know I’ve always wanted to go to the Bar? Well, Mr Laidlaw’s been talking to me about that. He says I could stay with the firm, once my training period’s over and I have my practising certificate, and go for Rights of Audience in the Supreme Courts as a solicitor advocate.’
‘Do you want to?’
Her mouth twisted in a ‘Don’t know’ gesture. ‘It’s an attractive proposition. I could have the best of both worlds; specialist practice and, eventually, a partnership in the top firm in the country.’ She paused. ‘But it would mean a full-time commitment for quite a few years, to establish myself with the client base, and to gain Court experience.
‘It would mean not being able to start a family for a long time; until I’m around thirty, probably.’
‘If that’s what you want, love.’ Andy kept his expression steady, but his eyes gave him away.
‘But it’s not what you want, is it?’
He unwound himself from her and walked over to the living-room window, staring out into the dull, damp evening. ‘Alex,’ he said, without looking at her, ‘I’m fifteen years older than you.’
‘Fourteen.’
‘And ten months. Don’t split hairs. If that’s your timetable, you’re telling me that I won’t be a father until I’m forty-five. That may be okay for Bob, in his second marriage, but this will be my first. Look, if I choose to retire at sixty, our first child will still be at school. I want to be able to play football with him, or go running with her. When they’re at that stage I don’t want to be past it.’
‘Don’t be daft, you won’t be past it. Look at you now. You’re fitter than most men in their mid twenties.’
‘I’m not as fit as your dad though. He murdered me again on the squash court yesterday. Fuck me, I don’t want to be stuffed by his grandson as well, not until he’s left primary school at least!’
She came to him, and laid a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her. ‘Andy,’ she said. ‘Do you want a marriage of equals?’
‘Of course,’ he answered, defensively.
‘Then surely we have equal career rights. Look at Maggie and Mario. She’s over thirty, and she’s a DCI. There are no signs of babies on the way there.’
‘Forget them, this is us. Does this firm of yours not believe in maternity leave, then? I thought that was statutory.’
She shook her head violently, making her thick hair fly. ‘It isn’t the firm. It’s the clients, and it’s me too.’
‘Och, Alex,’ he exclaimed. ‘You change with the wind. A few months ago you were all for getting married.’
‘And I still am. It’s what comes after that we need to agree.’
He looked at her. ‘Okay then. If this is negotiation, you’ve given me your agenda, now I’ll give you mine. I’d like to be a father within five years.’
‘In that case,’ she said. ‘Where’s the compromise?’
‘That was a compromise, my darling!’
Alex flared up. ‘That was an ultimatum!’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he replied, quietly and sadly. ‘This is an ultimatum. Either we agree to start a family within five years, or this relationship will be heading for the rocks.’
74
He rolled on his back, squealing with pleasure as the strong fingers kneaded his bare stomach. He kicked his legs in the air, reaching out with his hands, grasping at nothing.
‘Oooh! Yerghh!’ he bellowed.
‘That’s enough, Bob,’ called Sarah from the sofa. ‘He’ll never sleep if you wind him up any more.’
‘Hear that, wee man,’ said Skinner, tumbling over to lie on the sitting-room floor beside his younger son, and looking sideways at him, their eyes at the same level. ‘Your mother has plans for you. The Sandman is coming.’ He propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Jazz, who gazed back, fascinated. ‘You know, son, when you think of it, only the Americans could believe in a fairy who comes round at night and throws sand in weans’ eyes.
‘Us Scots, now, we simply believe in slipping a mild opiate . . . or maybe a small whisky . . . into their juice.’
In spite of the slur cast on one of her National Institutions, Sarah laughed as she bent to pick up the toddler from the floor. ‘Sunshine,’ she gasped, ‘you are getting heavier by the day.’ Jazz grinned and nuzzled his forehead against her. ‘Time for bed now, your late pass has expired.’
She glanced down at her husband. ‘You go and tell Mark to get ready. Honestly, the time that boy would spend on his computer . . .’
‘Let him,’ Bob grinned. ‘It’s what he likes best. He’s no natural athlete is our Mark, but he may be a genius. All the time he spends exploring those CD Roms, he’s learning.’ He reached out and tickled Jazz once more in the ribs. ‘Now this one, he’s just going to be a bear when he grows up . . .’
He patted Sarah on the tail. ‘Go on then, settle him down if you can and I’ll spend some time with Einstein. See you back here in half an hour and you can help me go through that paper I brought home.’
In fact it was almost three quarters of an hour before he reappeared from Mark’s room, having allowed him twenty minutes on the Internet, researching Scottish history. He was still shaking his head as he handed his wife an uncapped Becks. ‘When Big Neil moves on, I think I’ll take him on as my exec.,’ he chuckled. ‘He never forgets anything, and his logic circuits are bloody amazing.’
She squeezed his thigh, as he sat beside her. ‘Don’t forget to let him be a little boy, though.’
‘As if I would. Alexis was a very clever child too, you know, and she’s turned out all right.’
To his surprise, Sarah frowned slightly.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, nothing. You’re right, she has turned out all right; very much so. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being concerned about her. Alex is a volatile personality, like you . . . and like her mother. Those things you two found out about Myra, they terrify her, you know.
‘Right now, I sense things going on behind those big eyes of hers, but I don’t know what they are. Almost for the first time since I’ve known her, I can’t tell what she’s thinking.’
Bob looked at her. ‘I’ll have a word with her,’ he said.
‘Okay, but just you be careful.’ She reached down and picked up the folder of papers which he had brought home with him. ‘So what are these, then?’
‘They relate to the judges’ investigation. They’re the papers for a book on the Beatrice Gates case.’
Sarah grinned, wickedly. ‘Oh yes. I didn’t like to ask you in front of the kids. How was Lord Orlach?’
‘Heavily tanned. It must be very hot where he is. His deodorant doesn’t work any more either. Christ, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that smell!’
‘I can imagine. I really should have been there, you know. It would have been good experience. Even Joe enjoyed it, so he said when I phoned him.’
‘You know the result then?’
‘Yes. Clever you, for thinking of it.’
‘Stupid me for not thinking of it earlier,’ he retorted.
‘Like you said once, it’s a real bastard not being perfect, ain’t it.’ She opened the folder and recoiled involuntarily as she saw the first item. It was a photograph of a dead man, naked on an examination table with the hilt of a knife protruding from his chest.
‘That’s Mr Gates,’ said Bob, almost conversationally. ‘He woke up one morning to find himself dead. However hard she tried, Mrs Gates, who woke up alongside him, couldn’t make the jury believe that she didn’t do it. They were childless, so there was no one to back up her story that he must have been killed by an intruder.’
Sarah peered at the photograph. ‘She must have been pretty strong. That knife is rammed right through the sternum.’
‘Yes, and although it wasn’t known during the trial, they reckon she had incipient MS at the time,’ Bob told her, quietly.
‘The jury wasn’t told that?’
