Those Left Behind - 17. Keeping going, keeping on

How to explain to a ten-year-old what remand for trial meant when you had no idea yourself. Ludo shared these thoughts with Arthur when he returned from delivering the boys to school.

“That’s what life is going to be like, isn’t it?”

Ludo grinned. But they didn’t talk for long. Both were trying to get back to some sort of normal work routine. Ludo was struggling a bit with his new role at his firm but was determined to make it work. Late morning, Arthur appeared in his study.

“Difficult to concentrate, isn’t it?”

“I thought it was just me.”

“Like waiting for the second shoe to drop.”

“Christ, yeah. Think how Jackie must feel, stuck in that place?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “A lot of that for her.”

“Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Oh, I know the two deserve punishment but still, we lived together for 12 years, she’s Damian’s Mum. You can’t wish her that.”

“Come on, less maudlin thoughts. Back to work.”

By the end of the week, they were getting back to a rhythm. There were occasional ripples though, and Damian remained troubled by nightmares and a couple of mornings they had found the two boys squeezed together in one bed. At his lowest, Ludo was furious with Jackie for putting them through this, for making their son suffer with such anxieties.

Jason phoned to check that they were happy with the final article and to thank them, saying that he’d got a lot of interest and maybe more. Would they be willing to do a follow-up interview to explore further and talk more in depth? Ludo agreed but did wonder what ‘more in depth’ meant as the previous interview had seemed detailed enough.

“Will anyone be interested?”

Jason was positive.

>I have had a lot of interest, a more human-interest story rather than about your wife’s activities.

“Ok, if you feel it’s worth it?”

>Certainly; there is one thing, I have had an enquiry from a gay publication. Would you be willing to do that?

“A gay publication?”

Arthur, who was listening in, opened his eyes wide and looked quizzically.

“So, it would be about Arthur and me?”

>And your sons.

“Mmm.”

Arthur was giving a cautious nod.

“I don’t see why not. We don’t dismiss it out of hand, so yes in theory.”

Arthur was mouthing something.

“It does depend on the publication.”

>Certainly, thanks. I will be in touch.

Alastair phoned as well, ostensibly to check how Ludo was doing with work but in reality, to thank Ludo and Arthur for doing the interview. Alastair was delighted, the interview had proved a ‘big leg up’ for Jason and had enabled him to show his mettle. Ludo mentioned the possibility of a follow up interview and Alastair had sounded positively gleeful.

Ludo might have changed roles at work, but he still needed to go into town and on Friday he decided to bite the bullet. Instead of dashing in for a meeting then leaving, pronto, he arranged to meet mates for a drink. It had been a regular fixture once, but the close-knit bunch of guys and girls had dispersed somewhat. They agreed to meet at The Elephant for old times’ sake. The pub was in a small cul-de-sac off Kensington High Street, which meant they could lurk outside with impunity. Ludo had not seen some of his work mates for weeks, maybe months. Such a lot had happened.

As luck would have it, he had a meeting until 5.30pm that ran on. It meant that he was alone when he approached the pub. Embarrassingly, there was cheer when he turned the corner and Eddie appeared out of the melee and presented Ludo with a pint of IPA, his usual tipple at such events.

“Great article in The Observer.”

“Nice photo, hasn’t Damian grown?”

“Sorry about Jackie, it sounds a right nightmare.”

“You know you can never trust a banker.”

“Wankers, the lot of them.” General laughter.

“But you’re a dark horse.”

“When did you join the dark side?”

“Eddie. You can’t say that.”

“I just did.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“When were you going to tell us?”

“You ever see any of the money?”

“Course he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here now, would he?”

“Do you reckon they’ve got the money back?”

“Probably squirrelled away in an offshore account.”

“You ought to bring Arthur down to meet us.”

“What, to demonstrate he exists?”

“We’d scare the guy off.”

“Well, you would for certain.”

“When do you plan to get married?”

“What does Damian think?”

“He said what? The child’s only 10, I certainly wasn’t thinking about stuff like that when I was that age.”

“Speak for yourself, I was.”

“Well, we all know you’re obsessed by sex.”

“Seriously, is he OK?”

“Therapy sounds a good idea, if you can find the right therapist.”

And so it went on, as soon as Ludo started on part of the story there would be comments, jokes and serious stuff, all side by side. Ludo had forgotten how much he’d enjoyed these drinks. Jackie’s work schedule and Damian’s increasingly busy life had made his intentions rather atrophy. Now, if Arthur was happy with it, then he’d try to make drinks more often. He was distinctly merry as he caught the train home, and Arthur was standing in the doorway smiling when he finally walked up the drive.

