Those Left Behind - 16. Twenty minutes of fame

So, they were famous. Arthur suggested they might cut out the page and frame it, but Ludo could see the gleam of mischief in his eyes. Ludo had been out early to buy multiple copies; he’d gone and braved the huddle of press men and women. Things had died down somewhat, yesterday, but they had driven to and from The Garden with Ludo going as fast as he dared when entering and leaving the drive. The boys had been horrified and fascinated, a bit like a horror movie. There had been anxieties at bedtime, and Ludo had sat far longer than usual chatting to Damian as the boy lay in bed. This morning, thankfully, there was only a notional presence, the story had flown. Ludo had the copies of The Observer carefully filed. For when Damian was older, when he was interested. If...

He had let Damian read the article, and the boy had ploughed through it, with a bit of help and plenty of diversions to explain details. There was too much information, really, but if it was going to be about them, then better to explain. Of course, this led to all sort of complicated questions, about Mum and Dad, their relationship, sex-stuff and…

“I don’t want to wrap him in cotton wool but…”

“It all feels too much doesn’t it?”

“Have you ever tried to explain real life to a ten-year-old, sex, relationships and stuff. Fuck, I need a drink.”

Arthur smiled, “Too early. Look, you did a great job. His mates are all going to be reading this stuff, hearing their parents talking about it, parroting their reactions.”

Then Ludo’s phone pinged, it was Lesley. He phoned her.

“How does it feel to be famous?” There was a smile in her voice.

“Exhausting. I’ve just had to let Damian read the article and explained the difficult bits to him.”

“Oof, poor you. But it had to be done. This stuff is out there. There’s one solace, however.”

“What’s that.”

“Your fame lasts 20 minutes.”

“Says George Orwell.”

“Andy Warhol, actually. And it’s true, they’ll get bored. This is going to take time to get to the juicy bits, and I reckon those are all going to be financial. The bank’s procedures going through the wringer.”

“You reckon?”

“You just watch.”

“Hmm. What about the plan to frame me?”

“Well, it would have been juicy if they’d done it. I don’t think they can be prosecuted for faking pictures of you, and the prosecution might not even mention it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I still think the papers will be most interested in how easy it was for Jackie and Andreas to siphon off all that money from that bank. That’s the sensation.”

They had a deliberately quiet day. But as the boys were restless, after doing chores and getting lunch they walked over to the Common. It felt almost normal, walking; the couple of press guys were sitting in their car, they looked wearily hopeful when the four of them appeared but did little more than open the window of the car. Arthur had firmly said they had nothing further to say. That seemed to be that. The Common was almost normal life; there might be kites, almost certainly ice cream and they took an old football just in case.

The weather was a bit grey, but there was wind, so the boys kept running eagerly ahead. But when they got there, they were disappointed. No kites. Still, there were a couple of football games to watch, and they managed to have fun with games of their own. Ludo and Arthur were just laughing at a particularly inept piece of footwork from Ludo when they were aware of being watched. Graham Marcus was standing to one side, with a smile on his face. He was wearing a t-shirt that was so faded, the logo had disappeared, and a pair of ratty jeans. Definitely not work clothes, and they got the impression that he was never a natty dresser at the best of times. With him was a tall, slim teenager, probably around 14, with a mop of blond curls and a bean-pole stature. He looked bored but polite, too young for a boyfriend. Son? They abandoned the pretence of football and walked over; the boys curious but also holding back, he was a policeman after all. Introductions were made.

“This is my nephew, Gawain” The said young man gave quite a formal hello.

It was Adam who said what they were all thinking. His comment of ‘Cool name’ merited a glare from his Father.

Gawain rolled his eyes, “Mum and Dad are both Early English nuts. Dad wanted something Chaucerian, but Mum won.”

Graham Marcus smiled, “Thank goodness.”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Ludo smiled, trying to make it a joke.

Graham Marcus snorted, “We are allowed the odd Sunday off. But my lie-in was interrupted by this one”, he lightly twitted his nephew’s head, “as he wanted help on a school project.”

There was a wail of “Uncle Graham, we’d agreed”, but the two were smiling.

“So, what is the project?”

