Free A Touch of Love by Jonathan Coe Page A

example of. So he pleaded guilty of course, and then I got this quite convincing case together and we managed to get him off with a fine and negotiate quite a sensible repayment programme. Which, so far as I know, he’s still in the middle of.’ She frowned. ‘Four years ago, now, at least. Strange how time goes, isn’t it?’
    ‘Go on,’ said Alun, who disliked it when people became reflective in his company.
    ‘Well, Hugh and Robin know each other, it transpires, so as soon as this thing comes up and he needs a solicitor, Hugh sends him over to me.’
    ‘You’ve been in contact with Hugh, all this time?’
    ‘Yes, I’ve had dinner with him. Two or three times. He’s a very good cook. He lives in a little bedsitter, out towards Stoke Green. Squalid, but homely. So he had this party out there last week – it was his birthday – and I went along. You know, just to show my face. I suppose I should have guessed that Robin was going to be there, but for some reason it didn’t occur to me. I had other things on my mind, at the time. I only spoke to him for a few minutes. Have you met him?’
    ‘Only in court.’
    ‘Well, he was very nervous that morning. As you’d expect.’
    ‘So, what’s he like? How would you describe him?’
    ‘Describe him?’
    ‘Yes. I mean, is he the usual child-molester type?’
    Emma leaned forward, for the first time, and looked him directly in the eye, also for the first time.
    ‘Let’s get this clear, Alun, Robin hasn’t done anything. There’s no case to answer here. I have absolute faith in him.’
    ‘How can you have faith in someone when you’ve only spoken to him for a few minutes?’
    ‘We had a long formal interview. I know all that I need to know.’
    ‘So what’s going to be the basis of your defence? Character? Are you using a psychiatrist?’
    ‘Of course not. There’s no need for that.’
    ‘You see, I have an eyewitness. I would have thought that puts you in a rather weak position.’
    ‘Who – not the boy’s father? But he didn’t see anything.’
    ‘He saw enough.’
    ‘I’ve already read his statement. It won’t stand up.’
    Alun smiled, a quiet, prematurely triumphant smile. He leaned over and picked up Emma’s glass, which was empty.
    ‘We’ve got a lot to discuss. Would you like another?’
    ‘No, thank you, I wouldn’t.’
    ‘Want to keep a clear head, I suppose. Something non-alcoholic?’
    ‘No thanks.’
    ‘Well, I’ll get you an orange juice. You can always leave it.’
    While he was away, Emma picked at the remains of her salad, until she could no longer palate the acrid taste of soft green lettuce leaves. A few questions tumbled through her mind but she couldn’t find it in her to follow any of them up. Which was odd, because she knew that only a few months ago this would have been precisely the kind of case which most excited her. She could not remember having felt so listless before, and started to wonder whether perhaps she ought to go and see a doctor: for some days now she had been conscious of a curious heaviness in her head – not headaches, exactly, as she had tried to explain to Mark only last evening, but a sort of throbbing drowsiness which made it hard to concentrate on anything. Well, isn’t it nearly that time of the month, he had said, and had seemed to think that he was being sensitive.
    ‘You look tired,’ said Alun, lowering the glass gently into her hand. ‘Is anything up?’
    ‘It’s been a long week. Maybe I’ll take the rest of this afternoon off and go home. Or something.’
    ‘Good idea. Put your feet up. You’ll feel better for it. Kerry and I are going away soon: two weeks in Portugal. When did you and Mark last have a proper holiday together?’
    ‘Oh, some time ago. Look, the father is your main witness, is he?’
    ‘Yes. His version of events is – well, you’ve read it yourself. He says that his son went into the bushes to retrieve this ball and Grant followed him in