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| Culture of Conscience, Richard; Bad Girls / Judge John Deed (5th) | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 12 2010, 04:52 PM (5,875 Views) | |
| mlbach | Sep 11 2011, 01:39 PM Post #46 |
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Keys for the handcuffs!
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Uh oh..is Mel with Jo because she thinks she might need legal counsel? |
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| richard | Sep 18 2011, 06:37 PM Post #47 |
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Hi Mlbach- thanks for following my fic and I'll post on yours in the near future- this next scene covers a number of threads in the storyline. Enjoy.. ........................................................................................................................ Scene Thirty-Six John couldn't recall afterwards how he came to be lying on his bed back in his bedroom at his digs on Monday night. A bottle of scotch which he'd somehow acquired along the way was on his bedside table and judging by the level, he'd made fair inroads on the contents. All he knew was that he found himself in the curious state of mind of something profound and vital being disconnected from himself and which made him feel dangerously without anchor and it was only partially due to the alcohol. He was here on his own beneath the bare lightbulb overhead which wasn't really constrained by the shade. He wanted to be alone. If he couldn't work his way through this present crisis, who could? He would only talk to friends, male or female, when he was ready for them. In the meantime, harsh electric light shone down on him while he strove to make sense of his life. Had he striven to improve his ways with women because he wanted to, because his old ways pushed him into a hole where he was isolated and alone? He'd gone round to Nikki and Helen's flat a couple of times and they'd gently and kindly tapped him in the right direction. He smiled warmly at the memory and the strangely contrasting memory of chivalrously defending them by knocking seven bells out of their bitter enemy Jim Fenner. He smiled nostalgically at past battles with the establishment which had steered him into sustaining relationships with his sensitive and intelligent lesbian friends . He felt supported by them and there was a mutual admiration society, particularly with Nikki. His despairing spirits fastened on his memories of Nikki as a drowning man seizes upon a lifeline. He recalled his earliest memories of her reappeal to wipe clean her prison record and how bravely she'd stood up to the most searching cross examination over every detail of how she took the life of D C Gossard. Still more, he fondly recalled how stoutly she had backed him up against the forces of reaction when the hearing didn't go their way. That typified their extraordinary similarity in fighting injustice, in caring for their fellow human beings, in striving to do the right thing. What suddenly hit him was the way she was blessed with her union with Helen, another caring woman while every relationship he'd sought had slipped through his fingers like fine sand. Nevertheless, he stumbled on in his mind, he'd done his best in associating with the very kind-hearted strong women who were her friends and he'd done his best to be at his best. In return, they respected, even possibly admired the good deeds that he'd done. They'd even been part of the crowd along with Trisha and Sally-Anne who had supported him and his fellow judges when they'd gone on strike against plans by Haughton to bring in a bill to restrict the powers of judges. Tears started to form in John's eyes as he remembered how they'd fought so hard together in their battles with unjust tyranny and how they'd stuck together. They started to trickle down his cheeks when he considered that now they'd all gained a measure of success and peace, everything had somehow fallen apart, to him most of all.Suddenly his spirits plunged and his only recourse was to pour himself a measure of stotch and pray that his spirits would revive. He knew that he must be in a desperate state to play Russian roulette with alcohol but this was his last recourse. As the spirits percolated through his system,. it dawned on him that Nikki and her friends had been very quietly, very softly been persuading him by force of their personal example that he should reach out towards the sort of permanent relationship that they possessed. It might have been this which had persuaded him to be so patient in the face of Jo's clearly ambivalent behaviour, to never quite surrender her defences after Helen's trial. He had been given cause to hope as she seemed to be more receptive, better able to listen just as he had striven to do himself.Somewhere along the line, Jo had ended up being attracted to this schoolfriend of hers and never a word to him about it.What hurt John the deepest was the force of this betrayal and that all his well meaning efforts were all in vain. So where did that leave him, John asked the Heavens above him? Should he pin possibly vain hopes that Jo might eventually come back to him? Ought he go back to his old philandering ways or should he seek pastures anew? It was when the bare white ceiling and lampshade started spinning round over his head that flashes of interesting conversations with Kristine came briefly into his mind. Perhaps that was the answer, he thought, as he struggled to wrap the bedclothes around him, click off the light and seek the blessed oblivion of the night. ********* George's head was spinning around with unresolved questions after confronting Jo, finding out about her new lover and instinctively stopping dead rather than pursuing the matter further. She hadn't applied modes of reaction that she was accustomed to from the Chix millieux, that Jo was finding her true sexuality at last, that she and Mel would ride off hand in hand into the golden sunset and all would end happily after. Why she didn't do so was beyond her understanding except that loud alarm bells were ringing in her head. She definitely wanted a second opinion on the matter and, as luck would have had it, she was crossing the road opposite the Old Bailey and she spied Nikki's distinctive profile. George's carrying voice elicited a welcoming grin and wave of her hand. "I'm surprised to see you revisiting the scene of your famous victories Nikki,"George said with a broad grin after exchanging a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. "Not quite, George. I've been hunting down a reference book but I've messed up the directions for the library so I want to find somewhere to take the weight off my feet." "Do you fancy lunch with me? Besides, there's something that's come up about mutual friends of ours and I value your advice." Nikki followed George to the pub across the road from the Old Bailey. It was where they'd all been during Helen's trial when John had gone out of his way to socialise with them and buoy up their spirits. She smiled nostalgically when she thought of the guy "So how's the pregnancy going on?" George asked sociably, having been there before many years ago. "It's great- so far. I went through a bit of a stage of treating Helen like a piece of Dresden porcelain but Helen sorted my ideas out pretty quickly. She's through the morning sickness phase and she's generally blooming and is wearing a range of fetching maternity dresses. We know that we want this baby like anything but not at the expense of seeing Helen only as a baby carrier and that we both have sexual needs. She's worrying a bit about not getting her figure back after the baby's born but we talk to each other. As you understand, I could have gone through this and not Helen but she was pushing for it so what could I say?" "It all sounds perfectly normal," George replied warmly in response to Nikki's lively chatter. "I was hardly the most maternal type but don't hesitate to talk to me if anything's bothering you." They chattered away in a friendly fashion but George's manner got more tense as they went on. Her body language became more nervy and abrupt until finally she cut to the chase. "There's another reason why I wanted to talk and that's because I've had a row with Jo." "You as well George?" queried Nikki with a mixture of concern for George and relief that they weren't the only ones to row with Jo. "Helen and I were beginning to think that perhaps we'd been a bit hard on Jo at that conference." George waved away her doubts with an impatient gesture as she knew better. "There's more to this than meets the eye. The simple facts are that she's broken things off with John and taken up with this old schoolfriend of hers. This has all been brewing up for some time, way before the conference." For once, Nikki was slow off the mark. Her mouth opened but no words came and George knew at once that the penny hadn't dropped and it was all down to Nikki's fixed conception of Jo as straight. "I mean they're lovers. Jo's gay, or at least she thinks she is," continued George loudly, safe to talk openly in the cuckoon of loud voices from the lunchtime crowd. Nikki's ears pricked up at the ambiguities in George's caustic retort and just where she needed their help. "This is a difficult one, George." Nikki said at last. "I've been on the lesbian scene for as long as anyone and I've come across women coming out who were also extricating themselves from straight relationships. Helen was a case in point if you must know. Normally sympathies go out to the women and the guys get seen as an obstacle to women finding their true needs. The only reservation I have is if the object of love is a destructive headcase...." "Like Becky Elliott, for instance," George said with a shudder and continued with intense force of feeling. "I can't thank my good fortune enough that Alice has finally got that woman out of her system and we are back to a loving, harmonious relationship with no snake in the grass to ruin our chances.That was down to John." "....in which case the prospective lesbian shouldn't touch that woman with a bargepole. The trouble is," continued Nikki meditatively as she got into her stride , "we know the guy and we're very fond of him. Our loyalties are divided but we incline to his side and that's never happened to me in my life, to sympathise with the guy. After Helen's trial when we were all together, we were all rooting for Jo to patch up her differences with the judge. In fact, the two of us and Helen pushed them in that very direction." "Don't I know it,"agreed George gloomily," and that's where I'm stuck." She reached out for a cigarette and passed one to Nikki who politely declined. "No thanks George. When the baby's born, I foresee my smoking will be knocked on the head so I'd better get used to it. There's just one question. Is Jo really a lesbian?" "How should I know, darling? At least I can't imagine it but who would have suspected me when I came out?" laughed George which drew a wry smile from Nikki. "The thing I don't get is that both you and Jo have been John's lovers and he's cheated on you both. You seem to have put that past resentment past you and Jo hasn't. How come?" pursued Nikki. "I first knew John when I was at university and he was the personification of the rakish, dashing bad man with lots of charm. Jo was John's pupilmaster when he was teaching law as a steadier occupation than schepping all over the country as a practising barrister. Unlike me, she hero worshipped John as a shining knight in armour standing up for justice and when she found out he had feet of clay in his personal life, she took it harder than I did. I was always the 'Ice Maiden' - that's Charlie's line which she's grown out of- while Jo was always the good woman. Now she's carrying on with this rock chick and looking as if she's burning the candle at both ends. It looks as if she's suddenly becoming bad." "No one's seen them together, that's the trouble.That can explain a lot," mused Nikki as she capped George's discourse. A wide thankful smile spread across George's face as Nikki shifted the last leftover piece of this jigsaw into position. They went on to chatter away before business drew them elsewhere. ***** For want of anything better, John went to the bar which Sir Ian sometimes frequented. It wasn't because he was greatly attached to the place but this was the sort of place where things might happen. Who knows what might walk through the door and, as luck would have it, the elegantly groomed figure of Francesca Rochester came into the subdued surroundings. Her golden hair that fell over her shoulders, her figure hugging dress that ended discreetly above her knees certainly attracted the eye and John went into automatic mode of thinking in turning on his charm. "Why hello John, it's lovely to see you once again,"Francesca said. "I thought at one point that you'd have settled down in happy domesticity but rumour has it otherwise." "Whatever the rumours are, I ought to say that I am a reporter from the News of the World and get them published," John said in his silkiest style. "How's Ian these days?" "Still happily divorced. At least I am but he isn't but then again, the man is so wrapped up in his work that he is incapable of happiness," Francesca said in her most seductive tones. At the back of John's mind, an iron bell tolled a melancholy note. This woman's sketch of Sir Ian's endless strivings while warm human relationships slipped through his fingers wasn't so different from his own self-portrait. "As it happens, I've been thinking of you. I've often wondered what's been happening to you. Romantic nonsense you might think but none the less real for all that. Of course, there is no substitute for the real thing," her lightly tinkling voice pursued while she turned on all her charms. This was it, the sexual proposition right there in front of him. It would be so easy for him to reply in like mind and they would be off and away to Francesca's elegant flat. For a reason he couldn't explain, he chose a different tack. "I've been engaged in sustained studies over the last year or so in facing up to reality," John said without a trace of artifice in his voice. "I made friends with an attractive and highly intelligent caring lesbian couple and their equally talented friends and in their kind-hearted way, have tried to get me to see the error of my ways. The trouble is that my existing relationships haven't all kept pace with me, Jo Mills in particular." The light went out of Francesca's eyes. This man was distinctly odd, suspect and she wanted no part of him. There were plenty of sleekly suited single men around London, perhaps not so much of a good lay as John, but more of what she was looking for.She was in the mood for pleasurable sex, no commitments, no hearts and roses and a fair exchange on both sides. "Too bad I have to rush off, John. I have a party to get ready for. Another time, darling." With a waft of expensive perfume, she wandered into the door, only to pass by Sir Ian who glared daggers at John and then her. She could not give a damn about either man. At this point, John picked up his mobile and phoned Kristine. ******* Alice and George were curled up around each other on the sofa, their breath returning to normal after tenderly making love. After their lives had returned to normal, they were if anything more eager to fling their clothes off and pleasure each other. George's white shirt was unbuttoned, her white bra was unclasped while Alice's black trousers were unzipped as far as they would go.The lights were turned down low and the colours in the room warm and comforting. The gas fire cast a lovely warm light and made the room feel warm and snug. "Another lesbian might get jealous and insecure to hear you talk about your ex-husband and worry on his behalf but I don't," Alice murmured, gesturing her point with her fingers which were delicately stroking George's centre and inducing a delicious minor spasm. "And why's that?" murmured George, her articulation blurred by her lips resting against Alice's nipple. "Because John's reputation with women may be as bad as has been made out but I believe he is honourable. I gather that Nikki and Helen have taken him in hand.He's done so much for all the friends we know and deserves better. There's just one thing about Jo that you and Nikki may have missed." "And what's that?" murmured George, deliberately making sure her lover didn't go totally off the boil. "Jo and Mel have some similarities with me and Becky as we were with some differences. Becky was and is a headcase with an ability to pull strings on me but I was trying to make her good. I sense that Mel is more together than Becky but appeals to Jo to be the naughty schoolgirl she never was, that Jo suddenly feels that she's missed out on the wicked pleasurable things in life.It sounds perverse but there might be something in it. There's another thing. Why does Jo look so wrecked when our sex life is healthy enough but we can be bright enough in the morning?" "Alice, you're a marvel,"exclaimed George. "You're absolutely right. I'll work on that in the morning but right now, I don't think that once is enough, darling and I'm far too impatient to wait till we get to bed." George crushed Alice's lips with hers and the two women rolled off the settee and onto the floor. They rapidly shed what was left of their clothes and they started to move like one to the rhythm of their bodies. |
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| richard | Oct 9 2011, 11:20 AM Post #48 |
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Scene Thirty-Seven "Kristine, it's John here. I trust that you remember me from that very excellent Howard League for Penal Reform AGM. I thought it was a bit rude of me not to have phoned you before now." John's attempt to be suave and debonair didn't fool Kristine one bit. She had wondered why this very suave sounding older man hadn't contacted her straight after their very animated conversation at the end of the conference. It was against her principles to be too easy a conquest but this time gap was going to the other extreme. When she picked out a trace of desperation in his voice, she was certain that one of life's traumas must have overtaken him and he was just climbing out the other side.She'd had her moments in the past when she was depressed, to retreat into her shell so she knew the signs. "I was right in the middle of some very tedious work which isn't coming out right so I'm very willing to be distracted," Kristine said in bantering tones, leaving a deliberate pause before continuing in a gentler vein, "especially in hearing your voice down the phone. We really must carry on where we left off." "I'd be more than willing to meet you wherever and whenever suits you," John said smoothly, not quite concealing his desperation for human contact."The sooner the better if that's all right." "John, is everything all right?" Kristine replied, a sense of real concern which she couldn't help but let slip into her voice. "You've guessed my feelings, Kristine," John said a slight tremor in his voice that was audible to him. It embarrassed him but not as much as he expected. "Unfortunately, I really have got a lot of work stacked up to the ceiling which I've let slide which is a bad habit of mine. That and too many teaching classes won't make me the best company in the next few days and I suspect you need that. Perhaps you could come round to my place and I'll cook for you. Would this Saturday be all right?" "That's fine by me," John said in that stoical tone of voice which rang loud alarm bells in her ears. "I know you would want to see me sooner or later but that doesn't stop us talking for the moment," Kristine said very gently. John was willing to give anything for this electronic lifeline and he continued talking about matters which, afterwards, he couldn't recall for the life of him. ******* The following day, Kristine clicked off her computer in her overcrowded room at the University of London having decided on the vital audio book she needed for her research plus the latest publication by Val McDermid in the Tony Hill series. The local Waterstones round the corner hadn't got either it in stock so she opted for her favourite bookshop , Foyles, that untidy rabbit warren of a ancient book shop in Charing Cross Road. It was in an old fashioned area of London, once home to Tin Pan Alley. Jules knew exactly where his mistress wanted to go so he led on ahead and she strode on behind in the direction of Russell Square underground station Down a flight of steps from the road, the bowels of the small tube station focussed attention on the ticket barriers and the attendant on hand with the swing doors ready to deal with what he perceived as problem situations. Kristine sighed with exasperation for the umpteenth time as some officious ticket collector saw her as some helpless creature to be assisted through the barrier and generally condescended to. All she really wanted to be was some anonymous person going on the underground just like any other person. Once she had got through the barrier, Jules led her