The Break-Up Clause by Niamh Hargan
Chapter Eighteen
After dinner with Annie and Kavita on Monday, Tuesday evening is taken up by a company softball game in Central Park, attended (at least on Fia’s part) purely for purposes of putting in some face time with the partners. When it comes to all the extra stuff connected to the summer associates’ programme, she has not – for obvious reasons – found herself super keen to get involved this year. But then, she is all too aware that others of her age and stage at the firm are still showing up, showing willing. In that sense, at least some degree of participation is all but mandatory. She has her promotion to think of, after all. True, there is a sense in which just hanging on to her current job – just getting through the summer without being exposed as a big fat liar-by-omission – could be considered a win. But if there’s a way to do more than that, to actually stay on track? Suffice to say, Fia doesn’t want to watch her co-workers leapfrog her if she can help it, not when the whole reason she agreed to keep schtum in the first place – the whole reason she’s now enduring Benjamin’s presence every single day – was to safeguard her own prospects.
Benjamin is already playing in the first round by the time she arrives. She watches him bounding across the field with that same easy athleticism he’s always seemed to possess, the kind she’s always, in her own mind, slightly scorned as acting the sportsman. And yet, on a summer’s evening, with the Manhattan skyline rising gloriously beyond lush greenery, it turns out to be quite the picture, Benjamin acting the sportsman. As shocking as she found it, just a few weeks ago, to see him in a business suit, she is somehow equally shocked to suddenly find him just as she remembers: shorts, T-shirt, tanned skin. He still appears to have that ideal sort of definition in his muscles – the sort that likely does not just occur naturally, without any effort whatsoever on his part, but that seems like it could.
Maybe he finds the whole situation odd, too, because he looks intently at her once he sees her during a break in play. He jogs over to grab a bottle of water from the trestle tables that someone from ZOLA has set up for the occasion, and … yeah. Fia wouldn’t know how else to say it. He looks at her – takes in every single inch of her, in a very particular way, for maybe three seconds, total. It’s nothing anyone else would notice. But, suddenly, she is conscious of her own outfit, of the way it feels so much less like armour than her workwear. Her arms are mostly bare, and her legs are, too, and she feels, for just a fleeting snap of time, like she may as well be naked right in the middle of Central Park.
She averts her eyes, letting them dart about a bit, and as she does, the thought occurs to her that her face might be flushed.
‘Blast from the past, right?’ she finds herself saying, with a slightly awkward little chuckle. It’s just what comes out.
Benjamin’s lips edge upwards the smallest bit, as though he, too, cannot help himself. ‘Sure feels like it,’ he replies.
His accent is a tad more Southern than usual, and as he takes a long glug from his water bottle, the faint sheen of sweat visible on his forehead, Fia finds herself struggling to formulate any further response.
The next thing she knows, there’s a voice at her left-hand side. ‘Blast from the past? What am I missing here?’ asks Brett Sallinger, all curiosity. He’s popped up from beside a cool-box on the ground and is loading drinks onto the trestle table now.
‘Oh!’ Fia exclaims. She actually jumps slightly. Her mind reels, trying to figure her way out of this one. And the worst part is, she can’t even blame the situation on Benjamin. It was her blunder, really – her own carelessness, her own … nostalgia? Somehow, just for a second, all thoughts of discretion, of safeguarding her own prospects, had slipped away entirely. How could she have let that happen?
‘Just an inside joke,’ she manages, trying to keep her tone casual. ‘… About a case!’
And who knows if Brett buys it. Fia’s not sure he looks altogether convinced. As she swiftly changes the subject, though, her heart in her mouth all the while, he lets the matter drop. Inaudibly, Fia releases a long, slow exhale of relief. She doesn’t think she’ll be so fortunate twice.
It is Wednesday afternoon before Fia has the mental space to even think about Alyvia Chestnut again. She and Benjamin are in the office, back in their usual attire, their usual positions. Thanks to the week’s extra-curriculars, a familiar sort of stress is beginning creep up on her, the sort that seems to be unavoidable when she hasn’t given herself the cushion of working late.
