The Pupil

by Ros Carne

  ‘I was in a pub.’

  ‘You’re sixteen,’ said Williams.

  ‘Drinking Coke. Then a bunch of us went to a party.’

  ‘What happened at the party?’

  He paused and pulled up his sleeve. ‘I got this.’

  ‘The suspect is removing a bandage from his left forearm,’ said Williams.

  Jacob unwrapped the bandage and began to remove the lint sticking to the top of the wound.

  ‘Careful,’ said Mel, ‘you don’t want to pull off the scab.’

  She started to help him, looking at Williams, who nodded. She removed the bandage to reveal the thick line of hard crust.

  ‘The suspect is disclosing a wound. Short laceration, approximately four centimetres long. The suspect states that the wound is three days old. We’ll take close-up photographs after the interview,’ said Williams. ‘Mrs Goddard, please rewind the bandage. Who did this, Jacob?’

  ‘Some guy. Don’t know his name.’

  ‘Can you describe the guy? Age? Appearance? Ethnicity? Any distinguishing features?’

  ‘About my age. Darkish. Not black. Long hair. That’s about it.’

  ‘Was there a fight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you attack this young man?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did he slash you?’

  ‘’Cos of Nik.’

  ‘Nikita Vasiliev?’

  ‘Yeah. Nikita.’

  ‘Where was this party?’

  Jacob gave an address in Muswell Hill.

  ‘Whose party was it?’

  ‘Guy called Jimmy.’

  ‘How do you know Jimmy?’

  ‘I don’t. Like, I didn’t then. I just turned up. Nik said it’d be safe.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘Cool. OK.’

  ‘Your solicitor has shown you the case statement. You’ve had time to consider what happened to Nikita, what he said, what his mother said. Did you hit him?’

  ‘I didn’t hit him. I pushed him,’ said Jacob.

  ‘Why?’ asked Ali.

  Jacob glanced around the room as if checking whether there might be someone else present who could tell his story.

  ‘Go on,’ said Williams.

  ‘Take your time,’ said Ali.

  ‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,’ said O’Hare.

  ‘’Cos he was bullying them.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Don.’

  ‘So, he was bullying Don. Another boy.’

  ‘No. Don’s gender neutral. Like, they were born a girl, Donna, only they don’t identify as a girl.’

  Mel had never heard of Don. She thought the police might be flummoxed but they seemed to have no problem with the idea.

  ‘Go on, Jacob.’

  He was staring at the table. His words came in spurts like water from a broken tap. Mel wished she had pressed him earlier. He would have told her. They could have prepared things. Spoken to Nikita’s mum, Yelena. Sorted this out privately.

  ‘He’s had a few drinks. And he’s on at them about their…’ he stopped, seeking the right word, ‘…breasts. You know.’ He didn’t look up. If the subject matter had been different, she would have reminded him again to look at the person he was speaking to. But what did it matter? The secure digital system was taking in every word and glance.

  His audience waited. He continued. ‘So Don’s not had the op. Like, they’re about my age. So, like maybe it’s too early. So, Nik says let’s see your tits.’

  ‘For the purpose of this interview it would be helpful if you referred to Don as she or he. Whichever is most appropriate,’ said Williams.

  ‘They won’t like that.’

  ‘It would be helpful to you. To everyone. The evidence could become unclear,’ she added.

  ‘The police are right,’ said O’Hare ‘You don’t have to answer the questions. But if you do, your answer needs to be easily understood. Of course, you must answer in your own words.’

  ‘They don’t mind being ze or zir.’

  Williams said, ‘That would be clearer. Please continue, Jacob.’

  ‘So Don says no. And Nik’s going on about how it’s the last chance and he can’t bear to say goodbye and he rushes zir like he’s going to pull off zir shirt. His mates, they’re standing round the door. I grab Don’s arm and I’m pulling zir out. Just to get them out of there. And Nik’s in the way and I tell him to get out the way only he doesn’t, so I give him a shove and he falls back, like, and hits his head. Then this jerk pulls a knife and cuts my arm.’

  ‘Did anyone hit you first?’ asked Williams.