through the sequence of steps and tunnels where her sharp ears could perfectly attune herself to the whooshing sound of the train coming onto the platform, into the compartment. While some sighted person aimlessly wondered why in hell the automated voice told passengers the name of the next station they were approaching when there were maps on display, Kristine knew that this voice was a lifeline to her independence. She wondered why sighted people needed to keep referring to maps when she had the whole network lodged inside her mind and her spatial awareness knew exactly where she was in the great scheme of things. Sure enough, she arrived at her destination where the friendly assistant dealt with a favourite customer who had the knack of knowing when an obscure publication arrived and whose dog was bright, alert and who mopped up fuss and attention like an ever absorbant sponge. They made quite a talking point in conversation and the regular clientele smiled at the woman who obviously appreciated good books in the age of the cheap glossy magazine. ******* Friday night at Chix was the first in the weekend where the pulsing atmosphere gradually built up from quiet beginnings. Trisha and Sally Anne were used to comfortably riding out that groove and interlocking their partnership in running the show and finding time to socialise as well. That crackle of anticipation and animated conversations overlaying the rhythmic sounds and pulsing lights had to be built up from women choosing their outfits for the evening, for making themselves most attractive to the eye, for themselves first and foremost.However, the incipient sense of pleasures to come had to contend with more mundane details. "That's funny," Karen muttered under her breath as she finished applying her lipstick carefully while looking in the mirror. "I could have sworn the spare key was in the pot on the mantlepiece." Getting made up ready to hit the dance floor at Chix after coming off a long shift at St Mary's took a lot of shifting from one task to another, besides of course greeting her beloved after her gruelling day of office politics and writing deadlines. "Occupational hazard, darling," laughed Beth as she teased her hair into its final perfect shape. "You'll never really get your years of having been a prison officer finally out of your system ." "You swine,"Karen retorted, sticking her tongue out at her partner's mischievously provocative deployment of a sharp home truth. "I've always left a key there wherever I've lived. You never know when you need one." "Too late to worry right now.We'd better get moving or we'll be late for our friends." Karen gave up resuming her distracted search amongst the bits and pieces on the mantlepiece and the long legged vision of perfection that was her lover caught her eye. Beth always brought out interestingly tingling sensations within her and a heightened sense of their immediate pleasures. "Nicola, you did promise us months ago that you wouldn't be too stupidly proud not to ask for advice about pregnancy or at least Helen did. So you can't reject my advice from with experience of bringing both you and John into the world to be careful in jigging around at that club of yours," persisted Nikki's mother on the phone with smug certainty that she was on the winning end of the argument. Nikki groaned under her breath at the way her mother's wits were sharpening up as she got older. It was all her dad's fault, she reasoned. She'd always regretted how colourless her mother was as an archetypal gin and bridge Navy wife but, these days, she was changing for the better. "You don't want Helen to have a miscarriage. We know how your hearts are set on having a baby and come to think of that, so are ours." "All right, mum," groaned Nikki under her breath while registering her mother's genuine tender concern. "Let's do a deal. We'll go and see our friends at Chix but we'll socialise and take it easy. Promise." "And another thing," teased Nikki's mother silently acknowledging the done deal. "You'll have to stop smoking very soon. No sneaking into the back garden and pretending an interest in the garden like you did at home.You'll have a baby to think of, you know." "I should have seen that one coming mum," retorted Nikki ruefully. "Right from the moment you told us the good news," came the maddenly serene reply. "You two enjoy yourselves but do it the right way." Nikki and Helen finally got themselves ready to go down to Chix, thinking that they'd been neglecting their friends though they'd weren't set to dance the night away as they'd done in the past, acknowledging the wisdom of the advice about too much of that kind of strenuous activity. A familiar feeling of excitement ran through them as for one night they didn't have to think about their futures but enjoy the here and now. ******** The lights and the feel of the VIP lounge was perfectly normal and the classily dressed ladies were a sight to behold but the atmosphere wasn't right for what it should be. The revelation that one of their favourite barristers, Jo Mills, had parted company with their definitely favourite judge to take up with another woman had a peculiar effect on their sensibilities. They reached out to unlock the puzzle with their normal set of perceptions but the key didn't fit comfortably or not at all. It was a call to face uncomfortable realities. "We've always felt that a woman who finally realises what her true sexuality is the one to support. Former boyfriends are expendable," pronounced Trisha with instant certainty. "In Jo Mills' case the judge is just another guy even if he is a cut among most and he's done us a few favours. That's partly what this club was built on." "I'm not so sure," reasoned Nikki, trying to feel her way. "Helen was a case that makes your point. She broke up with her fiancee who was a minor public school smoothie. All my sympathies were with Helen whose breakup was right in the open when she was having a tough time at work. His feelings certainly weren't at the top of my list......" "I understand darling," Helen said gently pressing her partner's hand to say that recalling those painful memories was all right by her. "God that feels like a lifetime ago." "The judge is a whole different kettle of fish," continued Nikki. "For a start, he's crashed on our sofa a couple of times and we've had a heart to heart with him, same as if any of us have done the same. I suspect that the guy is a womaniser and his private life isn't up to the knight in shining armour that I really know him to be. For the first time in my life, I can see it from the guy's point of view. I don't think the emotional fallout is really much different that if a woman who thinks she's in a comfortable relationship gets cheated on by another woman." "That's all very idealistic of you,Nikki," broke in Trisha impatiently, "but there's no nice way a woman can come out if she has to dump some guy to get there. It's different if you've never been straight in your life. The situations don't compare." The others mulled things over as Nikki and Trisha locked horns. Karen reflected on the fact that she was single, unemployed and just liberated from the worst nightmare of her life when she found her beloved, Beth who was unattached at that point as was Alice when she first laid eyes on George. The fair haired barrister had dumped that loathsome Neil Haughton because of her own changing boundaries that involved questioning her own morality and sexuality. Trisha and Sally Anne were drawn together by a process that didn't hurt anyone else's feelings while Nikki and Helen so much looked as they were born to live together that any other possibilities were unimaginable. A one time straight Helen was a patent absurdity and a sheer waste of the love and passion that she felt for Nikki whose dedication was shown by the baby they were expecting. "What if Jo Mills wanted to come here with her partner?" Nikki put in nervously. She was feeling under the same pressure that she knew Trisha was feeling. She knew that her old friend could get equally dogmatic as her where an inner uncertainty was gnawing at her. "I'm thinking that I ought to make my peace with her," she admitted. "Peace with honour on both sides. None of us have to take sides between Jo and the judge," put in Helen, whose sense of the future was becoming stronger by the day. She knew that it wouldn't be long before the baby within her would start to kick out at her, judging by the ingeniously combined strain of heredity and determinity that went into the creation. "Don't forget, Nikki and I owe a lot to both of them. We ought to think of what we don't know. We don't know what's been going down with Jo and we won't go far wrong with the judge if we play fair by both of them." "Incidentally, why do you and Helen call him the judge?" asked Sally inquisitively. "Er, that's a good question. I suppose it is a mark of respect. Overfamiliarity doesn't seem right. I suppose it's my father coming out in me," Nikki replied with really a cute sense of embarrassment. "Sometimes men can't be quite that easy to shed," Karen said gloomily, the train of thought about the judge having sparked off her own remaining vulnerability. "My son Ross is somewhere out there dossing around, wasting all the effort I put into bringing him up, helping him with his homework, racing up to the school for a parent's evening off a long shift minus his father who couldn't give a shit, being proud of him the day I sent him off to university and only turning up if he can scrounge something off me. I'm not going to let him back into my life's and Beth's until he finally grows up. I can't do it for him." George wasn't slow to sense the undertone of parental guilt at the way Karen's son had turned out despite her outward vehement contempt for him. She'd always felt that she was not the maternal sort and felt her own guilt at the way John and Charlie had bonded from the word go which was a guilty unspoken element as to why her marriage to John had broken up.Blaming John for his infidelities had once been a convenient self-protection but in since living with Alice, she had got to know better. Relationships between her and Charlie had improved out of all recognition and her daughter had a wide eyed admiration for the very attractive Alice who she saw had humanised her mother. "I ought to know how you feel but I don't," said George slowly and delicately. "I was always very unmaternal. Dealing with small demanding offspring and changing nappies really wasn't my cup of tea. I have to admit that despite my past namecalling John as the archetypal 'trendy parent and permissive liberal', he really did a good job in bringing up Charlie who I only see infrequently as she's caught up in her own world as she has every right to be.I admire his dedication in dealing with Charlie's well meaning but foolish escapades in animal right movements." Some of the other women felt a little uncomfortable at all the talk of offspring. When they had interaction with their families and sat in on discussions amongst straight women on the woes of bringing up children, they were overcome by the sentiment of please can someone change the stuck record and fast. Alice coloured at hearing sides of her friends' existence that she had never come across. She had found it easy enough in bonding with Charlie who was a very presentable well brought up young woman while the family crises in her professional duties existed in another dimension- until Mrs Elliott's destructive scheming brought so much professional and personal distress to her and George. "I ought to remember that ex-partners can be left behind if both of you want it." "Alice, we know that you're slated for giving evidence in that wounding case you got dragged into,"Sally-Anne said warm-heartedly. She felt better about herself in having something to contribute in an area she felt surer about.. "You and George don't have to deal with this one on your own you know." Trisha smiled fondly on her partner for saying precisely the right thing and locked fingers with Sally's hand affectionately. "Never mind,"Helen said with a sense of bright but steely determination . "You will, of course, see a lot of our child for many, many years to come. You really will learn to love babies, I assure you especially as it is ours." Instantly, the room lightened as they laughed with appreciation and amusement at themselves. The chill and uncertainty that had radiated out into the room was abolished and the sweetly seductive rhythms of Texas playing "When we are together" wafted back into the room. Nikki's hand reached out for Helen's as this was one of the songs that had played that day when Helen had plucked up her courage to enter the room of swaying sisterhood in love with each other just like George and then Karen had done after them. They were together as indeed they always would be. . |
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| mlbach | Oct 13 2011, 01:52 PM Post #49 |
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Keys for the handcuffs!
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Had a feeling from their first meeting that John would end up pursuing the fair Kristine. This will be very different for him--his famous good looks will be irrelevant. |
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| richard | Oct 23 2011, 03:07 PM Post #50 |
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Hi Mlbach, thanks for this sharply observed insight. Here's the next scene. Scene Thirty-Eight The conference on Friday night prompted Nikki and Helen to unpick one strand of the emotional tangle that could easily be dealt with, making their peace with Jo.This morning, Nikki had the day off work and made the conscious effort to get off the treadmill of work "So which of us were more 'in your face' to Jo?" Nikki said, half talking to herself as she popped her jeans on. "I guess that , as per usual, it must have been me. It's just as well I never tried to get a job in the diplomatic service. Even I wouldn't go for a pinstripe suit and white shirt and tie.That would be too dykeish even for me." Helen laughed at Nikki's stream of witticisms, her green eyes glinting and the dirty tone of her laugh. Right then, she was dressed in a very decorous smock that did not conceal the growing signs of her pregnancy. Nikki couldn't resist the temptation to dart over and feel the growing shape of her lover's pregnancy. The process seemed very mystical to her partly for all her earlier denial of going down the mothers and babies route as her very bland and boring sister in law had gone, Jill Wade with her two sons as equally offensive as her brother was from her infrequent contact with them had revealed. "So that's what I am these days, a baby producer?" Helen teased, knowing very well that Nikki went out of her way not to think that way. "I haven't come across any baby producers who have the ingenuity to go down on me the way you do. You haven't lost the touch," Nikki said, looking like a naughty schoolgirl. "I wouldn't want to,"Helen said in the tone of voice that made the dark haired woman flutter inside. Her soulful eyes ate up up the delicious sight of Nikki wearing a white lacy bra, having very conveniently forgotten to put on her top."Come here, sweetheart, I haven't forgotten you." "We will be able to, you know, stay as we are," Nikki said in uncertain tones into her lover's neck as they clasped each other tight, though judiciously so.Helen got the sense of what her lover was trying to say. "I get the feeling that you're worrying about babies crying in the night, teething troubles, an insatiable child that will draw all our attention away from each other. Is that it, darling?" Nikki mutely worried. Somehow, she realised that worrying about this tactful intervention with Jo was displacing some of her own residual worries that she hadn't vocalised.Helen placed her hands either side of Nikki's head and looked her in the eye as she spoke slowly and clearly. "I don't want us to become devoted parents and end up with an acute attack of lesbian bed death, getting frustrated and taking it out on each other and living miserably ever after. From what I remember of my parent's marriage, that's what happened in a straight relationship and I want to avoid that like the plague.We won't be able to make love when we want to but we'll just have to organise ourselves a bit better. Why be a lesbian if we can't enjoy ourselves?" An hour later when the two women's breathing had returned to normal and Nikki started looking for her jeans again the other side of her lover's naked breasts, the thought crossed her mind that she'd better phone Jo up. The decision and what she was going to say came from off the top of her tongue. Dead easy when she put her mind to it. **** At eleven o clock, they strolled down the road, heading for Jo's office. The last time they'd been there before was when they, together with Claire Walker had first laid plans for Nikki's reappeal nearly two years ago. Such a wealth of experiences had rushed by them both since those early days. They strolled up to the inconspicuous brass plate on the solid wood door and politely gave their name to the receptionist. As they glanced round the office, memories started to come back to them and they remembered their first impression of Jo Mills wearing a simple two-piece suit, her intense blue eyes and her friendly smile which had both impressed and relaxed them. She had seemed Olympian in her strength at that time and throughout court cases she'd conducted and now they'd had a standup row with her, like any other human being they'd known. Both women were out for 'peace with honour', not the least theirs. Together, they climbed the stairs to her office, politely knocked at the door and entered. This time, the table at which they sat seemed to separate them from Jo whose manner was non-committal and whose expression was a blank facade. "So what can I do for you two?" came the formal greeting which revealed nothing. Instantly, Nikki and Helen knew that this was the first deal of the cards in a verbal poker game but who was going to deal first? Finally, Nikki spoke in pleasant yet forceful tones.. "OK, Jo, we'll come straight to the point. We owe you a lot for what you've done for us in court but that doesn't mean you're immune from criticism any more than we are. Helen and I had a verbal set to with you at the Howard League AGM and we wanted to clear the air between us as there's unfinished business.You see where we're coming from?" "We want to see justice- on all sides," added Helen, her follow up contribution making Jo blink as it rang loud bells in her sensitivities. "It was you, Nikki who started the argument by flying off the handle in response to a harmless joke. I don't see why I should be ganged up on," Jo said abruptly, her face tense, her reaction striking Helen as wierd. In all the months she'd been carrying Nikki's child, she had the right to be all calm one minute making tea and the next minute throwing the teapot against the wall because it's not brewing quickly enough. "Let's get a few things straight," cut back Nikki. "Don't quote me on this but you know and I know that the guy who chaired that AGM is a pompous egomaniac, someone who is a cross to bear for my boss and good mate of mine, Paul Williams who took your group. At the same time, I won't take shit from anyone who badmouths whoever or whatever gains my loyalty, even from you. I owe the Howard League bigtime for taking me on and giving me the job of my dreams so I found your badly thought remark hard to deal with.At the same time, I admit I flew off the handle and overreacted. That's not unknown for me." "So it's six of one and a half dozen of the other and we ought to all hold our hands up and admit it," interjected Helen at just the right moment. "I suppose you've heard about me and John breaking up. Word gets round quickly, doesn't it," "Don't even dare to drag in your split with the judge and suggest that's at the back of us trying to sort out our own separate argument with you. That's entirely unworthy and I'd have expected better of you than that," Helen retorted in hard tones, a steely glint in her eyes. Jo flinched at the determined way that these two women weren't giving an inch and were coming back hard at her.She'd seen them in action on the witness stand but this personal setting discomforted her. Nikki stole the opportunity Jo could have deployed to rebut their case "We don't want to grind you into the mire, Jo.All we want is for us to be straight with each other. That's not much to ask, is it," Nikki said calmly and with clear certainty. Jo's thoughts were all over the place and she'd got it fixed in her mind that these two women's disapproval of her split with John underlay their criticism of her. She started to laugh unaccountably while Nikki and Helen patiently waited for this stress induced reaction to pass. Sooner or later, Jo would become real with her. Embarrassment finally did the trick and she finally lapsed into silence, her eyes downcast. As the two women the other side of the table made no move, Jo grudgingly masde the opening gambit. "All right, I