Blind Justice

by Nathan Burrows

  “Really?” I asked, not quite believing him.

  “Yes really, Gareth,” he said with a sigh. “At least then she might stop bloody going on about you. Like I said though, I’m not getting involved. You’re big enough and ugly enough to sort your own problems out.” He drained his coffee and placed the cup back on the table. “But I know she really likes lilies. Lots of lilies.” He turned to walk out of the pub before looking back over his shoulder. “See you soon, yeah?” I could have kissed him, but I figured that probably wouldn’t be what he wanted me to do.

  Half an hour later I was standing on her doorstep, a carrier bag with instant food and beer in one hand and a huge bunch of white lilies in the other, waiting for her to answer the door. It opened halfway, and she peeped out. God, she was beautiful. I stood there like a hopeful schoolboy, suddenly wishing I’d ditched the carrier bag.

  “What?” she said with a fierce frown.

  “I, er, well,” I replied, wishing that I’d at least thought about what I was going to say, “I brought you some flowers.” I held up the lilies, wishing I’d bought a larger bunch even though the ones I was holding up had cleaned me out. Jennifer looked at the flowers, and I thought her face softened ever so slightly. Silently thanking Jacob, I continued. “Please, Jennifer, hear me out. I’ve been an arse. I just didn’t realise how much of an arse I was until I met you. All of that,” I paused, unsure what to say, “all of that nonsense is in the past. I promise you.”

  “So what made you change your mind?” she said after a long and painful pause. “About your career aspirations?” One thing Jennifer did very well was cutting sarcasm.

  “Meeting you,” I replied. I didn’t have to think about that answer. “It was meeting you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at me. I looked at her, and for me at least, time stood still.

  “Well, you took your bloody time,” she said after what seemed like hours. “I suppose you want to come in and grovel?” My heart thumped.

  “Can I?” I said. She opened the door fully and stood in front of me, a small smile on her face that was getting bigger all the time. I dropped the carrier bag and held my arms out for her to step into them, which she did. As we hugged on her doorstep, I could hear one of the cans of lager fizzing where it had burst as I’d dropped the bag.

  That was collateral damage I’d take any day of the week.

  Five months after we’d got back together, almost to the day, Jennifer and I got married. I wouldn’t say we rushed into it, but in the aftermath of the few weeks we’d spent apart, I think we both realised that we were onto a good thing. Something we’d almost lost by both being as pig-headed as each other.

  We were sitting in a pub one night, having a few drinks after going to the cinema. I can’t remember what we went to see, only that it was a romantic comedy I’d not been that bothered about. The two main characters had got together, split up, then got back together and ended up getting married so they could live happily ever after. It would have been a shit romantic comedy if the last bit hadn’t happened, I suppose. Jennifer was going on about the lead male character in the film, and about what a romantic bloke he was. She wasn’t having a go at me for not being romantic; she was just talking about the film.

  “They were a bit like us, I guess,” Jennifer said, looking at me over the top of her glass of wine. I took a sip of my beer before replying.

  “I suppose so,” I said. “Next thing you know, we’ll be getting married.”

  Jennifer’s jaw dropped an inch, and she stared at me open-mouthed.

  “Gareth Dawson,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Did you just propose to me?”

  “No, I did not,” I replied, laughing. “I definitely did not.”

  “I think you did.”

  “I don’t think I did,” I laughed again. “You’d know if I did because I’d be naked in the road outside your flat, singing a song with a red rose clutched in my butt cheeks, before taking a knee and asking you properly.” Jennifer started laughing.

  “So what song would you be singing, then?” she asked. I had to think for a few minutes before replying.

  “It would have to be something by Snow Patrol.” Jennifer wrinkled her nose at my reply. She wasn’t a massive fan of Snow Patrol, but it was something I was working on.

  “What song then? Is it one I know?”

  “Probably not,” I replied, pulling my phone from my pocket and flicking through my music. I found the song I was after and played it, putting the phone down on the pub table so that Jennifer could hear it. We both sat in silence, listening to the song for a moment. Jennifer leaned across the table and flipped the phone around so it was facing her. She prodded the screen to turn it on and read the title of the song. “Just Say Yes”.

  “You soppy old thing,” Jennifer smiled at me. “I was expecting something completely different.” She reached across the table and took my hand. “Of course I’ll say yes, but you will have to ask my Dad before the big day.” And that was that.

  A few weeks later, I was round at Andy’s house, supposedly to ask him for Jennifer’s hand in marriage. Jennifer and I had talked about the whole marriage thing, and the more we talked about it the more the idea grew on me. If nothing else, it would put to bed the feeling I still couldn’t shake that Jennifer wasn’t that serious about me. Looking back, I think she realised that at the time and knew if we got married, those feelings would go away. The problem was we’d only been going out together for about six months, so the whole thing was definitely in whirlwind romance territory, but it all felt right to me.

  The last time I’d been round to Andy’s house was a few weeks after Jennifer and I got back together. She’d insisted that I come clean to Andy about my background. It wasn’t something I’d wanted to do, far from it, but she would not let me get away with it. She’d already told him all the sordid details but wanted me to tell him myself. Andy had sat on the other side of his kitchen table, listening as I’d stumbled my way through a full and frank confession. Andy had sat there for a few minutes, looking at me until I started to wriggle on the chair.