Printouts of all the Instagram posts from Silverfish29 are spread across her desk now. And, in her hand, she clutches Benjamin’s attempt at a subpoena. It’s in response to this order that Instagram will ideally disclose the user’s identity – or, at the very least, they must explain why they’re refusing to do so, and let a court decide whether the information should be released.
Eventually, Fia comes to the end of the document, having gone through it with the metaphorical fine-toothed comb. She looks over at Benjamin.
‘This is good,’ she says simply, waving her copy in his direction. Honesty compels her to admit it. And of course, she wouldn’t want to overstate the matter. It is a simple subpoena, not a Supreme Court brief. However, she isn’t going to have to make any amendments to it. That’s more than could often be said for many of her own drafting attempts, back in her early days.
‘I’m telling you, though, I think this is a waste of time,’ she continues. ‘Even if Instagram is eventually compelled to give us Silverfish’s IP address, I doubt that’s going to be quick. Alyvia and Jonathan will be divorced, remarried, and sending Gus off to college by the time we get it.’
Benjamin seems to think about that for a second. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes people – companies – just comply. Guess it depends if Instagram want to make a whole thing of this.’
Fia’s surprised by the pragmatism of his response. It doesn’t strike her as something he can have learned from a textbook.
‘This is more intel from back in your tech days, is it?’
‘Not really. There’s this thing at Columbia called the Science, Health and Information Clinic,’ he replies, and Fia recalls having heard about such ‘clinics’ in the past. They are, she’s gathered, a common feature of American law schools, involving students actually representing clients, pro bono, under the supervision of qualified attorneys.
She nods along.
‘I’ve been working there for the past two years,’ Benjamin continues. ‘Different kind of cases than this one, obviously. But, yeah. Similar processes I guess.’
Huh.This is somewhat interesting to Fia in and of itself – certainly it makes sense of the fact that he knows his way around a subpoena. Mostly, though, what’s interesting is his delivery. No part of him is attempting to impress her – she can tell. Nor does she get the impression that he’s trying to undercut her, one-up her in some way. He is purely conveying facts. So that’s … different.
In return, she finds there’s nothing with which to needle at him, no quip to be fired back. There seems to be nothing for it but to treat him like he is any other lawyer, with whom she’s been having a slight disagreement on strategy.
‘Okay, well, I suppose there’s no harm in giving the subpoena a go,’ she relents. ‘Probably not a bad way to pressure Jonathan to just admitting he’s Silverfish29, actually – if we can tell him we’re going to find out one way or another, anyway.’ She gestures with the document in her hand. ‘I’ll mark this for service today.’
Benjamin just nods his acknowledgement. He’s pleased, though. She can tell. ‘Cool. Have you seen today’s offering on BabyGAndMe?’ he asks then.
Fia has not. After all, she has a lot of clients. If she had to try to keep tabs on all their social media activity, she’d never do anything else. Nonetheless, she reaches for her phone now, pulling up the relevant post quickly. Unusually, it doesn’t feature Gus in the photograph. Instead, it shows a bold graphic reading simply Be Kind.
As for the caption, Fia is surprised to find that, within it, Alyvia has addressed the trolling situation head-on. Maybe she should start keeping a closer eye on Instagram, she thinks to herself. Alyvia Chestnut might be a bit of a special case.
For no reason other than instinct, she finds herself reading the paragraph aloud:
‘“Hi lovelies! Some of you will be aware that I’ve been the target of some really nasty bullying on here recently, and I don’t mind admitting that it’s had quite a detrimental impact on my mental health. I’ve always wanted this community to be a positive, loving place, and it’s been so heartbreaking to see that not everyone can receive my little snapshots in the spirit they’re offered. I understand that we’re living in a new world now, with so much technology at our fingertips. But let’s all remember that there’s a real person at the other end of the screen, eh? In this case, there are actually two people: me and my darling Gus. In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”’
Fia looks over at Benjamin when she’s finished. He doesn’t look anywhere close to convinced.
‘Yeah, I mean it sounds nice …’ he says.
‘But …?’
‘Just this whole “be kind” thing. I don’t know.’
‘You don’t think people should be kind to one another?’ Fia asks drily.
