Free Unspoken by Sam Hayes Page B

face in the world I want to see pokes into the cupboard that is my office. Suddenly, I am a sideshow. ‘Hey, Frenchie, it’s been a while. They let you out of rehab, I see.’
    I breathe in and quickly count to ten. ‘Dick,’ I reply, dragging out the syllable although that’s not strictly his name. I don’t bother looking up. I open one of the files and pretend to read while concentrating on sipping my coffee without my hand shaking. I flip through the papers.
    ‘Where did you park the boat, then? In the multistorey?’ Dick squeezes into my office and stands beside Sheila. They loom over my desk. This is one cruel hangover.
    The shakes come and I put the cup down just in time. I take off my reading glasses but it doesn’t help. My vision is still blurred ‘Richard.’ I nod my head. ‘Very clever. As usual.’ Sheila is waiting for me to crack.
    ‘Then how did you get to work? Didn’t I hear that you lost your licence?’ Dick presses on.
    ‘No, you didn’t.’ Not quite. ‘As it happens, I came on the bus. My car is in the garage being fixed. How did you get to work? In a spaceship?’
    ‘In my new Porsche, actually. I could give you a ride home later, if you like. As long as you don’t throw up in it.’ He smiles broadly.
    ‘I can’t guarantee that, Dick. The bus will be fine.’
    ‘Suit yourself.’ And Dick Porsche strides off to the partner’s office that would have been mine – the one with the extra-large desk and the view over the city – if I hadn’t decided to become an alcoholic instead.
    ‘So,’ Sheila says, closing my door. ‘What’s going on in Murray-land?’ I know when Sheila is serious, and this is one of those times. Her eyelids semi-close – an almost feral expression – and her arms fold around her body. She perches on the edge of my desk. In the five years that I’ve been working for Redman, Hanley and Bright, I’ve never quite managed to figure her out. Mostly she’s indomitable lawyer, courtroom queen, but occasionally she’s quiet and reserved – usually before an explosive outburst – and sometimes I’ve witnessed her almost maternal with the young female staff. Sheila’s most reliable quality is that she’s unpredictable. If I didn’t respect her so much, I’d hate her.
    ‘Really, you don’t want to know.’ Coffee spills on my desk, and without even thinking about it, Sheila has a tissue soaking it up.
    ‘That bad?’
    ‘And I guess you’re about to make it worse, right?’
    It’s no secret there was a partners’ meeting last night. The three-monthly get-togethers are largely an excuse to run up a big bill at the Square, a favourite venue for the Cambridge legal set. But apart from ordering expensive wine and eating enough langoustines to fill an entire ocean, they do talk shop. They discuss figures and cases and staff and assets. And liabilities. Like me.
    ‘I should be,’ she says, lobbing the wet tissue in the bin. ‘But,’ she stands and props her hands on her hips, ‘I got you a reprieve.’ She raises her hands to stop me interrupting. ‘Just don’t bloody ask me why I grovelled and begged on your behalf, Murray French. Don’t ever bloody ask me why.’
    I won’t, I think, and keep my face solemn. Sheila doesn’t like emotional outbursts and would hate it if I hugged her, which is what I feel like doing.
    ‘But if you ever, ever . . .’ She pauses and takes a breath seemingly too large for her chest. ‘If you ever let me down and make me look a fool again, then—’
    ‘Oh for God’s sake, Sheila, I won’t let you down, right?’
    ‘Why don’t I believe you?’
    ‘Let me think,’ I say. ‘Is it because I’ve missed five court appearances in the same number of months, or lost more cases than I’ve even taken on?’ Each of us is suppressing a grin. I can’t help it. I get up and give her a hug. ‘Thanks,’ I whisper in her ear. ‘I’m the dick, not Dick Porsche.’
    ‘Oh no, take it from me. He’s one as well.’