  “Gareth, look me in the eyes for a second,” he’d said. I did as he asked. “Do you promise that you’ll keep her happy?” I nodded my head, keeping my eyes fixed on his.

  “Absolutely, Andy,” I said, trying to sound as sincere as I felt. “That’s all I want.”

  “Because if you get banged up for burglary, she won’t be happy at all.”

  “I know,” I’d replied, looking away and at my feet.

  “Gareth, I’ve been in business for many years,” Andy had said. “And I’ve done all right at it. But I’ve left a fair few casualties behind me, mark my words. We’re not that different, you and I. We see something, we want it, we take it.” I wasn’t convinced about the analogy, but Andy was giving me a way out of the whole sorry mess. “But you need to work out how to do that on the right side of the law, and I might be able to help you.” He stood, as did I, to mark the end of the conversation. As we shook hands, he asked me to promise him something else, something which with hindsight I failed miserably to do. “Just keep her happy, son,” he’d said. “Keep her happy and keep her safe. That’s all I ask of you.”

  So there I was, sitting again in Andy’s kitchen a few weeks later, sipping a cup of tea and yawning as I did so. I’d been working pretty much every evening as a bouncer on one club door or another for weeks, trying to make up the money now that my alternative income source had stopped. It was going well, and I getting a lot of repeat bookings.

  “Jen mentioned that you might pop round, Gareth,” Andy said as he put a plate of biscuits on the table and sat opposite me. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while.” I’d not been expecting him to say that and was stuck for something to say. It didn’t seem like the right time to launch into the whole ‘do you mind if I marry your daughter’ speech I’d got prepared in my head. “I have to say, I’m delighted that you’ve sorted things out with Jen, though. I�
��ve never seen her happier as she has been the last few weeks.” Andy laughed before continuing. “But my God, the look on her face when you popped that window out. That was an absolute picture, that was.” I was glad he found it funny as I certainly didn’t.

  “So what was it you wanted to talk about, Andy?” I asked, keen for him to get whatever he wanted to say out of the way so I could say my bit and be done with it.

  “I’ve got a proposal for you,” he said. “A business proposal.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Andy outlined his grand idea. It built on the theme of me proving to him how vulnerable his house was. He’d been playing golf with some friends a few weeks after it had happened, when me and Jennifer were not talking, and had told them about my impromptu demonstration. To cut a long story short, two of his friends had asked Andy if he would send me round to their houses to have a look at them. They’d also offered to pay me for the privilege.

  “So, there’s a market there for someone with your, er, your background, to set yourself up as a security consultant,” Andy explained. I laughed, remembering that was the phrase I’d used to describe myself when Jennifer and I had first met. It was just back then the context was a bit different. Andy outlined his proposal, which was for me to set up a company and advertise my particular skill set. As an ex-burglar who had gone straight, seen the light and was now committed to preventing crime.

  “I’m not convinced, Andy,” I said. “That just sounds like an invitation for the Old Bill to come and nick me, help with their stats.” Andy grinned at me.

  “Nope, not at all,” he replied. “I’ve got a good friend who works in the legal side of things. I’ve run it past him, and he thinks it’s doable. All you need is some creative marketing and you’ll be good to go.”

  We chatted through his proposal for a while, and the more he told me the more I thought it was a sound idea. He’d even printed out a proper business plan for me. At least, I assumed it was a proper business plan. I’d never seen one before. I looked through the document, trying to understand it. There was one bit I did understand, which was a table marked ‘Startup Costs’. It listed a bunch of items, company registration fees, advertising, that sort of thing. There were even three months office rental at a place just outside the city in a business park close to where I lived. The one line that caught my attention the most was the total at the bottom of the table. Just under five grand. I put the paper back on the table.

  “That’s me out then, Andy,” I said, pointing at the bottom of the page. “I’ve not got five grand, and the rate I’m going it would take me years to put that together.” I felt stupid, coming round here to ask him if I could marry his daughter, and then having to admit that not only was I skint, but I was also likely to remain so for quite some time.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Gareth,” Andy said, his face serious. “I want in.”

  I shook my head from side to side, remembering Jennifer’s absolute refusal to accept any help from her family.

  “Sorry Andy, I can’t take your money,” I said. “Jennifer would—”

  “Gareth, leave Jennifer to me,” Andy interrupted. “Besides, I’m not giving you the money. It’s a loan, repayable with interest, in exchange for a small share in the company. Well, smallish share.” I still wasn’t convinced. I had an image in my mind’s eye of Jennifer with her arms crossed, red spots in her cheeks, asking me to tell her again how much her father had given me. “This isn’t charity, Gareth. It’s a business arrangement. You’ve got a marketable skill, believe it or not, and people will pay you for it. Look at these projections.” He pushed another sheet of paper toward me, which I studied for a moment. I was no maths whizz, although I had scraped a GCSE in the subject, but they looked good to me. “Those are conservative estimates,” Andy explained. “I think with the right marketing support, and I know just the man for that, the actuals could be twice that.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’d shaken hands and become business partners. I’d signed a bunch of paperwork that Andy had prepared. He must have been sure I’d come round at some point. My only concern was what Jennifer would think, but he’d promised to speak to her and explain it all. Once the paperwork was signed, we shook hands to seal the deal.

