Martin Edwards: I Remember You

‘There must have been good times.’

‘I won’t deny it. In the earliest days she even let me tattoo her boobs with flamingoes — free-hand stuff. Takes guts, that, you know. You only have one chance to get it right. I hoped in time she’d agree to a complete body stocking, from her neck to her knees. A sight to make any man swoon.’

Harry winced. ‘Women like that sort of thing?’

‘Ah, you’re an old chauvinist at heart. Let me promise you, some of them love it. I reckon Michelangelo would envy some of my canvases.’ He smiled to himself, as if enjoying a private joke. ‘At least when all the papers have been signed, Sinead will have something to remember me by. That’s one of the beauties of tattooing, mate. You carry your history with you, you can’t deny who or what you were.’

Finbar blinked, shook his head again and returned to the present. ‘Anyway, things started to go sour between us. I had the studio, a few girlfriends, I’ve never exactly kept regular hours. And Sinead could never be content as a housewife. She got involved with Free Animals Now! I remember years ago she bragged to me FAN! had broken into a vivisection lab and smashed open all the cages — as if there weren’t enough rats in the big bad world already.’ A slow smile spread across his face as he added, ‘Mind. I won’t pretend it was all bad news. At least I never had to buy her a new mink coat.’

‘And Melissa, what about her?’

‘I’m not cut out for wedded bliss. I learned my lesson with Sinead. All the same, Melissa’s been good for me. I’d been having a tough time, what with … well, it doesn’t matter. We met at a party, I got talking about body art and she explained she worked on local radio and they might be interested in doing a programme about it. So I offered to draw a garland on her ankle.’

‘She took you up on it?’

‘The very next night. We’ve been together ever since.’ Finbar rubbed his chin. ‘Funny thing, though, Harry, she’s asked me to tattoo her thigh with a heart linking her name and mine and I can’t bring myself to do it. I keep making up excuses.’

‘You think it would give her a special claim on you?’

‘Spot on. Besides, Melissa’s a funny kid. Lovely to look at, but sometimes she bothers me. She’s had … well, let’s call it trouble with her nerves. She’s the sort who easily gets hurt.’

It was on the tip of Harry’s tongue to say: So don’t hurt her . Realism kept him quiet. Urging Finbar to settle for monogamy would be like inviting Sinead to join the Quorn.

Finbar belched pleasurably. ‘By the way, are you doing anything tonight?’

‘Not apart from worrying about my debut on local radio tomorrow. Why? You’re surely not planning another bonfire?’

‘Something completely different, I promise you. Radio Liverpool are sponsoring a talent contest at the Russian Convoy this evening. Come along and I’ll introduce you to Baz Gilbert.’

Harry consulted his watch. The court hearing was due to start in fifteen minutes. He clambered to his feet.

‘Okay, but we’d better move. It’s time to try and tip the scales of justice.’

Outside it had grown colder and wisps of mist hung in the air. This kind of weather always made Harry think of Bleak House ; Dickens’ description of fog on the river had stuck in his mind. Fog, rolling defiled among the waterside pollution of a great and dirty city, yet never so thick as to assort with the groping and floundering condition held by that most pestilent of hoary sinners — the court.

The Divorce Registry was packed with sulky spouses, refusing to look at each other while their legal representatives haggled over the kids, the mortgage payments and the Dire Straits albums. Harry caught sight of Kim Lawrence at the end of the corridor, talking to a woman who wore dungarees the colour of mud. With a shock, he realised who she was.

Sinead Rogan had half a dozen badges pinned to her breast and grubby moccasins on her feet. Her dark hair was thick and hadn’t seen shampoo for some time. But something oddly familiar about her features struck Harry. Watching her interrupt Kim Lawrence, stabbing the air with her finger to emphasise a point, he realised what she reminded him of.

‘Sinead was the model for your picture of Lady Godiva,’ he whispered.

Finbar tapped himself on the chest and nodded. ‘In happier times, as they say in the newspapers.’

When Sinead paused for breath, Kim Lawrence nodded briskly. She turned and, noticing Harry and Finbar, loped down the corridor towards them.

‘Afternoon,’ she said to Harry. ‘I take it this is your client?’ She eyed Finbar with an ill-concealed distaste which contrasted with his admiring scrutiny of her tall and slender frame.

This is all I need , thought Harry. Kim is up in arms on behalf of the wronged wife and miladdo is on the point of making a pass at her .

Hastily, he asked, ‘Anything doing, Kim? Mr Rogan is ready to come to an amicable agreement, if that’s possible.’

‘You’re well aware of what my client is looking for.’

‘And you must be aware that she has no chance of getting it. Ask her to be realistic, and we can wrap this up in five minutes.’

‘Mrs Rogan wants her day in court. She has received dreadful treatment from your client and she expects him to start paying for it, from this moment on.’

‘I realise you have your instructions and I’m not suggesting Finbar here is a boy scout. But let’s talk things over. You’ll see from the list we’re in front of Buffalo Bill.’

‘Judge Cody wouldn’t have been my choice to hear this case. Nevertheless, Mrs Rogan’s mind is made up. Unless her terms are met, we proceed.’

‘You know as well as I do, Cody won’t allow any latitude with cross-examination. Anything that might make him late for the cup-tie this evening would definitely be out of order.’

The weary scorn on Kim Lawrence’s face conveyed her opinion of the old men who made up a politically incorrect judiciary. She was known in the city as a champion of the oppressed, spokesperson for an equal rights pressure group and Chair of the local branch of the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation. Harry often read in the Echo about her leading candle-lit vigils for the unjustly accused or running in marathons to help finance a new refuge for battered wives. Perhaps the creases of tiredness around her eyes marked the first faint signs of compassion fatigue.

‘What do you have in mind?’ she asked.

Harry named a figure, which fell short of the maximum Finbar was willing to pay. A margin for negotiation was always required when dealing with a formidable opponent who acted for a stubborn client.

‘No chance,’ said Kim Lawrence.

‘Listen, darling,’ said Finbar, unable to contain himself any longer, ‘when a woman reaches a certain age…’

In a tone cold enough to freeze the rest of the sentence on his lips, Kim Lawrence said, ‘I am not your darling, Mr Rogan. And I’ll be grateful if you’ll spare me your puerile pub philosophising.’

Harry was beginning to lose hope. ‘Look, some allowances need to be made here. Do you know Mr Rogan’s business was torched last night? As of this moment he has no trading income whatsoever. What’s the wife after — blood?’

‘That will do for a start,’ said a husky voice.

Sinead Rogan had joined them. She sounded triumphant. For all her unkempt appearance, she exuded a raw physical energy and Harry could guess why Finbar had once found her attractive. At close range, he became aware of the smell of cats clinging to her. Her hazel eyes gleamed with hostility as she contemplated her husband.

Finbar made the mistake of addressing her.