hear you. This has gone far enough and there's little point in continuing this argument. I'm sorry for my tactless words if that helps." "We're sorry too Jo," Helen said with a winning smile. "We really should be on the same side." This only discomforted Jo because of her still crossed lines of thinking so she made polite conversation with the two women. Finally, she made the ready excuse of having work to deal with which had the merit of being the truth.Right at the very end, Jo impulsively shook hands with Helen, then Nikki. They sensed that, despite the situation, Jo couldn't help respecting and liking them. It was enough for them to know that. ******* Jo Mills wasn't the only one under pressure right now. It was Monday December 1st, the run up to Christmas when Sir Ian was feeling stresses and strains in life that he couldn't begin to deal with. Up till now, that tightly stressed structure had had constituted Sir Ian's constrained mind had committed him to plough the same furrow he'd followed all his life. He had considered that self-doubt was the enemy and it wasn't in his nature to consider alternatives, having invested so much of himself in self advancement. He'd always prided himself in being a tidy-minded man, everything being in its rightful place and in strict order but in his unguarded moments, he couldn't help wondering if there were times when demands on his life weren't becoming unduly onerous. Of course, he crushed down each thought as traitorous, that he was being damned disloyal to everything that had been invested into his upbringing. He was aware, of course, that the weight of concerns that he was having to shoulder had imperceptibly increased, bit by bit, as he rose in his profession but this was a challenge that must be faced, just another one in a line to which he'd always felt equal. He had to succeed as he knew very well that those who had climbed the dizzying heights of success had only to put one foot wrong and they were plunged into the uttermost depths of failure. He'd seen it before and he had spared them no sympathy. It was the rules of the game- they'd obviously shown weakness of character and not enough willpower. Over the past months, he had noticed that ,increasingly he felt compelled to ensure that everything was in order, even to the point of walking back the ten yards or so to his car, trying the door lock to make sure that he'd locked his car. The rational fact that it stood in the underground car park of the LCD headquarters didn't allay this compulsion. Only then was he reassured that everything in that part of his existence was safe and secure as he wanted it to be. He had become ever more zealous to ensure that those who worked for him was actually doing as they were supposed to do and he had born down on them with more than his usual harshness. Come what may, his department simply must, must achieve.It became increasingly impossible for him to accept the most minor mishap, the slightest deviation from policy. The person that was closest to him in these tense times was the ever stolid and dogmatic functionary, Lawrence James. He remained the most zealous upholder of Sir Ian's thoughts, the most faithful recounter of His Master's Voice around the LCD, the picker of brains of more talented but more junior functionaries and a useful and dependable Mr Fixit of his area of domination that Deed hadn't challenged. There were moments when there was a real intimacy of ideas that flowed between them, allowing of course that Sir Ian was the leader and Lawrence James the subordinate. A month ago, he'd once impulsively taken the afternoon off work, walking away from his strictly circumscribed route that he'd followed every day. His life took him from home to office, doing the rounds of various government departments, visiting the Court of Appeal, various judge's chambers, to meetings of top civil servants at 10 Downing Street headed by the Permanent Secretary, finally occasionally finishing off at the bar round the corner after work where he'd had a distasteful encounter with his very estranged ex-wife Francesca. He had walked aimlessly around the streets of London until he'd dropped into a coffee bar and started to observe the world around him. He'd been served a cup of coffee at the counter and took it to a small table right at the very back of the restaurant so that he could watch the world around him in a detached kind of way. The middle aged woman took his eye who sitting on her own, her large cup of coffee gradually cooling as she stared into the distance. Somehow, he sensed from the expression on her face that she was as weary of her existence as he was of his, though he'd never cared to put it that way before. Suddenly, a tumult of conversation broke out, as a crowd seemed to invade the restaurant from the inner recesses of his subconscious. First Ms Wade, then Ms Stewart and after that, Deed of all people and then George Channing were mocking , this respectable woman, while other dangerous women, looking just like Francesca, came creeping in from the sidelines. To make it worse, all sorts of mad scrambled conversations were thrown in about that wretched hit and run driver trial of that prison officer. Finally, he saw another dark haired woman enter the restaurant and blatently, indecently kiss a fair haired woman in full view of everyone. He couldn't help thinking that this was the sort of thing Francesca might do just to antagonise him. Just before they swept out of the cafe, it struck him how Deed had such a sense of rapport with all these women, that they looked as if they were off to some party and, once again, he was staying at home, all alone. Only now did he start to realise that not one of them had the faintest idea of his existence. He was condemned to some kind of endless shadow existence and he had no power to change his destiny. The only alternative was some kind of terrible madness of which he could make no sense. This unutterably vivid bleak insight into his situation set him off running back to the security of what he was familiar with. He had to keep a stiff upper lip and grin and bear it. While he was trying his best to stick it out, only now was he realising that all his good works over the years was starting to be undone. Already, he was getting the sense that he was being marginalised at the meetings of department heads, chaired by the very magisterial Permanent Secretary. The loud and overweight Sir Percy Thrower, Permanent Secretary of the Home Secretary was able to bask in the spotlight with his tough talking style while the namby pamby legal nicety image of the LCD was seen to be weak and inneffective while strong-minded judges steamrollered all over him. Discussions amongst departmental heads were becoming uncomfortable affairs and he was increasingly relegated to the sidelines, the one safe place where he could safely exist these days however humiliating the position. Peter Jenkins informed him of the dreadful news of the Howard League of Penal Reform AGM.This was a colossal disaster as he was certain that word had got back through circuitous means to the Cabinet Secretary that Andrew McCully's speech had been thoroughly subverted by Deed and all manner of dangerous thinking had been allowed to be debated. He knew above all else the hothouse atmosphere of gossip amongst the elite that once stories started circulating they spread amongst everyone of importance. The time spent in the run up to the next meeting of departmental heads was torture to Sir Ian. He was getting the feeling that everyone he met knew about his latest fiasco by the undertone in their voices, the way they smiled too quickly. He felt increasingly less able to know where he stood with his peers and his rages against his subordinates felt less like him stamping his sense of authority on them than merely venting his spleen. He started to perceive the way their heads settled deeper into their shoulders, their faces remained blank and inexpressive. His sense of unreality, that need to frantically check things was gathering pace and his in tray was piling up with uncleared work, much to Lawrence James' hidden annoyance. He could swear that the man was starting to subtly patronise him Finally, when the meeting took place, he was no longer the smart suited civil servant carrying his smart attache case, he was the little boy whose school uniform felt badly fitting, his hair tousled, his socks hanging down, his shoes all scuffed and all the rest of the form was laughing at him while the head teacher read down thunderous denunciations of his English composition for all to hear. He could see the slanted folding school desk top, the inkwell set to the right hand corner as he stared downwards, not daring to look up. Very soon, all his secrets hidden away in his schooldesk would be brought to the horrid light of day for everyone to see his inadequacies. He could somehow see Deed laughing at him loudest of all as perspiration streamed down him and he started hyperventilating. He really was feeling very ill and out of sorts and nothing like this had ever happened before to him in his life. |
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| richard | Nov 6 2011, 04:46 PM Post #51 |
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Scene Thirty-Nine Sir Ian never knew just what he said or did to take himself out of the blackest nightmare of his life. Somehow, he managed to stumble to his feet despite the glare of disapproving authority and the laughter from his peers. It agonised him how nobody had any idea just how much he was dying inside from the heartless mockery all around him. For once in his life, he paid no regard to the papers on his desk or his duties and responsibilities that had been deeply inculcated into him from an early age. Making a conscious decision had nothing to do with his present state of mind. All that he knew was that he should take himself somewhere, anywhere where he could have some peace and quiet. He tore out of the room and banged the door shut behind him, looking wildly around him. He stumbled down endless corridors like a drunken man, spasmodic shafts of light slanting in through the windows. He feverishly reached up towards his collar as he was choking for air and, for once in his life, the state of his appearance meant nothing to him. He pulled with both hands at his tie to loosen it, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, before that wretched piece of material jammed tight on him. Nevertheless, he'd bought himself a few precious inches clearance for blessed air to be sucked down into his lungs. Although he didn't feel quite so strangulated, he felt dizzy and disoriented. The solid black and white familiarity of horizontals and perpendiculars , the physical geography that he knew so well, was drunkenly leaning at crazy angles and appeared opaque. Indistinct and long established meanings and reference points in his world were difficult to unscramble, as if his very foundations were crumbling beneath him. Once, he would have panicked and striven for rhyme and reason for everything around him. Now he accepted that he really was feeling out of sorts and he should struggle on as best as he could. Coldly and analytically matching contained order to the universe around him felt utterly absurd to him for the first time in his life. So this is what madness must be like, he thought to himself as he wiped his streaming brow with the back of his hand. He didn't feel safe round here even though the corridor was deserted. He wasn't even sure where the exit was in this insane asylum. All he knew was that he had to keep on moving. So he staggered onwards like a purposeful drunk as he gulped in great lungfuls of air. To his relief, he came to a dark foyer whose only illumination came from small windows inset in a set of old fashioned oak double doors. He might have wondered if this was a trap but somehow, he knew that the key to the highway was presented to him from such an unpromising perspective. He pushed his way through, forward towards another set of doors and finally, he was blinded by the brilliant daylight outside. He was free- if he could manage living in freedom. Indescribable feelings swept over Sir Ian like a tidal wave mixed by some crazy desire to look for the nearest park. He hadn't the faintest idea why he should be going there, what he might find. All he knew was that he should go there. It didn't occur to him that he might be a schoolboy bunking off school. The sentiment would have meant nothing to him. He paid no attention to his surroundings, where he was going or whatever route he should be going. He stumbled along a dusty path, occasionally scuffing his highly polished shoes and catching at the sparse air in his lungs. He was aware that he'd not done so much running for what seemed like ages but he could be wrong about that one as well. He wasn't rightly sure what to believe about anything though he caught a fleeting thought that told him that at some time in the future, he might figure it all out. While the outside was bathed in daylight, he couldn't be sure of the world that he was running through, only that it seemed wild and untamed to him. For once in his life, it didn't bother him in his present state of delerium. Finally, he spied a set of green railings and what seemed like privet bushes that stood between him and the peaceful open countryside that he knew was on the other side. He simply had to follow it along to what he was sure would be the gates and, sure enough, they mistily came into view. Eagerly, he rushed through the gap and he hurried along the pathway, feeling the cooling breezes on his skin. Suddenly, he came upon a carved white stone shape and, blinking to clear his eyes, he spied an old fashioned water fountain, the sort he could remember from his schooldays. Eagerly, he found the brass knob and placed his lips at the feeble stream of water that raised itself a couple of inches off the water outlet before falling back on itself and back down the drain. He suddenly realised that he was ravenously thirsty but the water he was drinking only made him realise how profound his thirst was and how little it met his needs.He knew now that someone on the bottom rung of the ladder knows how priceless that distance upwards is from the ground beneath him. Finally, he staggered off into the open spaces where some kind soul had provided a park bench only on the basis that some worn out traveller might need succour. He let himself drop down, being such a person and held his face in his hands for a period of time that might have been an eternity. He had nowhere else to go. ****** John Deed was walking his dog Mimi in a favourite mental shelter that he had come to prize, one of the small parks that some Victorian philanthropist had provided as a break from the soulless stone and brick edifices. Since Jo had broken up with him and their lunchtime walks on the green near the court had stopped, he'd started contemplating his existence in this rectangular patch of nature on this unusually cold but fine November day. His eyes were struck by the unmistakeable sight of Sir Ian Rochester sitting on the park bench in the shade of a large oak tree and his curiosity and puzzlement were immediately aroused. What on earth was this man doing here, bearing in mind that he had the Lord Chancellor's Department to run? His posture immediately aroused his natural concern as the man was rocking gently back and forth, his head in his hands. These were the signs of total desperation. Immediately, his pace quickened and Mimi sensed just where her master intended to go. The closer he got, the more alarmed John became. He threw aside their long history of antagonisms and instinct framed the words with which he called out to the man. "Are you all right, Ian?" Deep in the pit of the most uttermost despair, Sir Ian heard these words as the full implications of what he'd done hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. He'd been held up to ridicule by the Permanent Secretary and he'd irretrievably blotted his copy book. Dementedly running out of the meeting and going absent without leave was the civil service equivolent of a hanging offence. What totally went through Sir Ian's elaborate structure of identity was that the one man who showed any real concern was his bitterest enemy, the man who had consistently foiled all his schemes and who laughed openly in his face.Just at the point when automatic habit prompted him to brush aside such help, it also hit him that none of his supposed colleagues had made any attempt to follow after him. It dawned on him that the one person to show him any honest sentiment, either anger, amusement or concern was Deed and he couldn't be more desperate or lost than he was right now. He grabbed at the lifeline that was thrown out to him with the same reflex instinct as a drowning man would. "As it happens, I couldn't be worse off if I tried. I've just been held up to ridicule in a meeting of departmental heads and I did the unforgiveable. I ran out of the meeting and came to this park for some fresh air. The past months or so have been pure hell and this was the last straw.I couldn't think of anywhere else to go." "That's terrible," John said putting in the sort of expression in his voice that he briefly imagined Nikki would deploy.He remembers how he'd called on them in moments of desperation and they'd gently got him to tell them his troubles. This time, it was down to him to take on that role and repay the favour. "You must tell me about it. I really want to help you. Time is definitely on our side." "Everything's getting on top of me, John. I'm being asked to do the impossible with no thanks, no mercy if I fail. There's noone around me I can talk to, something I've only just realised. I don't feel I have any connection with anything around me. I'm living in some very automated, neatly ordered hell and I can't make sense of it." John didn't know what to say next for the life of him. For Sir Ian's world to so spectacularly burst apart the way it had obviously done was all too much, too soon for him to assimilate let alone advise the man. "I'm listening. Believe it or not, there are times when I seriously doubt my own sense of purpose in the world. The traditional public school education of our generation - stiff upper lip and all that- doesn't really equip you to handle self doubt." "I've been covering it up by burying myself in my work only that form of solace isn't working any more. It's made me realise I've been lonely, on my own ever since Francesca left me.The way she did it was so cold, so contemptuous, so heartless. She made me feel that I was only half a man. I was very fond of her only I could never express my true feelings to her. Every time I tried, it came out like a civil service memo. Looking back on it, I can see why she had an affair with you," Sir Ian answered, the pace and delivery of his words slowing down rattling out his words at breakneck speed. John was beginning to feel that his sympathy was starting to take effect. "That's something I feel really guilty about, Ian," John said gently, his soft voice underlain by a tone of regret that Sir Ian picked up on. "I do remember the civilised way you behaved towards her and for me to pursue her was mean-minded and below the belt. I should never have done it." "That's all right John. She only married me for my money and position and I'm sure she became bored with me very quickly,"Sir Ian replied ,the faintest smile on his face for the first time they met. It was the sense of stark self-negation that made John feel intensely sorry for him. "I kept blaming you as you were very convenient to blame. I was wrong, It should have been obvious to me that she pursued you like every suave young man she ever came across at our social gatherings." This was the first time John had ever had a backstage glimpse of the apparachtik that he'd previously scorned. He'd never suspected such vulnerabilities had existed behind the stiff-necked exterior. Now he maintained a companionable silence that encouraged Sir Ian to continue. "I've never really been what you call a ladies' man. I mean years spent at an all boy's public school up until I was eighteen makes you think that the opposite sex was some foreign species. I was always stiff and awkward around women but I could hardly believe my luck when Francesca accepted my wedding proposal. I couldn't believe my good fortune. It did my self esteem no end of good." "I'm genuinely glad that you've had some happiness in your life," John replied. Just then, Sir Ian became aware of the relaxed comfortable world they inhabited. Privet bushes that lined the park had the effect of cancelling out concrete responsibilities that pressed on him. The air was clear and sharp and a faint breeze started to cool his overheated brow. The grass was neatly cut and their park bench was their island in a land of tranquillity. John's face was gentle and his blue eyes were friendly. "Of course, all women flock to you. I think I set the spies on you to catch you out in flagrente because I was jealous of you," Sir Ian admitted, his frankness both surprising and pleasing