Jamie
Jamie Abercrombie had never really wanted to be a barrister. It was not something he would choose over again if he had the opportunity. If he was honest, he did not remember choosing it in the first place. His father had been a barrister of some standing and indeed some sitting. In fact, his father had been the very colossus of the crown courts and so Jamie had had to follow in his footsteps, or firmly shoved into following in his footsteps. Now he was not so much following but more mumbling and shuffling and trying not to bump into the furniture.
The simple fact of the matter was that he just wasn’t very good at it. At all. His poor court performances were notorious throughout legal circles. Jamie found it difficult to muster the motivation to actually read the briefs prior to the actual trials. Of course, he met with the clients and listened to them, in a vague, distracted and often multi-tasking playing games on his mobile phone kind of way. He was careful, however, to stay precariously one notch above bloody bone idle to ensure he did not get found out, fired or disbarred.
On one particular occasion, which is still referred to in hushed tones around the law courts, Jamie arrived two hours late. He rushed into court number one at The Old Bailey just as Ellis Grote-Smilies Q.C. finished his cross examination of a witness. Not wanting to be two hours late and admit that he didn’t know what the devil was going on, he launched into a savage line of questioning of the witness in the box.
The case was quite clear cut as he saw it. All he had to do was to crack this witness and prove that the witness had in fact committed the crime.
“I put it to you, that it was you who robbed and murdered Alison Harris,” he had started, “and furthermore I can prove it!” The was a gasp from the whole courtroom.
“That is really interesting, counsel,” the judge interrupted him, “and somewhat surprising. Ms. Winsome hardly seems capable of such action. You might also find that the Alison Harris trial is in court two this morning. I suggest that you make haste there immediately.”
Jamie looked up at the smiling face of the sweet little old lady in the witness box. There are many occasions where he had wished the ground would swallow him up and that had been one. He was known for a long time after that as Jamie “Win some” Manning Q.C.
He had now given up trying now. He knew that he would never win a case, he understood how simply rubbish he was.
The only solicitor who would recommend to clients him was Cockshot, Peck and Lewis. Peck and Lewis were deceased now, leaving Cockshot alone. Mr George Richard Cockshot was Jamie’s uncle on his mother’s side and their familial relationship was the only reason Mr George Richard Cockshot referred any cases to Jamie.
This particular Tuesday was not a good day. Jamie had suspected as much for most of the morning but now knew this for certain as he unsuccessfully tried to stop smoking for the third day in a row. He had had such good intentions today. But now he heard himself saying those immortal words:
“Twenty Marlboro Lights, please.” which, in itself would not have been so bad if he had not have been in the newsagent at the time.
‘Oh well,’ he thought as he lit the first of what he was sure would be many cigarettes that day. Jamie took the same view about smoking as he did many things in life. If he was going to smoke, he would do it properly. None of this cutting down or social smoking. No, if he was going to smoke; it was full blown smoking. He had decided to give up each morning for the last three days. Each time finding a different excuse to have that first fateful cigarette that lead to many more.
He had managed to refraining smoking on this particular day until the phone call. It had been from an old girlfriend. Well not just any old girlfriend. It had been from her. “She”, “her” were the only ways he could find to talk about her. He found it very difficult to mention her name.
“Hello, Jamie Manning speaking.” he had said. He was forced to answer his own telephone now due to many disasters with many secretaries and the fact that he could not afford one.
“Hello,” she had said, “Jamie, this is Mary Ward. I don’t know if you remember me?”
He nearly fell off his comfortable and stylish leather swivel chair when he heard her voice. Did he remember her? Was the Pope Polish? He was not sure of that and who wanted to know anyway? But he did remember her. Her voice. Her voice flooded him with memories that he had tried to forget.
Memories of summer nights, drinking wine in the park and talking about everything. Memories of cold winter’s nights in front of the wood burning stove in her father’s country cottage, drinking wine and talking long into the night, avoiding the stern looks of her father, who wasn’t sure why Jamie was in his cottage. Ah, those had been the days.
He had tried in vain to forget, needless to say. Why on earth was she calling him now? They had not spoken for at least six months and even then, it had been the result of a drunken phone call from Jamie, the details of which Jamie had also tried in vain to forget and still made him cringe.
