Memory Two
MEMORY TWO
GRANT
I was told Polly and Colin’s counsel was in the meeting room diagonally opposite mine, so when I opened the door and saw the woman with the Snow White hair and startling blue eyes at the table my brain short circuited on several counts.
“Hi.” I was just so fucking good at introductions.
She looked up, red lips parting slightly. “Did you manage to make yourself a pot of coffee or are you still trying to find a woman to do it for you?”
My hands went to my heart, and I feigned pain. “You wound me.”
She folded her arms and gave me a look I remembered from a nanny when I was still young enough to need one.
“I’m sorry. It was the wrong assumption to make. In my defence I had about two hours sleep last night and I’m not firing on any cylinder.” I held my hands up as if she was about to shoot me.
I’d probably have let her. I was exhausted to the point where I wasn’t sure if my sentences were coherent. How I’d managed today without my clients demanding someone more competent was beyond me. I’d needed too much repeating, sounded garbled and generally fucked a lot of shit up before managing to correct it.
“You shouldn’t have been tasting the delights of New York then.” Little Miss Stroppy put her hands on hips that had just the right curve and spat her words at me.
I was surprised, not at what she said, but at the fact I’d noticed how she looked. I’d been dead from the waist down for over a year, apart from an ill-advised one night stand with a woman I’d met in a bar after a gruelling end to a court case. It hadn’t provided anything like sweet relief, just a shit-ton of guilt and left me feeling worse than I already did.
“And you shouldn’t make assumptions, especially when you’re on your high horse at me for doing so. I was trying to persuade my offspring that sleep was a good thing.” I was too tired to play games and make something up or be high and mighty.
“Offspring? You’ve got kids?”
I nodded, that well of guilt and pride and everything else that I couldn’t untangle about to overflow. “Four of them. Three sons and a daughter.”
“How old are they?” There was a soft smile when she asked the question.
“Two, eight, six and five.” I shook my head. “I don’t advise such small age gaps if you’re ever considering it. They’re a handful.” And I didn’t know what to do.
“I’m one of nine. The second eldest. My brother’s a year older than me, then there’s about eighteen months between the rest, two years between a couple. I grew up in organised chaos.” Her expression was sympathetic rather than judgey. “Are they with their mam now?”
I shook my head. “She died a bit more than a year ago.”
“I’m sorry. That must be really hard.” Her hands were off her hips now, her stance relaxed and open. “It must be difficult to leave them.”
I wished I could agree with that. I had no idea how to parent my children probably because I’d never been parented myself, my father always at work and my mother at the country club. I had nannies and governesses who were wonderful and kind and I was a good kid. At seven I was sent to boarding school where I had an okay time, much better than most, so my experience of being parented was Christmas Days when the staff were off and parents’ days at school when I’d be told how proud they were of me. Sleepless nights and wild children weren’t something I’d be given instruction in.
“Everything’s tricky at the moment. I am sorry I asked you about the coffee this morning.” It was an arsehole thing to assume and not something I’d usually do. I may have been brought up by the hired help, but those women had instilled in me a lot of good, or so I thought.
I wasn’t feeling much good at being a father at the moment.
She shrugged and held out her hand. “I’m Marie Green, nice to meet you.”
I took it, feeling that her grip was firm and confident. “Grant Callaghan. Can I make you a coffee?”
Her laugh was fierce and full. “Good one. Actually, I’ll have tea. I may’ve lived the majority of my life in America, but I still prefer tea.”
“Tea it is. I’ll bring it in.”
I had found the little room where tea and coffee making facilities were stored, along with pastries and snacks. It was a good idea and one I’d take back to the Callaghan offices in Borough. I thought about that and where we could put it in the building rather than Marie Green, who was far too pretty for me not to notice.
I’d blotted my copybook with her anyway, and I was too tired to even consider a dalliance while I was over here. I had two nannies and a housekeeper who were trying to child wrangle, and I was convinced that I’d be at least one down by the end of the week. My offspring were feral at best, wild at worst and I was out of solutions. My father had suggested sending the eldest, Maxwell, to boarding school, but I didn’t have the heart. He was missing his mother, his best friends were his brother and sister and the girl next door and separating him from them seemed cruel.
I took a pot of tea and two cups back into the room where Marie still was, looking through some papers from the file.
“Here we go.” I put the tray down, pleased I’d managed not to spill anything. “I brought biscuits too.”
“Cookies. You’re in America so they’re cookies.” She snatched one off the plate and broke it in half. “And it isn’t a pavement, it’s a sidewalk. And your waistcoat isn’t a waistcoat, it’s a vest. Key things you need to know.”
