Chapter 31 Dangerously Healthy by Malcolm Birkenshaw

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Chapter 31.

Too late, numb sensations were beginning to return to my legs -
just as they were eight years ago for example, like after the fire.
Bloody marvellous, this time other people's trivial disputes.
Better get Hasdik moving before it's too late, before my health has
deteriorated even further.

`Who?' the solicitors' telephonist queried with a tone in her
voice suggesting she had trod in something nasty.

`I'd like to speak to mister Hasdik or his secretary.'

`Do you mean mister Hadzik?'

`Sorry, yes, mister Hadzik.'

`Hold the line, then, please, I'll see if mister Hadzik is free
to accept your call.'

A black hole of silence swallowed up the phone in my hand,
would I ever be heard of again? If I'm still waiting in nine month's
time will this have been a pregnant silen....? `Mister Hadzik's
busy with a client, he'll contact you tomorrow,' she cut short my
fantasising. `I'll make a note in his diary. How are you spelling
your name?'

`Same way as yesterday, M y t h o l m r o y d.'

Midsummer sultered past. My limp began to creep back, unseen to
the casual onlooker. But there was no mistaking its drag so far as I
was concerned. Yet despite my daily calls I was still waiting for
Hadzik to ring back. This is just what Lena was waiting for, a
bubbling broth of stress simmering, reducing me into becoming a
cripple, scuppering what slim chances I had in this case. Sod it,
I'll walk round to the pub for a glass of beer and some soup. At
least that might lift my spirits and give the M.S. a run for its
money.

`Soup's off,' Lofty leaned on his pump handle, more concerned
with pulling my beer, ensuring a creamy head. `We're doing
shepherd's pie, special, this lunch-time,' he sniffed and rubbed his
nose on his cuff.

`Oh, pity,' I looked disappointed, rearranging my small pile of
coins, `It's probably got flour in it.'

`Ma.... `as tha' put flour in't yon pie?' he peeled back on his
stool, nudging their kitchen door open.

`Who wants it in?'

`Nobody.'

`Well, it hasn't got it, then, has it?'

`I've had some, and I'm ordering another helping. Let me get
yours,' a stranger three stools away shoved forward his wallet,
there being nobody else for him to speak to.

`Oh, thanks, thanks very much. Moving into the village?' I
moved a stool closer.

He was young, or at least youngish, with a bonhomie repose.
`No, just passing through. I'm a sub-editor with the Sunday
Disgust,' he passed me his card.

`Sub-editor of the Sunday Disgust?' my eyebrows raised. Unlike
many other newspaper men I had met in bars there was no greasy
raincoat, I was very impressed.

`It's not that grand, just a fancy name for being a reporter,'
he grinned.

Never mind, this is a chance too good to miss, I thought. `Are
you interested in a headmaster who is having an affair with a
teacher and takes photographs of pupils in the nude?'

`Another drink? We can take it to that table in the corner,'
his eyes motioned.

Good. This will make Lena panic, get her into court, I smiled.

`Now, where can I find the pair of them?' he took out his note
book, scenting a scoop. `I'll interview them this afternoon, at
their schools, before they can co-ordinate alibis.'

I had not expected him to act so quickly. Just what have I
done? I wondered, thinking over and over as I returned home, and
thinking even harder that Saturday morning when I could hear
shooting. No, stop worrying, it can't be Ransley, not going by the
bangs. They sounded like twelve bores, firing away somewhere beyond
the Brick Pond. That's it, definitely twelve bores, just not a good
weekend for rooks, particularly when all this was on top of the
reporter from the Sunday Disgust.

`Don't worry, I can get the hearing delayed,' Hadzik said, when
he telephoned Monday morning, concerned that things were beginning
to move.

`I don't want the hearing delayed.'

`Don't want it delayed?' he exclaimed, realising that his
client did not understand the consequences of such an impetuous act.
Clearly he could see my case sinking. `I must strongly urge you to
hold back until the tide turns in your favour.'

`If you wait much longer it won't matter. Before this tide
turns my health will have drowned under stress.'

