Tim Connor Hits Trouble (22 page)

Broome’s account was probably unintentionally distorted and inflated. There was little chance of Connor being legitimately disciplined on the grounds outlined. To try to do so might bring adverse publicity to the University and perhaps precipitate a court case that it would probably lose. He needed to persuade the Vice-Chancellor to take a less dramatic view of the complaint against Connor but without appearing to diminish his authority or, God forbid, making him feel foolish. Swankie’s own professional ambitions required him to keep Broome onside but preferably not at the expense of implicating himself in a fiasco. He approached the matter cautiously.

‘Vice-Chancellor, I believe the students may have misled you although I’m sure not deliberately. I know from my own conversations with Connor and my familiarity with his work that he is fully committed to Britain’s multicultural society and he is certainly not racist. As you are aware there is legitimate academic debate about multiculturalism and multicultural policy and I am sure that Connor was merely reflecting this. In that context, he might also have identified his own views.’ Swankie paused before making a tactical play, ‘I’m sure I can take this matter off your hands and deal with it appropriately myself.’

Broome hesitated. He was half aware that Swankie had provided an opportunity for him to exit gracefully from what he was beginning to see might be an awkward situation. He hovered between relief and resentment. He disliked Swankie assuming the higher intellectual and moral ground at his expense. But he conceded that this area was one in which his colleague had superior expertise and in effect Swankie was advising him not to get entangled in this case. Yet he still felt uneasy about Connor even if he wasn’t guilty of racism. He decided to raise a second complaint made by the students albeit in such vague terms that he had initially decided not to mention it to Swankie.

‘The three students who complained to me also mentioned another matter about Connor. They suggested that he is inclined to be over friendly with female students. Admittedly they failed to come up with anything substantial but they did refer to an incident in one of his lectures when a student seemed to refer to a close personal relationship with Connor, perhaps an affair.’

‘How extraordinary, Vice-Chancellor… Not the alleged relationship, although that is of concern enough, but that it arose as a matter of comment during a lecture. Has the young lady in question made a complaint herself?’

‘I understand not and that she insists that she has nothing to complain about.’

‘In which case, Geoffrey, we have nothing to complain about either.’

Immediately he regretted indulging in verbal finesse.

Broome looked more flustered than annoyed. His tone was defensively bombastic.

‘Of course, I’m not suggesting that we do. I’m not illiberal, you know, Howard. I’m simply making a more general observation that we must appoint people who maintain the ethos of the university, the ethos that we’ve struggled so hard to create in recent years. We can’t have young male members of staff or for that matter staff of any age,’ his glance settled briefly on Swankie, ‘rampaging around treating the female students as their personal harem.’ Concerned that he had over-gendered the point at the expense of males he added ‘or female members of staff rampaging either.’ Finally in an attempt to cover every angle he concluded ‘with either or any sex.’ He leant back breathless but confident that he had covered the ground correctly.

Swankie struggled with a powerful urge to laugh, hoping that the silence he managed to maintain would be deemed as respectful. Broome composed himself, still unwilling to leave the subject of Connor. But it was with diminishing conviction that he floated a suggestion he had thought up earlier.

‘I was thinking that we should at least require Connor to repeat his probationary year. If there is something in what the students say it will do no harm to serve him a warning. We don’t want another Henry Jones on our hands.’

‘Geoffrey, I don’t think we can take action against Connor on the grounds that he might be a Henry Jones in the making. Hopefully Jones is a once in a lifetime nightmare – if I may use such unprofessional language. No, you can leave Connor to me. I’ll talk to him. I could conduct his end of year appraisal. They’re due very shortly. There may be grounds for requiring him to repeat his probationary year but I don’t think we can go beyond that without risking a backlash.’

Struggling to reach a decision, Broome tried to find eye contact with Swankie. He failed to do so. Swankie, his hands together as in prayer, was gazing thoughtfully at his fingertips.

