back in the drawer, snaps what’s left of my yellow pad in two, and hands me my half.
‘I’m going in there’ – pointing to the bathroom. ‘You stay here. Sit at the desk and write down everything you remember. Everything that happened. I’ll do the same. All right by you?’
‘What’s wrong with both of us being in this room? Jesus, Perry. I’m fucking scared. Aren’t you?’
Setting aside any pardonable desire for his companionship, my question is entirely reasonable. Our cabin contains, in addition to a much-used bed the size of a rugger field, one desk, two armchairs and a table. Perry may have had his heart-to-heart with Dima, but what about me, banged up with bonkers Tamara and her bearded saints?
‘Separate witnesses rate separate statements,’ Perry decrees, heading for the bathroom.
‘Perry! Stop! Come back! Stay here! I’m the fucking lawyer here, not you. What’s Dima been telling you?’
Nothing, to judge by his face. It has slammed shut.
‘Perry.’
‘What?’
‘For fuck’s sake. It’s me. Gail. Remember? So just sit yourself down and tell Auntie what Dima has told you that’s turned you into a zombie. All right, don’t sit down. Tell me standing up. Is the world ending? Is he a girl? What the fuck is going on between you two that I can’t know?’
A flinch. A palpable flinch. Enough flinch to give grounds for optimism. Misplaced.
‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘Involve you in this.’
‘Bollocks.’
A second flinch. No more productive than the first.
‘You listening, Gail?’
What the fuck d’you think I’m doing? Singing ‘The Mikado’?
‘You’re a good lawyer and you’ve got a splendid career in front of you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your big case is coming up in two weeks’ time. Is that a fair summary?’
Yes, Perry, that is a fair summary. I have a splendid career in front of me, unless we decide to have six children instead, and the case of Samsonv. Samson is set to be heard fifteen days from now, but if I know anything about our leading silk, I’m unlikely to get a word in edgeways.
‘You’re the shining star of a prestigious law Chambers. You’re worked off your feet. You’ve told me so often enough.’
Yes indeed, it’s true, I’m appallingly overworked. A young barrister should be so lucky, we have just endured the worst night of our lives by several lengths, and what the fuck are you trying to tell me through the orange in your mouth? Perry, you can’t do this! Come back! But she only thinks it. The words have run out.
‘We draw a line. A line in the sand. Whatever Dima told me is private to me. What Tamara told you is private to you. We don’t cross over. We exercise client confidentiality.’
Her power of speech returns. ‘Are you telling me Dima is your client now? You’re as loony as they are.’
‘I’m using a legal metaphor. Taken from your world, not mine. I’m saying, Dima’s my client and Tamara’s yours. Conceptually.’
‘Tamara didn’t speak , Perry. Not one solitary, fucking word. She thinks the birds round here are bugged. Periodically, she was moved to offer up a prayer in Russian to one of her bearded protectors, at which point she signed at me to kneel down beside her, and I obliged. I’m not an Anglican atheist any more, I’m a Russian Orthodox atheist. There is otherwise absolutely fuck-all that passed between Tamara and myself that I’m not prepared to share with you in the finest detail, and I’ve just shared it. My principal anxiety was that I might get my hand bitten off. I didn’t. Both my hands are intact. Now it’s your turn.’
‘Sorry, Gail. I can’t.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m not telling. I refuse to drag you any deeper into this affair than you are already. I want you kept clean. Safe.’
‘You want?’
‘No. I don’t want . I insist. I’m not to be wooed.’
Wooed? Is this Perry talking? Or the firebrand preacher from Huddersfield that he was named
‘I’m going in there’ – pointing to the bathroom. ‘You stay here. Sit at the desk and write down everything you remember. Everything that happened. I’ll do the same. All right by you?’
‘What’s wrong with both of us being in this room? Jesus, Perry. I’m fucking scared. Aren’t you?’
Setting aside any pardonable desire for his companionship, my question is entirely reasonable. Our cabin contains, in addition to a much-used bed the size of a rugger field, one desk, two armchairs and a table. Perry may have had his heart-to-heart with Dima, but what about me, banged up with bonkers Tamara and her bearded saints?
‘Separate witnesses rate separate statements,’ Perry decrees, heading for the bathroom.
‘Perry! Stop! Come back! Stay here! I’m the fucking lawyer here, not you. What’s Dima been telling you?’
Nothing, to judge by his face. It has slammed shut.
‘Perry.’
‘What?’
‘For fuck’s sake. It’s me. Gail. Remember? So just sit yourself down and tell Auntie what Dima has told you that’s turned you into a zombie. All right, don’t sit down. Tell me standing up. Is the world ending? Is he a girl? What the fuck is going on between you two that I can’t know?’
A flinch. A palpable flinch. Enough flinch to give grounds for optimism. Misplaced.
‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’
‘Involve you in this.’
‘Bollocks.’
A second flinch. No more productive than the first.
‘You listening, Gail?’
What the fuck d’you think I’m doing? Singing ‘The Mikado’?
‘You’re a good lawyer and you’ve got a splendid career in front of you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your big case is coming up in two weeks’ time. Is that a fair summary?’
Yes, Perry, that is a fair summary. I have a splendid career in front of me, unless we decide to have six children instead, and the case of Samsonv. Samson is set to be heard fifteen days from now, but if I know anything about our leading silk, I’m unlikely to get a word in edgeways.
‘You’re the shining star of a prestigious law Chambers. You’re worked off your feet. You’ve told me so often enough.’
Yes indeed, it’s true, I’m appallingly overworked. A young barrister should be so lucky, we have just endured the worst night of our lives by several lengths, and what the fuck are you trying to tell me through the orange in your mouth? Perry, you can’t do this! Come back! But she only thinks it. The words have run out.
‘We draw a line. A line in the sand. Whatever Dima told me is private to me. What Tamara told you is private to you. We don’t cross over. We exercise client confidentiality.’
Her power of speech returns. ‘Are you telling me Dima is your client now? You’re as loony as they are.’
‘I’m using a legal metaphor. Taken from your world, not mine. I’m saying, Dima’s my client and Tamara’s yours. Conceptually.’
‘Tamara didn’t speak , Perry. Not one solitary, fucking word. She thinks the birds round here are bugged. Periodically, she was moved to offer up a prayer in Russian to one of her bearded protectors, at which point she signed at me to kneel down beside her, and I obliged. I’m not an Anglican atheist any more, I’m a Russian Orthodox atheist. There is otherwise absolutely fuck-all that passed between Tamara and myself that I’m not prepared to share with you in the finest detail, and I’ve just shared it. My principal anxiety was that I might get my hand bitten off. I didn’t. Both my hands are intact. Now it’s your turn.’
‘Sorry, Gail. I can’t.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m not telling. I refuse to drag you any deeper into this affair than you are already. I want you kept clean. Safe.’
‘You want?’
‘No. I don’t want . I insist. I’m not to be wooed.’
Wooed? Is this Perry talking? Or the firebrand preacher from Huddersfield that he was named
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