The Marriage Act(62)

Arthur pulled her head closer to his chest. He had missed her laugh more than any other sound in the world.

He had not heard a peep from his wife after the paramedics removed her body from the house and drove her to the mortuary for her autopsy. But, in the last few days, she had made her presence known again, returning every evening to keep him company.

*

The thirty-week sentence handed down to Arthur by magistrates had not come as a surprise. His solicitor Mr Warner had warned it would go against Arthur if he took his name off the Government’s list of widowers looking for love. But he had made up his mind.

Drinks with fellow singleton Toni had afforded him clarity. She too was being forced to make the best of an impossible situation. However, he could not live as she did. He could not play the system and date regularly to retain his quality of life. He didn’t possess the energy or the mindset to spend his advancing years negotiating a fictitious existence.

When Arthur’s first court appearance made the local news and then national headlines, he’d expected to be lambasted for committing fraud and living with his wife’s dead body. Instead, the media questioned why an elderly firefighter was being prosecuted in the first place. Freedom for All members took on his case, lobbying for the Crown Prosecution Service to drop it.

‘It doesn’t matter who you are or how you served your community,’ Mr Warner warned, ‘the higher your profile, the more it suits their agenda to make an example of you.’

‘And if I married again, would all of this go away?’

‘I couldn’t possibly say.’ But his expression gave Arthur his answer.

A new Smart tag attached to Arthur’s wrist replaced the watch that had monitored his marriage. It meant he had to stay within the perimeters of his property for more than six months. But Arthur wasn’t bothered – he wanted nothing from a world that was willing to treat him so unfairly. However, an unscheduled visit from his solicitor later in the week altered everything.

‘Is there something wrong?’ Arthur asked, surprised to see him at the door. It was the first time Mr Warner had made a house call.

‘I’m afraid there is. It’s your home, Arthur. I’m sorry to have to tell you but the local authority has made a legal claim on it.’

‘I don’t understand?’

‘They want you to repay the seven months of June’s state pension money you allowed to remain in your bank account after her death, along with interest which, as a single man, is significantly higher than you’d pay if you were in a relationship. The company running June’s private firefighting pension has also filed a claim to recall their payments, plus interest.’

‘I offered to pay those back straight away but I was told I couldn’t until after the court case,’ he protested.

‘I know. And since the Government privatized most public services, there are also claims for you to pay towards the prosecution’s expenses, the ambulance service’s retrieval of June’s body and her autopsy. The single-person bedroom and council tax have also been backdated and, along with my fees, you owe more than you have in your savings. The only way to pay your debts is to seize any assets owned. And that means the house.’

The colour drained from Arthur’s face. ‘They can’t. I own it.’

‘I’m afraid they can.’

‘When?’

‘Two weeks from now. It’s been expedited. I only found out about it three days ago and launched an immediate appeal and stay of execution on your behalf, but the court ruled against it. Freedom for All supporters set up a crowdfunding page, which raised more than fifty thousand pounds, but after the Government’s Internet Code of Conduct laws were introduced, the site owners risked prosecution by funding a convicted criminal. It had no choice but to remove the page and refund the donations.’

Arthur sank into his seat, struggling to comprehend what he’d been told. He looked around the room. Everything he and June had bought and built together was about to be taken away.

‘The good news is that the local authority has a duty of care and has been working with other jurisdictions to find you a new place to stay.’

‘Where?’

‘There are hostels in Leicester and Rugby that can accommodate you until your house is sold and you know what funds are left to support you.’

‘But I’ve lived in this town all my life. And what about all my belongings?’

‘The possessions that aren’t auctioned to pay your debts will be placed into storage, which I’m afraid you will be charged for.’

‘Can’t you do something? You’re my lawyer.’

‘I wish I could, but my hands are tied. My firm only allows me to represent clients who have settled their bills with us. And you haven’t, Arthur. The appeal I made on your behalf is the last action they’ll let me carry out for you pro bono. I really am so sorry.’

In that same moment as Mr Warner apologized, June appeared behind him, her face beaming.

‘Why are you smiling?’ he imagined himself asking.

‘You know why.’

‘No, I don’t. Tell me.’

‘You don’t have to stay here on your own, Artie. What’s the point in keeping that old campervan of ours in the garage if we don’t use it?’

‘And go where?’