Irritated, Broome decided that he had had enough of this particular problem. ‘Alright, Howard, I’ll leave it with you but let me know if there is anything we need to be seriously concerned about.’ He paused for a moment, taking a look at his watch. ‘And now for Henry Jones, a more straight-forward case, I think you’ll agree.’

‘What do you have in mind, Geoffrey? I don’t doubt we can soon reach a consensus for action on this one.’ Swankie was beginning to enjoy the edge in the conversation he had acquired over his superior. He hoped Broome was impressed rather than annoyed. Egoist though Geoffrey was, he appreciated that he relied heavily on his senior colleagues.

Broome felt that he was now on more secure ground. ‘I’ve had your report on him. It’s clear that he’s not doing the job he’s paid to do. He’s been in breach of contract for some time. As you know he refuses to submit any medical information on his condition. We should dismiss him. I take it that is also your view?’

‘In principle, yes. The only issue to consider is that he will be sixty-five in less than three years and we could
require him to leave then as surplus to requirements without risking the kind of fuss that he might try to make now. On the other hand three more years of Jones in his present frame of mind is unthinkable. Of course he’s entitled to due procedure but the case for his dismissal is unanswerable.’

‘So we’re agreed then. I’ll set the necessary mechanisms in motion. But do recheck the details of your report.’

The two men relaxed for a moment, satisfied with their efforts. Broome leaned forward, clicking his tongue in apparent annoyance. ‘Howard, we’ve been so preoccupied with these unpleasant matters that I’ve forgotten even to offer you coffee. Unfortunately I have another appointment shortly but would you like me to have something sent in for you before you leave?’

Swankie took the hint and politely turned down the offer. There was no point in hanging around when Broome had finished with you.

‘Thank you, Geoffrey, but no, I have an urgent appointment to keep myself.’

‘Well, if you’re sure I can’t get you something.’

‘No, I’m fine thanks, really.’

‘I’ll say goodbye then and thank you for your helpful input.’

‘Not at all, Geoffrey. Goodbye.’

The Vice-Chancellor’s secretary had already left her office when Swankie passed speedily through. Broome walked over to the window facing the courtyard in front of the building. He watched his colleague get into his car and then adjust the driving mirror so he could look at himself. Swankie fiddled for a moment with his tie, already quite straight, and smoothed down his hair, in an attempt to cover his balding crown. Next, rather bizarrely Broome felt, Swankie appeared to practise smiling for a few moments.

‘
Bloody vain bugger
,’ thought Broome, guffawing to himself. As he did so, Swankie suddenly looked straight up at him. Broome swiftly converted his guffaw into a cheery smile. Swankie reddened and attempted to smile back.

Despite the minor embarrassment of his departure, Swankie felt thoroughly pleased with life as he drove out of the university grounds and towards Wash. He was finally getting rid of Jones and without any manoeuvring on his part had found himself in a strong tactical position with Connor. And he could claim to have done so without compromising his principles. Indeed, it was his principles that had carried the day. Admittedly delivering a tutorial on the complexities of multicultural theory to Geoffrey was a bit risky.
Bloody arrogant bugger, Geoffrey
. But overall Swankie felt he had negotiated matters with some panache. He may even have boosted his chances as a possible contender to replace Geoffrey when the latter quit. He stroked his jacket lapel in self-congratulation. What a card he was! What a winner! A good day, indeed!

And it wasn’t over yet. The best was still to come. Or he hoped it was. He checked his watch. It was twenty-five to five. He had a few minutes to spare before his five o’clock date. There was just time to detour round Wash Heights before dipping down to his rendezvous on the East side of the city. Once on the Heights he pulled into a lay-by close to a golf course. He took out a bottle of water and a small packet of pills from his briefcase. Removing one of the pills, he bit it in two, swallowing one half with a draught of water.
That should do me despite lack of recent practice. After all I’m barely fifty-three
.