I laughed, some of the tension going. “It’s like we don’t speak the same language.”
“We pretty much don’t. Then you’ve got me, who’s grown up mainly in Ireland, not spent a ton of time in England, and doesn’t fit quite anywhere.”
“You don’t sound sorry for yourself though.”
She shook her head. “I’m not. I like being different. Tell me more about your kids. Who’s the eldest?”
“Maxwell. He’s into cars and books and climbing trees. He doesn’t know fear. He misses his mum and he thinks he’s the man of the house when I’m not there.” He was having to grow up too quickly.
“You live in London with them then?”
I shook my head, uncertainly gripping at my chest. “We have a home in Oxford with lots of grounds so the kids can run and play.”
“But you work in London? How often do you see your kids?” She didn’t look impressed.
“I go home on a Friday evening and head back to London after bedtime on a Sunday. I don’t take work home at a weekend so I can spend time with them and give the nannies a break.” I’d been conditioned to work long hours from being a teen, to graft over files, preparing bundles and writing drafts.
Marie didn’t say anything, she just sipped her tea.
“How about you? Any family yet?” I filled the silence.
“No. Second eldest and oldest girl. I’ve already brought up at least three kids. I can wait for more. Besides, I have to work hard to make sure I’m not seen as the token woman just there to make coffee.”
“Touché.” I held my cup up to her. “How are your clients? Mine have told me Polly and Colin are awkward.”
“Polly’s awkward. Colin just does as he’s told. Polly has his testicles in her handbag and occasionally she lets him have them back for five minutes.” Marie ran a hand through her hair, that was almost black curls, wilder than it had been this morning.
I hid a wince at the description. “Sounds uncomfortable. Are they okay with you leading the mediation?” I’d come across Polly and Colin before a couple of years ago, not long after I’d qualified. They’d had a contractual dispute that had gotten messy and they needed a way out. A lot of the mess they’d created themselves because they were unpleasant, entitled people who refused to take responsibility for their own actions and held others too accountable for sorting out their mess.
“Almost. If they don’t get what they want – which they won’t, because what they want is unrealistic – they’ll blame it on my inexperience. The partners know this already, so I won’t be hung out to dry.” She smiled wryly. “How are your clients about it? What hope have you got for them being reasonable?”
I took a long lungful of air and sat back. “I think they get it. There’s nothing held by either party to confirm ownership of the land. Deeds show it being part of either property at different times, but there is the blueprint which also shows it being divided in half. My advice is a fifty-fifty split, or an enterprise undertaken by a trustee to build a suitable property and sell it, then the profits are split fifty-fifty.”
Marie paused, her cup of tea hiding her mouth still. “You make it sound simple. Polly likes to complicate everything.”
“She does. But it’s your job to un-complicate it.”
Fire burned in her eyes and she slammed the cup down on the table. “And it isn’t your job to tell me how to do mine.”
“True. And I wasn’t. Sorry if it came across that way. I’m just frustrated because if they worked together on this, they could end up making a lot more money with a lot less stress. And I want to be in court for the other case.” Which I was going to be pissed off at if I missed it.
“Same. I think we can get to an agreement tomorrow. Then we’re going to need another two days to agree on the details. That’s the best-case scenario.” She finished her tea and stood up. “I’d also like to be finished for six tomorrow. I have a date.”
For some reason I didn’t like that fact.
“Well, we’ll all have to make sure we finish in a timely manner so you can make that date.” My words were laced with sarcasm. “We’ll align our priorities with yours.”
She collected up the cups and teapot, putting them back onto the tray with a slight bang each time. “It’s as well to remember that we don’t live to work, and having interests and experiences that aren’t to do with our day job makes us well-rounded people.” A glare was sent my way at the same time as she snatched my cup away.
“Maybe some of us are more career minded than others and sacrifice everything else for the benefit of our clients.”
She froze, her stare this time full of sympathy rather than irritation.
“I think you should consider what you’ve just said. Maybe you’ll obtain some useful insight into yourself.” With that, she picked up the tray and left the room, leaving me staring at her very nice arse.
“Daddy, this nanny isn’t very nice to Callum.” My eldest’s tone was serious. “She refused to change his nappy and said he should be using the potty by now.”
“I’ll speak to her. Have you learned your Latin?” Maxwell had a tutor once a week for the subjects his local private school wouldn’t cover. It wasn’t a bad school, Max seemed to like it and he was top of his class, but I doubted that being top was a challenge. He was a bright kid, argumentative and easily bored, which meant he needed to be kept busy.
He recited a couple of lines back to me, sounding uninterested. “Amelie’s mum has offered to look after Callum. She heard the nanny shouting at him today and Cal was really upset.”
