‘I need a pint and I need it now,’ he shouted, and the friends scanned the area for a hostelry.
‘There’s one.’ Mick pointed to an establishment a hundred yards along the road, appropriately named The Judge and Jury. The wigged judge on its sign glared down at them, but undeterred the three men bowled in and craned their necks to locate the bar. They squeezed between men and women in dark suits: barristers and such like - Hooray Henries, Paul called them - not the company they would have chosen under other circumstances, but Paul’s desire for alcohol was great, so they bought three pints and quaffed them straight away, standing at the bar.
‘Come to mine,’ Paul offered, and they pushed a path, back through the loud and opinionated crowd, and escaped into the fresh air.
With Maurice in the driving seat of his estate car and Mick and Paul in the back, the three set off to Paul’s, chuckling every few miles. ‘I can’t believe you did it.,’ Mick said.
‘Yeah. He was good that barrister,’ Paul said, and belched.
Mick and Maurice dumped themselves into chairs in Paul’s living room, and Paul went into his kitchen. ‘I was hoping for a good result, so I bought these.’ He came out carrying two bottles of champagne. ‘I’m still in shock, but this might help.’ He forced off the cork and it shot up, hitting the ceiling. They all cheered.
They raised their glasses to ‘Freedom,’ and ‘Justice,’ and soon they were very drunk. Paul poured his fourth glass of champagne and gave his friends a furtive look.
‘Matter of fact, it wasn’t,’ he slurred.
‘Wasn’t what?’ Mick asked.
‘It wasn’t justice…’
PAUL AUTUMN 1996
This was one of Paul’s days to have Kitty and he rang the bell of the house in Crispin Road, excited to see the child he missed beyond words. As usual, she was not ready, and to his surprise Fee invited him into the kitchen and offered coffee. His hopes rose. Perhaps she had realised that leaving him was a mistake and wanted to try again. He watched her body language and his hopes faded; replaced by a sense of dread. There was something on her mind and his suspicion grew that he would not want to hear it. As he watched her staring at the kettle as if it could not boil on its own, his unease grew.
‘Paul?’
His fists tightened under the worktop. ’Yeah?’
‘I need to tell you that I’ve met someone. I haven’t told Kitty yet. I thought you ought to know first.' Then, casual as you like, she poured the coffee into porcelain mugs and slid one across the counter to him, saying, ‘Still black with no sugar?’
‘How long?’ The coffee scalded Paul’s tongue, but he hardly noticed.
‘Oh, a while now. The thing is…’ she drizzled milk into her cup, ‘Will and I want to go on holiday, and I may need to call on you to have Kitty while I’m away.’
‘Holiday?’ He could not believe she would contemplate anything like that when Twitch was still missing, and their kids were in such a state?
‘We won’t go until November,’ she said, ‘Hopefully all this investigation will have finished by then.’
Hopefully? What if it wasn’t?
She looked him in the eye, and he averted his eyes. Then she said, ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you, but the pressure of the last few weeks has been huge. I won’t be away for long. Only a fortnight.’
‘Two weeks? Two weeks.’ Paul jumped to his feet making his stool rock. ‘You’re leaving Kitty, not to mention Josh and Sam, who have just lost their mother, for fourteen days?’
Fee’s face closed into an expression that he recognized. Argument was futile. In a quiet and haughty voice, she said, ‘Paul, please be quiet, Kitty will hear you.’
That was when he lost it. Not that he hit her or anything, although he was close to it, but he yelled a lot, and she got all uppety and school-teacherish.
Later, when he and Kitty walked Topsy in the park, he was still steaming, but Kitty skipped along beside him, oblivious, chattering and throwing sticks for the panting dog. When he returned her to Crispin Road, Gloria came, bright faced, to the threshold and ushered Kitty inside. As the door closed, he heard the woman hiss, ‘Kitty, we’ve got a secret mission…’
Lying in bed the following morning, Paul regarded the ceiling, trying to recall vacations he and Fee had taken. The one in the Lake District was fun, he thought... but paused in his musings. Did Fee go with him on that holiday? It was unlikely since he now realised that he had taken the motorbike and a tent. His then wife was not a fan of outdoor life, especially under canvas. He wondered who had been to Cumbria with him. Possibly a mate; not another woman; he had never been unfaithful to Fee, no matter how tempting the prospect. He thought back to his early days with Fee. Where did they holiday? Once Kitty came along, they hardly went anywhere. Fee’s job meant she worked long hours and forewent holidays in favour of deadlines. Early on though, they had been to Dorset for a long weekend. Rented a sagging little cottage with low beams that touched the tops of their heads when they waked through the rooms. They stayed in bed mainly, sleeping, fucking, and drinking. Then in the mornings they would creep out to eat Full English Breakfasts at a greasy spoon on the A35. He bloody hoped Fee wouldn’t take this new man (Will, did she say his name was?), to that same place. Nah. She wasn’t up for that kind of thing anymore. Greasy spoons? Good God; perish the thought.
~~~
When the time