`If that's your instruction,' he grudgingly ceded, seeing his
charges being stemmed. `Low key, no barristers, minimum costs,
children kept out of court,' he repeated my instructions. `A
reconciliation at the eleventh hour still on the cards,' his tone
progressively depressed as he saw even the prospect of maximum legal
aid charges floating away. `My secretary will write to you,
confirming all this, before the hearing on November the fourth.'

The fourth! Not the Ides of November? I referred to my
dictionary. Thank goodness, Julius Caesar rest in peace, the ides
of each month are nearer the middle. Mind you, it could still be an
omen, was the fourth not the date when Guy Fawkes had been getting
ready to blow up the Houses of Parliament? No, no, forget it,
forget about the threat of being thrown out of your house. Sow some
more mustard seeds, leave it to faith.

November was its seasonal yellow by the time the telephone rang
from the solicitors' office: so late and yellow, with the corn
harvested and the frosts now upon us, that a field mouse had
scratted a nest in our loft. `I'm putting you through to mister
Hadzik,' said the operator, the line resorting to its black hole
mode.

Leaves swirled and tussled on the lawn, brief gusts tossing
them about before winter arrived to reclaim them. I waited, perhaps
rain was on the way? The wind disappeared, it had been only
practising for when it would bite from the east. Idly, I scratched
a spot on my nose. It had not been there before, but now its size
was proportional to the length of my wait. `Hello!' Was I still
connected? `HELLO!' I shouted even louder......

`Pardon?'

`Arhum,' I pretended to have been clearing my throat, Sod's
Law contriving to have someone come onto the line that very moment.

`Hadzik here,' he sounded displeased. `What do you want?'

I paused, puzzled. `Want?.... I think you phoned me.'

`Did I, just a minute?' he broke off. I could hear in the
background that somebody was talking. `Oh, yes. We've received
papers from your wife's solicitors,' he continued. `She has
instructed a barrister.'

`A barrister? We agreed to minimum costs.'

`So we did, so we did,' I could hear the noise of papers being
turned. `Yes, that's what we requested.'

`And they never answered, until now?... What do I do?'

`It's up to you. You can hire a QC, or fight the case
without,' his voice almost disinterestedly bleak.

`Which do you recommend?' I was hoping for an improbable
answer.

`Of course, your chances might be increased if you're fully
represented.'

Damn, I knew he would say that. `Can I hire a QC and have
his costs covered by legal aid?'

`I don't think you quite understand, you don't have sufficient
time, the hearing's tomorrow, that's why they kept their decision
secret until now.'

`If I can manage to borrow the money do I then have a chance?'
I was desperate.

`I only said your chances might be increased.'

He was obviously stonewalling. `Are you saying it would be a
waste of money?' I tried to get him to commit himself.

`I didn't infer that. However, I must admit your prospects
would be improved but, of course, I cannot say more than that, nor
promise in which way the court will find.'

That was it, there was nothing more I could do. His building's
polished brass rails and marbled stairway having little use for
paupers like me.

I telephoned Mother, I had to give someone the depressing news.

`You're supposed to be on legal aid,' she interrupted my story.

`I know, but...'

`Well, I can't afford it.'

`I'm not asking you, I'm just letting you know what she's
done.'

`I always told you she was no use, but you refused to listen.'

I put my hand over the mouthpiece, `Stupid old.....'

`Did you say something? Are you still there?'

`Yes. I am.'

`Well, get yourself moving, apply for legal aid to pay for a
barrister.'

`That's what I've already told you...'

`You should have asked Hadzik when you were there.'

`I did, I did, that's what I've told you. He said Lena's
solicitors delayed informing him, virtually guaranteeing I won't get
one.'

`You're useless. You didn't ask him.'

`I damnwell did.'

`Don't you swear at me. Just give me ten minutes, I'll soon
sort him out, what's his telephone number. I've read in the Daily
Indigo that any Tom, Dick and Harry can get legal aid. I bet if you
were coloured you'd get it.'

God forgive her, I thought, and the heavens turned darker,
too heavy to rain. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes
passed. I looked round the room. This time tomorrow I might be
walking the streets, with Claire and John sitting right here, the
same room where we once laughed as a family, the same emulsion which
I had painted the wall with, the same the marks where John and I
played table tennis, the same.... The telephone rang.

