Page 41 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

ChapterThirteen

The legal chamberswere everything Owen expected them to be. White walls, dark wood, mid-quality carpeting, hushed voices, and the smell of old books. His lawyer was not what he’d expected. Martin Fraser was about his own age, built like a rugby prop forward, with a bodybuilder’s neck that seemed trapped by collar and tie, plus a nose that had been broken at least once. An overall impression of a real bruiser oddly impaired by the delicate metal-framed glasses and refined upper-class English accent.

‘Sit,’ Martin said as if instructing a brace of gundogs and pointed to a seat opposite his desk. ‘Well, then.’ He settled his muscular bulk in a well-padded leather chair while Owen perched on the thinly upholstered upright chair. Martin patted the file in front of him. ‘I’ve looked through the notes, and I’ve spoken with Judge McKinnon’s wife about your situation. Is it right you gave up a very successful career in TV journalism to become a full-time father and househusband?’

‘That’s right,’ Owen replied, trying not to be irritated by Martin’s incredulous tone, imagining Martin’s wife, if he had one, was probably at their country home, making jam or walking the dogs.

Unaware of the home life Owen was creating for him, Martin went on, ‘Then one day you came home to discover your wife had employed the services of a live-in nanny and wanted you out of the house?’

‘Correct.’ Owen stared at the mid-quality carpet. Beige.

‘And until then, you’d kept your side of the, er … um, bargain – looked after the child, and so on?’

‘I had.’ Owen moved his attention to the lawyer.

Martin screwed up his face as if he suspected he didn’t have all the facts but couldn’t quite decide which way to approach his unasked questions.

After a silence ripe with speculation, he went on, ‘And you’ve been approximately twelve months apart, during which the decree nisi was granted?’

‘Longer – nearer eighteen months,’ Owen answered, tension building in his neck and spine.

Martin frowned and scribbled something on a notepad before he went on. ‘And since then, access to your daughter has been severely restricted by your ex-wife.’

‘Yes.’ Owen shifted his weight on the hard seat, thinking “severely restricted” was an understatement.

Martin put down his expensive pen and steepled his fingers, resting them against his full lips. Owen could feel the hazel eyes of his lawyer scampering over him, surveying and assessing every inch. There seemed to be very little (if any) approval in the appraisal.

‘And you went along with all of this?’ Martin sounded contemptuous, confirming Owen’s suspicions. He recoiled. Wasn’t this man supposed to be on his side?

‘I didn’t think I had a choice,’ he said. Even to himself, the reply sounded a pathetic excuse. Initially he’d done what Margaret wanted because he hadn’t wanted a scene in front of Emi, hadn’t wanted her frightened. Later he’d been scared Margaret would take Emi away from him permanently. Exactly what she was doing now.

Owen looked away, tired of locking with Fraser’s scornful eyes. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on a family portrait on a nearby table. Martin with a slender blonde woman, probably wife and what looked like a pile of happy offspring clambering all over him. They seemed to be in a park or maybe a very large garden. There were daffodils in bloom. A barb of jealousy twisted in Owen’s gut, and anger started to burn. It was all well and fine for this overpaid lawyer with his no-doubt posh wife and brood of golden babes to sneer at him with his wrecked life and litany of wrong decisions. We don’t all get the breaks in life we want.

‘Tell me?’ Martin broke into Owen’s thoughts. ‘Did you ever abuse your wife?’

Owen’s head snapped around, and he glared into the glitter of Martin’s metal-framed spectacles. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Were you cruel? Did you ever hit her?’

‘Only when she demanded it. Though Margaret tended more towards restraint.’

‘Pardon?’

Owen smiled cynically. ‘My ex-wife, Mr Fraser, as I think you may already know, is inclined to enjoy a little violence in the bedroom.’ Owen knew it had been in the divorce notes. It was part of the incompatibility that had been cited.

The two men locked eyes again.

Martin Fraser sat back. ‘Yes, that is how it was described in the notes. But I wanted to hear it from you.’

Owen grunted, wondering how this personal invasion would get him proper access to his daughter. What happened with Margaret in the bedroom still shamed him. The things she’d wanted from him, he preferred to forget.

Martin seemed to change gear with a sudden attack of activity, shifting in his seat, shuffling the papers on his desk, clearing his throat. He flicked the intercom on his desk and ordered coffee. Then, turning back to Owen, he said, ‘Well then, time to fight back, I think.’ For the first time, he smiled. A genuinely warm smile. ‘This woman seems to have had far too much of her own way. We’ll change that – shall we?’

The next hour was spent going over things. A personal history Owen mostly wanted left buried. The reason he’d married Margaret – not for love. At least not for the love of her. The reality of his marriage, how the bedroom demands got worse, to the point he would not – could not play any more. Humiliation. The early days as a full-time dad. Joy. He wanted to remember that. The sharing of the world with a tiny new human being, so small he could cup her whole head in his palm. The first outing together, feeling self-conscious as a new father. Complete strangers stopping him, wanting to chat and admire the little person in the baby sling. The little person, tired and losing interest in the stranger, resting her head against Owen’s chest and falling asleep. So trusting it made him want to cry then, even now, at the memory of it.

Martin nodded and smiled. He seemed to understand. Of course, he would. Owen glanced at the family photo … four children. Martin understood a father’s love.

Then Owen was forced to recount the crushing blow of being thrown out of his own home. Despite the recently found camaraderie with the lawyer, it was another moment when Owen sensed Martin Fraser thought him weak. Perhaps he was. Should he have stood up for himself? Fought to keep his life, his home and, most of all, Emi. Maybe he should have booted Margaret out the day he came home to find she’d embedded a live-in nanny.

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