He checked his watch again. It was already ten to five. He hoped he’d timed the Viagra correctly. He was tempted to switch back and cut straight through the city to ensure he was punctual. He didn’t want to appear anything less than razor keen. Caution prevailed. There was less chance of being recognised if he went by the less travelled back-road route. He threaded his way impatiently across the upper reaches of the city before turning right into a broad pebble-dash road flanked on both sides by large detached houses. He pulled into a small secluded side-road where he parked his car as inconspicuously as possible. Feeling more excited
than for some time he locked his vehicle and walked swiftly towards an imposing Georgian mansion. The wrought iron gate was already open – he imagined in anticipation of his arrival. He went through and walked up the crescent drive.

His knock on the door was answered almost immediately. ‘Hello Howard, do come in.’

‘Hello Aisha, it’s good to see you. You look lovely.’ His attempt to kiss her on the lips was swiftly diverted to her cheek where it landed awkwardly. She drew back before he had a chance to plant a second kiss. Howard’s optimism dropped a notch.

‘You look very nice yourself, Howard,’ said Aisha in a matter of fact tone. ‘Have you come straight from work?’

Yes, I’ve just had a long session with Geoffrey,’ he replied, seizing the opportunity to impress.

‘Geoffrey?’Aisha queried.

‘Yes, Aisha, Geoffrey the Vice Chancellor, you know, the boss.’

‘Yes, of course, he doesn’t cross my path as often as he does yours. In fact he barely crosses it at all. Did you reach any interesting conclusions or is it all confidential?’

Howard was tempted to play the privileged insider and drop a few hints about his conversation with Broome but quickly decided on discretion. Besides he’d noticed that far from being impressed, Aisha seemed to react against anything implying self-importance.

‘Nothing that won’t be in the public domain in a day or two.’

‘I see,’ said Aisha flatly, quickly losing interest.

By now the distance between the scenario Swankie had imagined and what was unfolding was too apparent for him to ignore. It didn’t help that his penis was making a determined attempt to break out of his trousers. The Viagra had kicked in a bit earlier than he had anticipated. He had also begun to feel slightly light-headed. He gazed at Aisha through a haze of frustrated longing. He decided to go for broke.
Don’t go home with your hard on
.

‘Aisha, I want to ask you if we can take our relationship beyond the platonic stage to a new level. We have a lot in common both intellectually and emotionally.’ He was aware of how stiff he sounded despite his palpitating emotions. He strained to get across his feelings, to connect. What would Clint do in this situation? He would give it his best shot.

‘Aisha, the truth is I’ve fallen in love with you and I believe you find me not unattractive. We both have dead-in-
the-water
marriages. Let’s sleep together. Let’s do it now.’

‘Howard, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not possible. It could wreck both our lives. And I have a child to consider. I like you but that’s as far as it can go or as far as I’ve ever wanted it to go. And you mustn’t think that I find you unattractive… But, we can meet and talk as before. There’s nothing wrong with that. I have several men friends. But it’s not a good idea to meet here again. We are definitely not going to be lovers. Definitely not.’ Aisha’s expression was even more unambiguous than her words.

Howard was as miffed that his declaration of passion should be seen as ‘ridiculous’ as he was pole-axed by its flat rejection. There was no doubting Aisha’s intent or rather total absence of intent. Looking wistfully at her it dawned on him that he had been playing way out of his league. He had imagined himself in the Premiership when his true form hardly made the Beazer League South. But if you don’t try you don’t know. He knew now.

Still, there was a cracker of a surprise for someone that night!

It was late one night early in summer term when Tim got a call from Henry. His voice sounded muffled, as though he was talking from some distant place.

‘Henry, are you alright?’

‘Not really Tim, I’ve been sacked.’

‘I’m sorry, Henry, that’s dreadful.’ Tim had been expecting the news but still felt for his friend. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Earlier today. The VC wielded the knife but we know who held his hand.’

