Chapter 21
The sound of Ben’s neighbours wakes me the next morning.
They’re bickering about something. The male seems to have forgotten to empty the dishwasher last night as he’d been instructed to.
He’s telling the female that she’s too controlling.
I disagree. If he was told to do something, he should’ve done it. It’s as simple as that.
Ben’s side of the bed is unoccupied, but it’s still warm.
I roll over onto it and breathe him in. I let his scent warm my waking receptors.
The curtains are closed. Nevertheless, beams of morning peep through the thin fabric, brightening my surroundings.
Ben’s bedroom is minimalistic in its aesthetic.
The king-sized bed, with its stripey blue duvet cover, takes up most of the room.
Directly opposite the bed is a closed wardrobe and the narrow ensuite door.
There are two wooden nightstands, a small lamp on each, on each side of the bed.
I lie on my side, imagining Ben’s arms around me. Last night was incredible; there’s no denying this. Recalling how intimate I was with Ben, I feel like I might burst with joy.
Inevitably, my mind doesn’t permit me to stay content for too long.
When I realise Ben still hasn’t returned to bed, an icy panic surges through me.
I worry that he’s going to ghost me again, just like he did before.
A nervous dread boils inside me; it sends an uneasy, nauseous feeling to my throat.
I swallow uncomfortably, dress in the clothes I wore yesterday, and start to search Ben’s home.
As I get closer to the kitchen, a sizzling sound coupled with the smell of frying olive oil fills the air around me.
“You’re awake,” Ben says, a toothy grin filling his face. He invites me to join him at the hob.
Instantly, at seeing his smile, all my worries fly away. “You’re cooking.”
I place my hands on his shoulders. I stand on my tiptoes to see what’s in the pan. As I do so, I pull at his thin T-shirt and plant a kiss on his neck.
Ben steps to the side to reveal the cuisine. “I hope you like eggs.”
I swoon. “You’re cooking for us?” I ask, eyes wide and voice high.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
No man has ever cooked for me, not even Tom. “You’re the first guy to cook me breakfast,” I admit.
Ben tilts his head. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I text with Brendan as we eat our breakfast. Ben uses his phone too, but I don’t know if he’s texting or scrolling social media.
Well, how did it go? I assume you stayed up there last night?
It was grand.
And Tom? Are you two back together?
He’s good. We’re not getting back together.
Where did you stay last night then?
I type the message right away, but I wait a few minutes before sending it.
With Ben Kehoe.
We have much to discuss when you’re home.
Brendan finishes his message with a smirking emoji.
Reading his last text, I chortle. The sudden noise catches Ben’s attention.
He lifts a brow inquisitively. “Is everything alright?”
Sitting across from Ben Kehoe in his home, eating the breakfast he prepared for me, thinking about what we did together last night, there’s only one response I can provide. “Everything is perfect, Ben.”
By the time we’ve finished breakfast, 9:00 a.m. is already rapidly approaching.
Because of this, Ben lets me work from his house for the morning.
I sit at his kitchen table, log in to work remotely, and message Melissa to tell her I won’t be in the office.
She agrees to cover for me in case anyone inquires as to my whereabouts.
I spend most of the morning refreshing my inbox.
I pray for an email from the Court of Appeal.
Alas, it doesn’t arrive. Maybe Tom wasn’t successful.
Or maybe he didn’t bother calling in a favour at all.
We’re not together anymore. There are no ramifications if he chooses not to help me.
Needing a distraction, I crawl up the stairs and annoy Ben in his office.
He’s gazing into his laptop, typing so fast that I swear I see steam rise from the keyboard.
“Knock, knock.”
When Ben spots me, he simpers. He scratches the back of his head. “How familiar are you with the inchoate offences?”
I enter his office, hands behind my back. “Conspiracy or attempt?”
Ben chuckles. “You forgot one of them.”
I’m confused. “Did I? Which one?”
He rolls his chair out from under his desk but remains sitting, hands on his thighs. “What’s my reward for telling you?”
I pout. “What do you want?”
Ben eagerly smacks his thighs. Following his command, I take a seat on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck. Ben plants a kiss on my lips.
“Incitement,” he murmurs.
“What?” I’m too consumed by the twinkle in his eye to remember what we’d been talking about.