“I’ll speak to the nanny, Max. How’s your sister? Is she feeling better?” Claire hadn’t been her usual self when I’d left. She’d been complaining of a tummy ache and for the first time ever had cried when I was leaving.
I loved my children hugely but I couldn’t understand why they loved me. I provided for them, made sure they could live in a lovely house and have everything they needed – good education, the best food, access to hobbies that were good for them – but I didn’t know how to do the other stuff.
Their mother had been my childhood sweetheart. She was the daughter of one of my father’s business associates and we’d met when we were sixteen. We’d married when I’d graduated and she was pregnant by the time I’d qualified. We hadn’t planned it; I’d wanted to wait until I was established and I wasn’t working fourteen hour days most days. Max was born, and then she got pregnant again with Jackson, then with Claire. We’d argued about it – I thought she was on the Pill, but she’d lied about it, saying it made her depressed. I knew she was bored back in Oxford when I was in London, she was starting to resent me and my father was concerned that the marriage was going to end.
The last time we’d slept together was the time Callum had been conceived. After he was born, she’d become depressed, more so than before, not getting out of bed or so she said – I was aware she’d managed to make it over to our next door neighbours’ house especially when Amelie’s mum, Helen, was away with the rest of the children.
I carried round that can of worms which had only been slightly opened. At some point, I’d need to take the lid off and see where they headed.
“Claire’s not said anything today. She just nods or shakes her head. Her teacher asked me if everything was okay at home.” Max sounded flat. “I said you were away.”
“Okay.” I sighed. “How’s Callum now? Is he still upset?”
“He’s okay if me or Jackson or Claire are with him. I’m going to let him sleep in my bed tonight. He keeps waking up in the night with bad dreams.”
“Do you want him to stay with Amelie’s mum until I’m back?” Not that I’d be much use when I got back. I had another court case two days after landing. “I don’t want you to be too tired for school.”
There was silence.
“Max, what’s the matter?”
“I’m not allowed to go back to school.”
I felt white hot rage fill up everywhere from my toes to my scalp. “What do you mean, you’re not allowed to go back to school?”
“I punched one of the boys in Jackson’s class. They said I’m dangerous and I’m not allowed back. He was taunting Jackson, Dad, and saying bad things about Mum, so I hit him. I’m sorry.”
I heard my son cry, not a sound I was familiar with.
I was aware that this was a critical point of my parenting journey. I could tell him off – this would cause me an untold amount of extra work that I didn’t have time for – or I could take his side.
“It was a shit school anyway.”
The tears turned to a laugh. “Daddy, you swore.”
I laughed back. “I did. Because it’s true. You know you’ve done wrong – you don’t hit anyone, unless it’s something like karate or jiu jitsu.”
“What will I do for school though and can I try karate? I saw Karate Kid at Amelie’s and it was really good.” There were still tears in his voice.
“Maybe. School breaks up for summer in a couple of weeks so we’ll sort something out for September.” Which might have to be boarding school. Which meant there’d be fewer hands to help with Callum.
Which showed what a shit father I was.
“You’re not mad at me?”
I sighed. Another test. “No. I am disappointed. You’ll need to help with Callum during the day. I don’t really want him being looked after by Amelie’s mum.” For a whole range of reasons, including the fact that Amelie’s dad could’ve also fathered Callum. I doubted it, Callum already looked too much like me and he was going to be tall. Amelie’s dad and my dead wife’s lover was short and fair. Callum was dark eyed and olive skinned, a mini-me. “And I’ll speak to the nanny.”
That conversation with the nanny did not go well. I was told that my children were wild and had no manners, they swore and shouted and threw food at each other and her. I was told that I was rude and paid too little and that she wasn’t surprised my wife had killed herself. I was told she was leaving the house tonight and if it meant the children were left unsupervised that was my problem and not hers.
A favour was called in from an aunt who hated children and had never had her own, but had expensive taste in wine. For two hours, no adult was present with my brood, leaving Max in charge which even I knew was totally wrong.
I sat on the bed in my hotel room nursing an overpriced whisky that tasted as vile as my conscience felt. I could fly back home in two days and sort the mess out that the nanny had left then, missing the court case. That was one option, but not one I wanted to take.
Callaghans was my family firm. I would inherit it, as would Max, if he decided to go into law, which he inevitably would. My peers saw the silver spoon in my mouth and judged my skills as being limited and useless anyway – I’d still own the firm no matter how good or bad I was at my job.
It made me determined to prove them wrong.
I was damned good. Damned dedicated.
Damned fucking confused.
I fell asleep to the sound of New York, praying for a miracle or at least some guidance.