‘Yeah, I guess so. Henry I’m sorry.’ He felt his response was failing to match the seriousness of the news. Not that he underestimated the mess Henry was in. But he was stumped for what to say and even more for what to do. He decided the best he could do for now was to listen. Henry sounded badly shaken: dumped by Annette and now by his employers; a double termination. His battles with his wife and bosses had at least given him a sense of engagement. Now both had called time on him. He wasn’t worth the
trouble. Tim struggled to find meaningful words of support. ‘Henry, you could appeal. Or, like you said, see if the union will take up your case.’

‘No. I don’t think so. I’ve had enough of all that. But believe me I’ll find some way of getting back at them. They think they’ve got rid of me but I’ll see them fucked.’

Tim’s concern was beginning to turn to alarm. Henry was lurching between despair and a wild urge for revenge. A drunken and angry Henry was manageable, in a chaotic sort of way but in this mood he threatened to wreak serious mayhem. Tim decided that they had better meet up soon. He would try to conjure some way of salvaging the apparently unsalvageable.

‘Henry we need to get together to see what we can do. Get a good night’s sleep if you can and let’s meet in the
Mitre
tomorrow. Can you make it by four-thirty? It shouldn’t be too crowded at that time. We can have a proper conversation about how you can respond. Don’t do anything that might make things worse. Hang on for a while so that we can think things through.’

‘Thanks, thanks a lot. But you don’t have to do this. I don’t want my troubles to land on your back. As far as the hierarchy is concerned you’d be consorting with an undesirable person. They’re a vindictive lot if you get on the wrong side of them. I don’t want to drag you into the mire.’

‘Don’t be defeatist Henry, that’s not you. Let’s meet tomorrow. I don’t want to be trite but things always look better after a decent night’s sleep.’

‘If you say so Tim… Thanks anyway. See you tomorrow, then - four-thirty.’

Tim was tired but he wasn’t quite in the mood for bed. A beer might take the edge off his worries about Henry. He had others problems too – his own. And he didn’t care to think about those either at the moment. Instead of a beer he settled for something stronger, a glass of calvados from a premium bottle he had brought back from Normandy some years earlier.
He sipped slowly, rolling the heavy liquid on his taste buds, its vapour a comforting anaesthetic to his anxieties.

He resisted the temptation of a second glass before turning in. But the elixir had already worked its magic. He slept heavily and if he dreamed at all he remembered nothing.

Next morning at work he continued to mull over Henry’s sacking without coming up with any further ideas. Almost on a whim he decided to call Aisha Khan. He doubted if she would be able to offer any suggestions either but she still seemed to like Henry despite his aquatic adventures at her party. She might persuade him from doing something that everyone but Henry would regret.

Tim quickly came to the point.

‘Aisha, I have a problem or rather Henry has.’

‘Go on.’

‘Did you know he’s been fired?’

There was a moment of silence.

‘Poor Henry,’ she said softly. ‘No I didn’t know, but on reflection I suppose I’m not surprised. I hope it wasn’t that incident at my place. Maybe I should have steered the two of them away from each other but I thought it might help that they were talking. I didn’t imagine they’d end up in the pool together.’

‘No, don’t worry it was nothing to do with you. Anyway, I don’t think they could sack him for something that happened off campus, providing he wasn’t breaking the law. And that fiasco may not have been entirely his fault. Swankie has a subtle way of needling people.’

‘What then, is it his alcoholism? Surely he needs help with that, not to be thrown out?’

‘No, it wasn’t that. I don’t think that’s a sacking offence in itself. I’m not sure how they put it precisely but he’s considered to be not adequately fulfilling the terms of his contract.’

‘I see. Is it too late for us to do something to help? Assuming there is something we can do.’

Tim was not about to miss a chance to get Aisha on
board. ‘Look, Aisha, I’m going to meet Henry later today, at four-thirty. I hesitate to ask but would you mind coming with me? Or joining us later if you’ve can’t finish work in time? You might be able to influence him more than I can. To be honest I can’t see a way out of this for him. I’m not sure there is one. He doesn’t seem to have any notion of compromise, it’s as though he’d rather fight to the bitter end. It’s almost like he’s got some sort of death wish.’

‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ said Aisha quickly. But Tim’s words had alarmed her. ‘Of course I’ll come, but I won’t be able to make it until just after five. I’ll get my friend Caroline to hang on to Ali until I can collect him later.’

‘Hey, I’m sorry… I’d forgotten that you have to pick up Ali. I didn’t mean to mess up your routine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll cope with Henry. He and I will come up with something. Bang two wooden heads together and produce a plank.’

Aisha laughed but resisted the offer of an easy escape. ‘It’s no trouble. Anyway, Ali loves going back with Caroline and Danny. It’s a treat for him. No, I’ll catch up with you just after five. Make sure you’ve got in a mineral water and a packet of cashews for me.’

‘What terrible vices you have! No problem, see you later. And thanks.’

Tim made sure he got to the
Mitre
a few minutes early. Aisha would not want to be left waiting around on her own. In fact it was Tim who found himself alone, as Henry had not yet made it. He was slightly surprised. The pub was one place Henry usually got to ahead of time. But he was glad of a few minutes to himself. He found a discretely placed table and sat down. Depressingly, he had still not come up with any solution to the mess his friend was in. Henry was his own worst enemy. Deliberately or not the chances were he would torpedo any plan to help him out. Maybe Aisha could think of a ‘Henry proof idea’: a difficult trick to pull off given that Henry had to be at the centre of any idea she came up with.

Aisha arrived as she had said shortly after five.

‘Hi Tim, sorry I couldn’t make it earlier.’ She looked around. ‘Where’s Henry?’

‘Hi Aisha, it’s good to see you. I guess Henry is on his way. I was just about to get you your mineral water and cashews and I may as well get a pint for Henry as well.’

‘Thanks, that’s kind of you,’ she said, sitting down.

Henry had still not arrived by the time Tim delivered the drinks. He was used to Henry’s habits but was unhappy at any inconvenience to Aisha.

‘I think you said that you have to get back to Waqar and Ali in time for dinner.’

‘I’m afraid so. Sometimes we get a cook in but I promised I’d make dinner tonight.’ She sighed heavily. ‘The joys of being a working mum.’

He looked at her in surprise. She always seemed so organised that he forgot that she must be under as much pressure as him. It was naïve to take her calm demeanour and seemingly effortless concern for others for granted.

‘Maybe we should be worrying about ourselves rather than trying to sort out Henry. You’d think he’d at least turn up to cooperate in his own rescue, assuming he can be rescued. Anyway, Aisha, how have things gone for you this last year? It’s really flashing by for me.’

‘I’ve enjoyed the work. It’s what I want to do. I couldn’t believe it when I got the job. It’s stretched me in other areas though. I don’t see as much of either Waqar or Ali as when I was studying or doing only part-time work. I knew there would be adjustments but it’s the effect on other people that’s difficult to deal with, it’s how they react.’

Tim sensed that Aisha was half-inclined to say more. He held back for a few seconds but she remained silent. He continued to make the running with the conversation. Scarcely aware that it was happening, Aisha’s receptive presence was breaking down his usual reticence. He began to open up to her. ‘I agree with you about how these big career decisions affect others. Coming here has really turned my life upside
down. As you know I was already separated from my wife Gina, you met her at your party.’

‘Yes, I liked her. She’s was very friendly and good fun as well.’

‘Yes, she is. Anyway I don’t think she and I have completely let go of the each other. The way we feel, I mean. I guess that often happens with couples that were very close for a long time. There’s still too much emotional baggage around for us to switch quickly into ‘just good friends’ mode. I thought moving away might help but it’s not exactly been a clean break. It couldn’t be anyway because of our child, Maria.’

‘It must be difficult coping with things from a distance, especially for your relationship with Maria. At least adults understand what’s happening, children can become very confused.’