He had to play it cool now, because, well he was not sure why, but he knew he should.
“Hello, Jamie, are you there?” Jamie released that he had disengaged his brain from his mouth whilst he had been reminiscing. His brain fought for control of his mouth; this was not going to be pretty.
“Er… Mary, hello, Yes, er… I am here,” he blurted out all at once, so all the words sounded like as single word. “MaryhellyesIhere.” Real cool. Simple statement of fact. Now important thing is not to talk too much. Let her do the explaining and you do the listening…
“Look I am sorry about your CD’s and your photographs and saying those things about you, your family and your dog… I was upset and the thing is….” Jamie paused, not really sure what the thing was.
“That’s okay.” She stopped him before it got worse. “I know that it was an emotional time for us both.”
Jamie pictured his tear-stained face standing outside her flat, shouting at the top of his voice that he desperately wanted her back and sobbing like a small child in a tantrum. She was being overly generous with ‘us both’. It has been an emotional time for him, she had been, now he looked at it, she had been patient, understanding and well grown up.
“Jamie, I need some help and you’re the only one I could think of,” she spoke slowly just to check that he understood, and partly because she feared this had been a mistake.
‘That’s alright then,’ he thought, ‘this is a dream.’ Any minute now he would start running across the office and some dogs would jump through the window. Or she would appear in the middle of the room with no clothes on. After a moment of no dogs appearing or naked women turning up, he realised that this was actually happening. Oh.
“How...how do you mean help?” he stammered not able to stop thinking about the way she had said “you’re the only one…”.
“It’s difficult to talk over the phone. Can I come to your office? Please, I need your help.” he thought that he could detect a slight tremor in her voice, but in honesty it was difficult to detect much due to fact that he had dropped the phone at this point.
But hold on. She could not just pick up the phone one day after six months and expect him to clear his empty diary, drop everything and make way for her in his life. No, he had to be firm with her. The schoolboy side of his brain guffawed at the thought of dropping everything and being firm with her. Sadly, this side of his brain had got him into a lot of trouble over the years and unfortunately as we will soon see, got him into trouble in his future too.
“Yes, of course. I am free now.” Good job, that was assertive.
“Good. I’ll be there at about three thirty. Goodbye, Jamie and thank you.”
“That’s okay. Goodbye.”
‘That’s okay.’ the sneery side of his brain sneered, like a sneering child. He gave the sneering side of his brain a good slap, unfortunately the sneering side of his brain was located close to his face, and he spent the next twenty minutes regretting his outburst at himself.
The phone call had been a few hours ago now and Jamie sat staring at the clock as the hands dragged their way around to three thirty. He was not sure how he should be feeling. He did not think that he should be excited, but he was really looking forward to seeing her. He looked at the clock again, it was nearly half past. She would be here in about ten minutes.
He realised that the office was not exactly tidy and did not look like an office anymore. It had been quite some time since it had been cleaned last. Surprisingly the last time he could remember it being clean was just before his last secretary had left. He wondered if the two events were connected as he began to scrape the debris from his desk. At least it was something to occupy his mind in the final ten minutes before she was due to arrive.
He arranged the chairs in his office so that he could sit behind his desk and she would face him in one of two chairs on the other side of the desk. This meant that should he need to he could move around the desk and sit next to her which he had placed closer than normal.
‘Oh that’s just how they were left by the last clients’ he would say, if challenged. His last client was in Broadmarsh Prison serving eight to ten years for his part in an armed robbery. An interesting case in which an ironclad alibi from a room full of forty party guests was not sufficient to keep his client out of prison. Particularly when the prosecution discovered that the 40 guests were in fact all known criminals. And whilst it was true that his client was with them on the night in question; sadly the fact that the party referred to turned out to be an armed robbery party, put his client in a very difficult position with the jury. In short, he was found guilty.
He looked at the chairs and felt very pleased at his subterfuge. Then it struck him that she might well see through this ploy of forced proximity and moved the chairs apart again. He paused for a second and moved them back closer again. He shook his head and moved them apart. This was clearly going to go on for some time.