`Is that you, Martin?'

`Of course it is,' I snapped, despite having prepared myself
for the bad news her call would confirm.

`Mister Hadzik and I have sorted things out. You've to be at
his office in the morning, nine o'clock sharp.'

`What for?' What did she mean?

`Never you mind. Just turn up on time, and remember to wear a
clean shirt.'

That evening I grilled lamb chops, extra big, blue smoke
filling our kitchen. Nothing frozen tonight, only the best leg
chops for our last supper, with broccoli and chips. We were dining
in no-man's-land, the three of us joking together, yet everyone too
hollow for pudding.

`Good night, Dad.'

`Good night, Dad.' Both managing to sound as though it was just
another good night.

`Good night, sleep well.'

The scratch, scratch, scratching from our loft kept me awake.
That bloody mouse must be breeding. Ah, well, it will give bloody
Ransley something useful to do for the first time in his life, what
with him being a regular crawler, crawling about in our loft on a
wildlife safari.

The three of us said very little next morning, Claire setting
off to stay with a friend in Bridlington whilst John came with me to
the solicitors with his battered suitcase of games unstitched at the
corners.

`Mister Hadzik is waiting to see you in chambers,' his
Receptionist leant bosomly over her typewriter, passing me the
address. `I think it's better if your son stays here with me.'

`The chambers?'

`Yes. It's not a two-minute walk, if you hurry.'

I hurried, it took three minutes forty-nine seconds and an
embryo limp.

`This is Mister Casewangle. He will be representing you,'
Hadzik introduced me to the QC

`Good morning,' I shook Casewangle's slack hand.

Without a word he cast an eye over me, nodded to a chair. I sat
down with hands on knees, ready for the first question.

Brushing aside piles of documents, many tied with ribbons, he
made space upon the leather top of his aged desk. Was that my file
he was opening? `Mumble, mumble, mumble,' Hadzik and he got down to
business. I pretended not to listen. Paint was peeling from the
ceiling, was the woodwork painted peat when new? He muttered
another phrase, sounded like Latin. `What does that mean?' I spoke
for the first time.

Hadzik's head turned, intercepting my question, `She's using
custody of the children to gain possession of the home,' he
said, maintaining the legal decorum of “you scratch a cheque for me
and I'll scratch a cheque for him” which existed between solicitor
and barrister.

But how had the QC worked out in so short a time that Lena
was after the house? I wondered. He had only made a cursory glance
at the papers.

`We'll see you outside court number one at two o'clock,' Hadzik
continued, dismissing my presence before I endangered his existence
by my becoming involved.

To fill in time I went for a walk round the Leeds Art Gallery
where staring into the middle distance, with thoughts on my mind,
would not look out of place. Was it court two at one o'clock, or
court one at two o'clock, I wondered, when the clock crawled past
mid-day and I set off down the steps into the world of disinterested
people.

Perhaps it was one o'clock, I worried, the clocks suddenly
having raced. I was hurrying behind time, crossing the road, having
dawdled too long rehearsing my burden. Quick, quick. Ahead three
wide steps to mahogany doors, newly replaced, intending to give a
more welcoming air to the atmosphere of gloom once inside the
courthouse. My hair tingled, which of the arrows painted on the
wall? `Along there,' a stranger, with the drill of a regular,
directed me. Various wigs, clutching briefs, whether representing
defendant or plaintiff, all best friends. Which was mine?

`Yours are upstairs,' thumbed yet another regular. Tradition
was daubed thick and heavy upon where there might have been dust.
The staircase to my court was narrow. Though its Victorian railings
were painted a fresh apple green the landing was musty. I swallowed
and looked around. There seemed to be wigs everywhere, wigs and wigs
huddled in groups. Oh my goodness, Lena and Mary were there, as
though glued to cane-back chairs,... and with my mother opposite,
aggression filling the air.

`Your case will be starting soon,' someone touched my arm. It
was a woman, Hadzik's junior, or whatever they call them. `Your
wife's counsel will try to stare you out, it's her technique. Don't
be put off, say as little as possible, let your own counsel do the
talking.'