John. "An all boy's public school really doesn't help a growing generation in dealing with the opposite sex. We're archetypes, you being shy and inhibited around women and me being a womaniser. It meant that both of us never learnt to become friends with women. I'm only recently trying to do something about it." Sir Ian nodded with appreciation at John's kindly insight. It made some sense of his life "I saw you and George with your friends, Nikki Wade and Helen Stewart and others in a restaurant a month back.They obviously all liked you.I was watching you from the back of the restaurant." John smiled freely at the pleasant memory and Sir Ian suspected that this was a way of living that was much more agreeable than his present obsessive routines.He wondered about tiptoeing into the water. "You need to rethink what you're going to do with the rest of your life," suggested John mildly. As soon as he uttered the words, he knew he had made a mistake. They were too purposeful, too soon. "I don't know. Become a monk? Let's face it, I'm halfway there already," laughed Sir Ian in tones that rang loud alarm bells in John's mind. "Work for some kind of charity. No, I'm too dried up inside. A long time civil servant ends up not really suitable for any other walk of life.Don't ask me to explain why but it's true." "Why not take a holiday and gain some space for yourself?" John pursued gently. It was then that something snapped inside Sir Ian, judging by the twitch of his facial muscles. "That's just what I don't want, don't need. Thank you, John for your kindness and your patience with me but my destiny is to be a career civil servant even if I do get exiled to DEFRA." The way the man talked, he looked as if he was staring in the reverse line of the sights of a rifle, one of the firing squad waiting for the right moment. He breathed in and out several times while John remained silent, feeling that further intervention was futile. "I will go home and take it easy," Sir Ian said in more level tones than they'd spoken all this time. "And this conversation, it remains with us?" "You have my word for it,"John replied, summoming up every power of conviction in his voice, meaning every word of what he said. Sir Ian believed the man, feeling the old-school values emanating from him, still shining bright before modern living had so tarnished them. Sir Ian straightened his collar and tie, shook John warmly by the hand and made his uncertain way out of the park. It was the first time in their lives that they'd shaken hands with each other. John whistled softly under his breath at the momentous importance of such an occasion- in an empty park on a cold November day. ********* As John carried on walking through the park, Mimi pulled gently at her lead, sensing that her master was in a thoughtful mood by the way he paced. He had a nasty feeling what was going to happen to Sir Ian. He'd tried his best to guide him onto a better way of living but his best clearly wasn't good enough. Suddenly, John's mobile sounded in his pocket. He looked nervously at the number flashing as he wasn't in the mood for mindless company. To his intense relief, it was Kristine. "Hi John, it's Kristine," she called out confidently enough. "I wanted to phone you to find out whether you're vegetarian or not so I can buy in the food after work." "Officially, I'm a vegetarian as far as the Lord Chancellor's Department is concerned. They consider that a subversive trouble maker must be a veggie as the two go together in their narrow minds so why should I disappoint them? In actual fact, I'm bored with the same rather bland food so I could do with something different." "Something different you want, something different you will have. I can guarantee you of that." "Is it Ok to bring Mimi? "Of course you can. I'll definitely be there for you tomorrow night," Kristine said with a mixture of playfulness and tenderness that lifted John's spirits and self esteem no end. |
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| richard | Nov 20 2011, 09:43 PM Post #52 |
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Scene Forty John's feelings, as he buttoned up his shirt and mentally prepared himself for his date with Kristine were strangely formless and strangely familiar. Part of him relished the thought of being let off his self-imposed leash so he could be hungrily all male once again. Certainly, there was no moral obligation to hold him back but the other half of him knew that this wasn't going to be a one night stand with some random woman. The friendship that had already grown up between them had already become more advanced than was normal for him. He was heading into unknown teritory and would have to feel his way as he went along, psychically speaking. He thought long and hard about whether or not to bring a bouquet of flowers along with the requested bottle of Chablis wine. He attempted his best to to see the world as Kristine saw it and finally concluded that his own presence and the wine would be enough only so long as he could be as up to the mark as Kristine would wish.In such a frame of mind, he floated out into the evening to turn up at her flat at seven on the dot. Mimi settled down comfortably in the passenger seat of John's convertible, sensing that this trip was going to be out of the ordinary. In the meantime,Kristine had been hard at work on one of her culinary concoctions, something that gave her pleasurable self-satisfaction. The special school she'd attended had laid great emphasis on teaching her the skills of self-sufficiency so that where a conventional sighted approach wouldn't work, a more lateral approach would be devised to make the most imaginative lateral use of alternative skills. While she'd cook her standard range of dishes for friends who sociably came over to visit, an extra special effort would be called for the man or woman who she wanted to pull. Her capacious memory knew just where each ingredient was placed on her work surface so, leaving the chicken on one side, she concentrated on her home made stuffing. After chopping a large onion, she kneaded it into a pound of pork sausage meat, and worked in 2 teaspoons of ground sage, 2 tablespoons of lemon juice, and dipped the mixture into two beaten eggs and breadcrumbs to bind it all together. She then coaxed the stuffing into the breast of the chicken, secured it with a small skewer to keep the skin of the breast in place and placed it into the roasting tin, lined with foil and then onto the top shelf of the oven. Kristine then turned her attention to peeling the potatoes one by one, cutting them into chunks, part boiling them for fifteen minutes and then draining them. She avoided her hands being scalded by instincts unknown to an uninitiated sighted person but one which was engrained into her as thoroughly as any task she'd mastered. All it took was spatial awareness, memory, method and above all, concentration of thought. She carefully placed a roasting tin containing a substantial amount of olive oil into the oven to heat up and instinct told her to remove it when the oil was almost at smoking point, and the potatoes were placed carefully into the oil. With a sprinkling of fresh thyme and fresh sage to the roasting tin of potatoes, the bulk of the meal was well and truly started for the ensemble to cook for between forty-five minutes and an hour and just as the potatoes were ready, she removed the chicken from the oven to rest. While all this cooking was progressing, she selected her favourite vegetables, carrots and broccoli. She'd chopped the broccoli and was just about to start on the carrots when John announced his presence just at the ideal time as she sighed with satisfaction.. The other side of the door, John had taken the lift up to the sixth floor flat in Kilburn and politely knocked on the front door, accompanied by a slight scrabbling sound and the unmistakeable sounds of a barking dog. Jules immediately pricked up his ears and gingerly wondered just how safe and secure his territorial space was. In turn, she placed the carrots and knife carefully down, paced through the spacious flat and opened the front door. John was pleasantly surprised to see Kristine attractively dressed in a long but slightly floaty black skirt with cream spots, and a long tunic-style black top that was just about low enough to draw attention to a tattoo of a red and blue snake and more than a hint of her well-shaped breasts. He made no comment apart from polite preliminaries as they verbally adjusted around each other. Jules and Mimi equally recognised the need to edge around each other, giving vent to short, sharp barks until they both finally found their place in the flat. Kristine listened intently to the two animals while John was nervously watching. He wasn't sure if any trouble was going to break out over territorial matters. It crossed his mind that the very same thing had happened when John had been first to lay claim to his place in the judge's digs and got off on the wrong foot with Monty. Finally, John became conscious of the delicious smell of cooking wafting through from the kitchen area.Besides the smart and tidy surroundings, the atmosphere felt right and that was the most important thing. "I'm just finishing off the vegetables. Just take a seat and I'll be with you in no time,"Kristine called out in clear confident tones. This reminded him how he'd definitely liked her voice the first time they'd engaged in conversation. The texture was pleasing and definitely unlike the women he'd slept with as 'one night stands.' He also sensed that she didn't want any gallantly meant but socially inept assistance with the cooking. This was Jules' cue to seek attention from this male human whom he hoped would play with him. He trotted forward to present John with his favourite rubber toy and John instinctively played with him, pretending to hold onto one side while Jules pretended to growl through his bared teeth, gripping onto the other side. Mimi took this play in good sport. "He'll worship you for life, John," laughed Kristine. "He's always preferred men, because he was trained by one." For a moment, John didn't answer as, in a child-like fashion, he was preoccupied by the game and noticed nothing else. "Didn't I hear tell that you're a vegetarian, John?" Kristine asked while she chopped the carrots into portions. Her highly developed sense of touch carefully gathered in the pieces and she dropped them into a saucepan full of water. "I have that reputation," John replied in his silkiest tone of voice."I only adopted it after pressure from my daughter Charlie and only to confirm the reactionary views of the LCD who think that dangerous radicalism goes hand in hand with vegetarianism. Let's say that perhaps I deserve an amnesty tonight for my good behaviour." "I think you deserve it," Kristine replied in studied tones as her smile broadened considerably. "Your researches are very thorough as I might have expected. Where did you hear about that one?" John asked politely, sitting in the comfortable armchair. "I was chatting to George and Karen at the Howard League AGM.George especially knows all your dark secrets." "They are two very good looking women, very strong and very compassionate," John replied with studious understatement. At that moment, he really did feel that he was bestowing a compliment as if he were appraising a masterpiece of art. "I find them as sexy as you obviously do. I can tell it in your voice a mile away," retorted Kristine as she dropped the carrots into the saucepan and lit the gas. John laughed out loud as his confession of the truth. He was warming to this woman who could kindly see through him a mile away. He found her intelligence very sexy as well as reassuring. Above all, he was profoundly reassured by her uncomplicated acceptance of who he was and blissfully conscious that he didn't feel threatened by that knowledge. That kind of comforting feeling that emanated from Kristine was something he hadn't had for a very long time. "I was married to George once. We're better friends than we ever used to be,"John smiled thinking fondly of her and, in the background, briefly sensing Nikki and Helen's approving smiles. "Wow, you've certainly got good taste," grinned Kristine, the delicately poised compliment reassuring John. He sensed that this was her way of telling him that she was bisexual but in the nicest possible way. As another facet was revealed of this remarkable woman, and once again he accepted what was in front of him and watched in fascinated interest as Kristine tended to the dinner. One question popped into his mind which he immediately decided to vocalise. "If you don't mind me asking, how do you propose to carve the chicken?" Kristine laughed appreciatively at the man's delicately phrased question. She knew that this was a genuinely open-ended question with no tricks as he guessed blindly at the outer limits of her capabilities. "The simple answer is that I don't. Even I can't manage this one. You serve the meat and I'll attend to the rest. Mind you, there are serious advantages in being blind, free train and bus fares, in London at least." John sprang to the task with alacrity. She looked on fondly at him partly indulging his male ego and partly desiring to do his fair share of the work. It took them no time to serve the dinner and the aroma of food wafted its way round the flat. "Basket," Kristine commanded with just the right pitch to deter the very determined Jules from insinuating himself in just the right position to scoff any droppings. With his tail hanging down low, he slunk into the designated space with half an eye on Mimi. Perhaps there was half a chance that this less forceful human was the weak point that could be sneakily exploited. "Sit, Mimi," followed up John with far less authority in his voice than he had wished, especially when compared with the control he exercised in the criminal court. Being in a strange flat and feeling a definite sense of forceful control around, Mimi obeyed John more readily than was his wont and found a suitable parking spot away from the table while the two humans sat down to eat the tasty meal, John noting without thinking about it that Kristine was a good cook and this was the most thoroughly enjoyable evening he'd spent for many a long time. "This meal really is delicious. I'm really glad to fall off the waggon, so to speak," John pronounced with a sly undertone as he sipped the excellent glass of chilled wine. "I've put my GCSE in catering to good use.At that time, I really didn't know what career to pursue." The last thing John thought as he mulled over that last remark was that this woman was being boastful. She was simply laying claim for the range of abilities she possessed. Everything that happened that evening struck the right note as time meandered onwards, It was only as the evening drew on that John suddenly realised that Kristine hadn't lit a cigarette the entire evening. He realised that she might be making a deliberate effort not to smoke with John in her flat for the first time. His inquisitive nature couldn't let the matter pass. "I'm intrigued to see how such a dedicated smoker can exercise such restraint tonight." "Well, I'm quietly hoping that you might feel the urge to kiss me later this evening," Kristine's answer came back, quick as a flash. "You mean I have a say in the matter?" bantered John with an audible smile in his voice. "But of course," teased Kristine as the ice-cold wine that had been in the fridge was pleasurably wending its way round both their senses. Much later in the evening, Kristine pointed out that they ought to get Mimi and Jules to relieve themselves last thing at night. John nodded and the two of them slipped out into the night and patiently waited for their pernickerty animals to potter around the park opposite the flats and finallty select their precise place. "Do you mind if I turn the lights down? It feels more comfortable that way," John persuaded in his silkiest tone of voice after they had settled down on the comfortable sofa only to be hit with the realisation that the difference between light and dark meant nothing to her. Kristine laughingly gave her gracious permission, pleased beyond her ability to express it how this man very appealingly made a series of mistakes that told her how he could see beyond her blindness. That was precisely the way she liked her relationships in the broadest sense of the word. It was at such a moment that his irresistably wandering eye kept reverting to the tattoo of the red and blue snake. It did help focus his attention. "I know you're looking at my tattoo John," Kristine suddenly said teasingly. Having been gently pushed to listen to nuances in voices, John guessed that she was pleased and flattered by his attention. "I was wondering how you came by it. I couldn't help noticing it," John replied in like coin. "I wasn't particularly getting on with my father at the occasion of my 21st birthday, so when he gave me forty quid, I spent it on something I knew he would hate if he ever found out about it." The bleakness of Kristine's reply felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown in his face after such a buildup of warm intimacy though he knew that this wasn't directed at him. The final words were very telling indeed. It was an alien reaction to such a father directed man, both in his relationship with his daughter and his own adoptive father, that sturdily independent baker who had brought him up to always question and debate. However, he jumped over yet another mental hurdle with a great effort and began to wonder about those human beings whose fathers were weak, inneffective or just plain rejecting. His own adoptive mother had committed suicide when he was young, throwing him into a state of prolonged mental confusion about the overdose of sleeping pills also rejecting him. When he thought about it, this might have something to do with his problems in forming long term relationships, his capacity for warm friendships being his way of getting back to the original path he'd been blocked from. As he dragged himself back to the present, he realised he'd been tardy in making a suitable response. "It's obvious that you don't get on with your father.He ought to be proud of you after all you've achieved in your life," John heard himself saying, sounding in his ears way too conventional for his liking. He knew that this wasn't up to the mark. “He would rather I had failed my exams and remained thin.” "I really honestly hadn't noticed that as a problem," John said in a puzzled, distracted tone of voice. Unexpectedly, his totally spontaneous remark did the trick. She was being accepted for who she was without anyone wanting to change her. Her father's ghost was promptly banished to dark recesses where it was dealable with. "Come on, John. We don't have to dwell on any skeletons in the closet if it's going to interfere with who we are right now," Kristine urged softly. The mood of the evening had changed back again to being welcoming and friendly. She felt good about herself and knew beyond doubt that John was attracted to her for who she was. "That sounds like an invitation to go to bed," John answered in his silkiest tone of voice.He knew that this attractive woman had a real weakness for this type of cadence. It was an unspoken private joke between them. When they kissed, John immediately felt a wealth of experience lay in this woman. sexual desire was peculiarly mixed with affection as their hands slid over each other. He also knew that there wasn't any hurry for him to get this woman into bed as he normally felt. Everything felt perfectly natural and he went to unfasten that black top only Kristine stopped him. "John, there is nothing more that I want to do now than make love with you but I insist on having the light off. It's the same for any sighted man. I'm not as self-confident as you think I am. If you can't see me , we're both equal." Kristine led John by the hand as his senses strove to make sense of the blackness and they made their way to the large double bed. The soft rustling sounds of discarded clothing was a preliminary to John finding himself lying on his back and Kristine above him. He smiled wryly to himself as he figured to himself, expect the unorthodox and run with it.Besides, the unorthodox felt really good to him as this very surprising woman met him from out of the blackness. He loved the feeling of their nakedness together as they kissed and caressed each other with a sense of being out of time from the cares of his life. . For a second, as her lips left his, he was fractionally worried until he could feel her start to move down the length of his body and knew where she was heading. What about her, he wondered as he knew that she was preparing to go down on him? As they had danced the dance of courtship around each other, he had taken it for granted that her sexual satisfaction was equally as important as his own but not in any egotistical fashion. If he hadn't learnt that much in the last few years, he'd learned nothing of that vital part of life which wasn't based on ideas but physically placing yourself on the line