Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

'Maybe you'd like to tell me the entire story now'.

'When you say "entire"?'

'From... uh... I suppose... when you first met your husband to... uh... this morning, I suppose. The pertinent details only, of course. But... uh... I would just like an overall picture. So I can... uh... just have an overview, I suppose'.

I could feel my spirits tumble even further into despair. This man had the personality of a paper cup.

But still I took him through the complete tale of my marriage - from Cairo to London, to the early problems with the pregnancy, to the postnatal depression, to my extended stay in hospital, and the nightmare that I had walked into upon returning from Boston. I was absolutely frank with him - telling him exactly how I made angry verbal threats against my son, and my difficult behaviour in hospital after his birth, the sleeping pills incident, my absurd decision to seek out Diane Dexter's country home - in short, everything that Tony's solicitors could use against me.

It took around twenty minutes to get through the entire story. As I spoke, Clapp pivoted his chair in such a way that he was staring at a spot on the wall behind his computer screen. He showed no emotion as I spoke, he didn't interrupt, he didn't react to any of the more dire aspects of the tale. His presence didn't register at all. I might as well have been talking to a goldfish in an aquarium, considering the lack of reaction I was getting.

When I finally finished, there was another considerable pause - as if he didn't get the fact that my narrative was finished. Then, when this dawned on him, he turned back to my file, shuffled the papers together, closed it and said, 'Uhm... right then. We have your address and phone number here, don't we?'

'It's on the first page of the forms'.

He opened the file again, peered inside, shut it.

'So it is', he said. Then he stood up and said, 'Well, uhm, emergency Legal Aid will be available right now, although a final certificate won't be authorized until the forms have been processed. Anyway... uhm... we'll be in touch'.

This threw me. Surely he was going to answer some questions, give me his legal point of view, speak about my chances in court, hint about the strategy he might adopt, anything. But instead, I was offered his dead mullet hand. And I was so flummoxed by this I briefly squeezed his damp, flaccid fingers and left.

An hour later, I was in Julia's kitchen, accepting another shot of Absolut. I needed one.

'This guy isn't just diffident; he's one of those people who seems to be missing-in-action while still sitting in the same room as you'.

'Maybe that's just his manner', she said.

'Damn right it's his manner - and it's a completely hopeless one. I mean, at first I thought: he's just boring. Or to be more specific about it: he's about the most boring person I've ever met in my life. But then - after taking him through every damn thing that's happened to me for the last six months - what's his reaction? "We'll be in touch." And you should have seen this guy during my extended monologue. I'm positive he was doing Transcendental Meditation with his eyes open'.

'Are you certain he's just not a little shy?'

'A little shy? He came across as pathologically shy... to the point where I can't see how the hell he's going to make any inroads for me'.

'Don't you think you should give him a little time?'

'I don't have much in the way of time', I said. 'Less than four months, to be exact. And they don't call that Final Hearing final for nothing. I need someone who can, at the very least, attempt a little damage control here. I don't expect miracles. But he's like one of those freebie attorneys you read about in the States who get appointed to a capital murder case, and end up sleeping through the prosecution's summation'.

I paused. Julia just smiled at me.

'All right', I said. 'Maybe that's just a little melodramatic. But' -

'I know what the stakes are, Sally. I really do. And even though Nigel is your lawyer, I gather that you can get permission from the Legal Aid authority to change your solicitor if you put forward a good enough reason. So if you have absolutely no confidence in this solicitor, then call up the other solicitors on the list and find out when they can see you'.

I did just that the next morning, leaving three messages for three different solicitors. One of them, Helen Sanders, rang back. She didn't have time to see me face-to-face this week, but would be pleased to speak to me now. So, once again, I spent fifteen minutes telling this woman the entire saga - from beginning to end. Her verdict was stark and uncompromising.

'Whatever about the inherent unfairness of what happened to you', she said, 'the sad fact of the matter is: they do have a strong case against you. More to the point, as perhaps other solicitors have informed you, once a child is settled with one parent, the court is loath to relocate him again'.

This is exactly what the dreadful Ginny Ricks told me in the wake of the Interim Hearing disaster. So I asked Helen Sanders, 'Are you saying that my case is hopeless?'

'I couldn't make a judgment like that without studying all the relevant documents and court orders. But from what you've told me so far... well, I'm not going to lie to you: I can't see how you'll have any chance of winning residence of your son'.

She did offer to see me at her office next week, if I wanted to discuss matters further. But I simply thanked her for her time and hung up. What was there to discuss? Mine was a hopeless case.

'You mustn't think that', Julia said after I related this conversation to her.

'Isn't it better to face up to the truth?'

'I'm sure the right solicitor could dig up the right dirt on your husband's relationship with that Dexter woman, and how they set this whole thing up'.

'Maybe', I said. 'But I really need someone out there now, tracking stuff down, trying to look into Dexter's background to see if there's any dirt worth digging. And three months isn't really much time to pull all that together'.

'Don't you have any mega-rich friends who could help you hire a private detective or someone like that to snoop around on your behalf'.

The only people I knew with any substantial money were Margaret and Alexander Campbell. But I felt that, if I approached them now, it would seem as if I was demanding something back for referring me to Lawrence and Lambert. Like it or not, that would end things with Margaret. Once you've asked for money from a friend, the friendship is doomed.

'As I told you before, my only family is my sister. She's broke. My parents were schoolteachers. Their only asset was their house - and thanks to what lawyers like to call "bad estate planning" and the suddenness of their death, their one asset, their house, was largely consumed by the government. Then there was the law suit after their death'.

'What law suit... ?'

I paused for a moment, staring into my drink. Then I said, 'The one against my dad. The autopsy report found that he was about two glasses of wine over the legal limit. Not a vast amount, but he still shouldn't have been driving on it. And the fact that he hit a station wagon with a family of five in it...'

Julia looked at me, wide-eyed.

'Was anyone killed?'

'The mother, who was all of thirty-two years old, and her fourteen-month-old son. Her husband and their two other kids somehow managed to walk away'.

Silence. Then I said, 'The thing was - the husband of the woman killed... he turned out to be an Episcopal minister, and one of those very principled types who really believed in Christian axioms like turning the other cheek and not seeking vengeance. So, when it came out that, technically speaking, my father was driving while intoxicated, he insisted that the whole thing be kept out of the papers, not just for the sake of Sandy and me, but also - he told me later - for his own sake as well. 'There's been enough tragedy already. I don't want public pity, any more than I want to see you and your sister vilified because your father made a mistake.