In so cramped a landing where does one look to avoid eye
contact? At last we went in, each escorted by a solicitor, the
court benches separating Lena and me, each barrister sitting in
front. The case began. `That's a lie,' I whispered to my
solicitor.

`I know,' she whispered back.

`That's another lie.'

She smiled a frown of don't disturb the court.‘ `The
registrar's heard them all before.'

Then Lena's side challenged our family doctor's evidence. He
was furious. He would not have come had they accepted his letter in
the first place, so they were not going to get any change now he was
here. That's one point to the good guys, I thought.

Next to be called was Nelly, the lady who had formerly cleaned
our house. `Misses Mytholmroyd dismissed you six months ago,' Lena's
counsel read from her notes. `Is that correct?' she stared through
those bloody glasses.

Nelly shuffled, her lips parched.

`Speak up, please.'

`Yes.'

`Quite so.'

Oh dear, I thought, but at least only a small point to the bad
guys.

`You say mister Mytholmroyd does a lot of the housework?' the
registrar intervened, his voice smiling and gentle.

Nelly brightened up. `Yes, sir.'

`Can you give the court an example?'

Nelly's nerves flooded back, she was struggling, anxious to do
right, her mind in a panic. `He switches the washing machine on.'

I looked down, forehead between thumb and finger. `It's your
turn,' my solicitor jogged my elbow, prompting me. `Keep calm, it's
going well, you'll be fine.'

How the hell can it be? I thought. Poor Nelly, she does not
know what she has just done. Oh, well, here goes, I took a deep
breath, too late to pray, God already knew, and I concentrated on
walking to disguise any sign of multiple sclerosis.

Despite this, Lena's counsel opened with questions assuming I
would soon be in a wheelchair. Silly woman, she kept on staring,
trying to bully me, reminding me of a television personality I could
not stand. Besides, after a lifetime of battling with my mother her
challenge was like a bull to a red rag. Keep charging, I thought, my
adrenaline flowing. She was the enemy, this was life or death, I was
fighting to keep our children free of the corruption of Ransley.

`What do you mean, your wife and the Headmaster?' she mocked.

`I know what they have been up to.'

`That's what you say,' she nodded to the court.

`That is what I say,' I raised my voice. `How many witnesses do
you want? I can subpoena the whole village if you like. Everybody
knows.'

She smiled, knowingly, dismissing my statement with a wave.
`Shall we come to the matter of your children?'

`If you like.'

`Where's your daughter?'

`Staying in Bridlington.'

`Oh, how convenient,' she continued with that damned stupid
stare.

`She's there because I sent her there. I don't want her in
court, being cross-questioned, forced to give evidence against
either of her parents.'

`That's what you would have us believe,' she tugged at her
gown, playing games with my evidence. `Well then, where've you
hidden your son?' she smiled, her prey cornered.

Bristling, I turned and addressed the recorder. `He's in my
solicitor's office, by mutual consent,' then returned to my wife's
counsel. `But he'd rather be with his mother, at the moment, if
that's what you want me to say,' my voice clear, declaring, `So you
can leave him alone, I still don't want him in court.'

The registrar decided to leave things as they were, the
children with me, sentence suspended. Lena was shattered, I hated
that moment. She left by a side door.

Outside it was dark, the hearing must have lasted for hour upon
hour. Above the streetlights there was nothing, nothing but
blackness, a blackness like rooks as though a hole had been spread
when Father had witnessed his family being broken still further.

But Mother was rejoicing, lying in wait as Lena and Mary passed
in the street. `Mary turned to Lena and wanted to know what she was
going to do now,' she gloated to me when I appeared. `Lena never
dreamt you would win.'

`I didn't win, and Lena didn't win,' I lost my temper. `It's
the children who lost.'

I have used a lot of Yorkshire dialect in “Dangerously Healthy” – an autobiography written under my pseudonym because some of the protagonists were still alive at the time, and also in a novel “Don’t You Dearest Me”. If any Themestream reader wants to contact me I should be pleased to translate any puzzling words . In fact, does anyone think I should produce a list of words and phrases for the series? If so, your e-mail would be welcome.

Read the following chapters that tell of how Martin "cured" his M.S. and climbed mountains by the following year.

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