in the most naked way imaginable. It was only when she stopped short to taking him to a climax that he understood at last and he felt her smile through the darkness when they rolled over in bed. As he made love to Kristine, he knew that he was in the presence of someone who was as skilled in lovemaking as he was. Everything felt as fine where they lay without that sense of transience as he'd felt before. This wasn't some strange flat where he'd never pass that way again, he thought, as they were locked in a mixture of growing passion and affection. Finally, when they both came to orgasm, they both sank back in the comfort of the bed which was their island of dreams, John's arm round Kristine's shoulder.This wasn't the first time they'd make love, Jogn decided but only the starters. When John finally lay alongside Kristine and they wrapped themselves around each other, he had a feeling of utter peace that he'd not felt for a long time.This wasn't what normally happened at a strange woman's flat and he couldn't for the life of him analyse why he felt so good about himself, except that he tenderly hoped that Kristine felt the same as he did. They gently stroked each other's faces in the darkness where she was a felt presence, very close to him. "How old do you think I am, John? You've roused my curiosity. You know how it is," she wheedled, turning his favourite instincts exquisitely around on him. For this reason alone, John was really flummoxed by this question. He knew that, in terms of years she must be comparatively young but she held the wisdom of someone twice her age. This was so vastly unfair as whichever error he made, he was going to be really wrong. "I'm really not sure. I think you're thirty-three." “Bloody hell! What an insult,” came the exclamation.Too young or too old, John wondered in puzzlement as he strove for a suitable answer? "You did ask me. I've done my best," John said with a slightly woebegone tone in his voice which made Kristine laugh affectionately and kiss him gently.She really did like this guy. "I know darling. Let's settle down and sleep," Kristine said softly, laying her forefinger across his lips. For someone whose instinct was to defy being told what to do, John meekly and gratefully complied. ****** The next day, John and Kristine lazily got up, collecting their strewn clothing. John knew that both of them would be having to go elsewhere but, for once in his life, he was in no hurry. She made him a mug of coffee and poured out orange juice for herself. Brilliant sunlight poured through the window and the faint sound of wind chimes made John look at the bookcase, stuffed full of DVDs, and audiobooks and braille books on the bottom shelf. "What sort of music do you like?" Kristine asked. "Put on whatever you like." John immediately picked out the Mozart flute concerto and, as the first strains of the music floated in the air, Kristine smiled. Twenty minutes into the CD, she remarked,"I used to play that piece." "I played the violin when I had more spare time,"John answered without thinking.Divulging personal details that few of his friends knew came straight off the top of his mind with no problems. After the CD finished, they wended their way out onto the balcony. An unnaturally sunny November morning prevailed with a hint of warmth and it made for a comfortable sense of laziness. " I would really like to hear you sing. You must be able to do that,"John found himself saying from out of nowhere. “I don’t know you well enough for that,” Kristine replied softly. John knew that this wasn't a rebuff, more a promise for the future. The words hung in the air as if they were watching a play that both of them were participating in. "That could be remedied in time.There's no pressure where friendship is concerned," John said quietly. Kristine smiled at this response. She didn't want this guy to fall in love with her or vice versa but for their relationship to be as he'd simply stated. It was just what she wanted to hear. "I know. Let's have a walk up on Primrose Hill," Kristine suddenly called out after a long pause. A light had flashed across her face illuminating her slow smile. In this moment, this woman came over to John as younger than he'd been used to in the nicest possible way. Who could resist this impulsiveness, certainly not with John's own track record? Both dogs pricked up their ears and jumped out of the dog basket they'd shared that night. They barked excitedly and went round and round in circles trying to find Mimi's leash and Jules' harness. Both owners laughed at the spectacle, knowing that there was no way out even if they wanted it. In no time at all, John led the way out of the flat, having to rein in Mimi's excitement while Kristine locked up the flat with her right hand and holding onto the harness with her left. They went down in the lift, the automatic device helpfully intoning which floor they were on and headed out for John's car. John gallantly held the passenger door open for Kristine while Jules and Mimi plonked themselves on the back seat. The open top of the convertible meant that a cold brisk wind blew life into them as the car cut through the London streets on this sunny Sunday morning, divorced from all cares. John had hazy feelings of nostalgia as they were indulging this very British of weekend pasttimes and Kristine could remember happier days when her mother was alive and she was a little girl in what seemed an eternity ago. Finally, they came to the park they'd been to before and they did their best to restrain two very excited animals. In Jules' book, this man certainly could do no wrong after making friends last night. Finally, they moved through the gates and companionably linked arms on this very special Sunday as they set off into the freedom and vastness of the open fields and the hill smiling down on them. It was as if the park had made a special appearance for them, not discounting Jules and Mimi. They had so much to explore while the humans, bless them, were forgiven their strange innattention to the smells and sounds only dogs could perceive. |
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| richard | Dec 10 2011, 08:34 PM Post #53 |
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Scene Forty One The VIP room at 'Chix' had never been intended as an exclusive private area so that only an inner circle were allowed in and Trisha and Sally-Anne made sure that it stayed that way. It was a hangout place where those who wanted to socialise away from the dance floor could chill out when they wanted to. Consequently, there was a regular interchange of women between it and the music powerhouse one floor below and so Trisha and Sally-Anne saw to it that the club remained a welcoming inclusive social milieux. Because Ros and Jenny worked long, unsocial hours for the police force, they gravitated to Chix whenever they could spare the time and so they were sitting in on the fringes of the discussion over the judge's breakup with Jo Mills. They were content to absorb the wit and atmosphere and make the occasional contribution "I guess we're the token butches round here," joked Ros to Helen during an unusually long break in the conversation. "Favourite butches, definitely.Underneath that tough exterior beats a heart of gold. Nikki and I won't forget your kindness in driving us home when we were too pissed to drive." "So what's with this judge guy that's got you all on his side? I only heard of him in passing at the time Karen was up in court over that hit and run murder rap." "Helen and I and others got the idea that the two of them were finally going to get back together after a bumpy on off relationship over the years. The next we heard was that Jo fetched up with this rock chick, a real turnup for the book as that's not her style.There's a strong respectable streak in her though she'd deny it." "So what does she do for a living? I mean is she some kind of groupie?" pursued Jenny, her instinctive habit for pulling together the facts not deserting her in her off duty moments. "I mean, plenty of women fantasize about it but few really make it." "I really haven't got an earthly,"George confessed, feeling called on to speak up as she knew Jo Mills best of any of them. "Only Jo might know but I'm not on the best of terms with her these days." This receptacle of news was placed into their capacious memories for reasons they were strangers to. It happened that way, they reasoned, as they sipped their orange squashes, something they'd got used to by necessity.They had examples to set when they got behind the wheel after a night out at Chix. ***** Back in the solid fastness of the police station, DI Martin was contemplating her professional situation. It was obvious that her team was having their time cut out in dealing with the fallout from the local drugs scene. The pernicious long term effect of the smack and crack that flowed into the run down estates on her beat meant that the crime spanning house break-ins, stolen car radios and mobile phones all served the purpose of the interchange of dodgy deals and ready money into the hands of young kids to feed their drug habits. It was obvious that her squad were holding their fingers in the dike which was leaking badly. All this was caused by too many impressionable and vulnerable teenagers being seduced by the cheap and nasty idea of 'getting out of it' and being tempted by forbidden pleasures. None of the kids she'd come across in her professional career sat down with the deliberate intention of being addicts. That was part of the problem. She'd questioned too many of those who'd been arrested for street crime who were afraid that the next day, they'd be strung out without the brown powder or white crystals they craved. They talked endlessly in a self pitying fashion if only they could be delivered from the misery of their lives, endlessly arguing to themselves that they had no choice in their lives. Although they were small fry, they were the bane of her existence when she knew that the dealers were at the back of them.This is where her girlfriend came in, so DI Martin realised as she reached for her phone. DCI Taylor was conscious of how much sustained hard work it took to operate in parallel to the drugs barons to keep one step ahead of the game and close down their operations. Up till recently, neanderthal criminal gangs operated at the centre, funnelling in money for drugs through convenient front organisations behind which the rule of absolute command operated to police their ruthless network of fear and intimidation. There was no room for bungled operations, for not sticking to the plan and the price for failure of their operatives was very high. the drugs runners, the small scale buyers who retailed through their networks right down to the street user. Of course, there was the assistance strangely provided by minor dealers who were prescribed methadone as the apparently more respectable kind of so called controlled addiction where some of them traded part of their prescription for heroin not to mention those whose prescriptions were never enough to satisfy them and ended up buying illegal supplements. This smaller scale grubby operation were the bane of life for the overworked GP who could so easily guess wrong where their clients were concerned and who knows where the prescriptions they signed ended up. The first rule of operating in this environment was that nothing was what it seemed. In her game, a solid counterintelligence operation was the one and only way to not get emotionally drowned is a sea of lies, half truths and random imaginings. Being on the beat in the drugs squad was a spooky undercover job as DCI Taylor knew very well from her own experience in keeping tabs on the myriad interweavings of interactions. It wasn't easy to assume an alternative identity that enabled the operative to socialise with lowlifes who you wouldn't want to share the same universe with. She remembered chatting up the very macho, very sleazy Charlie Atkins whilst deftly fending off his very obvious attempts to pull her but in a way that wouldn't blow the entire operation. By sheer luck, his wavering attention lit on a blonde bimbo who vacantly adored his line in crude innuendo, tough guy posturing not to mention his very well lined wallet. She let the woman think that she'd stolen him under her very nose and pretended anger at Charlie Atkins' wandering eye. The trouble was that the attempt to put the tin lid on his operation went off at half cock after months of stealthily drawing the noose round his neck. The fact that he'd bribed the jury didn't help but what compounded the disaster was that her own DCI at the time was too greedy, too cocksure and sprang the trap on him without properly ensuring that the evidence couldn't be denied. She remembered giving evidence in court and holes being picked in her evidence by the opposing barrister. Afterwards, she watched the proceedings from the visitor's gallery and saw the case going down. A strange kind of miracle took place where Atkins was finally gunned down by a pizza delivery man, accompanied by the smile of his daughter Lauren Atkins, a mere woman whom her DCI had discounted. A quietly good looking young woman wasn't going to count in the ethics of the East End where her deadly ruthlessness was well concealed and therefore overlooked. It was only when she'd been promoted and her DCI had moved on that she'd made sure of getting Atkins' deadly rival, Charlie Williams put away, the other kingpin of the drug world. This left a gaping hole which DCI Taylor knew would be filled sooner or later. With so many drug addicts paying sky high prices for drugs which had suddenly got scarce, sooner or later this gap would be filled. It crossed her mind that the previous drug barons were fairly crude in their thinking, no matter how conniving they were in the details of their operations and how streetwise they thought themselves. Both of them had large consignments shipped into the city of London, a trusted inner circle of like minded people taking charge of security and breaking it down into smaller consignments. They'd also clearly watched too many gangster movies as they were growing up so they learnt to imitate what they'd seen on the silver screen.Once their modus operandi was understood, all it took to direct the counteroperation from the centre was calm and clear thinking and infinite persistence. DCI Taylor became aware that things were starting to change, that more drugs were creeping into her patch but not through the old networks. The game had definitely changed and it was obvious that there were more subtle minds at work. It unsettled her especially as there had only been one small haul that had come to light. There was no Mr Bigs apparently in operation yet drugs were slipping through the net in large quantities.It didn't add up.Finally, she threw down her biro in despair and just at that moment, the phone rang. "Hello you," she said affectionately to the one person she wanted to talk to. The problem was that it felt wrong, talking to her beloved when she was supposed to be on duty.but, what the hell.Just for once, she could indulge herself. "I'm glad it was you that phoned and not somebody else." "You sound pretty down, sweetheart," came the concerned voice down the other end of the phone, "Anything I can help with?" "Well, some tender loving care when we get home as long as we're both not too knackered by a hard day's work but I've got a problem that you guys on the beat might help out with," came the job weary reply with a faint spark of tenderness lurking in the background. "You'd better spill the beans." "It's simple, love. Since Atkins and Williams got put away, my job should be easier but it isn't," DCI Taylor said, a torrent of words flowing out of her like a dam being unleashed."It should be the case that there isn't any tinpot dealer that could organise himself to supply drugs on the street so the price of smack should have shot up and there ought to be a lot of addicts who can't get what they'd been used to having on tap but the complete opposite's happened.I can understand a new drugs baron might move in on my patch but I never expected it to happen so quick.So you tell me if there's anything going on down the streets that I don't know." "Hmmn," DI Martin mused as she put her brain into gear. "We're picking up a number of small fry but they're users. No one's saying anything though I'd hardly expect them to say, please nice cops, come and cut off the supply to my dealer. So there's no Mr Big out there, is there?" "Not that I've found out." "What about if a number of middle grade dealers clubbed together?" "You're talking about dealers who are the most selfish, cutthroat, paranoid, ruthless schemers. Would they voluntarily undergo a complete personality transplant if they weren't hooked on immediate rewards? It sounds logical for the risks of discovery to be spread over a number of them but any one of them would prefer someone else to be busted and not them so they can scoop in the spare trade. It's so completely not their style." "Very well, what about the one dealer having stuff shipped in from outside, from a variety of sources? That way, one of them would be in control and boss the rest of them about? Instead of big consignments coming in and risking seizure, drugs would arrive in chunks.That way would explain why drugs still keep coming in." "Hmmn," DCI Taylor said as she pondered this possibility. "I think you might have something there. This sounds more subtle, less neanderthal." "Perhaps there's a woman at the back of the new drugs ring - either that or a 'new man.'" DCI Taylor laughed loud and long at her girlfriend's dry witticism. It made her day to have her spirits lifted this way. More to the point, she led them into an entirely fresh field of investigation. Her mind started work straightaway. "What about Lauren Atkins, or her mother? She was released from prison last June." "We've been keeping an eye on Yvonne Atkins since she was discharged. Not a squeak. There was always a minicab business that operated as a front but that appears to be going legit. I wouldn't care to cross them as they're both a pretty tough pair. In any case, an old mate of ours, Shirley Cheetham who's a private investigator is both as straight as a die and pretty close to them. She keeps us posted as to what's going on if we need to know for old time's sake." "So it's back to the drawing board for Mr Big or Ms Big.That leads us to the other possibility of courier drivers shipping in the gear.Perhaps you start checking over the firms and see if anything dodgy comes to light." "I'll get onto that. See you later sweetheart." DCI Taylor thought long and hard as she put the phone down and pondered her options. Banking on a sweep of courier firms whose employees who were apt to be 'here today, gone tomorrow' and firms who were careful of the Old Bill at the best of times sounded a dubious single strand to work on. The only other possibility was a discreet call on Mrs Atkins and her daughter to find a possible lead seemed a distinct possibility but she was highly aware that if this were mishandled, it could seriously misfire. This was a job that should come from the highest level, herself. She checked the police databases and pulled up Mrs Atkins address at the time she was originally imprisoned and the information came readily to hand. Sure enough, it pulled up an address which brought up old associations:- 17 Thorney Court Bridge End Chelsea London SW3 2DC She remembered the times that Charlie Atkins had had his collar felt and had got away with it. Would this time be different? She picked up the phone to talk to DI Martin for a second opinion. "Hey, I was just going to phone you only you beat me to it. You weren't going to call in on the Atkins. They might be reformed characters but you're the Old Bill and they might tell you to sod off. You don't know what you'll be walking into. It's a real gamble." "So what do you suggest?" DCI Taylor suggested, her spirits deflated partly because she knew her girlfriend was telling her the truth. "Two of my most reliable officers know Yvonne Atkins' niece. She was one of ours till she turned private detective, name of Shirley Cheetham. I get the feeling she might be close to the Atkins without compromising her professional integrity." "You mean she's straight- in the old fashioned sense," came the slightly chirpier reply, seeing light starting to dawn once again. "As a die. I suggest you hold your horses till they've sussed out the situation." "Sounds fine by me. All right, I'll hold off and wait and see what you come up with." "Better than that, they'll report to you direct if you want it. What's the point of a three times told story? Details can get lost in the translation." As two phones were finally put down and both women got back to work with a plan of action they could run with , they reflected on how a random impulse and putting two minds together had really paid dividends |
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| mlbach | Dec 21 2011, 12:55 AM Post #54 |
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Keys for the handcuffs!
