This is the Life (30 page)

‘Ah, Jones.’ The old fellow gestured towards the chair.

I sat down.

‘Feeling better now, Jones?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.

‘It must have been a terrible shock for you, losing your brother like that. A terrible shock.’

I said nothing.

Old Boag looked me in the eye. ‘Well, feel free to start whenever you wish,’ he said. ‘My condolences, and the firm’s.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t …’

I did not finish my sentence. Old Boag was waving his hands. Forget it, he was telling me. Don’t worry about it.

I went back to my office and looked down on the clattering street for a time. Everyone was rushing to and fro and up and down as though nothing was the matter. They were scurrying over zebra crossings, leaping off buses, honking their horns, pointing at displays and raising their voices. A wind blew through the street and everything fluttered and then went back to normal again.

I heard a thump behind me. It was June, June with her fire-engine smile. She had brought me a steaming cup of hot tea.

‘Drink it,’ she said. ‘Come on, it’ll do you good.’

I picked it up and took a weak gulp. ‘Thank you, June,’ I said. ‘That’s delicious.’

She watched me drink. ‘If you need anything –
anything
– just ask. All right?’

Off she went, trotting back to her desk. June.

I picked up the telephone receiver – it weighed like a bar of
lead – and made a couple of calls. First I rang my brother Charlie and told him what the score was. Then I rang Susan’s office. No, she’s not here, they said. I should have known better, but I felt a flicker of hope for her. I said, You mean, she no longer works there? She’s found another job? No, they said. She’s out for the moment, that’s all. I wanted to leave Susan a message of some sort, and I searched around in my mind for something to say. I said, Say James Jones rang.

What now? I thought. Where to next?

I had to keep busy. I picked up the telephone again and dialled Lexden-Page.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Lexden-Page,’ I said.

‘That’s all right,’ Lexden-Page said unconvincingly. ‘I heard you were going through a patch of trouble. I’m sorry about your brother, Jones.’

I said tiredly, ‘Well, what are we going to do about your case, Mr Lexden-Page?’

Lexden-Page found his old tone. ‘We’ll fight it, Jones,’ he said excitedly. ‘I’m not taking this lying down.’

Poor old Lexden-Page, he did not have a hope in hell. Not only had his appeal to the county court failed, he had also been refused leave to appeal. He would have to get leave to appeal from the Court of Appeal (impossible) and, on top of that, win the actual appeal: also impossible. Even then, if he wished to continue fighting, he would be refused leave to appeal to the House of Lords, who in any event were bound to dismiss the appeal proper. The whole thing was impossible, an utter non-starter. Lexden-Page was going nowhere, and it was time that he got this into his head. It was time that he woke up, faced some facts.

His voice rang in my ear again. ‘Well, Jones? Well, what do you say?’

‘We’ll appeal,’ I said. ‘We’ll appeal right to the very end, Mr Lexden-Page. We’ll give it everything we have, Mr Lexden-Page,’ I said.

JOSEPH O
’
NEILL
was born in Cork in 1964. He is the author of three novels –
Netherland
, which was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize and won the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction,
The Breezes
, and
This Is the Life
– and a family history,
Blood-Dark Track.
A barrister in London for many years, he now lives in New York.

Netherland
Blood-Dark Track: A Family History
The Breezes

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This Harper Perennial edition published 2009

First published in Great Britain by Faber and Faber Ltd in 1991

Copyright © Joseph O’Neill 1991

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