Mary walked through the open door of the office to see Jamie shaking his head and moving two chairs opposite his desk closer and further apart, closer and apart, closer and apart. She wondered how long she should wait to see if this behaviour came to a natural end before she met her natural end. But she cleared her throat as she was afraid that she might lose.
Jamie jumped back from the chairs, startled by Mary’s presence in the office.
“I… er didn’t hear you come in. Sorry.” he muttered, blushing.
“No, I am sorry, is everything okay with the chairs?” she was nervous enough already without the insane chair dancing Jamie.
She straightened up and walked towards Jamie offering her hand. He strode towards her correspondingly and took her proffered hand, shaking it lightly and wishing he had left the damn chairs alone.
“Hello, Jamie. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she smiled as she spoke.
“What?” he blurted. This was not how he had imagined it. How dare she insult him from the start about his barren love life?
“Since we last met, I mean.” she looked at him blankly wondering if this was a good idea after all.
“Oh yes,” the dawning of the age of realisation crossing his face. He smiled and relaxed a little. He offered her the chair nearest to him and beat a hasty retreat behind his desk. She thanked him for the chair, paused as she eyed it nervously, and sat slowly down as if unsure of the chair’s safety or significance.
Jamie sat down in his comfortable chair behind the desk, drawing some security from its familiar leather warmth. He stood up quickly as he remembered that he should offer his guest some refreshment.
“Coffee, tea?” he offered.
“Thank you, no.” she replied.
He was relieved, he had neither. Nor a kettle. He began to understand what his secretary had meant now.
She looked around the office slowly and purposefully as if taking in the surroundings. There was a good deal to take in, and frankly some of it needing taking out again. But that is another story.
It was some moments before she spoke again. Jamie was almost holding his breath. He had decided to remain quiet and not move in case he did something stupid with chairs again. He shuddered quietly as he touched his embarrassment. As he waited, he looked at her.
“Jamie, I am sorry to call you out of the blue," she looked down as she spoke as if the words were written on the top of her skirt. Jamie found himself looking at her skirt to see if he could read ahead. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes flicking from her legs. Jamie swung his eyes towards the desk in flustered speed.
"I have been meaning to call you for some time but couldn't bring myself to do it." Now she looked him squarely in the eyes as she spoke. He found it difficult to know where to look. He had been told that if you look at someone's mouth when they talk, it looks as though you want to kiss them. He tried hard not to look at her mouth. He remembered also something about looking at someone's forehead was indistinguishable from looking them in the eye to the person being looked at. He stared at her forehead as she continued.
"I am in some trouble... and I need help. Two months ago, I met someone, not just someone, I mean. This is tough. I met a man. You and I had broken up and I was not really looking for anyone but somehow I did." She was clearly finding it tough going and as much as her words made his stomach churn in ways he had tried to forget, he felt he should offer some empathetic words.
"Erm... Mary, are you sure you want to tell me this?" Am I sure I want to hear this? he thought.
"Look, I know this is difficult for you to hear but I need to start the story from the beginning." She smiled as she frowned. It was her concerned and friendly look. He smiled back. Whatever it was that was causing her concern above all she had come to him.
"Two months ago - I met a man,” she repeated. I get the picture, thought Jamie. “Patrick is his name.” Really? Patrick? How nice, thought Jamie. His sarcastic voice was getting louder. He knew this was a defence mechanism but still maybe the voice would come up with some good one liners. Jamie nodded as she spoke, to try to disguise his discomfort.
“At first everything was normal. We had fun, it was nothing serious. I was busy with my work - he was out of town a good deal. Then last week, we were out in Richmond at a restaurant. We were just talking and catching up. We had not seen each other for a few days. It was about nine thirty in the evening, we were having dessert. He told me that I reminded him of Creme Caramel as he ordered it from the waiter.”
“Creme Caramel? Creme Caramel?” blurted Jamie, incredulously. His outburst made her start. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Look I am sorry. This is clearly upsetting for you, I should not have come here,” she reached down to pick up her bag and made as if to get up and leave.
“Oh… look, no. Wait, please sit down. I am sorry. Forget the Creme Caramel.” he scrambled to stop her from leaving. He stood up and knocked a mug of pencils over, swore loudly, apologised again. Mary paused, took a breath and sat back down.
“This is not about the Creme Caramel, Jamie.”
