“I was depending on you,” Owen said. “You’ve always renewed my contract before.”
Kemp sat forward and rested his hairy forearms on the desk. “Ah, yes. But this time you left us in a bit of a mess, didn’t you? We had to bring in someone to finish your classes. She did a good job, a very good job, under the circumstances. We can’t very well chuck her out without so much as a by-your-leave, can we?”
“I don’t see why not. You seem to be doing it to me, and at least I’ve got seniority. Besides, it was hardly my fault I got arrested.”
Kemp sniggered. “Well, it certainly wasn’t mine. But that’s irrelevant. There’s no such thing as seniority in temporary appointments, Owen. You know that. I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.” And he held them together, linking his fingers as if to demonstrate.
“What about next January? I can just about get by until then.”
Kemp pursed his lips and shook his head. “I can’t see any vacancies opening up. Budgets are tight these days. Very tight.”
“Look,” Owen said, sitting forward. “I’m getting fed up with this. Ever since I’ve been in your office-and I had to wait long enough before I got to see you, by the way-I’ve heard nothing but flannel. You know damn well that you could find courses for me if you wanted to, but you won’t. If it’s nothing to do with my teaching abilities, then maybe you’d better tell me what really is the problem.” Owen had a good idea what he would hear-he had read the letter, after all-but he wanted to put Kemp through the embarrassment of having to say it.
“I’ve told you-”
“You’ve told me bugger-all. Is it the trial? Is that it?”
“Well, you could hardly imagine something like that would endear you to the board, could you? But we all understand that you were mistakenly accused, and we deeply regret any hardship you suffered.”
Owen laughed. “Mistakenly accused? I like that. That’s a nice way of putting it.”
Kemp pursed his lips. “Owen, we know how you suffered, believe me.”
“Do you?” Owen felt himself redden with anger. He gripped the sides of the chair. “Do you also believe in my innocence?”
“One must put faith in the justice system, Owen, abide by the verdict of the jury.”
“So you do believe they were right?”
“The court found you not guilty.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“But what else are we to base our judgments on?”
“What else? On your knowledge of the person, on character. On trust, damn it. After all, I’ve worked here for eight years.”
Kemp shrugged. “But I can hardly say I know you, can I? Ours has always been a professional relationship, a work relationship, if you like.”
“And my work has always been of the highest quality. So what about my job, then? If you believe I’ve done nothing wrong and you have faith in my teaching ability, why don’t I get my job back?”
“You’re making this very difficult for me, Owen.”
Owen thumped the desk. “Oh, am I? I’m really sorry about that. Maybe it just hasn’t occurred to you how fucking difficult this is for me.”
Kemp backed away slowly on his wheeled office-chair. “Owen, you’re not helping yourself at all by behaving in this manner.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve already made it clear what my position is. I want you to admit why. And please don’t tell me how bloody difficult it is for you.”
Kemp stopped edging back and leaned forward on the desk, making a steeple of his fingers. “All right,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. The college has expressed its unwillingness to employ an instructor who has a reputation for bedding his female students and photographing them in the nude. It’s bad for our image. It’ll make parents keep their daughters away. And seeing as we depend on the students for our livelihood, and a good percentage of them are females of an impressionable age, it was felt that your presence would be detrimental to our survival. And besides that, the college also takes a dim view of its lecturers giving marks for sexual favors rather than for academic excellence.” He took a deep breath. “There, Owen, does that suit you better?”
Owen grinned at him. “It’ll do. It certainly beats the bullshit you were giving out earlier. But none of what you say has been proven. It’s all hearsay.”
Kemp looked at the blinking cursor. “You know how rumors spread, what damage they can do. And people here were aware of your…er…relationship with Ms. Chappel. Even at the time.”
“You did nothing then. Why now?”
“Circumstances have changed.”
“So I lost my job because circumstances have changed?”
“No smoke without fire.”
“You smug bastard.”
“Goodbye, Owen.” Kemp stood up. He didn’t hold out his hand.
Michelle, again. Owen felt like picking up the computer monitor and hurling it through the window, then punching Kemp on the nose. But he restrained himself. His teaching career was over here, perhaps everywhere. People would know about him wherever he applied. The academic community is small enough; word gets around quickly.
Instead of hitting Kemp, Owen contented himself with slamming the door. Striding down the corridor, he almost bumped into Chris Lorimer.
“Owen.” Chris had a pile of essays under his arm and seemed to be struggling to hold onto them. “I…it’s…”
“Kemp won’t take me back.”
“Hmm…well. I suppose you can understand his position.” Lorimer shifted from one foot to the other as if he desperately wanted to go to the toilet.
“Can you? Look, Chris, it’s noon, the sun’s over the yardarm, as they used to say, and I’m a bit cheesed off. It’s been a bad day, so far. How about a pint and a spot of lunch over the road? My treat.”
Lorimer contorted to glance at his watch. “I’d like to, Owen, I really would, but I have to dash.” And he really was dashing as he spoke, edging away down the corridor as if Owen had some infectious disease. “Maybe some other time, perhaps?” he called over his shoulder, before disappearing round a corner.
Sure, Owen thought, some other time. Fuck you, too, Chris Lorimer. You and the horse you rode in on.
III
“Well, well, well,” said Banks, standing at the top of the stairs overlooking the open-plan ground floor. “Speak of the devil. Just the fellow I’ve been wanting to see. I’ve been looking over your file. And guess who’s turned eighteen since we last met?”
Spinks looked at him. “Uh?”
“No more youth court.” Banks glanced towards Susan and raised an eyebrow.
“Taking and driving away, sir,” she said. “Under the influence.”
“Influence of what, I wonder?” said Banks. “And so early in the day.”
Spinks struggled, but Susan managed to hold onto him. “Not to mention crashing it through the window of Henry’s fish and chip shop on Elmet Street,” she said through gritted teeth.
Banks smiled and opened the door of the nearest interview room. “Be my guest,” he said to Spinks, stretching an arm out through the open door. “Take a pew.”
“I need a doctor,” Spinks moaned. “The fucking steering was fucked. I hurt my head. I got whiplash. I could’ve been killed.”
“Shut up and sit down,” Banks said with enough authority that Spinks paused and obeyed. “I suppose you’ll be suing the owner next?”
Spinks licked his lips. “Maybe I will.”
There was a small cut just above his right eye. It was nothing serious, but Banks knew that if they didn’t get him medical attention they’d be breaking a PACE directive and Spinks would probably succeed in getting his case dismissed.
“See if you can get Dr. Burns, will you, Susan?” Banks asked, indicating by a private gesture that she should take her time.
Susan nodded, straightened her dress and left.