Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Do you know that man?’

‘Yeah, a bit. Met him on a building site.’

‘He’s a friend of Gary’s, you know. Witness for the defence.’

‘Yeah?’ Simon’s uninterested response forced Sarah to suppress a slight jolt of irritation. It was a mannerism which had provoked many quarrels between them over the years. But she had no intention of nagging him today.

‘What do you fancy? Sandwich? Pizza hut? Burger?’

‘A sandwich’ll do fine. I thought all you barristers ate posh. You know — fine linen, champagne, pass the port?’

‘Not my style. Anyway, you know what wine does to me, Simon — do you want to see me weaving into court all tipsy with my notes upside down?’

‘That’ll be the day. They’ll not catch you with your buttons undone, no way.’

‘I should hope not.’

They bought sandwiches, fruit and mineral water in Marks and Spencers. All the benches in the park by the river were occupied by tourists or shoppers, so they sat with their feet dangling over the quay, watching the river buses and rowing boats pass on the water.

‘So how come you’ve got a day off?’ she asked.

‘I just took it. Most o’t labourin’s finished, any road. It’s nowt but tidyin’ up today, so I mitched it.’

Sarah sighed. Everything about the answer depressed her. It was bad enough to have a son whose ambitions extended no further than labouring on building sites, but it seemed Simon couldn’t even manage that without skiving. And then he had to use this exaggerated broad accent, to emphasise how he was moving in exactly the opposite social direction from her.

But I won’t nag, she told herself. It does no good — that’s how we lost him before.

‘How’s Jasmine?’

Jasmine was Simon’s girlfriend, a startlingly beautiful young woman who he had lived with for the past ten months. Sarah had hated her at first, partly because she seemed to have no more ambition than Simon, but also in the way that all mothers find it hard to relate to the girl their son has chosen to replace them. But as time passed and she seemed to make him happy, Sarah had begun to resign herself to the situation and search for good qualities in the girl that she hadn’t noticed before. So his answer distressed her further.

‘She’s gone.’

‘What?’

‘Left me — weeks ago. Ran off with a bloody male nurse from the hospital. Namby-pamby little wuss who loves trees.’

‘Oh Simon, no!’ She touched his arm but he shrugged her off.

‘Oh Simon, yes. You’re too messy, Simon, your home’s a tip. I’m off to get meself a life.’

‘She said that?’

‘Summat like it, yeah.’ He slung the crust of his sandwich to a seagull on the water. ‘Course there was mess, I’d been painting. And putting up shelves.’

‘ You, Simon, decorating?’ The squalor of Simon’s house was legendary in their family.

‘Yeah. I thought that’s what she wanted. What all women want, in’t it — a nice home?’ He looked at her sideways, as though this might be the answer he had come for. What is it women want, mum? How can I get Jasmine back? Of course he would never ask these questions so explicitly but that was what he wanted, she felt sure.

Sarah felt touched, flattered, and afraid. Touched and flattered that he should come to her, afraid that she had no idea of the answers. How could she know, who paid so little attention to her own home and marriage, these days? It was, she knew, somehow unsatisfactory despite all the efforts she and Bob had made over the years. Years in which Bob had put up shelves and units and wallpaper in every house they had had. And now Simon had for once tried to copy his stepfather, and Jasmine — his one spectacular achievement — had walked out on him. I could weep, she thought.

‘When did she go?’

‘Six weeks ago. I know where he lives. He takes her to them bloody protesters at fashion centre. Clowns — diggin’ holes and climbin’ trees.’

Like everyone, Sarah knew of the environmental protest at the designer centre. Emily might have supported it, but Simon hated things like that.

‘So Jasmine’s involved with the protest too?’

‘Probably. I saw her there once.’

‘Oh Simon.’ She touched his hand gently. ‘Is there no chance she’ll come back?’

‘Only when she fancies a bit of … you know. Then she comes back for an afternoon. But it’s not the same, is it?’ He flung the mineral water bottle viciously into the river, missing a duck by inches. She kept her hand on his but he wouldn’t look at her.

‘You still see her then?’ Sarah could easily believe it. She had always suspected Jasmine of using her son for her own purposes, as an amusing sexual accessory. ‘Well, couldn’t you … I don’t know, discuss it with her when you meet? I thought you got on so well!’

The answer, when it came, was surprisingly loud and strong, a gale of sound that turned heads nearby. ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried that, mum? She just laughs at me. I’ve even followed her back to his house, to tell that little bastard to leave her alone. But it’s no good, is it? She wants it all her own way, the bitch!’

The strength of his emotion frightened her. If he showed this much anger towards Jasmine, she thought, the girl might be afraid to come back.

‘I … I don’t think that’s quite the way, Simon,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I mean …’

‘Oh forget it,’ he said suddenly. ‘There’s nowt you can do, I never thought there were!’

But he had, she thought. He’d hoped. ‘Perhaps if you tell me about it, the things you quarrelled about …

‘No, there’s no point.’ He recovered himself, patted her hand. ‘We didn’t really quarrel, mum, we just … fell out, you know. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. I’ll just have to live with it.’

Only I can’t , his body language said. He clenched his fists on his thighs, and slowly pressed them together until his arms tensed with the strain. It looked like an unconscious expression of all the violence and tension in his emotions. Then, suddenly, he relaxed.

‘Anyhow, what about you? You’re not going to get this sod Harker off, are you?’

‘I’m doing my best, Simon. You know me.’

‘Yeah. Leave no stone unturned. But what d’you reckon to him, eh? Hardly your sort.’

Sarah smiled ironically. ‘Criminals aren’t my sort, Simon, you know that. My job’s to defend them, not admire them.’

‘He’s a criminal all right. Nasty violent thug.’

‘He.. how do you know that?’An unpleasant sensation of shock squirmed in her stomach. Just those two sentences of Sharon in court yesterday about Gary’s criminal record, and here was her son parroting them back to her. It must be from last night’s Evening Press , which she hadn’t bothered to read.

‘Everyone knows who’s met him,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve seen him on building sites.’

‘You’ve met Gary Harker?’

‘Yeah. Ugly bastard, isn’t he? Thinks he’s hard but he’s scum really.’

And they probably say the same about you, she thought bitterly. You, my son, working with Gary Harker. She shook her head, trying to take it all in. ‘So you didn’t come just to see me? You came to see him!’

‘Both of you,’ Simon said. ‘I saw it in’t paper and thought, I’ve got a family interest here. I’ll go along and see what’s what.’

‘I see.’ Sarah sighed. ‘So what do you think, now you’ve seen it?’

‘I think you’re giving that woman a hard time. Does she deserve it, really?’

‘I have to, Simon, it’s part of the game. She says Gary raped her, he says he wasn’t there. I have to test the evidence — you know that.’