The Child Who

Except it had not.

The envelope had been tucked amid the pile of letters. Leo had been late after spending most of the day out of the office, so he had carried the pile into the meeting room. He had shuffled and shuffled again and as he had backed himself blindly into his seat, there it was. Just where he had expected it to be and just, therefore, where it should not have been.

‘Leonard?’

‘Mm.’

‘Leonard.’

Leo looked up. ‘What? Yes. Sorry, I…’

Howard smiled his concern.

‘Sorry,’ said Leo, more decisively. He slid the pile of mail below the table and into his lap, his thumbs pinning the topmost envelope in place. Beneath them, and beneath its outer skin, the note seared.

‘So what do you think?’

Leo could not resist peeking. The question, though, registered and he glanced up to see who would answer. Alan, John, Terry, Howard; even Jenny, seated between Leo and their boss and jotting minutes on a notepad: everyone present had their gaze fixed on him.

‘Me?’

There was laughter, not all of it kind.

‘You are fairly central to the proposal, Leonard. But if you feel it would make you uncomfortable…’

‘What? No. Of course not. Um. If what would make me uncomfortable?’

Terry turned and muttered. Howard spoke over him.

‘The feature, Leonard. The interview.’

The words resonated. On their way into the room, someone had been talking about an article. For a newspaper – or a magazine? The Lawyer was it? The Law Society Gazette?

‘Well,’ Leo said, as though considering. ‘What would be the focus, exactly?’

Jenny looked down at her notes. Howard simply stared.

‘Honestly, Leo,’ said Terry. ‘I hope you pay closer attention in meetings with clients.’

More laughter. A ‘quite’. Leo felt himself flush.

‘Let’s recap,’ said Howard. ‘Shall we? It’s exciting news so I’m not exactly loath to repeat it.’ He turned to Leo. ‘Although I do hope once more will be enough.’

Leo, in spite of himself, was slinking another glance at the envelope. He pressed it flat with his palms, tweaked his frown and aimed it at his boss.

‘The Gazette, Leo, has approached us with a suggestion for a feature. Small firm, big case: that sort of thing. They won’t mention anything too specific, of course, but they’ll want to talk to you. They’ll want to photograph you. As well as the rest of us, naturally. We wouldn’t want you stealing all the glory.’ Howard twinkled and Jenny tittered. Terry, from his expression, seemed not to appreciate the joke.

‘Well,’ said Leo. ‘I see.’

Howard extended a finger. ‘It’s only the Gazette, I realise, but you know how these things tend to get picked up. It would be an excellent opportunity for this firm, Leonard. And for yourself, of course. A clipping for the curriculum vitae.’

Terry did not miss a beat. ‘Watch out, Leo. It’s not a good sign when your boss starts mentioning your CV.’

There was laughter. Leo ignored it. ‘It sounds great, Howard. It really does. Although I think perhaps I should check with Meg. It’s only the Gazette, as you say, but this case… It’s…Well… There have been certain… pressures.’

‘Check with Megan,’ said Howard. ‘By all means. But it would be a shame to pass up the opportunity.’ His boss, suddenly, looked like a child denied Christmas.

‘No, of course. I mean, I’m not saying she’ll have a problem with it. Not at all. Quite the opposite, probably.’

‘Well then,’ said Howard, once again displaying his ivory. ‘That’s settled then. Is it? Provisionally, shall we say.’

‘Provisionally. Yes. Okay.’

‘They’ll be here a week on Thursday,’ said Howard. ‘At ten o’clock.’ And he flipped to the next page of the agenda.

‘That’s not what I’m saying, Terry.’

‘It’s what I heard, Leo. It’s what everyone – ’ Terry turned left, right ‘ – in this meeting room heard.’

Leo regarded the faces regarding his. He’s right, they seemed to say: that is what we heard.

‘Well, it’s not what I meant. What I meant was—’

‘You remember what he did, Leo – don’t you? This “kid”.’ He pronounced the inverted commas. ‘This “child” you keep mentioning?’

‘All I meant was—’

‘Because it sounds to me like maybe you’ve forgotten. Like maybe you’ve lost track of—’

‘All I meant was,’ said Leo and his volume commanded a silence. ‘There are other considerations. He’s twelve years old. It complicates things.’

Terry made a noise.

‘I’m sorry, Terry, but it does. We have different options. We have different priorities. Different problems, too,’ Leo added, more quietly.

‘We?’

‘Yes, Terry: we. I am his solicitor, you know.’

‘His solicitor. Right. Because all I’m saying is, it sounds to me like maybe you’ve convinced yourself you’re more than that.’

Leo felt his back stiffen. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Howard, reaching both hands towards the centre of the table. ‘Perhaps we could try and keep this civil. Let’s remember there’s a lady present, shall we?’

Jenny looked down.

‘And anyway,’ Leo persisted. He had the stack of letters in his hand and the envelopes were crumpling in his grip. ‘What’s so contemptible about feeling sorry for him? It doesn’t mean I condone what he did. It doesn’t mean I’m looking to excuse it.’

‘Diminished responsibility, Leo? What’s that if not an excuse?’

Leo affected astonishment. He cast his expression around the table, then settled it on Terry. ‘Am I missing something?’ he said. ‘Is there something about representing a client I’ve fundamentally misunderstood?’

‘Gentlemen!’

‘You tell us, Leo,’ said Terry. ‘Think about it, then come back and tell us.’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Howard again. He pressed his teeth and his jaw bulged. ‘Let’s move on, shall we?’

Something about paper. Re-using it, not using it, the dream – impossible though it might sound – of a paperless office.

Leo tuned in, out. Out, mostly, but he was wary of being caught not paying attention again so he was making an effort not to lose pace entirely with the drift of the discussion. The lecture, rather: Howard’s rant. The theme was familiar, though, and the message predictable so while the others bobbed their accord and doodled, meanwhile, on paper they were meant to be conserving, Leo worked slowly, soundlessly, on the seal of the envelope.

Except he was getting nowhere. The envelope was gummed as though with superglue and there was no opening into which he could work his little finger. He picked with his nail but in truth, since the start of the case, he had no nails left – just raw, fleshy pads that were about as much use in this situation as his toes.

Except maybe… He had a corner. Did he? It was difficult to tell without looking but it definitely felt like… He did. An opening. Just big enough to—