Graham Marcus became more serious, “About the role of police in modern society.”

“Bloody hell!”

A grin from Damian, “Dad, you swore.”

Graham Marcus smiled, “Precisely. Gawain is planning on studying politics and economics, serious stuff. Look, we were just off for cake, you fancy some?”

“Cake? The stall over there only does ice cream.”

Graham Marcus nodded his head across the Common, “Our secret weapon”, and pointed to St John’s Church on the far side of the Common. A neat mid-Victorian structure, built to serve the burgeoning expansion of the town that happened in the latter half of the 19th century. “The good ladies and gentlemen of the Church raise money by selling cake and hot drinks once a month. Home-made cake! We often wander over and buy cake, then eat it on the Common.”

Gawain clearly knew the way to go, and he went ahead with the boys leaving the three men.

“You doing OK? I saw the article, good idea; it read well.”

They chatted loosely for a bit, constrained by the fact that Graham Marcus could not tell them much and they felt awkward chattering to him.

“It’s mainly out of our hands now, back with the SFO”, he smiled, “Thank goodness. I think your wife and her colleague will be remanded for trial, soon. But then there’ll be a gap. It’s a complex case. The SFO has its work cut out to go through all the information they’ve got.”

“Will it be made public?”

Graham Marcus pulled a face, “Depends. Financial stuff can get quite messy, difficult for non-specialists.”

“Won’t there be things the bank wants to keep hidden?”

“Good point. It’ll be up to the judge”, he smiled. “Sure, they’ll have a great time, arguing.”

“So. It’ll take some time?”

“‘Fraid so. Then there’s the appeals”, he stared at the two of them. “Best thing is to try and live with it, seems to me.”

The cries of ‘Yay, cake’ interrupted them. The church yard wasn’t huge, just a stretch of grass between church and road. There were three tables, manned by a mix of older men and women. One was devoted to cake, one to scones and savouries, one to tea and coffee, with a few cold drinks. Everything certainly looked home-made, and some things were delightfully awry, and it was all very tempting.

Graham Marcus grinned, “Secret weapon.”

It was fixed price. Ludo and Arthur had a devil of a time supervising the two boys, who wanted to sample everything, and the two men managed to forget to select cake for themselves. But Graham Marcus was standing smiling with a tray containing four plates of cake and four teacups.

“I figured you were too busy, so I chose for you.”

The boys insisted on sitting with Graham Marcus and his nephew. They found a seat on the Common and tucked in, all the while bombarding the policeman with questions. Ludo and Arthur sat with Gawain, rather more sedately. It was Gawain who broke the silence.

“We did that to Uncle Graham when we were younger; mobbed him with questions.”

Ludo smiled at the lad, who looked back seriously, “Did he answer them?”

“Always. He’s great. Dad’s well”, he shrugged, “is Dad. He’s quiet and academic.”

“So, no exciting questions about criminals.”

Gawain shook his head, “And no rough-housing either. Uncle Graham is great at that too.”

“So, what does your Dad do?”

“Both Mum and Dad are lecturers, met at Uni. As uncle Graham said, Early English.”

“And you are an expert?”

The boy smiled, “God forbid. Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t.”

Arthur laughed, “It’s OK by us.”

“Thanks. Gran’s a bit hot on swearing. I like the stories, Mum and Dad were always good at telling us stories about Arthur, the Green Knight, the Mabinogi, everything.”

At that point, Graham Marcus stood up to take the trays and their detritus back. Ludo and Arthur then watched as Gawain effortlessly took charge of the boys’ games.

“He’s got two brothers that age. Ginny and Clive had twins. Hard work, but Gawain is good with them. Look, we’d better be going, have to deliver that young man back to his parents.”

They said goodbye and agreed that a further meeting by the cake stall was a good idea. Graham Marcus’ parting words were ‘And I haven’t forgotten that meal, when everything has settled down.’

As they walked back home the boys were in luck, there were kites.

Damian woke them all early Monday morning with his nightmare. It didn’t make sense, but then nightmare’s never do, however Ludo had a clear idea of where the anxieties came from. He stayed with the boy till he was back asleep and remained for some time till he found Arthur waking him up and leading him back to bed.