“It went well, I gather?”

Ludo grinned, “I’d forgotten how much fun it could be”.

“No problems?”

“Lots of comments, of course. You’ve got to be able to take some stick, but none of it nasty. And supportive. They want to meet you.”

Arthur stared at him, “Meet me?”

“Yeah, if we can park the boys, we can go down on a Friday for a drink maybe a meal.”

They had had one or two offers of help in looking after Damian and Arthur but had not pursued them. It was something they’d have to look into.

***

“The SFO are sending a DCI on a visit.”

“Here? What does the guy want?”

DI Donaldson looked over top of his glasses at DS Marcus, “As if he’d tell country bumpkins like us something like that. Official line is that they want to go over Ludovic Wilson’s statement. You know what that lot are like, don’t trust anyone.”

“Is there are any new evidence?”

“Supposedly there isn’t”, Donaldson raised his eyebrows. He had a surprisingly expressive face and was known for the way he could make an official statement of policy and convey a completely contrary personal opinion of it at the same time. “You reckon he might be a risk. Do a runner?”

“The husband?”

“Well, if SFO put enough pressure on him. Strikes me as he’s wound tight as a drum.”

“Flight’s unlikely, sir”

“Stay and fight his corner?”

“More that it’s probably too complicated. Keeping the kid in school means a lot to him, then there’s the boyfriend and his kid.”

Donaldson gave a low chortle, “Right caravan. OK. I take your point, and I think we’ll not waste the budget on unnecessaries. But let’s hope the SFO brass don’t fuck things up.”

***

Somehow the simple idea of going into the Police Station made him nervous. Prior to the current crisis, Ludo had only been in one once before, about a break in. This time it was different. He hadn’t even had to come in to make his statement, DI Donaldson, DS Marcus’ boss had come to the house to take that. Donaldson was a big guy, bulky but not unfriendly. Ludo had warmed to him more when Donaldson said he’d come not because it warranted a DI, but because he’d simply wanted to meet Ludo. Certainly, that process had been relatively painless. The follow up, though, had been more unnerving, actually going to the station. But half the freaking out had been in his head.

Now, DS Marcus had assured Ludo that the man from the SFO only wanted a chat to clarify one or two things, but that in itself sounded ominous. Arthur had offered to come with him, but in all probability, Arthur would not be allowed into the actual interview, after all he wasn’t a legal representative, and Ludo hardly needed a responsible adult present. And besides, when he’d mentioned the interview to Frances McSweeney, she had insisted that she or a colleague be present.

He met Frances beforehand at the coffee shop by the Parish Church; you could tell he was becoming a regular there, the woman behind the counter didn’t even ask him what type of coffee he wanted. They went over things, not that there was much to go over.

“I feel such an idiot, so much has been going on and I’ve never noticed.”

Frances smiled, “There was plenty that you did notice, besides bringing up a son and holding down a job. You cannot be expected to think about whether your wife might be considering criminal behaviour.”

“But…”

“Now look, don’t be led into speculation. Stick to what you know. And that’s it.”

“And Damian?”

“It’s alright to talk about what he said, but no-one else. They don’t need to know that Arthur thought she was looking stressed, or anything like that. And keep Arthur to a minimum.”

He stared at her.

“I know he’s important to you, but for the case he’s merely a distraction. You and Jackie are the important ones here, not Arthur.”

“But that Friday?”

“Her reaction to your having an affair with a guy is what matters. Not who the guy is. After all she never mentioned him by name, Arthur is only important insomuch as he existed.”

“OK. I see.” Ludo did see, but it still felt odd, like leaving out an essential part of his story. Only it wasn’t his story was it, it was Jackie’s.

The Police Station was a handsome Edwardian red brick building with a 1960s extension. The place was listed, and there was constant talk of moving to modern premises and redeveloping the existing building as apartments. Inside, however, there was little sign of Edwardian grandeur, all was functional. They didn’t have to wait long, and even sitting there made him feel guilty. So, he replayed Frances’ little pep talk and also Lesley’s parting message, ‘Give them hell’.

It was a plain room with a table and four chairs, straight out of a television set. Only this was real life. Graham Marcus wasn’t there; it was his boss DI Donaldson which made Ludo all the more glad they’d met before in slightly more comfortable circumstances. Donaldson introduced DCI Kemble from the SFO. Black cropped hair, rimless glasses, sallow complexion, tall and willowy. It was he who ran the show, asked the questions. He had a folder in front of him but apart from the odd moment, he never used it.