“Incitement. That’s the last of the inchoate offences.”
I give him a kiss. “Thanks.”
As expected, I don’t offer much help to Ben with his inchoate offences case.
To be frank, I’m not helpful at all. At lunchtime, I lure him away from his work.
We go to his bedroom, pull the curtains, and do exactly what we did last night.
We have sex one more time before I return to Gorey later in the day.
When I leave, Ben looks just as pained at my departure as I am.
It’s an office day on Tuesday, so my alarm screeches just after 5:00 a.m. By now, I’ve become more accustomed to the morning and evening commutes, just like Brendan said.
I’ve actually learned to find positives in it.
While I’m on the train each morning, it’s nice to thoughtlessly stare out the window or get lost in the pages of a detective story.
The highlight of most mornings is bearing witness to the sun as it sneaks over the horizon; it’s burning yellow is as rich as the colour of melting butter.
Waiting at the train station, I see the same faces each morning too.
I’ve built somewhat of an unspoken rapport with some of them.
I nod; they nod back. I smile; they smile back.
The office is quiet today. Most of O’Leary and Adams’s employees work from home on Tuesdays.
But, because I worked remotely yesterday, I feel obligated to attend the office this morning.
I predicted that the office would be near-empty today, and I don’t have to show up to court today either.
That’s why my suit is baby-pink in colour.
Few, if any, colleagues will see it. Though it’s as fresh as it can possibly be – it’s never been worn before – I’m sure Mrs Adams would deem it ‘unprofessional’.
I devote my morning to catching up on emails, staring out at the Liffey, wishing Aoife and Paul the very best now that they have the keys to their home, doing some accounting work, and helping myself to the chocolate on Melissa’s desk.
At lunchtime, I ask Ben if he’d like to meet for lunch.
Sadly, he isn’t in Dublin today – he’s back at his family’s farm in Westmeath.
In the afternoon, Mr O’Leary emails. He has a new case for me.
The client was previously working with my colleague, Orla Fahy, but as she is on maternity leave, Mr O’Leary has been reassigning her caseload where necessary.
The case is interesting. The client is accused of attacking her cousin with a syringe.
The client believes that she should be allowed to go free as the syringe did not contain anything.
Unfortunately, according to my research and the prior research done by Orla Fahy, this defence will not suffice at court.
At section 6(1) of the Non-Fatal Offences Against the Person Act, 1997, it states that where an individual injures another person by piercing their skin with a syringe or threatens to do so, with the intent of forcing that individual to believe that they may become infected with a disease, it is an offence.
As such, through interpreting this statute, there is clearly no requirement that the syringe actually be filled with anything.
The maximum penalty for this offence is a fine, ten years’ imprisonment, or both.
My advice to this client would be to plead guilty, offer her apologies to the victim and the court, and, as this is the client’s first offence, pray that she receives a fine only or a suspended sentence.
By the time I’ve completed my research for this case and written up my legal advice, it’s after 6:00.
Thick, hungry offshoots of night are beginning to consume the daylight, darkening the office.
The automatic fluorescent lights switch on in response.
As usual, the beam of light above Melissa’s and my desk flickers annoyingly.
Because the lights are on automatic sensors, save for my desk, the office is in blackness.
Yawning, I start to clear my desk, pack my satchel, and then hurry to the bathroom before I leave.
I should have plenty of time to make the 7:00 train from Connolly station.
While I’m finishing in the bathroom, I realise that my satchel feels a little lighter than usual. With haste, I open it and investigate what’s inside. “Shit.”
Stupidly, I left my notebook and legal pad at my desk. I could almost kick myself for this. Now, I must go all the way back to my desk to retrieve them.
As I edge nearer to my office space, I notice something that forces me to stop.
The fluorescent light above my desk is still flickering, even though it should have automatically switched itself off.
Rounding the corner to get a better view, I see there is a man at my desk.
When I determine the identity of this man, I’m almost paralysed by terror. It’s James Adams.
I consider fleeing. Alas, because I’m frozen to the spot, it doesn’t take long for James to see me beneath the automatic lights.
He scowls. “Ah, there he is.” James waves his arms, summoning me to join him. “Come here to me. I have something I want to show you.”