‘All rise,’ barks the court clerk, snapping me back to the here and now.
I wait politely for everyone to file out ahead of me, instead of overtaking to slice the fastest path to the door, in my usual tetchy work mode. My mind’s very much on my after-work appointment with Ben. Equal parts terror, anticipation, excitement, guilt, confusion …
I get a cow-shit coffee and go to the press room to drink it in peace. I see Zoe has got there before me. Despite her doubts, she’s taken to court reporting brilliantly. The ability to spot a story is one you can’t really teach, and she clearly has it. She’s also had the confidence to leave a courtroom where nothing much is happening and seek something better. It took me ages to find the guts to do that. I’d be pinioned to the bench listening to a ten-a-penny aggravated twokking, doing side-to-side slotting eye movements, like a portrait in a haunted house when backs turn.
‘Sodding Gretton,’ she says, by way of greeting, over her takeaway spud, spearing discs of cucumber with a white plastic fork and placing them in the opened lid.
I sip my coffee. ‘Is he stalking you now? I thought I’d seen less of him.’
‘Yeah. I got this nice story about a have-a-go hero pensioner chasing toerags off his allotments, think I’ve got it all to myself, and then I turn round and he’s breathing down my neck.’
‘Uh oh, there wasn’t a joke about hoes, was there?’
‘The deadly or dangerous weapon was a rake, thankfully.’
‘Take it as a compliment. He wouldn’t bother if he didn’t think you knew what you were doing.’
‘I suppose.’
I reflect that this is truer than I’d like. It’s an uncomfortable discovery that Gretton’s instantly switched to targeting Zoe. Am I that dispensable? I haven’t had anything great lately. This must be how fading movie stars feel when they lose a stalker to a younger rival. Even rodents like him are fleeing sinking HMS Woodford. Admittedly, Zoe looks like she’s going to go far. I think people once said that about me. This bothers me more than it would have done, now that I’ve broken off my engagement. Funny how, when one part of your life falls away, the other bits that are left start looking rather feeble. I’ve always thought I had a good job. Now I’m thinking I’ve never exactly chased promotion, and here’s Zoe, probably going to overtake me in a few weeks flat and then be on to the next thing.
‘I’m getting off on time today. If news desk ask, I was here until the bitter end,’ I say. ‘I don’t need to file anything until tomorrow and the progress in Court 2 is on the stately side.’
Zoe makes a salute. ‘Understood. Anything fun?’
‘What, in Court 2?’
‘What you’re off to.’
That’s a good question. ‘A drink with an old friend.’
‘Ooh. A friend friend or a friend?’
For some reason the question irritates me. ‘Friend, female,’ I snap, then realise my guilty conscience is making me antsy.
Zoe nods, spearing a slice of woolly tomato and then plunging through potato flesh the way gardeners work over soil.
16
The Tallack trial continues, and my afternoon passes in a similar reverie. This time I’m back in my study period before first year exams. Ben left me a cryptic note in my pigeonhole in the university’s arts block with the venue, time and ‘come alone’, as if we were secret agents.
I’d never been up to Central Library in St Peter’s Square, content to make do with the university library, John Rylands. In acknowledgement of this, and to take the mickey, Ben drew me a map with the whole route described, eventually arriving at what resembled a blue-biro-inked cake, the Tuscan colonnade standing in for candles. He drew a goonish face, captioned ‘Ben’, and an arrow to indicate he was inside.
On arrival, as I admired the architecture, I saw Ben waving at me from a desk.
‘Hi. Why are we here?’ I hissed, sliding into a chair next to him.
‘I didn’t want anyone overhearing us in the uni library,’ Ben whispered. ‘And it’s an outing. Look at these.’
He pushed a stack of exam papers towards me.
‘Past papers?’ I asked.
‘Yep. Going through them, there’s a totally obvious pattern. There’s only a question about Beowulf every other year.’
‘Riiight …’ I said. ‘So …?’
‘It was on last year’s paper and there’s no way it’s going to come up this year. We don’t have to revise it.’
‘A risky strategy.’
‘I’m one hundred per cent sure it’ll work.’
‘Really?’ I said, sarcastically. ‘One hundred per cent? As sure of the laws of gravity, or the laws of … of …’
‘You don’t know any other laws, do you?’
‘Sod?’
‘OK, I’m ninety per cent sure then.’
‘There’s an equally failsafe fallback.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Without tutors suspecting a thing is happening, we covertly put information into our brains. Then we smuggle it into the exam room behind these faces. No one would ever guess our secret.’
Ben stifles a laugh. ‘Smart arse. I knew you wouldn’t appreciate my efforts.’
I pointed up at the inscription on the ceiling.
‘Wisdom is the principal thing, therefore get wisdom.’
Ben shook his head. ‘Get degree is principal thing, not sermon off Ronnie.’
‘Look. It might work, but you’re clever, you don’t need to play games.’
‘Ack, I hate Old English.’
‘Would your mum want you to do this?’
Ben wrinkled his nose. ‘Don’t drag my mum into this.’
I’d met Ben’s mum by chance, the previous week. I called in on his shared flat to drop a textbook off and a slim young woman with short hair and Ben’s same neat features was stood chatting in the doorway, jangling car keys.
‘Hello, I’m Ben’s mum,’ she’d said, as I approached, in that yes I will speak to your friends if I want to teasing way.
‘Hello, I’m Rachel. Ben’s friend off his course,’ I added, in case she thought it was a booty call.
‘Oooh Rachel!’ she said. ‘You’re the lovely, clever girl with the musician boyfriend.’
‘Er, yes,’ I said, flattered I’d been described at all, let alone in such a nice way.
‘Now your boyfriend lives – wait, wait – I know it …’ Ben’s mum held her hand up to indicate she was thinking.
‘Mum,’ Ben said, in a low growl, face reddening.
‘Sunderland!’ she announced.
‘Sheffield,’ I said. ‘You got the “S”, though. And the north. Very near, really.’
‘Honestly, you