I don’t think the lawyer means to tell me about Jimmy.
At his offices, I am given coffee and a small muffin. I asked for tea but I don’t complain. It might cost more. The car hire company is paying up to £200 in legal fees. Beyond that, I have to pay. My settlement could easily reduce to zero. I’ve come to Adam’s lawyer, the one we used before. I wish I still had a suit. The crumbs of the muffin get into the grooves of the corduroy trousers, and my shoes leave garden mud on the carpets.
The lawyer (Mr McNulty, his card reminds me), is telling me that I am waiving all my rights under the agreement. Mr McNulty and the car hire company are not very imaginative. If I had to write an agreement for someone to waive all their rights, it would be much longer. This agreement does not even cover the three inalienables: life, love, liberty. It does not waive my right to kill myself. Or anyone else. If that is a right I have. If not, too late. Can I plead self-defence, I wonder? To be an author, I must flourish. To flourish I must have my closeness. Therefore I must defend myself against anyone who would come in its way.
In turns out, when I query it, that he only means my rights before an employment tribunal.
‘Fine. I’ll sign,’ I say, taking out my trusty red pen. I register its colour. Not so trusty. Nicole-red. I should have replaced this by now. It’s become a spy-pen, Nicole using it to watch my every move. Or else, it is appropriate; I am writing Nicole, after all, for book four. I can use her own devices against her. I take off the lid and move nib to paper.
‘Now, now, Mr Millard. Let’s not be hasty. I think the indemnity at clause 5.4.1. is a little onerous. And what about this provision for you to return your company car? Do you even have a company car?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t drive.’
‘You see,’ clucks Mr McNulty. ‘That’s template agreements for you! Had the same problem with Jimmy – if he’d had a company car, our friend Adam wouldn’t have had to give him a Maserati, eh? Now, if we just strike through here, and here, then—’
‘Adam bought Jimmy a Maserati?’ I ask.
Mr McNulty’s pen pauses, mid strike-out. He takes a moment, then looks up at me. His face is almost as white as his shirt.
‘Why?’ I ask.
There is another pause. I can see Mr McNulty thinking. He hasn’t had to do it until now in this meeting.
‘Ah, now, that’s confidential, Mr Millard! Let’s get back to this agreement, shall we? As I said, at’
‘Which agreement do I sign if I want Adam to buy me a Maserati? As his oldest friend?’
‘Well, not this one, Mr Millard. If you will concentrate, please, we’ve almost gone through the two hundred pounds on the clock.’
I look at my watch. There is a good fifteen minutes still available.
‘Is it because of the forms?’ I push. ‘Because I signed many more forms than Jimmy ever did. And, you know, I did it for friendship. Not a Maserati. But if the going rate is a Maserati, I want a Maserati.’
Mr McNulty puts down his pen. He folds his hands in front of him and looks at me.
‘Mr Millard. Dan. I don’t know what forms you’re referring to –’
‘For the cars, the forms for the free secret cars!’
Mr McNulty holds up a hand.
‘– but I’ve known Adam for a long time –’ he says.
‘Not as long as I have!’
‘– and he values loyal friendship as a commodity that can’t be bought. Adam’s life is commercial, about money – he’s a banker. It is second nature to him to regard problems as a question of “how much do I need to pay?” – and if it’s the going rate for a second-hand Maserati, so be it. But what a relief for him, how much he values, the things that can’t be paid for. Like friendship. Don’t you find?’
So what Mr McNulty is saying is that people like me are Adam’s biggest luxury. No, that’s not correct. Not people like me. Just me. I am Adam’s secret escape from the commercial world. The world of money and appearances and fakery means nothing to him. The money, which he’s always craved, as a tool, is nothing more than that – a tool. All he really wants is me. The testament to that is my Maserati-less driveway.
Mr McNulty is a wise man. I let him delete the indemnity at 5.4.1. and the reference to returning the company car. I stroke crumbs out of my cords while he makes an angry phone call to the car rental company. When he hangs up, he clicks about on his computer for a bit. I practise my fencing. It is no good. I do not feel method. I cannot write fencing yet. Which means Luke cannot fence properly. Which means if he has to defend himself, or I have to defend him, while I’m myself, we lose all. I must be method. I must go and learn fencing in the flesh.
After Mr McNulty has finished clicking, he starts printing. When he’s done that, he signs two bits of paper – the ‘adviser’s certificates’ – and hands them to me proudly. I don’t know why he is proud. They don’t look like a big achievement or worthy of framing, like proper certificates. But he tells me if I take them, and the newly printed agreement, to the car rental place now, they will sign the agreement and give me a cheque.
So I take the bits of paper and I walk to Hendon. To all the people in Holborn, Camden, Golders’ Green and Finchley in their big cars as I walk, I say this: You have a car because you are commodity to be bought. You have nothing innate, deep inside you, worth giving for free. You have never known true male friendship. True closeness.
Luke, like me, will walk.
His long muscular legs power his feet down on the pavement, up then down, suppressing the earth, containing it, ruling it.
My legs, power up, power down, contacting, grounding.
He was made for this earth, to own it with fellow men, to live for free, not to be bought or sold. He was made for the closest comradeship, where men can inhabit each other’s souls.
And I will inhabit again. Not directly. But indirectly. Through Luke. Through Nicole. Then share my message. And book four shall be seen as what must be. The truth of all time.
It is fair to say, though, that by the time I get to Hendon, I do crave a Maserati, even a second-hand one. It is a long walk. And for my blisters, despite my victory of friendship, I would like to know what Jimmy did for that Maserati.