Playing Nice Page 11

  I nodded. It would annoy the Mail to be told they couldn’t print the piece yet, but every editor is used to being told that articles are sub judice. “And I really don’t have to pay you anything?”

  “Well, there’ll be some expenses that’ll need to be covered as they arise. But once we enter into the Conditional Fee Arrangement, you won’t pay for my time unless we win. At that point, we’ll charge our fees in full plus a success fee, both of which will get settled by the other side as costs. They’ll have to pay back your expenses, too.”

  “And if we lose?”

  “If we lose, in theory the boot’s on the other foot and you have to pay their costs. In practice, you’ll take out what’s called after-the-event insurance to cover that possibility. And you can add the insurance premium to the costs the other side has to pay if you win.”

  It all sounded too good to be true. I had to remind myself that this was how things worked, that it was someone else’s fault we were in this situation in the first place. “And do you know…” I hesitated. It seemed poor taste to ask How much, but Justin was ahead of me.

  “We’ll ask for two million. I doubt we’ll get quite that much, but it’s good to start high. Of course, that’s nothing to what the Lamberts will be asking for.”

  “Why’s that?” I’d assumed we’d get roughly the same.

  “Because of David’s disabilities. Maddie was told by the doctor who performed her cesarean that her baby might have been starved of oxygen—correct?”

  I nodded.

  “And later, when you sent her that picture from the NICU, it was of Theo being treated for possible oxygen starvation with a cooling blanket. But, assuming the babies had already been swapped by then, it was the wrong baby who was being cooled. The Lamberts can make a good case that David’s problems were exacerbated by negligence—and with those like him now living longer and costing more, the payout could potentially be in the very high tens of millions.”

  * * *

  —

  MY SECOND MEETING THAT day was with our local vicar, to talk about the christening. The Reverend Sheila Lewis lived in a tiny modern rectory next to the church, a complete contrast with Justin Watts’s sleek office. As it was the afternoon, I had Theo with me, but for once he was on his best behavior, happily playing on the floor with an ancient nativity set.

  “Will it be a problem that Theo’s older than most kids are when they’re christened?” I asked.

  Reverend Sheila shook her head. She was small and smiley and energetic—I’d heard from other parents that she’d had a successful career as a biochemist before becoming a vicar. “The only requirement is that the godparents have also been baptized. And that they’re prepared to take their duties seriously, of course. Can you vouch that’s the case here?”

  “I’ll have to check with them—the baptism bit, that is. I’m sure they’ll take their duties seriously.” Something made me add, “We haven’t actually known them very long.”

  Reverend Sheila raised her eyebrows. “Choosing a godparent isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”

  “It wasn’t. Quite the reverse.” I looked around, but Theo was still engrossed in the nativity set, cheerfully impaling the Virgin Mary on the ox’s horns. “It’s quite an unusual situation, as it happens,” I said quietly. “They’re actually Theo’s real parents.”

  For the second time that day, I found myself relating the story of the mix-up at St. Alexander’s. Reverend Sheila listened with a rather more quizzical expression than Justin Watts had.

  “First of all, I think it’s wonderful that you’re all taking such a positive view of what could clearly be a very difficult situation,” she said when I’d finished. “But I have to tell you that this is not a good reason to have a child baptized, or indeed to choose a godparent. Godparents have very specific responsibilities—appointing one isn’t simply a gesture of friendship, even if it sometimes seems that way. And I’m very concerned that it will give Theo, not to mention yourselves, no protection if anything goes wrong.”

  “We’re very much hoping nothing does go wrong. That’s one reason we want to formalize things—to show our commitment. And we’d been intending to have Theo christened anyway.”

  “Hmm.” Reverend Sheila still looked unconvinced. “How about a prayer of blessing for the six of you—Theo, David, and the two sets of parents? That would seem a much more appropriate way of inviting God into this particular relationship.”

  “We don’t actually have many other people we can ask to be godparents,” I said. “And I’m certain that Miles and Lucy are religious.” I had absolutely no idea if that was the case, of course, but I was pretty sure Miles wouldn’t mind telling a small white lie.

  “Well, given that it’s a highly unusual situation, I’ll speak to them before I make a decision.” Reverend Sheila reached for a pad. “What’s their number?”

  32

  PETE

  ON THE WAY HOME Theo demanded a diversion to the park, and then it was time for us to make his tea—arancini balls, baked not fried, made with homemade breadcrumbs—so it was a while before I had a chance to phone Miles and warn him.

  “Pete!” he said cheerfully as he picked up. He clearly had my name stored as a contact now. “How’s things?”

  “Good, thank you. Look, this is just a heads-up. Someone called Reverend Sheila Lewis might call—”

  “Too late. She’s already done it.”

  “Really?” That was quick. “How did it go?”

  “All sorted. She’s actually doing a couple of baptisms during the service this coming Sunday, so I said we’d muck in with those. That all right for you?”