An anxious expression crossed Tim’s face. He put his hand to his brow, absently massaging his temples. ‘I know. You saw Maria. I don’t think she blames me for the break-up: it’s more that she feels rejected. She’s angry with me for not being around on a day-to-day basis. She feels insecure, doesn’t really trust me anymore. I suppose she worries that if I keep coming and going one day I’ll disappear altogether. She’s not rejected me but I worry that it’s going in that direction. It’s a defensive thing and I can’t blame her really. But it’s easier to understand than do something about.’

He paused for a moment, aware that his habit of worrying about other people’s feelings, even his daughter’s, gave him an escape from confronting his own. He had been talking as if to himself, eyes glazed and opaque, as though trying to work things out. Refocusing he found Aisha looking attentively at him. They held each other’s gaze. Simultaneously they smiled, retreating from the intensity of the moment.

‘Sorry that was a bit heavy. I’ve been so busy I seem to have let things build up.’

‘Tim, there’s no need to apologise for having feelings.
You’ve been working so hard it’s not surprising you’re tired. You’re in overdrive most of the time. You’ve done well to keep up with your daughter. And it’s not all bad. As you say she doesn’t blame you for the break up of your relationship.’

‘I wish I could say the same for Gina.’

‘She blames you, then?’

‘Yes. Well… yes. But it’s worse than that. Once she’d decided I’d betrayed her trust she closed down on me. I guess I didn’t expect her to be quite so final about it. She was very disillusioned. She found someone else quite quickly after I’d…’ He stopped mid-sentence.

Aisha did not push Tim to say exactly what had happened but she sensed that he might want to talk more. ‘That must have hurt you.’

‘It did but,’ Tim went quiet. He seldom admitted to feeling hurt. Why was he doing so now? And why was it ‘an admission’?
The trick is not to mind that it hurts
. Not a very clever trick after all: just driving the wound deeper. Either way, he decided it was time to retreat from the subject – the subject having become himself. A therapy session with Aisha was not the purpose of the meeting. His impulse was to turn the conversation around.

‘Aisha, here I am baring my soul to you and as usual you’re listening rather than talking. Maybe your life is free of serious problems. Or perhaps you cope so well that you don’t need to talk about them.’

‘Tim, it’s you that’s the dark horse. My life is normally pretty straightforward and so am I. Anyway I’m glad you’ve thrown some light on yourself. I was beginning to wonder how much there is behind the cool?’

Aisha was teasing but she had unsettled Tim. He was sticking with the idea that it was Aisha’s turn to open up.

‘So you have a life free of problems then, or perhaps you
really
don’t need to talk about them.’

‘Of course I need to talk about them, sometimes.’

‘I suppose that’s where your partner comes in.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Not necessarily?’

‘No, as you know, partners can sometimes be the problem.’

Tim had managed to shift the conversation away from himself.

‘So who listens to you when you need to talk?’

‘Friends, mainly other women. I went to a counsellor for a few months once.’

Tim hesitated. Was he being helpful or just plain nosey? He trusted to his intuition that Aisha might want to talk.

‘What kind of counsellor?’

Now Aisha hesitated.

‘A marriage counsellor.’

‘I thought…’

‘You probably thought, like everybody else that I have an ideal life. Well it is pretty good in most ways, the obvious ways but…’

Tim waited, he was not going to push Aisha into giving confidences she was uncomfortable with.

‘Tim, my husband is a great provider, a great protector and most of the time a good father. He’s also, as you saw, in some ways quite modern and forward looking in his outlook,’ she hesitated again, ‘but he’s quite traditional in his attitude towards women. It’s something we’ve had to work on a lot.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He believes that they’re very different, very other, than men.’

‘He could be right,’ Tim grinned at his modest witticism.

For once Aisha looked annoyed.

Tim back peddled. ‘I only mean in certain ways. Difference doesn’t mean inequality. I wasn’t intending to be flippant.’

‘Tim. Let me explain. I don’t need a lecture in gender politics. This is an everyday issue for me. It hasn’t popped out of a textbook. I can’t believe I’m talking to you about it. I suppose it’s because you seem to have a bit more ‘university
of life experience’ than most of the men I meet. I hope it all hasn’t turned you into a cynic.’