“Please go on,” he asked her as they both sat down again.
“As I said, we were ordering desserts, when he suddenly stood up from the table. He stood up so fast he knocked over his wine glass. His face went dead pan and he reached into his jacket pocket. He took out a small pistol, shouted ‘Not the same mistake again, this time I will lodge half a dozen balls in him!’ and shot the waiter, six times.”
“Oh god, what? That’s awful. Why?”
“Why? I really don’t know why. No one knows why. Not even Patrick. He cannot remember doing it. Fortunately, the waiter was shaken but not badly hurt.”
“Good, eh what?” Jamie performed the perfect double take. Had there been a TV camera in the room his double take could have been shown for many years to come on the Top 100 Double Takes of the Century - the TV show with over 4 hours of the top double takes and many commercial breaks. Undoubtedly this would have come in at number one. Sadly, there was no TV camera in the room and the Top 100 Double Takes of the Century show would have to survive without it.
“The waiter was not badly hurt. He was bruised from the fall and from the pellet and covered in yellow paint but that was it. Patrick had shot him with a paint-ball gun.”
“A paint-ball gun? Why?”
“I just don’t know. None of it makes any sense,” Mary suddenly looked exhausted and vexed. Yes, vexed was a good word, he thought.
“So, what happened next?” he felt he needed to prompt her.
“Well, it all happened so fast. The police came and arrested Patrick. They arrived so very quickly. Four of them ran through the door and straight to Patrick. Three left with him immediately. One of them stayed to take statements from the other diners and the waiter and then they left as well. They did not ask me anything, which I did not think about at the time but now it’s very odd. I did not know what to do. I panicked and just left the restaurant. I did not know where they had taken Patrick and to be honest, I did not know that I wanted to know where they had taken him. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.” She was animated and using her arms as she spoke. Jamie was having trouble with knowing what to say next. Mary was looking at him, waiting for him to say something.
He felt the pressure mounting. He knew he should say something insightful and empathetic but deep down he knew he was losing his patience. There was something irritating about the way she was only telling part of the story and the fact that she had clearly been having ‘relations’ with someone else. His honest side admitted, he was getting cross about the whole Creme Caramel thing. What on earth could it mean? His mind raced as he tried to work it out. Every possibility was either disgustingly rude, intriguingly lude or downright insulting.
“This does not make any sense.” He spoke slowly as if choosing his words carefully, he was. “So, Patrick, your boyfriend,” the words were in bold in his mind, “shot an innocent waiter in a restaurant in Richmond because you reminded him of Creme Caramel? Is this really what you are telling me?” His voice had risen in pitch and he found himself struggling to keep his temper.
“Yes,” she hesitated slightly as she sensed his rising anger, “but I have not got to the confusing part and please stop mentioning the Creme Caramel.”
“It’s difficult not to mention given that I really cannot understand what it means. And by the way,” Oh. He had done it now - he had said ‘by the way’. This was the point at which he knew he was going to be unreasonable but somehow just could not stop the red mist from happening. “What the hell did he mean that you reminded him of Creme Caramel?”
This was not going well. Mary began to consider she had made a mistake in coming here. But she knew she had to continue, she needed Jamie to be involved. She waited some moments before she spoke again. She looked down at the floor as if she was really hurt. Jamie looked at her sitting on the chair in his office and suddenly felt like an idiot. She had come here for help, she clearly needed it and all he could think about was Creme Caramel.
She waited until she was sure that she could speak again without angering him further. Looking at him squarely in the eye she told him why she had come there that day.
“Jamie, I really meant it when I said that you are the only one that I could trust with this. We have a history, I know and that makes this difficult, for us both. But I need help and I know you can help me. I came here today because you know me. You know that I am not irrational and flakey. I do not imagine things that did not happen and make them real.
“Jamie, Patrick disappeared after that night. I tried to contact him but his phones have been disconnected. I have tried his house, there’s no one there. The police tell me there is no record of him being detained that evening. I have even tried to contact his family but they are just as much in the dark as me. I am going mad - there’s absolutely nothing I can do.
“I need you to help me find out what happened to Patrick. Why did he behave that way in the restaurant and where did he go? My life has been a mess since this whole thing happened. I feel like I am being followed and watched all the time