  “Er—I think so. I’d probably better—”

  “Check with Maddie,” he finished for me. “Of course. You’ve got a great vicar, by the way. Really liked her.”

  * * *

  —

  “IT WAS EXTRAORDINARY,” I told Maddie when she got home. “With me, she was almost disapproving. But Miles seems to have had her eating out of his hand.”

  “Well, he’s very charming. And for all we know, he is religious.”

  “Or just very good at lying.”

  “Persuading people to see things your way isn’t necessarily lying. Besides, I thought you really like Miles. The two of you are thick as thieves at the moment.”

  “I do like him,” I said. “I like him a lot. I’m just slightly in awe of how effective he is at getting his own way.”

  “Have you told him yet we’re not going to Cornwall for Easter?”

  “Not yet. It never seems the right moment.”

  Maddie raised her eyebrows.

  “I know, I know,” I said with a sigh. “I suppose I keep putting it off because I feel bad about it. I think I gave him the impression we were definitely up for it.”

  “Why not say my brother and his family are coming over from Australia? He can hardly object to that. But don’t leave it too long. He may need time to find someone else.”

  33

  MADDIE

  I FIND THE CHRISTENING awkward. Because it’s a joint baptism with three other families, regular members of the congregation who know one another well, it feels like our group are interlopers. It doesn’t help, either, that the other children are all babies, only one of whom is even grizzling slightly. Whereas Theo…Theo simply doesn’t do keeping a low profile.

  The church is one of those trendy ones that pride itself on having a box of books to keep kids entertained—there’s even a poster advertising something called Messy Church, every third week—but because this is a christening, everything is slightly more formal. Theo is overexcited from the start. As soon as he sees Lucy and Miles he shouts “Moles!” before running at them and trying to rugby-tackle Miles. Miles just laughs and ruffles his hair. Our friends Keith and Andy are with us—Andy has agreed to be the t
hird godparent—so there are muttered introductions and handshakes, and I notice some of the regulars turning around to see who’s making all this noise.

  Lucy is carrying David. He lies in her arms very quietly, looking around with a slightly fearful expression. I reach out and stroke his fine, soft hair, itching to hold him myself. Like last time, he doesn’t react, just looks at me with his big, solemn eyes. But I like to think he’s a little less anxious after that.

  Theo spots the box of books and makes a beeline for it. But since he can’t read, to him it’s just a big box of stories that require an adult to read them aloud. “Daddy! Daddy!” he calls eagerly, but Pete only puts his finger to his lips. The vicar has started her introduction now, something about the continued relevance of the Church and how important it is to welcome the next generation of worshippers. Theo takes out some books and starts throwing them at a side chapel like a knife-thrower, using the metal crucifix as his target. When he hits it, it gives an audible clang! and the vicar looks over, perturbed.

  “Yeah!” Theo shouts happily.

  Pete excuses his way out of the pew and goes to deal with him. After a moment, Miles follows. Theo must think it’s a game, or perhaps something in Pete’s grim expression warns him he’s in trouble, because he decides to make himself scarce. Diving beneath the backmost pew, he wriggles between the feet of the people in it and then keeps going, on to the pews in front. Because he’s coming from behind, the first anyone knows of it is when a small body pushes its way through their legs. By the time they’ve realized what’s happening, he’s gone.

  Pete always hates it when Theo doesn’t behave well in public—as if it’s a reflection on his parenting skills. “Theo!” he says, in a voice that tries to balance sternness with not shouting over the vicar. “Come here! Now!” Theo just chortles and commando-crawls his way onward.

  “Sorry, chaps. Ball coming through!” Miles contributes cheerfully, keeping pace alongside Theo in the aisle, but not actually able to get to him.

  Pete goes to stand at the front, ready to grab Theo when he comes out, but Theo spots him and simply reverses direction. Luckily a woman four rows back has the good sense to clap her legs together, trapping him long enough for Pete, by now red with anger and embarrassment, to make his way along the pew and haul him out.

  “Our Lord Jesus Christ has told us that to enter the kingdom of heaven, we must be born again of water and the Spirit,” the vicar is saying.

  “Naughty step. Now!” Pete hisses, dragging a wriggling Theo toward the door of the church. Then he stops and looks around.

  His problem, I realize, is that if he takes Theo outside, he won’t know when they’re needed for the baptism. So he improvises, putting Theo down on the big stone step that leads from the church door into the nave.

  Pete’s a big believer in the naughty step. It was invented by some TV supernanny who insists it only works if you follow a set of very precise instructions, which Pete always does, to the letter. First, you take the child to the step in silence and sit them down. Second, you explain to them what they’ve done wrong. Third, you walk away and set a timer for one minute per year of the child’s age. When the timer goes off, you explain a second time why they’re on the naughty step. Then they have to apologize before they can get up, at which point you give them hugs and kisses as a reward for apologizing.

  Personally, I think Pete believes in the naughty step mainly because it offers some kind of reassurance that he’s disciplining Theo the right way, when all the evidence seems to suggest that actually, Theo is almost completely impervious to discipline of any kind. But Pete claims it works, so I never interfere.