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We wonders, yes, we wonders... |
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| richard | Jan 2 2012, 02:11 PM Post #55 |
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Hi Mlbach- thanks for maintaining your kindly interest in my fic- this scene follows on from the last. .................................................................................................................................................................... Scene Forty-Two The powers that be at Larkhall Police Station had realised that they'd got a problem some time after DI Martin had been transferred into their patch and devised their solution. On the face of it, she presented herself on the first day with a record as a quiet but competent police officer, who had been promoted through the ranks in fairly quick time. She had been introduced by the DCI who started to talk about the 'rest of the lads' before stopping short, while Ros Farmer & Jenny Slater looked stony faced at him.In turn, she was conscious of speculative looks in her direction, noting the absence of a ring on her finger and was aware that her work colleagues were trying to pigeon-hole her, something she didn't need in her life. She was well aware that being a tall good looking brunette, that men she worked with would get the wrong idea about her. She'd developed the knack of heading off lines of conversations that wanted to take her to where she didn't want to go. Instead, she concentrated on notching up a reputation at Larkhall Police Station as being an efficient DI who knew just how far to give a lead without seeming to be pushy and she sought to treat those who worked for them in a friendly and firm fashion and establish her base. She knew her job and this was the reputation she started to attract, something she was glad to receive. Of course, she ran across a couple of particularly testosterone inflated sergeants one of who had been angling for her job for she'd been transferred in and taken it from under his very nose and there had been a particularly ugly confrontation in the canteen. "I'm not taking interference from an interfering, domineering woman like you," he stormed, knuckles visibly contracting. "Fine," she said firmly staring down his anger,"Any DI would stick you on a charge for insubordination so why not me? You do as you're told or you know what's coming." At a nod from his mate, the man backed off , mumbling some sort of excuse. After all, if this woman chose to face him out, he could land in trouble. It all came down to front, like everything that pervaded the East End of London where they had grown up and this woman was muscling in on their act. They didn't like it one bit but that moment wasn't the right one to pick a fight. They went away to their private corner, bemoaning the fact that it had all gone downhill when one of the legends of the force, DI Gossard, had been stabbed by some dyke woman in some dodgy club. Things had never been quite the same as the centre of their power had never really quite held up from that moment onwards. They'd been infiltrated and no one was strong enough to stop it, not like the way Ms Howe had been disposed of years ago. It was after this incident when chance had placed Ros into sitting in with DI Martin when Becky Elliott has been cross-examined about wounding her mother. It was a bittersweet experience as Ros knew that going back on the beat with Jenny was her idea of heaven yet she wouldn't have another boss who had that unique combination of sympathy and competence as DI Martin had. The guy who was her inspector was ,well just an average guy whose main virtue were that he allowed the pair of them reasonable free rein and also knew better than to try any funny stuff with her. They saw DI Martin around the police station for friendly chats and hoped for the day when chance would bring them all together. Finally, the powers that be had come to the the obvious conclusion that DI Martin and Ros and Jenny's Inspector would be assigned all the various police officers who didn't fit the mould in the narrow minded macho regime that DI Sullivan was trying to uphold in DI Gossard's memory. The sting in the tail of this apparent generosity was that these staff wouldn't get any promotion.It didn't bother Ros and Jenny too much as, except for DI Martin, there were too many ambitious sods who were up their own arses and they had no plans to rule the world, just to carry on doing what they were best at. Ros and Jenny were perfectly relaxed when they were finally summoned into DI Martin's office. It happened quite out of the blue and they were in a jaunty mood. The DI didn't waste any time in briefing about the delicate work she wanted them to undertake on her behalf. She'd thought about the matter carefully and thought that those two women had the honesty necessary for the job but Ros and Jenny considered that this was a mixed blessing. If the very determined Ms Cheetham came to set her face against the proposal, then they would be totally sunk. "So you want us to do this delicate cloak and dagger operation and get Shirley Cheetham on side? All respect to you but how are you going to poach us for this operation?" Jenny questioned as the problems started to stack up formidably high in their collective minds. "I've done a deal with your Inspector that you're released for as long as it takes me to make contact with Yvonne Atkins.Does that satisfy you?" Ros and Jenny ran through the rest of their list of objections which DI Martin met with sweet reasonableness rather than overruling them as had happened before when they spoke their minds. Finally, it came down to the fact that no one was better acquainted with Shirley Cheetham than they were even though their friendship was limited. It came down to the fact that they could only do their best and there would be no comeback if they failed. So it was that one grey miserable December day, they found themselves outside the solid wood door of the humble terraced house where Shirley lived, rain dripping down the sides of their police hats waiting for the response to their polite knock. "Bloody hell, it's you two. If it was the Queen I'd have changed, maybe," was the friendly greeting from the barefoot woman whose T-shirt had been hurriedly been dragged on over faded jeans that were wearing at the knees. The two women were ushered into the cluttered front room. A television and video recorder were perched in a corner but this was no leisure facility but the tools of her trade in running through evidence in this CCTV surveillance dominated age.and Ros had to pick up a half open file that lay carelessly on the settee. She passed it to Shirley who acknowledged it with a brief 'Ta' before she zoomed out to the kitchen and brought in three cups of coffee, slopping a little of the liquid onto the threadbare carpet. The surroundings felt so much like the no nonsence woman they'd both known. "I remember you in the old days, Shirley. You really haven't changed that much," Ros said in nostalgic tones. Shirley decided to wait and see what this unexpected call foretold. "I always wanted to do my own thing. I never bought the idea of rules and regulations." "Nor did you take to animals like Gossard, his sidekick Sullivan and all the rest of those misogynist bastards. We were safer than others as we're such obvious dykes so long as we were seen and not heard and kept out of the limelight." "So what's with all this talking about the old times?" Shirley enquired with a sharp look making even Ros wince at the thought of taking the plunge. The really tricky bit was coming up now."I know you better than to spend time in idle conversation when you're busy which is always." "It's like this Shirley. As you might guess, this isn't just a social call. What we've been asked to do is to figure out just how approachable and knowledgeable your aunt is to giving us information on the drugs trade." Shirley blinked twice and broke into gentle laughter. It curiously relieved the two policewomen as their friend could have blown a fuse in spectacularly Atkins fashion. "You've got to be comedians, you two. You know how allergic Yvonne is to the Old Bill. The code of the East End means you don't grass up even your worst enemies." "We know that very well," Jenny said with considerable feeling in her voice that Shirley picked up on. "This is what we told our boss you'd say. We know that we're talking about the widow of the late gangland boss who rumour had it got him bumped off with an overdose of pizza delivery on the very steps of the Old Bailey." "Yvonne's not like that anymore," snapped Shirley contemptuously."All that macho shit is for the gangster movies, not real women." "So what's she like these days? I mean you tell me. It's not as if you ever gave inside information on the Atkins family when you were on the beat together," pursued Ros. "Before I say anything, you spill the beans on your interest in Yvonne. You know I'm not going to say anything that's going to get the likes of Sullivan breathing down her neck." Ros looked sharply at the expression of extreme wariness on Shirley's face which enhanced her natural toughness in her sharp brown eyes and strongly defined features. She'd put all her cards on the table and it all depended on how she was going to play her hands. "All right, I'm sticking my neck out in giving confidential information out to unauthorised personnel," Ros started to say, accompanied by a warning look from Jenny. Wrong words, wrong person, her expression was saying loud and clear. Jenny knew that her more potgoing partner was having a severe attack of nerves "Cut out that shit, Ros," Shirley said contemptuously. Ros flushed with embarrassment and it opened up a floodgate of plain speaking. "All right Shirley. We trust you but we're putting our necks on the line. If things go pear-shaped because we've blabbed to you, our necks are on the chopping block, all the decent coppers are dragged down with us and the dinasaurs are back in charge. Besides, we know what a loose cannon you are," "Are you so very much tighter, Ros? Didn't you let those couple of nurses off the hook for swerving onto the wrong side of the road and nearly causing an accident because you felt sorry for them?" "So that's why we were given the job of talking to you rather than anyone else. We have an understanding female boss," Jenny quietly replied. Shirley laughed at Jenny's honesty. All trace of guardedness left her. She was ready to talk now. ********** "So do you really believe that we're not after you, Yvonne?" DI Martin said as she sat on a comfy sofa in Yvonne's living room, noticing the sumptuous furnishings, the wide screen television. "I've got different fish to fry. I want to see the drug barons nailed because of the misery and crime that spread out in their wake." "I believe you," Yvonne said looking the other woman straight in the eye. "Believe it or not but I've met some decent screws for the three years I'd been inside Larkhall Prison until I got released last June. I watched mates of mine get a fair shake, Nikki Wade, Karen Betts, Helen Stewart who'd all been done down by the bastards. They were on the telly and me and my mates really cheered to hear them speak up for all of us." "I can see how it might be to see fellow prisoners get some justice," DI Martin said trying to enthuse along with this strong minded woman who certainly turned out to be different from how she expected. Yvonne smiled wickedly to see this well-meaning woman fall into the trap she'd laid for her. "I'm afraid you've got it wrong, Miss. Helen Stewart was once Wing Governor at Larkhall and the government tried to do her under the Official Secrets Act for nothing at all. Karen Betts was fitted up for a hit and run murder she didn't do and she took over from Helen Stewart. Nikki got life for stabbing the copper bastard who was trying to rape her partner." "That was Gossard. So you really have changed," DI Martin added slowly and thoughtfully after automatically telling the sharp-witted woman everything she felt about a guy who, by all account was a prime example of the 'all men are bastards' club. Yvonne's grin in response revealed that she was taking the measure of this woman who, well, didn't act like a copper. "I went inside a gangster's moll, believing all that shit I'd learned from Charlie Atkins, thinking that I knew it all. I saw the good, the bad and the ugly in spadefuls. I saw women who got strung out on drugs and realised where the money went to pay for it. When I got out, I got Lauren to close down what there was of the dodgy dealing so Lauren and I went legit with the minicab business and I finally got my life back,"said the hawk-faced woman, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air in a contemplative fashion. "I ended up believing that there are decent screws around and I can talk to them. This is where you come in. I think I can help you out." DI Martin was overwhelmed by the note of sweet tenderness in Yvonne's voice,something she had never expected to find from this hard case. Ros and Jenny had clearly worked to good effect in talking to Shirley in making this very kind woman who got embarrassed by the reflection of her goodness. She was for real and she knew that she'd learn everything that this smart woman knew. As Yvonne relaxed back in her chair, she saw Lauren smiling on at the two women who were having a comfortable heart to heart conversation. ****** In another part of London, a slight figure dressed in scruffy khaki military type trousers was rifling through drawers in just the sort of expensively furnished flat that was crying out to leave spare money around for when it was needed. He was cursing to himself as to how come his mother didn't leave any ready money he could borrow off her. Finally, having left a series of rifled drawers behind him, assorted belongings having dropped out onto the floor, he turned to the bedside drawer. He didn't find what he was looking for but he did find a rubber object with various attachments to it. A slow sneer spread across his face when he figured out what sexual object this resembled. This was something his dad ought to know about, he considered in an unusually prim display of mixed morality. The whole thing was disgusting, he considered, and something that she wouldn't want him knowing about. In fact, he figured out that his mother would be more reasonable and helpful instead of being that tight-arsed bitch that he knew her to be. He was wondering if he'd slip out now or carry on nosing around as he really, really did need a loan.He was hovering in a state of indecision when his choice was made for him. "What the hell do you mean going through my drawers? How the hell did you get into the flat?" cracked out a voice behind him in that outraged maternal tones that had always made him feel bad about himself. "So what's with this, mum? So that's what you get up to in your spare time." "It's none of your business, Ross," that voice retorted even though a slight flush of embarrassment spread across his mother's cheeks, something that he noticed and might turn to his advantage. "You've no right invading my privacy- and Beth's either." "Don't let him get to you, sweetheart," the other woman said, squeezing his mother's hand. Instantly the young man saw red. She was the one who had taken his mother away from him and perverted her. What right had she got to look as if she owned the world with all her fancy perfume and clothes? On the other hand, Karen felt stronger, wrapped up her lover's strong sympathy around her.She squeezed Beth's slim fingers back, glaring defiantly at her son's disapproval. "So you're going in for sex toys these days.That's like everything I've known about you." "What you're holding in your hands is called a dildo or a strap on Ross," Karen said at last in cold, controlled tones. "There are many ways that women express their love for each other in emotional and physical ways.What a woman doesn't have naturally, she can go out and get and believe me, that is precious and doesn't want your grubby hands on it. Just put it down this instant." Feeling the argument slip out of his hands, Ross did the same with the strap-on he was holding. Beth scooped it up and placed it safely in a draw. "So that's where my spare key went to. You stole it .Give it me back at once or I call the police." "You wouldn't dare," Ross replied, trying his final best to make his mother feel ridiculous. "Just try me," Karen said slowly and firmly with all the confidence in the world. "I'm an ordinary law abiding citizen in case you don't know." "You really don't remember rejecting me when I had trouble at university. 'I've got a whole load of crap on my hands without wiping your arse, like a whole bloody prison load.' That's what you said and you started all my troubles. I need your help as I'm struggling to keep my head above water. I wouldn't talk this way if it weren't true," Ross said in that self- pitying way that enticed her to try and mother this motherless child, just as she'd done for successive ex-partners, Fenner included. That realisation made Karen feel sick to the pit of her stomach. She'd given way so many times after vowing to herself not to do so. "Just get out and don't come back,"Karen snapped. She could feel herself shaking all over.Where once she'd felt this mental umbilical cord that had tied her to him no matter where either of them were, now she couldn't wait to get him out of the flat. The realisation of these feelings hurt her inside. Ross stalked out of the room, banged the key on the side and slammed the door. Beth's outstretched arms gathered in her poor lover as she collapsed into her arms. It was only after a couple of minutes that the shocking thought occurred to her that they'd caught her son in the act of trying to rob them. |
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| SylkeDemise | Jan 2 2012, 09:43 PM Post #56 |
Down the Block
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Awesome, as always Richard |
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| mlbach | Jan 2 2012, 10:41 PM Post #57 |
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Keys for the handcuffs!
