Chapter 24
‘Coffee, Anna?’ Gemma, my PA, stuck her head round the door as I stretched my arms up in the air, yawning loudly. ‘You look as if you need one. Late night? Out on the town?’
‘I wish! And yes to coffee! Please!’ I stifled another yawn, closing my eyes against the amount of work that never seemed to diminish.
The minute I was bringing one case to its conclusion – another mistreated woman getting some sort of closure often after months or even years – others were waiting in the wings.
And while, in a perfect world, it would be wonderful not to have to fight for justice for any woman abused either physically or sexually, it was my job to do just that and, for the main part, I loved it.
I didn’t like hearing the graphic details of what so many women had suffered at the hands of controlling men, but there was no point in taking on a case without delving deep and hearing every pernicious detail the claimant would much rather erase from her memory.
‘Have you given any more thought to the invitation to speak at the Women’s Association AGM? I’ve just had the head honcho back on the phone. She’s nothing if not persistent…?’ Gemma gave me one of her looks, demanding a decision.
The pair of us had worked together for more than fifteen years.
Gemma was not only my right-hand woman, she was also my best mate.
It had been questioned, by the senior partner, when I’d first started at Brampton Sawyer, that maybe it would be more in keeping with my professional standing to keep my office and social life separate – Gemma and I had been witnessed howling with raucous laughter over a bottle of wine one evening in a local restaurant – but, despite being new and na?ve as I was in those days, I wasn’t willing to accept what I saw as antediluvian protocol set down by a man more than ready for retirement.
Now that I was a senior partner in the London law firm, and the company’s name adjusted to Brampton, Piasecki and Sawyer, I could perhaps understand more the nuance behind his suggestion.
‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Gemma,’ I said now. ‘I meant to check dates… Tell me again when it is.’
‘Birmingham, 3 July.’
I riffled through my personal diary – July seemed such a long way off, but dates were already pencilled in for law society dinners, invitations to speak and, since my being awarded Freedom Human Rights Lawyer of the Year, requests to appear on Question Time with David Dimbleby, and to join the panel on Any Questions.
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said.
‘You don’t think it’s slumming it, then?’ Gemma laughed. ‘You know, after all your media appearances?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘There was a Women’s Association in Yorkshire near where I grew up, and my Aunty Sandra was a member. She used to go and take her knitting while she listened to the speakers on flower arranging and cake decorating.’
As my phone rang, Gemma left the office, returning ten minutes later with a cafetière of coffee for the pair of us, as well as a couple of Penguins.
‘Close the door.’ I nodded towards the open office door. ‘Then come and tell me what’s bothering you.’
‘Bothering me?’
‘Gemma, I know you better than you know yourself. I can tell when you’ve something on your mind. Here.’ I poured coffee, pushing the cup across the desk in her direction.
‘Well…’ She hesitated.
‘Aw, don’t tell me Callum’s got another job somewhere like the Outer Hebrides or… or something?’
‘Well, I am going to have to leave you.’
‘What?’ I felt my whole demeanour droop. ‘But why?’
‘Anna… I’m… I’m…’
‘Oh my God, you’re not…’
‘I am.’ Gemma’s face was pink with excitement. ‘After all these years of trying! You know, we’ve been married over four years and… nothing.’
‘Should you be drinking that strong coffee? Isn’t it bad for you?’
‘Hell, I don’t know.’ Gemma looked at her cup in horror. ‘Milk, I suppose, from now on.’
‘Well, massive congratulations.’ I stood, went round the desk and hugged her.
Gemma was the sister I’d never had; the best friend who’d taken the vacant place in my heart after losing Fliss.
Fliss. I still thought of her, still sometimes thought I’d seen a glimpse of her on the streets of London.
But Fliss had been dead twenty years and Gemma, lovely Gemma with her sense of humour, her ability to make even the greyest day sunny, was seemingly leaving me now as well.
‘Look, you daft thing,’ Gemma said as she saw my face. ‘I’m not leaving you. I’m having a baby. I’ll obviously need maternity leave, and then I’ll be back. If you’ll have me.’
‘Aw, Gemma, you won’t want to come back. Choice of staying at home all day, bouncing a baby on your knee, or back here mopping up our clients before they come in to see me?’
‘Needs must,’ she retorted and I said nothing further on the subject of how to make ends meet in a city like London.
‘How did Callum react when you told him?’ I asked.
Gemma’s husband, a master joiner and fellow Yorkshireman, was absolutely lovely.