  Pete bodily pushes Theo down onto the step, then starts to explain. “This is a church, Theo. In church people are quiet so they can listen to God—”

  “Bababababababab!” Theo yells, putting his hands over his ears.

  “Here we are clothed with Christ, dying to sin that we may live his risen life,” the vicar intones.

  Theo drums his shoes on the stone floor, making a satisfying echo. “Babababab!”

  “As children of God, we have a new dignity, and God calls us to fullness of life—”

  “…so we have to sit still, without talking or playing, just like all these other people are…”

  “Let us now pray, in silent contemplation—”

  “Sowwy, Daddy.”

  “It’s not time to say sorry yet. You have to wait for the timer. Two minutes.”

  “I’m sowwy, Daddy.”

  Miles laughs. “Oh, come on, Pete. Little beggar’s said he’s sorry.” He opens his arms. “C’mon, big man. Give me a hug.”

  Theo jumps up from the step and runs into Miles’s arms. “Huh-hay!” Miles says, swinging him up so their heads are level. “You going to come and sit quietly with me now?”

  “Yesss!” Theo says, very loud in the contemplative silence.

  * * *

  —

  IT’S A GOOD THING we’re still in the middle of the service. Pete’s so angry at Miles’s intervention, he can’t meet my eye as he comes and sits down. Theo sits meekly on Miles’s lap, occasionally sneaking glances at Pete over Miles’s shoulder. Then—proof that miracles do happen—he starts listening to what the vicar’s saying, or perhaps the singsong way she’s saying it captures his attention. And soon it’s time for the exciting bit, getting all the parents, godparents, and children to come and stand around the font and lighting a long white candle for each child. Theo’s eyes go very big when he’s given his candle to hold. Since candles are usually for blowing out—he’d been encouraged to blow out the ones on his birthday cake, after all, just a short while back—he takes a big breath and puffs out his cheeks, until the vicar stops him.

  “Not yet. You have to wait until I’ve put water on you.”

  “Wow!” Theo says, amazed, and everyone—not just the people around the front, but in the pews as well—laughs. Somehow he’s managed to charm them all. It’s only Pete, glowering beside me, who’s still furious.

  Miles looks at Theo with fatherly pride, and I realize that of course I know exactly where Theo gets his charm from.

  * * *

  —

  “I’M GOING TO HAVE to speak to Miles,” Pete says as soon as the service is over.

  “Yes,” I agree. “You are. But, Pete…”

  “What?”

  I try to choose my words carefully. Pete’s a wonderful parent, but sometimes he can take it all a bit seriously. “I think it was a genuine misunderstanding. I don’t suppose Miles knows anything about the naughty step and timers and so on. I think he just wanted to help.”

  “Well, it’s time he did understand.” Pete strides over to where Miles is chatting to Keith and Andy. I hear him say firmly, “Can I have a moment, Miles?” The two of them move off. Andy catches my eye and pulls a face, one of his parody-camp ones—Ooohh!—that are only half a parody.

  Pete and Miles talk for about a minute. Miles is nodding. Then he claps Pete on the shoulder and puts out his hand, which Pete shakes.

  “Everything all right?” I ask Pete when he comes back.

  “Fine,” he says. He sounds almost surprised. “He completely took my point. Apologized and said it won’t happen again.”

  I look over at Miles. The expression on his face—eager, friendly, alert—is familiar, somehow. Then I recall where I last saw it. It’s the same expression Theo had on his face on the naughty step, when he said sorry before it was time.

  34

  PETE

  “MR. RILEY, COULD I have a word?” It was Susy, the woman who ran the nursery, intercepting me as I collected Theo at lunchtime.

  “Of course.” I followed her into her office. We both sat down, and I waited for her to say it was nothing to worry about.

  She didn’t.

  Instead she said, “I’m
afraid we need to have a difficult conversation about Theo.”

  “In what way, difficult?” I felt the hairs on the back of my neck go up, but I was careful not to let the tension show in my voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “This morning he hit another child with a tumbler. On the head, quite hard I’m told. There was bleeding and we had to call the child’s mother to take him home.”

  “Which child was it?”

  “I don’t think that’s relevant. The point is, this was quite deliberate. The other child had a toy Theo wanted to play with. Theo had previously tried to grab it, but been told by the nursery assistant he’d have to wait his turn. She turned her back for a moment, then she heard a cry and found Theo hitting the other child.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. The fact is, he’s had a rather overstimulating weekend. He was baptized yesterday and all the attention got him quite excited.” I smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be calmer tomorrow.”

  “Well, possibly.” Susy paused. “The boy’s mother has made an official complaint. And because there have been warnings before…”

  “Hang on. What warnings?”

  “We’ve talked about Theo’s behavior on more than one occasion, Mr. Riley.”

  “Talked, yes. But those weren’t formal warnings.” I had a horrible feeling that I knew where this conversation was heading.