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Hmmmm--that drug investigation may have further reaching repercussions than I'd originally thought... |
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| richard | Jan 15 2012, 04:01 PM Post #58 |
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Hi Mllbach- I picked up a few tips about letting storylines develop. Thanks for your kindly interest. .................................................................................................................................................................... Scene Forty-Three After the Annual General Meeting, there was considerable debate at all levels as to how much leverage, formal and informal, the organisation had on government policy. Nikki wasn't on the management board but she was kept well informed by Paul Armstrong who knew better than to keep secrets from his subordinate except for strictly confidential personell matters. "You mean you really trust me to speak up for you?" Paul asked Nikki one day as they caught wind of deliberations amongst the Home Office that there might be a change in policy. "That's a real act of faith in me." "I'm used to fighting my own fights and I'm not used to being away from the action but I know that you being there might as well be me." "Despite Mr Whatsisname Minister's mealy-mouthes words at the AGM, the hatchet man in charge of the Home Office will carry on with his 'lock 'em up' mantra. Still you've heard of him via your mate, the judge who made more sense than all the speakers I've ever heard put together. I've just got a nasty feeling of what's in the air." "God I hope what you fear won't happen," Nikki replied, a look of concern spreading across her face. "I know better than to doubt your intuition." Finally, a certain brown envelope came through the post. Paul Williams ran his eye rapidly over the contents, grabbed it in his hand and smashed it against his desk as his blood pressure rose rapidly with anger. Only when he had calmed down did Paul Armstrong reflect bitterly to himself that the sole benefit of contacts with the government meant that they were entrusted a couple of days before release to the public of the latest announcement of changes in prison policies. The only slight drawback was that the notice had a press embargo on it. In other words, they were publicly gagged and the only advantage was in gaining time to make a considered response. He would ensure there would be one all right. Immediately, he got cracking on getting authority for dtrafting a response to run past the Director. The first Nikki knew of it was when Paul strode into her office in a purposeful way. Nikki stopped what she was doing and started reading the press statement and her own blood pressure started rising rapidly. "Right, Nikki. I've been entrusted with doing a response to Neil Haughton's latest press statement. I want you to stop what you're doing and cast your eye over this draft response to this latest Home Office nonsence if I can borrow your computer." Nikki courteously grabbed a spare chair for her boss and moved sideways, watching intently as Paul rattled out the following on a brand new word document. 'Statement by the Howard League for Penal Reform on the changes to the criminal justice system announced today by the Home Secretary' “Once again we see a Home Secretary responding to a crisis and not looking at the long term impacts his proposals will have for the criminal justice and penal systems. Locking more men, women and children up for longer cannot be considered a serious, measured response to protecting and reassuring the public. In the space of six months the Government appears to have completely reversed its position, from a sensible recognition that prison doesn’t work to one where it decides to waste more taxpayers money by building more prisons. The best way to ease overcrowding in prison is not to build more prisons, which would themselves rapidly become as overcrowded as those they were built to relieve. The answer is to reduce the number of people being inappropriately sentenced to prison custody. Prison is supposed to be the ultimate sanction for those who pose a risk to the public. For the remainder, community sentences - which do actually cut crime - are the far better option, helping a person to take responsibility for their offence and put something back into the community. Neil Haughton talks about re-balancing the system in favour of victims, but when 67% of those released from prison are reconvicted within two years, his proposals will merely create further victims of crime.” With a satisfied smile on his face, Paul Williams rattled out the last lines as he balanced out the more stinging phrases against a bit of potted prison sociology that even an ignoramus shouldn't be capable of misunderstanding and turned round to canvass Nikki's views. "That is spot on, Paul. I can see myself walking the corridors of Larkhall as I'm reading this article. You don't pull any punches. I've just had a thought if it's possible," Nikki added as her mind investigated fresh possibilities in a lateral fashion. "Come on, spit it out Nikki." "Is it possible to run this draft past Kristine Thorne? After all, her speciality is prison education and just how possible will that be if existing prisons are crammed full and more prisons are being built? You know how well informed she is and how she'll get on the case. Of course, I know you might want to clear it with the Director first," she offered in a tentative fashion. "You phone her up first and get her e mail address and I'll send it. I know what I'm doing," Paul answered in quietly authoritative tones. Nikki reached for the phone Meanwhile Jules' ears were standing up like stalks and he thrashed his tail around while the cause of his canine disquiet was Kristine shouting in anger after her screenreader had relayed Neil Haughton's press release which the search prompt had picked up. She did feel a certain residual satisfaction that the designers of the website weren't bone headed enough to dream up some fancy graphic display which guaranteed to screw up her screenreader but she wasn't disposed to be gracious at the moment. At that moment, she felt more of a venomous dislike of the whole machinery of government, excepting of course a certain very attractive judge who had most certainly satisfied her discerning taste. However, her way of operating was that anyone connected with the government was guilty until proven innocent. Just as her temper started to fade, the phone rang. With a certain element of irritation, she reached for the phone and greeted the unknown caller with less of her normal hospitality than normal. "You don't need to tell me, Kristine. You've read the Home Office statement on how to screw up the system in one easy go," Nikki replied with her habitual touch of irony. "I'm sorry, Nikki. I'm in serious danger of taking my temper out on some random caller. You've obviously not phoned me up to pass the time of day." "Got it in one. Paul has asked me if you'd be interested in running our draft response past you. It isn't designed to flatter the government. Who knows, it might cheer you up." "I want it, please, urgently," Kristine said in a flatteringly inquisitive fashion. "If nothing else, it will make me mark my student's compositions without being too scathing." Nikki laughed gently at this little endearing trait in her friend's personality which felt comfortable. She nodded to Paul, moved over to her computer and tapped in "Kristine.Thorne@london.ac.uk" onto the saved document. She watched with satisfaction as it disappeared into the 'out' box and then all the way down the phoneline to her friend's room way up high in the main University of London complex.She enjoyed this little bit of a conspiracy just as much as Paul did. . Five minutes later, the phone rang and a grinning Nikki picked up the phone as Paul gestured to her to take the call. "I love it Nikki," Kristine exclaimed enthusiastically and without any preamble. "It has just the sort of bite that's needed. Was it you or Paul who wrote that? It must be somebody who has a bit of backbone." "It's all Paul's handiwork. I can't claim any credit for it. Just once in my life, I've been on the sidelines offering moral support for someone who's going to fight to get that out." "He will," Kristine's clear carrying voice answered and Nikki did a 'thumbs up' gestrure to Paul whose smile clearly registered the very valued compliment. "You're lucky to have a boss with some backbone about him. He's such a total contrast to that wanker of a Home Secretary who I've seen on the television, trying to sound all dominant and masterful, as if he's in control of the situation but his voice gives him away. He's got as much backbone as a used condom." Nikki promptly fell off the chair and rolled on the floor in a helpless attack of the giggles while Paul laughed his head off. It was only a little later that Paul picked up the phone that Nikki had dropped and, natural courtesy kicking in while trying to stifle his laughter, he attempted to continue the conversation. "Paul Armstrong here. You've certainly cheered us up. Where were you when we needed you earlier? We were both in a throat-slitting mood. So how come you're such an expert on our bloody wonderful Home Secretary? I'm curious to know." "I met his ex- George Channing at your AGM. Women talk, you know," Kristine said serenely. This guy fitted in seamlessly to continue the conversation she'd had with Nikki and his well-spoken tones certainly appealed to Kristine's taste. "I'm bloody glad the 'old girls' network is on my side rather than against me or is it the other way round?" Paul replied with equal aplomb. "You understand perfectly, Paul. And now, I'd better get composing my response and make it as good as yours. Mister Man is also wanting my attention too," came the warm-hearted reply as she felt a canine head nuzzling up against her leg and heard a whimpering sound that she knew Jules thought was cute. ****** Sure enough, there was a loud explosion of anger from the fastness of the Home Office as the Howard league of Penal Reform press statement was covered in the discreet depths of the Times and Daily Telegraph which, appearing in such a measured context, reeked of revolution.As an unusual double punch, Neil Haughton grasped an impertinent article in an academic journal by a certain Ms Kristine Thorne that airily suggested that hard won taxpayers money should be spent in mollycoddling, soft liberal education classes and threw around a few statistics that flew in the face of accepted wisdom. After all, weren't the records of police crimes moving steadily downwards as a result of his 'get tough policies? "I can't believe it," Neil Haughton shouted, his fist raised as the Permanent Secretary, Sir Percy Thrower huffed and puffed in sympathy with him. "This is getting worse and worse. I almost wished we were back in the days of trade union militancy. at least our enemies were in the one place where we could deal with them. This is like some creeping disease, spreading into areas of society that we thought were safe. There's a creeping culture of disrespect that's spreading through society. Who knows where it will stop?" Neil Haughton strode peremptorily into the Lord Chancellor's Department eager to buttonhole Sir Ian. After all, he was the convenient whipping boy who would bear responsibility for this latest fiasco. It was Deed's rabble rousing speech and the LCD failure to keep him in check that was to blame after Sir Percy had adroitly pointed it out to him. Besides, in the cutthroat world at the top of the civil service, there were those who were making their mark and had sound reputations and there were those who were past their best who were due to be sidelined. Being a career civil servant was an unsentimental business just as much as in politics. to Neil Haughton's surprise, he was greeted by Lawrence James's toneless voice when he opened the door. He had expected Sir Ian to be there, complete with a suggestion of a nervous twitch which he was apt to display in recent months when he'd bumped into him. Immediately, there was something subtly different about the man's manner, a suggestion of greater confidence and assertiveness. Somehow, when both men were together, it was Sir Ian on whom he'd focussed while Lawrence James tended to fade into the background, complete with his writing pad to take down minutes. Now, he occupied centre stage while a slim young man deferred to him. He had a pink complexion, short fair hair and immaculately tailored blue suit and was clearly the assistant. "No Sir Ian?" Neil Haughton enquired. "Sir Ian is on an extended holiday," Lawrence James said in unusually discreet tones. "It all happened very suddenly and so I offered to step into the breach and my junior came with me. Obviously, I'm just holding the fort for the time being. I've had to do what seems right in the grand scheme of things." Neil Haughton needed to ask no more questions as to how the land lay. He'd seen this sort of thing before. Of course, his time was precious and they needed to get down to business. "I take it you're up to speed on the latest calamitous publicity about the prison system, Lawrence. We want a damage limitation strategy," Neil Haughton demanded brusquely. "As it happens, I have a strategy that I'd devised which I was waiting for the right time to consider for a public airing. We need to counter the propoganda work of these left wing extremists more forcefully and more directly. It goes like this......." Lawrence James started to say in that conspiratorial way that only the rich and powerful could relate to. Neil Haughton listened eagerly to what this man had to say and he had to admit it that it all sounded very convincing. ****** Meanwhile, the machinery of government was moving forward in its leisurely fashion in another direction. Alice picked up the phone at work in her most professional fashion, asking what she could do for the caller in her professional capacity or so her manner suggested. "I'm Peter Walker of Ravenscroft and Walker," the polite voice intoned in her ear."This isn't about your normal line of business.I wanted to call you up to have a preliminary chat about you acting as witness for the defence for Rebecca Elliott.I'm her defence solicitor." "Oh yes,"Alice said in a halting fashion."I'd almost forgotten about it. That's to say I remember the details but I've been so busy that I'd pushed it to the back of my mind." "Would you spare me the time to come over to my office if that's convenient?" "I might as well do it now if that's all right,"decided Alice. She wanted to talk while the flow of thoughts had come back to her. "I've just got to square it with my boss first if that's all right with you." An hour later, Alice was in Peter Walker's neat unpretentious office and rapidly ran over the details of the case in her best professional manner.Peter had had the details of the police report before him and it was obvious that there were two distinct problems concerning the evidence of this otherwise very presentable witness. For a start, it was arguable that this wounding was 'six of one and a half dozen of the other' and the other was the past relationship between his client and this witness and her obvious ambivalent feelings for his client. He put his pen down and looked Alice Swinburne straight in the eye. "It's obvious to me that you and Ms Elliott have history, perhaps not totally resolved at that. I don't want to go further into a personal area but there's one thing I urge on you and that is that you are not allowed to discuss evidence you might present with the witness "Surely it's not forbidden to offer Becky some moral support? She could do with everything she could get?" protested Alice with memories of the way Sally-Anne, Helen, Karen and Nikki had been given such support. "You're not just a friend but a key witness to the crime. That changes everything. Surely it's obvious. the last thing the defence barrister wants is any accusation thrown at him that you've 'cooked up a story' to get your friend off the hook. In that case, there could be very serious consequences, I promise you." Alice said no more but carried on with the discussion. She was starting to find the whole situation very oppressive and wanted to get away as soon as she could. As the door shut after her, Peter Walker shook his head, having distinct misgivings about the case. He could do no more than warn the woman against any well-meant foolishness. |
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| richard | Feb 4 2012, 02:06 PM Post #59 |
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Scene Forty-Four As DI Martin finally drove home after a long talk with Yvonne Atkins, she felt exhausted by the volume of information that she'd absorbed but with a feeling of a job well satisfied, the pleasure of encountering a remarkably astute woman who'd looked right into her soul and the moral satisfaction that she'd used this woman for her own ends. As soon as she'd vocalised the question in her own mind, as she braked sharply to stop for the traffic lights, she knew that this was an impossibility. Now she knew that Yvonne Atkins had only been waiting for the right copper to have come along for her to spill the information. DI Sullivan might have hectored and tried to browbeat her in giving up the information and been greeted by a glaring solid wall of defiance absolutely nothing to show for it. Normally, she avoided like the plague talking about work when she got home with her partner DCI Taylor as there were times when either of them could be called out on some emergency. When both of them were in on a Friday night, they curled up together on the wide settee together, accompanied by soothing music, lights turned down low and they avoided talking about work like the plague. For one, they had the opportunity to pick up the phone and talk at work but this is where they kept their official identities, along with the smart blue jacket, the stiff shirt and the business length blue skirt. If holding down their jobs meant adopting business drag, so be it especially when they knew that it gave them that necessary edge in holding down their authority. When they were at home, they let their hair down and became Joy and Maureen once again. At eight-o-clock on a Friday evening, a bottle of chilled wine lay on the mahogany drinks stand, two glasses with lipstick prints on the rim while they lay, dressed in soft and yielding clothes, their hair tousled, letting the alcohol percolate through their systems and throwing away their official identities. However, this night was an exception.DI Martin knew that she couldn't put her latest revelation to bed and fully become Joy again until she told DCI Taylor what she knew. "I hate to bring up work, Maureen but I can't get this out of my mind," Maureen said, coaxingly into her partner's ear. Her subordinates would have been surprised to hear her talk this way not to say DI Sullivan. They supposed that DI Taylor went into her wardrobe on Friday nights, complete with smart uniform, only to be let out on Monday mornings. "You mean you want to.All right, get it over with but you've got some making up to do," mock scolded Maureen in return, resisting the temptation to slide her fingers into areas that her lover liked best. She mentally drew herself to attention. "You've been bothered how drugs are being smuggled into our patch in large quantities but you've never laid your hands on the warehouse, the Mr Big who's come onto your turf. Right?" "Got it in one, DI Taylor.I'm running out of options though my lot don't know how I feel." "I've been put in touch with Charlie Atkins' widow, Yvonne Atkins and had a long hear to heart with her. I reckon she's come up with the answer." "Jesus, how in hell did you get her to talk. She's not just Mrs Charlie Atkins but there are plenty of villains out there that wouldn't dare to cross her. She's the last to want to talk with the filth." "She's changed. She told me out of the goodness of her heart, something that she's spent a lifetime hiding from herself. I know that what she's saying is for real. I talked with Lauren Atkins as well, someone who's a chip off the old block and very close to her mother.A lot of the information came from her." "So what's the answer, supercop?" DCI Taylor asked with an obvious sense of affection and respect for that very intelligent and resourceful police officer. "There is no Mr Big and central operation, at least not in London.All the smack is being taken by courier from outside London to the middlemen. We've even got the lead on the busiest courier and the London address she lived at before she moved out to the suburbs." "So how did Yvonne Atkins come to know this woman?" DCI Taylor enquired. "Her daughter Lauren ran the minicab business but was still operating the drugs business in a small scale way up till August when Yvonne Atkins came out of Larkhall. She was one of the dealers who Lauren worked with and this explains how come we know quite a bit about her. Yvonne made Lauren jack in that side of the business and they're running the minicab business full time.They've a pretty shrewd idea that she's set up on her own or with others we've not tracked down yet. I treat very seriously an Atkins hunch as much as your own." "So, wonderful woman of mine, why should they talk to you of all people?" Maureen enquired, looking at her partner's profile as the soft light etched in the highlights and left the soft shadows as her partner's soft voice wove in a pattern of logic that made absolute sense. "Because, darling,"Joy said, getting towards the end of her story which the telling of it slotted all the more surely into place, "they know that deep down, you are as soft as they are- and for real. They know bloody well that I'd be telling tales." With those words, Joy felt released at last and drew her lover down into the depth of the settee and gave her lover a soft, long deep kiss, feeling her softness and responsiveness on the magical release of a Friday night in. *********** Jo Mills became aware that her hedonistic private lifestyle was posing problems in holding down her daytime job. She knew that she'd badly handled the court case the day she broke up with John and she sensed that she was starting to have a run of cases where she was definitely off form. She was starting to get questioning looks from judges she appeared before and other barristers who had been used to the steel witted Jo Mills of old who gave any barrister a good run for her money and who'd won some landmark civil rights trials. They noted a coolness and sense of distance between her and George and John that had replaced their easy friendship and she was becoming something of a loner in legal circles. By contrast, George's star was shining yet at the same time, her partnership with Alice prevented any gossip that George and John were an item. Most of all, Jo was feeling perpetually worn out and tired and only sheer doggedness kept her up to at least a substandard level. "Mel darling," Jo said coaxingly as she lay alongside her lover on Friday night, her fingers delicately traced the pattern of her lover's backbone. "I wonder if we can take things easy this weekend. I really loved it a couple of weeks ago when we woke up late and didn't move out of bed except for knocking up snacks and ordering a takeaway." "Nice idea babes but I've got places to go to, people to see. You know how it gets sometimes same as when you're burning the midnight oil on one of your cases," Mel said in her lighthearted, devil may care manner. "Oh," Jo said simply. She had never thought what Mel might be up to in the hours when they weren't together. "But we're here together now," Mel said sexily, running the fingers of her hand delicately across her lover's face."I really live for these Friday nights." Jo's