‘I just think, as slogans go, it’s a pretty handy trick for deflecting any sort of legitimate criticism,’ he says, and – almost as if he is reading her mind – he rushes to add a caveat. ‘Not that I’m saying the way Jonathan’s gone about it with those comments is legitimate – if he even turns out to be behind them. It definitely isn’t legitimate. But, just in general, any time I see the phrase “be kind” these days … I dunno – I always smell bullshit. Notice she hasn’t actually denied anything in that statement.’
Fia did indeed notice that. But she’s surprised that Benjamin did, too.
Or is she really, at this point?
The things that Benjamin Lowry cares about do not always align with the things that she cares about – and vice versa. That’s for sure. But she’s begun to see that when he does decide to take an interest in something, he doesn’t miss much. He can be every bit as focused as she is herself. She’ll need to watch out for that.
‘Just you wait,’ Benjamin continues. ‘It’ll be “we are the daughters of the witches you could not burn” from Alyvia Chestnut next. Never mind that her mother’s probably alive and well, running a tea shop in fuckin’ … Derbyshire.’
Fia raises an eyebrow, amusement flickering. ‘Do you even know where that is?’
‘I improvised,’ he says, cracking a half-smile.
Fia shifts in her chair, smiling a little herself. Still, she clings to Team Alyvia. Perhaps that’s in response to Benjamin in particular – perhaps it’s about the habit the two of them have established for opposition. However, she suspects that most of it is just her usual instinct to play devil’s advocate. She doesn’t know if she’s a lawyer because she’s like this, or if she’s like this because she’s a lawyer.
‘Well, I think you’re being very harsh,’ she says. ‘This woman is a single mother! And an immigrant!’
‘She’s from London!’
‘Yes, Benjamin, exactly – she immigrated here from London,’ Fia replies, though even she can hardly deliver that one with a straight face.
For his part, Benjamin outright scoffs, because everyone knows, even in nice progressive Manhattan, there are immigrants and immigrants. The sort of foreign accent that Alyvia possesses has probably done her nothing but good in this country. The same is true of Fia’s own.
‘Look, I see what you’re saying,’ she continues, coming back around to the matter at hand. ‘I do. Alyvia’s probably not going to be everyone’s cup of tea.’
‘Is that how you guys put it in Ireland?’ he asks wryly. ‘Anyhow, it’s like I said before: I’ll bet you a month’s salary that this whole case – the custody of this kid – won’t come down to Alyvia’s alleged adultery in the end. It won’t even come down to whether Silverfish29 turns out to be Jonathan. Alyvia’s biggest problem is gonna be if the comments are true. What if Gus does hate doing BabyGAndMe, and she’s basically making him do it?’
‘I mean, I’m not sure that’s something anybody can ever objectively ascertain, one way or the other, though,’ Fia counters. ‘We haven’t been there at every photoshoot, have we?’
‘We could ask him,’ Benjamin says, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world.
‘What, just, like … bring him in here and ask him?’
‘Yeah.’
Fia finds herself a little flummoxed. She has never seen a child anywhere in this building. The very idea of inviting one in, having them in the conference room, seems a bit like bringing one’s mother along to a rave – or chucking one’s hamster in a fish tank.
Or, maybe, in fact, it isn’t at all like either of those things.
‘I … suppose we could?’ she offers. ‘I mean, I don’t think we would outright ask him,’ she adds quickly, because based on what she’s seen of Benjamin’s lawyering style thus far, that seems precisely what he’d be liable to do. ‘And obviously we couldn’t tell Alyvia that was what was happening. But we could suggest she bring him along to our next meeting, try to get a general vibe.’
‘Great,’ he says simply, and then he seems to hesitate a bit. ‘Do you, uh, want me to give her a call? Set it up?’
Fia frowns, taken aback. Then, she glances at her computer screen – at the sheer number of unread emails awaiting her response right now. Eighty-two and counting. Concurrently, a few feet away, someone is offering to take something off her plate. Not even a week ago, she’s pretty sure Benjamin would have died before making such an offer, and she knows she would have died before accepting it. And yet.
‘Uh, yeah. Sounds good. Thanks,’ she finds herself replying, noting the way her own voice sounds a little disoriented somehow. This whole interaction – the very cooperativeness of it – is clearly foreign to them both. But, however awkwardly, however falteringly, they seem to have got there in the end.