They started with Ludo and Jackie’s finances, the single bank account, and they were even interested in the mortgage. Frances had all the paperwork, but DCI Kemble insisted on hearing it from Ludo. How they’d both sunk their inheritances from their parents into the house, how they relied on Jackie’s bonuses tied both to her various projects and how well the bank was doing. It was exhausting and made all the more so by the way Kemble would dart between subjects, and return to them, getting Ludo to reiterate. To check that he was consistent in his story, Ludo supposed.

It was even harder work when it came to Jackie’s job, and Kemble kept coming back with sharp retorts, effectively saying he did not believe that Ludo knew so little about what she was doing. How did you convey to someone as remote and impersonal as Kemble, quite how difficult it was to communicate when Jackie came home late, tired and ratty whilst he had had a long day balancing work and keeping up with Damien’s needs. Inevitably, he got ratty and when they seemed to go round and round for the umpteenth time, Ludo lost his temper.

“Look, I don’t know whether you’re married and have kids. But its fucking tiring, you wouldn’t believe it, but it is. I don’t bloody care what sounds reasonable, but we’d get up at 6am, Jackie would quickly dress, grab a coffee and leave, I’d have to get Damien’s stuff ready for school, then get myself together, spend a day working then collect Damien from wherever we’d parked him, chat to the boy and try and show a real interest in whatever he was doing at school, take in whatever news he had, remember the things we might need for school the next day, sort out his meal, decide whether to eat with him or wait for Jackie, often there’d be a call telling me she was late, if things weren’t going well she’d be in a foul mood, work was the last thing to talk about, it was all stupid stuff, TV and such, fall asleep in front of the box, go to bed too late, rinse and repeat. On good days and good weekends, it was about Damien, making sure he was OK, putting on a good front.”

Kemble had simply stared at this tirade and amazingly, Frances had let him run on. At the end, Kemble blinked and focused in on one area, did she ever talk about work?

“It was clear from day one that Jackie would never talk about anything I didn’t have security clearance for. This wasn’t just about the recent stuff; it was a feature of our life from day one. She worked at a bank, things were confidential, I understood that. She’d say work was going well or not, but never explain how. I never talked to her about advertising, she wasn’t interested in the details of my job, and I learned to match her and just keep it vague. We both tried to leave the details of our work at the front door.”

“Very”, Kemble paused as if searching for a word, “convenient.”

Ludo shrugged, a bit tired and washed out now, but he needed to stay focused, “Perhaps. Or maybe the other way around, because she never talked about work, it was easy enough to do dodgy stuff.”

Slowly, the interview moved on, but it seemed to take forever, and Ludo found himself feeling as if trapped in a dream where the same actions were undertaken again and again. A few times, Frances would comment sharply that Kemble had already asked that, and that her client had answered satisfactorily.

Finally, it all came to an end. By his watch, Ludo had been there three hours, but it felt like thirty and until he and Frances actually walked out of the Police Station unhampered, with no-one calling them back, the weight of anxiety did not lift. Frances offered to de-brief, but Ludo said to do it by email, all he wanted now was a shower and to unwind.

“Stupid to ask how it went, but I can’t not?”

Ludo stared at Arthur. Despite the earliness of the hour, Arthur had the components for a stiff gin and tonic all ready.

“Fucking exhausting.” Ludo sighed.

Arthur came over and hugged him, “Look, you get comfortable, and I’ll make us a gin and tonic. The boys are upstairs with strict instructions to stay there.”

Ludo gave a weak laugh, “What did you bribe them with?”

Arthur grinned, “Pizza and ice cream, but no doubt they are perched on the stairs, listening.”

They sat back on the sofa, drank their gins and Ludo tried to describe what had happened.

“Problem is, I’m not sure that they believed me.”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

“Fuck no. It was all completely dead pan, making you think that they’ve got you for something.”

“When all they’re doing is fishing.”

Ludo sighed, “But still, I kept worrying that I’d be found out.”

“About what?”

“Everything”, he shrugged.

Arthur nodded, “Headmaster’s study syndrome. Whole setup is designed to make you feel guilty, even if you aren’t.”

“And admit to anything, just to get out.

“Hell. You didn’t, did you?”

“Christ, I’m not that stupid.”

“Thank God.”

“Besides, there was never anything really to admit to. Not without making stuff up.”

“So, fishing expedition.”

“In spades. And it won’t be the last.”

“Don’t think about that, just relax in the moment.”

“Little chance of that”, as the sound of two pairs of feet bounding down the stairs.