It was a discovery one afternoon in September that led Brigit to reappraise her husband. There had been a phone call at their home from a Tom Youlen, who had left an answer phone message for Grant. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Morrison, but I just had to tell you I’ve been made a partner at Foster and Moon Solicitors here in Penzance. Once again I owe you. I’m sorry to ring your home phone, but I tried your office, and they said you were taking a sabbatical. So as I’d kept this number I just had to ring and tell you.’ He left a contact number, and Brigit knew that Grant would want to hear the message for himself. She thought about the name. Wasn’t that what the hotel night porter was called?
That evening she and Grant met for a curry at their favourite Indian restaurant, both pleased to be getting back together.
‘Tom Youlen phoned you today from Cornwall,’ said Brigit. ‘Look, I know the porter was called Tom Youlen, so who on earth is this?’
‘What did he say?’
Brigit gave him the gist of the message. Grant seemed pleased and decided it was time to tell her the full story.
Some twenty years earlier he had got involved in his firm’s pro-bono committee, which undertook mentoring and facilitation work in various locations and in schools with little access to or knowledge of the legal world in which he worked. Such had been his commitment to this activity that for the last ten years he had been committee chairman. Back in 1988 he had visited a large comprehensive school in west Cornwall. He knew in his heart that this wasn’t entirely altruistic; he was drawn to the area, as he sometimes dwelt on the events of 1972, although they were yet to attack his mind as mercilessly as seal pups being assaulted by marauding sharks.
‘Tom was a spotty youth sitting in the front row of a class of second-year A-level students, and he came up to speak to me after my talk there. Initially I just told him how to apply to law school, what sort of A-levels he would need, that sort of thing. He told me he came from a family with no interest in academic qualifications and that even being allowed to do A-levels was quite a struggle, as his father said they were a complete waste of time. Delving into the child’s home life was strictly off-limits, so I asked him why he was interested in the law. He was reticent at first and then told me how his grandfather had suffered severe hardship upon losing his job as a plasterer when his employer went bust after a developer left everyone in the lurch. He reckoned his family never recovered from this, regarding it as a great injustice, and said that he had set his sights on becoming a lawyer so he could right wrongs, as he regarded it. I told him I thought his motivation a good one and encouraged him to aim high. Then he told me there was another reason. His grandfather’s brother, also called Tom, had worked at a prestigious hotel in the area and had been poisoned in 1972. He said he had grown up hearing this story from his father Ivan. By this time I knew exactly who he was but figured that under no circumstances must I let on that I knew the boy was the child born to a sixteen-year-mother and kept in a Newquay bedsit by his father. I saw tears in his eyes as he revealed his sad family history, and I resolved to do everything I could to help him. If ever there was a lad who really deserved a chance, I had discovered him. I sponsored him until I managed to place him in a training contract with Ian Fothergill’s firm in Truro. There he took up his articles. I am so happy for him that he’s been made a partner.’
‘And I’m so happy you’re back,’ smiled Brigit. She listened as Grant told her about what he’d been up to since their rift, omitting only the tale of his wild night out with Justyn. At no stage did he show any self-pity, even when he elaborated on his meeting with young Tom’s father at the Lost Gardens of Heligan. They smiled at the irony. However, he related there was one cloud still on the horizon – Suzie’s arrival at Heathrow early the following day.
When he finished Brigit gripped his hand across the table, staring warmly into his eyes. ‘I understand. If it helps, I’ll come with you.’
‘That’s very sweet of you,’ Grant replied, ‘but I think I’m stuck with the cast of ’72. We all need closure now.’ He was relieved to see her eyes still looking at him with affection.