heart leapt inside her as she gazed in rapture at the beauty of her lover's face. She felt like nothing on earth when she was gloriously naked as was her lover and she rubbed her thigh against her.Nowadays, it wasn't for Mel to always take the initiative as Jo moved on top of the woman she loved and kissed her hungrily, tasting the wine that they'd drunk earlier on. She pushed into her lover and felt Mel's equally physical need for her as their legs became intertwined.She loved the feel of their movement against each other and it was moments of physical desire like this that made everything worthwhile in her life. Saturday morning in Mel's bedroom always felt like a real awakening. Jo loved the lazy feeling of letting half an eyelid opening, in a blissful state between dream and awakening and the feeling of her lover's arm wrapped around her and seeing her black tousled hair and her tender face pressed against the pillow. Sometimes, her leg would be boldly curled around her as it was this morning, sometimes not. This was a complete change in the habit of a lifetime as in the past, she's always faced away from her partner, dressed in a sensible nightie.Looking back on it, she never knew why she had adopted certain personal habits. It was something she'd never questioned, assuming it was an essential part of her being. A smile spread across Jo's face when she savoured the delicious thought that this was herself allowed to run free to be whom she really weanted to be. She gently moved in closer to her lover and rested her hand gently so not to wake her up. Experience taught her already that Mel woke up later than she did. Finally, Jo knew when Mel woke up when she felt her body move against her and utter a completely self-satisfied sigh of pleasure. Jo kissed her gently on her cheek and felt her nipples stiffening. "I never used to go in for early morning sex," Jo murmured softly into her lover's ear, savouring every syllable. "And now it's taken me how to show you a really good time, just how a woman should be loved. God, I wonder how you've managed all these years, babes," Mel answered in those husky tones that spoke of just waking up and sounded so sweet in Jo's ears. Already, she slid on top of Jo with a sudden strength that showed her own lusts were kicking in. "That's why I'm making up for lost time,"came Jo's answer as she arched in pleasure feeling Mel's lips capturing her left nipple.God this woman is insatiable, Jo thought blissfully, as she felt her lover's lips and tongue work wonders for her but then, so Am I, she thought as she smiled at moments of impure thoughts which stole in on her even though she was scrutinising the latest case awaiting her attention. This wasn't sex fantasies but was the real thing as she felt her lover move down her body and her thighs opened in anticipation even before Mel had got there. As they felt thirsty for a coffee and toast, Jo offered to do the honours, flinging on her shirt in a token effort at modesty, not bothering anymore to become her buttoned up weekday self. She knew that this was something Mel liked and she enjoyed her feasting her eyes on her. She pottered away in the kitchen, ignoring the untidiness at one time she would have tut tutted at. It's only because she wasn't getting the right kind of sex and tender loving care, Jo thought to herself in an amused fashion. Presently her bare feet padded lightly up the staircase and, right in front of her, was the door to the spare bedroom that she'd idly noticed. It was always tight shut for reasons she'd never asked about. That was a curious choice for someone whose daytime job was devoted to the assembly of facts, delving into the details of human life and to always questioning whatever she faced. It was her weekday necessity, she reasoned, and one which she could afford to let slip. Nevertheless, she voiced the casual question in her mind. "I feel I know everything about your life, darling and I feel that this is home but I've never been into that room." "I wouldn't bother, babes. That's the junkroom with all the assorted crap I've collected over the years that I couldn't find a home for but couldn't throw out. If you go into there you'll only injure yourself," Mel answered with a shade more forcefulness than Jo had heard her use before. "I was only curious. It doesn't matter anyway," Jo answered softly as she turned off the switch of her daytime instincts. "I'm dying for my early morning coffee. You're looking overdressed anyway," Mel smirked. Jo put the tray of toast and coffee down on the side, nonchalently threw aside her shirt and slid back into bed. Saturday morning breakfast was always a sensual delight to them both. It was always an exquisite sensation how far they could eat and drink while feeling each other up until their desires finally overcame them. ****** On Sunday morning, Jo was back in her house. She preoccupied herself by catching up with some housework, energetically hoovering the carpets, chucking out food from her fridge and freezer that was way past its sell by date and vigorously dusting and polishing everywhere. This was her home, the place where she'd moved with her husband years ago, the place where she'd brought up her children. there were still some toys that had lain forgotten in the cupboards and posters of transient pop stars and female models, paper curling at the edges. Everything looked prim and proper in its place, where it had always been as she was a woman with order in her life. She also remembered ensuring that her husband was well looked after while she slipped out with a clandestine affair with John Deed, one which had resulted in him driving her to the clinic to have the abortion which had also killed off the affair and all its intensity. She shook her head as she shook out the duster out the back door and watched the particles float in the air and drop on the grass. She shook her head as she wondered looking at a younger version of herself that took such matters so seriously, tearing her heart at choosing between her husband, that good man and John deed who was her demon lover. It was strange how life changed everything. She was now the lover of a gorgeous woman, doing things that would have shocked her younger self. That woman had been bound down by so many responsibilities and couldn't begin to think that there were alternatives. She sat down and put on a soothing CD. She felt incomplete. She knew that she would rather be rolling in physical ecstacy with her lover rather than wearing her habitual sensible shirt. Nevertheless, she was tired and after setting her house to rights, she lay down on the settee. Perhaps she could do with a rest and recharge her batteries. She wondered what her darling Mel was doing right now. It wouldn't be too long before she would see her again. As it happened, Mel had gone round the back of her house to the shed where she kept her motorbike. She'd gone up to London and placed a wad of notes down on the counter for a good durable machine. She made sure that everything was safe and secure and wheeled up the side of the house and looked warily up and down the street. It was Sunday morning and all the good people of this hick town didn't want their mornings disturbed so she made sure her bike didn't kick up too much of a row. She pulled up the zip of her jacket as even a fine December morning could get chilly. She turned the bike down the road and was off into the distance. |
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| richard | Feb 18 2012, 11:46 AM Post #60 |
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Scene Forty-Five No matter how much Alice tried to disguise it from herself, a subterranean thought had kept niggling away under the surface that she found it impossible to totally ignore, especially after her uncomfortable interview with Becky's defence solicitor and his delicately phrased questioning of her professionalism. As the days rolled on, her life with George was tranquil enough but she was more than ever aware of how Becky might be faring right now. She realised that this instinctive sympathy for others' suffering could not be denied and she couldn't in all conscience just coldly ignore it and that was what mattered most in life.While she faced the prospect of being asked hard questions when she gave evidence , Becky was in an infinitely worse situation of being accused of grievous bodily harm and facing her whole lifestyle being opened up to legal scrutiny. She knew enough of the trials she'd witnessed just how searching the questions could be.No matter how badly Becky had behaved, Alice could not in all good conscience wish that on her. In the meantime, she dithered and delayed and she otherwise devoted her life to the self assured George who knew her own mind, had definite views but didn't want people falling at her feet as the Angel of Mercy.If nothing else, George kept her slim feet firmly planted on the ground and had no time for games, something Alice deeply related to and was in love with.It was all very confusing, emotionally speaking. George and Alice popped round one evening to Nikki and Helen's flat after they'd come back from the antenatal clinic and were glad to be out of the rain that had bucketed down the moment they stepped out of George's car. While the squalls briefly blasted at them, it felt somehow good to be sheltering under the one umbrella, or so George felt as Alice, being taller, gallantly sheltered them. Helen opened the door and, at six months, the pregnancy was very noticeable on her and she clearly relished every moment of it. "Come in and have a cup of tea," Nikki exclaimed in the background much as her mother might have behaved while Helen kissed Alice, then George. "I'd better be careful how close I get to you," George said wittily. "I think I remember enough of when I was carrying Charlie if I'm prodded enough." "You weren't the Idealised Mother then," Helen said, her eyes twinkling. "Indeed I wasn't," exclaimed George, carefully steering her memories towards a positive outcome."I cursed and I swore and called John every name in the English Dictionary and doing ante natal exercised and being pushed and prodded during all kind of tests by women in white coats wasn't my cup of tea. Still, it all happens for the best as Charlie is now the dutiful hard-working daughter after sowing her wild oats in all manner of political crazes." "That's where weve come from now. Helen's classified as a young mother and with all this IVF, they're not taking any chances. At any rate, we've passed the twenty week's scan to check for abnormalities and, so far, so good,"Nikki beamed, a whole souled smile on her face as she called out loudly from the kitchen making tea for them all." "Still, we're not so self centred to turn away from our normal conversation and bore you stiff about babies and pregnancies.Nikki and I made a vow that, while we're not going to shut up about our happy news, we do want to talk about the world outside our doors.Take the weight off your feet." "It's nice to settle down after the tumult of past experiences,"George observed with a look that aimed to include them all. "There's nothing wrong about the 'all ends happily after' epilogue though I used to think of it too frightfully sickly sweet for my taste." There was a murmur of agreement but in Alice's depths, a discordant note was struck However, she laughed along with the others. ************ Finally, Alice could bear the tension no longer. She was in a hurry so she hadn't got time to tell George, and she managed to squeeze in some time on her rounds to call in on Becky. As soon as Alice went off the beaten path from where her duties took her, she had this unsettling feeling of illegality. She vowed to herself that she wouldn't claim more than the motor mileage she would otherwise have claimed and she wouldn't seek a repetition of the visit to Mrs Elliott that had landed her in her present predicament. In such a frame of mind, she knocked timidly on Becky's front door. It opened and let in the gaping darkness which a thin and unkempt looking woman filled. With a shock, Alice realised that this was Becky. "Alice, thank God you're here. You're the answer to my prayers. I've been going out of my mind counting the days to the trial and nothing to think about except ..maybe after all we've been through, you'd come and rescue me. Come in, come in." Her ingrained social worker instinct made her enter the flat. The front living room was a wreck with bottles of wine, lager and assorted clothing strewn everywhere not to mention the reek of stale alcohol. Alice was horrified how far down she had sunk not that she hadn't seen such scenes before in her life. It's just that it hadn't touched her so closely and personally before. "What's happened to you? Isn't there someone looking after you?"Alice stammered only to be greeted by some sort of indefinable sound emanating from the other room. It took Alice a while to decipher the stream of slurred sound as a very very drunken woman. "Becky, let's split this bottle of wine and come back to bed," it finally said, articulating words against the odds of them being heard. It horrified Alice that her ex-lover's alcoholism had grown to the point of taking over even at a moment like this. "What about the trial, Becky?"Alice urged, her memories of past court cases coming back to her mind. She hadn't been closely involved as her friends had been in their various trials but she tried to summon up memories of trials she'd witnessed. The trouble was that it was one thing to watch how experts like Jo and George operated. It was quite another thing to be the one in charge and Alice tried to wing it as best she could. "You've got to work out what you're going to say, what started it off. You picked up the knife instinctively to defend yourself against your mother. You and I know how dangerous she was.You have to stick to the same story that I'm going to tell.I care about you but you have to be strong for yourself." That was the start of a nightmare couple of hours after which Alice gave up in despair after a series of ricochetting conversations between the three of them. Alice's efforts in grabbing Becky's wandering attention was continually interrupted by her drunken partner tempting her to become equally stupid drunk as she was. Even when she momentarily engaged Becky's attention and tried to get her to come up with a credible story that a jury might believe and tie in with Alice's clear headed version, her ex-lover was manic in jumping from one point to another in no particular order and end up in talking at length about her feelings, how she couldn't cope with the thought of being shut up in prison miles from anywhere where there was no one around who cared for her. It was at that point that her tiresome partner would break into the conversation loudly coming up with all sorts of irrelevant rubbish. Finally, Alice looked at her watch and noticed with horror that it was a quarter to eight. Feeling that she had become totally peripheral and starting to worry about George, she made a shamefaced exit and went back to her car. It was a cold pitch-black night, spitting down with rain but the bleak inhospitable night felt more comfortable than the madhouse she had just left. Without turning on her mobile, she sped off down the road to the safety and security of hers and George's house and let herself in. George had been used to Alice coming in at irregular hours thanks to the nature of her job but always phoned in when she was likely to be late so that George could cook the dinner. This time, the hours ticked away and still no response on her mobile which was switched off and a mixture of annoyance and concern swilled around in George's emotional system till she heard the door open. By then, the dinner had been ruined. "What on earth happened to you Alice? Why on earth are you smelling like a brewery?" George demanded, the words coming out more aggressively than she'd intended. "Only one of my more troublesome clients. She and her friend had been acting up. It wasn't what I'd been led to believe," Alice said looking away from George's direct gaze. She'd been worrying how George would react to her visiting Becky so she decided to embellish her story. George picked up something not quite right about Alice's manner. She'd lived with her for long enough to know her little habits. Her mind cast out for the likeliest possible explanation for the unusual combination of facts and the smell of cheap lager led her to the horrid suspicion who she'd been seeing. "You've been visiting Becky, haven't you," George said as a flat statement in ominously quiet tones. "All right so I did," Alice said in an agitated fashion, not wanting to dwell on the hellish last few hours. She feverishly sought the nearest justification to hand. "I know what she's like when she's under stress with the trial coming on and wanted to talk over what we'd say when we came to give evidence. I tried to get her to concentrate but I didn't get very far." "You did what?" exclaimed George as her anger blazed up, clean missing the partner's world weary sense of futility in her partner's voice. All she realised was just how much suppressed emotion she'd been bottling up as Becky had kept reappearing just when she had thought that Alice had learnt the lesson and saying she had. As everything boiled over, she latched onto what was nearest and safest for her. "What on earth do you think you were doing, Alice. I thought you knew well enough that you and Becky shouldn't have talked with each other about the wounding before the court hearing." "I don't see what I've done wrong George," Alice retaliated, the accumulated stress starting to get to her. "Didn't Nikki and Helen support Sally-Anne and Karen and especially each other when Helen was accused of breaking the Official Secrets Act?" George rolled her eyes skyward and summoned up a degree of self restraint as she sought to put the mind straight of this dreadfully well meaning woman who just didn't get it.It wasn't worth saying how Nikki and Helen played things very carefully all the time Helen was coming up to trial and giving evidence in court. At most any discussion took place within the presence of either Claire Walker or Jo or herself or some such combination. "Hadn't you realised how your evidence could be turned around so easily, that you could so easily shape up as a prosecution witness as much as a defence witness? Can't you see that any halfway decent barrister will worm out the fact that you and Becky have history and use your tete a tete to crucify you and discredit your evidence?" "It's because I've seen Becky at all. That's why you're angry with me," blurted out Alice very foolishly. It shifted the whole axis of debate onto an emotional level. "And you know why?"George shouted, an unexpected tremor in her voice as she let everything pour out in one solid stream of words. "If you let her drag you into her world, she'll drag you down and down and down. Every time you go round to see her, she messes around with your head so you promise you won't ever go round again- till the next time. Remember the time you threw some crockery at the wall after the last time you visited her. You can't seem to get that frightful woman out of your system no matter what she's done and I can't stand being the competition. I've had enough. I'm going out." "But wait," protested Alice as it started to cross her mind that George had been her security that she'd taken for granted. "You can't do that." "Can't I just. Just watch me now," retorted George as she grabbed her handbag and was off out the front door leaving behind a swirl of cold air from outside. ******* "She's driving me mad, mad," ranted George as she stomped back and forth across the carpet in John's bedroom, clicking her fingers as John winced with horror at the reckless way that Alice had behaved.Loud alarm bells rang in his head and every instinct as to the due process of law throbbed like raw nerve endings exposed. "I've tried to be reasonable, the understanding consort but this comes out of the blue just when I thought she'd got this Becky thing out of her system." "'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions,'" quoted John. "That was an expression I remember my father saying to keep me on my toes but I really feel sorry for you in being haunted by this woman. "Pour me another drink,"demanded George peremptorily. "A large Martini dry and go easy on the lemonade. Just for once in my life, I want to get fairly drunk and, after that, who knows what might happen?" John blinked at George's sudden change of mood that suffused her last words along with the delicious smile that spread across her face. This was as clear a bold sexual proposition that he'd ever heard in his life that reminded him forcibly of happier days in their youth. John felt a strong twinge of conscience as he carefully weighed up the ethics of the situation. George and Alice were partners, something he felt was insoluble and George was untouchable. He really considered whether or not he should do the honourable thing and reason with George as to whether or not she really knew what she was doing, would she regret it in the morning. He set against this the fact that George knew exactly what she was doing and hadn't made any suggestion that this was a deeply passionate moment of love's awakening but something she needed on this night with no promise of any further commitment. He shook his head in wonder that, at this precise moment, she was standing in the shoes that he once wore, that she was the one driven mad by the inconstancy of a partner, something that he had been serially guilty of and, relatively speaking, he was the innocent party. He went to fill up George's glass and a measure for himself as well with the curious feeling that he wasn't betraying his newly found principles despite appearances to the contrary. ****** Alice remained at home, pecking desultarally at the remains of the overcooked meal that George had dumped on the side. She remained frozen to the settee and emotionally devastated. It hit her hard that she lost what she most loved while pursuing a fantasy. Without George's vibrant presence, the house felt drained of energy. She hadn't the slightest idea what to do as the minutes ticked away. Finally, she summoned up the energy to phone up one of her friends to work out what the hell she should do. She opted finally for Sally-Anne as someone whose non-judgmental manner she could face when it was starting to steal over her how incredibly foolishly she had acted. She didn't dare think of what George might be doing. Fortunately, Monday night was Sally-Anne and Trisha's quiet night. They were lying in their darkened living room, watching a DVD which Trisha loved but was not up Sally-Anne's street. When her mobile rang, she trailed her fingers through her lover's blond hair, kissed her forehead and took herself into the hallway. "George has done what?" Sally-Anne said before the undertone of misery in Alice's voice made her sharpen up as the remaining miasma of the Hollywood love story in the living room was sharply dispersed. "Tell me what's happened. I'm here for you." As Alice's uncertain voice trailed its way towards its conclusion, Sally-Anne made up Alice's mind in her practical way. "It's easier to say than do, but you've no choice to sit tight and wait for George to come back as I know she will. The ball is in her court to decide what to do. I wouldn't deny that a drink or two won't help but try to settle down as best as you can. I can't believe that you cannot mean everything to George and she'll calm down and realise it but you'll need to face up properly to your ex. Take care," Sally-Anne said softly, sounding more confident than she felt. With that, Alice finally lay down in the double bed which felt far too big to her right now. |
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8:47 AM Jul 11