and then ignore her advice.

  I was apprehensive but determined. I’d been awake early, even before Theo came into our bed, running through different versions of the scene in my mind. If Miles was there, I’d decided, I’d be icy but polite. I certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d managed to frighten us.

  Maddie and I were both silent in the car, while Theo chuntered quietly in the back. He hadn’t been happy about going to our neighbor the day before—when we collected him, she’d told us he’d deliberately kicked her son’s prized model of the moon across the room, breaking it. Theo, listening, had only said mutinously, “Want to go to Moles’s house.” Now, when he recognized the buildings on our route, he started chanting. “Moles’s house! Moles’s house! I like Moles’s house!”

  “Moles is not as nice as we thought,” I said to shut him up. Maddie gave me a warning glance.

  “Why?” Theo demanded. “Why, Daddy?”

  “Long story.”

  Theo was silent. He liked stories, but not long ones.

  When we climbed the steps to the Lamberts’ front door, it felt almost like a rerun of our first visit. But this time, it wasn’t Miles who opened the door, but Tania.

  “Good morning, good morning, Theo,” she said in her heavily accented English. For a moment I thought Lucy must have sent her to the door deliberately, to avoid meeting us, but then Lucy herself appeared in the hallway behind her, elegantly dressed as always in a pair of designer jeans and a black pashmina.

  “Hello Pete. Maddie. How nice to see you. And Theo, of course. Are you coming in?”

  Maddie said firmly, “Yes. I’d like to see David.”

  “Of course. He’s in the playroom.” Lucy indicated the way.

  “Lucy…” I said, lingering behind.

  “Yes?”

  I said quietly, “How can you behave as if nothing has happened? You’ve served Notice of Proceedings on us.”

  Her vague smile didn’t waver. “Well, it’s just legal stuff, isn’t it? I’m sure you understand. Miles said we have to go through the proper process and it’ll all come out in the wash. I’m not really thinking about that side of things, actually,” she added nervously as she gestured me toward the playroom. “And as you’ve always said, we should all try to be nice to each other, whatever’s going on.”

  “That’s not what I said, Lucy. And I don’t think trying to take our son away from us is being nice.”

  Just for a moment, the smile crumbled. She said in a small voice, “If you’d only been a bit more receptive to the school thing. And then Cornwall. Miles—he’s very fair. He just doesn’t like it when people aren’t straight with him.”

  “ ‘The school thing’?” I stared at her. “That’s what this is about? He’s going to all this effort to take Theo away from us, just so he can pack him off to boarding school?” I actually found myself laughing, a short hollow bark at the irony of it all. “Well, it isn’t going to happen.”

  “Miles says…” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m sure you’ll love the Dragon School when Theo actually goes there. Miles is usually right about these things. And anyway, the decision’s made now, isn’t it? We’ve got parental authority or whatever it’s called. So really, there’s not much point in getting worked up about it. Would you like some tea?”

  I sighed. “No. I really wouldn’t like some tea.”

  Maddie reappeared. She had tears on her cheeks, which she flicked away angrily. “Let’s go.”

  Outside, we lingered on the pavement, delaying the moment when I’d get in the car and she’d head for the Tube station. “Incredible,” I said, shaking my head. “Incredible. It’s like he’s brainwashed her.”

  “I guess if you’re married to Miles Lambert, you have to give him your absolute loyalty,” Maddie said drily.

  My phone pinged and I checked the screen. “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “Greg, seeing if we can meet up. I’ll tell him no. I want to spend the morning researching CAFCASS.”

  “Makes sense. I’ll see you tonight, then. Love you.”

  “Love you,” I echoed.

  She gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and was gone. I called after her, “Have a good day,” even though I knew that wasn’t possible, not with everything that was going on.

  Then I lifted my phone and replied to the text from Bronagh.

  52

  Case no. 12675/PU78B65, Exhibit 26: deleted texts from Peter Riley’s iPhone, (a) from Bronagh Walsh to Peter Riley, and (b) from Peter Riley to Bronagh Walsh in reply.

  Pete, it’s me. You probably don’t want to see me right now but I really need to see you. It’s all gone to s**te at St A’s and I’ve been suspended pending investigation. Can we meet? x

  Just dropped Theo off, so I can do this morning. Say the Pret near Great Portland St station? At ten?

  53

  Case no. 12675/PU78B65, Incident Report, submitted by Miles Lambert to CAFCASS as part of Applicants’ Supporting Documents bundle, pp 32–36.

  The following day, the respondents brought Theo to our house to use our nanny and facilities as usual. In response to a comment from my wife that we should try to be civil to each other during the legal process, Mr. Riley’s response was to shout that she was “trying to take our son away from us,” and that our choice of school “wasn’t going to happen.” (8:47 A.M., captured on tape.) My wife offered them tea, which they forcefully declined.

  54

  PETE

  “THAT JOB’S EVERYTHING TO me. Everything. Ah, shite. There goes my makeup, for the fifteenth time today.” Bronagh attempted to slide the tears out of her eyes with her knuckle.

  “You’re good at it, too. I don’t know how we’d have gotten through those first weeks without you. What the hospital’s doing to you is just plain wrong.”

  Bronagh looked at me fondly. “There you go, Pete. Always thinking of someone else. When what you’ve been through is ten times worse.”

  I shrugged. “I was made redundant eighteen months ago. So I know what it’s like, thinking your bosses appreciate what you do, then discovering that actually they’ll kick you out without a second thought if it helps save their own skins.”

  She nodded ruefully. “It’s like one of my friends always says—Love your job, but don’t expect it to love you back.”

  I stirred my cappuccino. “But why have they suspended you? I mean, I get that they have to investigate what happened, but how does the finger of blame end up getting pointed at you? There were two babies, after all, and you were only responsible for one of them.” I was hoping Bronagh’s suspension wasn’t anything to do with me giving Miles her name, but since he seemed to have an almost magical ability to make things happen the way he wanted, perhaps it was. Or was I simply becoming paranoid about him?

  “Sure, and they’ve suspended Paula, too.” Bronagh looked weary. “The thing is, they could have gone for any of us if they’d wanted. The first thing they did was run a security audit—comparing the number of tag-off incidents recorded by the system with the number each nurse had reported to Security. Well, surprise surprise, we didn’t always report them, even though every time a tag comes off you’re meant to initiate a lockdown, call Security, and check every single baby on the ward. If we did that, we’d never
get any nursing done—a tag comes off almost every day, for Pete’s sake.” She smiled. “Sorry—not Pete’s sake, but you know what I mean. Prem babies are small and the tags are designed for regular-sized infants. Never mind that in this case, it wasn’t even a tag slipping off that was the problem—that would have meant two tags coming off at the exact same time on the exact same day, then somehow getting from one incubator to another, right across the unit, and why would that happen when it was two separate nurses dealing with those cots? This most likely happened before the tags even got put on.”

  I remembered Don Maguire saying much the same thing. Mind you, he’d also said there was no reason for all this to end up in the courts. “In which case, it’s hardly your fault, is it? It could have been the paramedics, or one of the doctors who dealt with both babies.”

  Bronagh nodded. “That’s what I reckon. Most times, when a preterm baby is delivered in a hospital that isn’t equipped to deal with it, they’ll call the neonatal ambulance service and request a transfer while they’re still doing the C-section. Then, rather than hang around fiddling with tags after they’ve pulled the wee thing out, they just put it straight in skin wrap to keep it warm—that’s like a little plastic bag with a ziplock—”