When he and Gemma had married, I’d not only been witness and maid of honour, I’d also, in the absence of any parents on Gemma’s side, given a speech to the small gathering of friends and relatives at the reception do in a restaurant on the King’s Road.
Gemma laughed. ‘Oh, you know, the usual. Had me sitting down, there and then; was I sure? Should we be moving house? And then he went off to phone his dad to ask whether his son would be able to play cricket for Yorkshire if he was born in London.’
‘If?’ I asked.
‘Well,’ Gemma hesitated, avoiding my eye, ‘you know how expensive it is down here and how Callum’s always wanted to go back north.’
I felt my heart drop. I loved Gemma and Callum.
I’d love this new baby when it arrived. They were my London family.
Apart from my big brother, David, who was now chief political correspondent at The Guardian and living with his partner of ten years, Christopher, in Wandsworth, I had no real family down here.
Mum, Dad and Les and his wife and three kids were still two hundred miles up the motorway in Rothersley.
‘Well, if we do move – and honestly, Anna, nothing’s certain, is it? I mean I’ve waited until I’m twelve weeks to tell anyone… And you know, being almost forty, I’m classed as an elderly primo… primo… something…’
‘Primigravida,’ I said knowingly.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Oh, I just wanted to check how long I could leave it before I knew I was over the hill for having one myself.’
‘You?’ Gemma stared. ‘You’ve always said you’ve never wanted kids?’
‘Well, no,’ I said, slightly embarrassed at being put on the spot.
‘I don’t have the time. When would I fit in having a baby, for heaven’s sake?
And I don’t think Michael wants them – he’s far too knackered after an all-night sitting, as well as standing in for the PM at Prime Minister’s Questions.
To be honest, I’m not sure I want them with Michael.
So, probably best just to avoid the whole question of sprogs until, in a few years’ time, I won’t be able to have them anyway. Job done. Decision made for me.’
‘Oh, Anna.’
‘Oh, Anna, nothing,’ I said, not wanting to rain on her new baby parade.
‘And,’ I went on, trying to change the subject off me, Michael and any offspring that might, or might not, be forthcoming, ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me as soon as you knew.
You tell me everything. I can’t believe I didn’t cotton on…
Oh, so I suppose you not drinking these past few times we’ve been out wasn’t because of cystitis you couldn’t get rid of?
’ I air-quoted the words, peering over my glasses at Gemma who went slightly pink.
‘Sorry. But, to be honest, I have been having bouts of cystitis – it’s all that bloody sex I’ve made him have at the appropriate times to get where I am now.’
‘I’ll miss you when you’re not in the office,’ I wailed. ‘God knows who I’ll end up with. They won’t bring me Penguins like you do.’
‘I’ll buy a shedload and leave instructions on just how you like them served up.’
‘Make sure you do.’
Gemma looked at her watch. ‘A Sara Cleeves rang while I was making coffee. Wants to make an appointment.’
‘OK.’ I reached for my notepad and pen. ‘Any details?’
‘Not really. Just said she’d heard you were the best and wanted to speak to you.’
‘What’s my work diary like?’
‘You’ve space on Thursday afternoon at 10 a.m. Although, what state you’ll be in after Wednesday night is anyone’s guess…’ Gemma trailed off.
‘Gemma, Michael and I are just having a lovely celebratory dinner at some Michelin-starred restaurant that he’s booked. You know what a foodie he is. Mind you, is turning forty something to celebrate? It’s bloody old, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t say that when I’m forty next year and trying to tell myself that having a baby at my age is fine.’
‘All will be well,’ I said, looking at the clock. ‘Right, has my 10.30 arrived? Wheel her in.’ I placed a box of tissues strategically to hand, opened a new page in my notebook and waited.
Michael Wrathmell and I had been together for almost a year.
We’d met at a political rally I’d gone along to with David and Christopher and when David managed to collar him, pinning him down for comments on what was going on, he’d been polite, friendly and cooperative.
Hovering at David’s side, Christopher and I had turned our backs and chatted, knowing that David needed to get on with doing the job he was paid for.
After a good five minutes, Michael thanked David and made to walk off but then came back and turned to me.
‘You’re Anna Piasecki?’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry…?’ I offered up a questioning look.
‘I’ve met David a couple of times. Making a bit of a name for himself, isn’t he? I’ve seen your photo, recognised you and assumed you were related somewhere along the line. I just wanted to say thank you for taking on and handling the Marianne Graham case with such expertise.’
‘Oh? You know Ms Graham?’
‘She’s one of my constituents.’ He smiled.