  “So,” Andy said, relaxing back in his chair. “That’s the business part out of the way. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied, racking my brains for the speech I’d prepared. When it didn’t come to mind straight away, I decided to just front it out. “I was wondering if, um, I was wondering if you would mind if me and Jennifer got married?”

  Andy looked at me, open-mouthed.

  “Fuck off,” he said. Not the answer I was expecting or hoping for. A simple “no” would have been enough if he wasn’t keen on the idea. “Are you serious?”

  “Er, well, I was until just now,” I replied. He just carried on staring at me, his jaw slack. Then he did something I wasn’t expecting. Andy slapped his hands on his thighs, leaned back in his chair, and roared with laughter. I sat there, not knowing what to do. Once he’d calmed down, he struggled to his feet and wandered off out of the kitchen into the lounge. I could still hear him chuckling as he walked off. A few seconds later, he returned with two tumblers and a bottle of what looked like a very nice whisky indeed, even though it wasn’t even eleven o’clock in the morning.

  “From ex-burglar to company director, to future son in law, all in the space of about thirty minutes. That’s good going, Gareth. I think we should have a drink to celebrate.”

  One month later, to the tune of “Take Me Home” by Jess Glynne, Andy walked Jennifer down the aisle of the local registry office and handed her over to me. It was a small do, just as we’d wanted it to be. The only guests were Jacob and his partner on Jennifer’s side, and Tommy and David on mine. David doubled up as the official photographer, using a very nice-looking Nikon camera he’d stolen just for the event. The photos were fantastic, and he even did some video clips for us. The whole day was perfect. I looked at Jennifer as we said our vows. The words that come back to me most were “Till death do us part”. I had hoped that it would be years and years until that happened, but I was wrong.

  The way it turned out, it wasn’t long at all.

  It was eight weeks after Jennifer and I got married when everything changed. Technically, it was seven weeks and four days, but that’s close enough to eight weeks for me.

  That particular Saturday started off like any other. I’d been working in the morning. Well, if you can call sitting at the kitchen table and using the laptop work. Jennifer and I had moved into a rented two bedroom flat close to where we both lived before we got married. It wasn’t fantastic, but it was ours. At some point in the future, when we’d got a bit more money together, we were going to buy a place of our own. Until then, we were renting which irritated me as all we were doing was paying someone else’s mortgage. Jennifer was a lot more pragmatic about it, and as she was the one who was better with money, I left it up to her. I suspected that Andy had offered to lend her the money for a deposit on a place of our own, and that Jennifer had said no, but it was never discussed.

  Andy’s idea for starting up a business, and his cash, was going well. I wondered if the whole thing was Jennifer’s idea to get me on the straight and narrow, but I kept my suspicions to myself. What surprised me more than anything was when I told Tommy and David about the business plan, they were both keen as mustard to get on board. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought going straight was a good idea? Two weeks after Andy had offered the cash, we were up and running, although I was still working most nights on the doors of pubs and clubs in Norwich.

  The temporary office on the business park was in an ideal location, and we were getting plenty of work. Word was getting around, although I was ninety nine percent sure that a lot of the clients in the first few months were friends of Andy’s. I wasn’t complaining, don’t get me wrong. They all paid well, and they told their
friends about our services, which meant the bulk of the new customers were recommendations. I’d arranged two assessments for later in the week and written up reports from the visits we’d done in the last few days. So far, so good. The only other exciting thing I’d done that Saturday was go to Sainsbury’s and buy food for supper. There was a lasagne recipe on a website that looked amazing in the picture, so thought I’d try it. The chances of it turning out anything like the one in the picture were remote, but I was sure it wouldn’t be far off. I was just in the middle of slicing peppers when Jennifer came home from work.

  “Hi Jennifer,” I’d said as she walked into the kitchen, throwing her handbag on the table, missing my laptop by inches. It was a business expense and therefore tax exempt, or so Andy told me. The kitchen table wasn’t the best place to keep a computer, but even so, I still winced.

  “What a crap day,” she frowned. “Bloody clients messing me about all bloody day.” The cut and thrust of the Human Resources world was right there for me to see. Jennifer walked over to the fridge and grabbed a half full bottle of white wine. I stopped trying to slice the pepper and watched as she unscrewed the top and looked at the bottle with a curious expression. For a moment, I thought she was going to swig straight from it, but she got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it to the brim before taking a large gulp. “Oh my God, that’s better,” she said as she put the bottle back in the fridge. No drink for me then, even though there were four cans of lager in there. “How about you? You been busy?”

  “Yeah, kept myself busy. Finished those reports for the new customers, anyway.” I returned to my chopping. “You hungry?” She looked at me as if she’d only just realised that I was preparing something.