  ‘I didn’t hit anyone.’

  ‘Describe what you did.’

  ‘I pushed him. He was in the way. In the doorway. Don was trying to get out. We were both trying to get out.’

  ‘Nikita says you hit him,’ said Williams.

  ‘He would, wouldn’t he?’ said Jacob.

  ‘Why would he?’ asked Williams.

  ‘’Cos he doesn’t like me.’

  ‘He invited you to the party,’ Ali reminded him.

  ‘Yeah. That was before. Only now I’m standing up to him. Standing up for Don. He doesn’t like that.’

  ‘Tell us how you pushed him,’ said Ali.

  Jacob stood up. ‘Want me to show you?’

  ‘If you could just explain, Jacob,’ said Williams. ‘Please sit down. This is being recorded.’

  He sat down again and began to explain, looking up now, gesturing with his arms. He was telling a story. He used to love to tell stories. He and his cousins staged performances with glove puppets in the sitting room, violent Manichean fables of good and evil featuring noble youths, feisty super heroines and dangerous monsters. ‘Right… so, like, a hand on his shoulder. Not hard. Like a push ’cos he wouldn’t get out of the way. He sort of wobbled over. Fell back. I guess he was drunk.’

  ‘He says he hit the back of his head against a cupboard,’ said Williams.

  ‘Yeah. Maybe,’ said Jacob.

  ‘Well, did he? You were there. You must have seen.’ Williams skewered him with her sharp eyes.

  ‘Remember, Jacob, you don’t have to answer every question,’ prompted O’Hare.

  ‘If you’re not sure, just say you’re not sure,’ added Mel.

  ‘It was sort of confusing. There were loads of people in the room. The light was dim. I think there was candles and stuff. I just know I pushed him to get him out of the way.’

  ‘Do you remember what you’d had to drink?’

  ‘Two or three beers. Not much,’ said Jacob, facing his accusers.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘One of his mates pulls a knife. Like, I see it gleaming.’ He turned to Mel. She remembered her own fear on the ground near the railway line. His fear felt worse. More than anything in the world she wanted him safe. To hold him tight in this horrible room. She wanted everyone else to disappear, to erase this toxic hour like chalk from a blackboard. ‘And, like, I don’t have a knife so I’m just standing there, and I tell him to put it away only he has a go and I move, and it cuts me. Mum saw it. You seen it.’

  ‘Who cut you, Jacob?’

  ‘Dunno. Don’t know his name.’

  ‘And who else was there?’

  ‘Don’t know their names. Only know Nik and Don.’

  ‘And Don. Where does she… ze live?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t know? She might be able to help, corroborate what you say.’

  ‘I said I don’t know. Anyway, ze might not want to.’

  ‘Because it’s not true?’

  ‘Because ze might not want to talk to you. People don’t. I didn’t. You arrested me.’

  ‘Because you hit Nik?’

  ‘I told you I didn’t hit him.’

  ‘Isn’t the truth of it that you were angry with Nik for harassing this girl? You fancied her yourself, didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s crap.’

  ‘It’s
what Nik says.’

  ‘Fuck what he says.’

  ‘Isn’t the truth that you fancied this girl and you had a go at Nik? You hit him, and he fell back and hurt himself, hurt himself badly. Because of you.’

  Mel’s heart was surging in her chest. She thought she would explode. She caught O’Hare’s eye. He was shaking his head, indicating to her to stay calm. She had never attended a police station interview though she had read enough transcripts. She couldn’t remember every detail of the Code on questioning suspects, but she could remember the prohibition on questions that were oppressive.

  ‘Don’t speak to him like that,’ she said.

  ‘Mrs Goddard, if you could just allow us to continue,’ said Williams. ‘The sooner he answers, the sooner this will all be over.’

  ‘This is not an interview; this is an inquisition. My son has been slashed with a knife. Wounded while defending a friend. Are you going to make any effort to find the real criminal?’

  ‘Mrs Goddard, you are not helping Jacob.’

  The words were like a lance in her heart. How dare Williams say she was not helping Jacob? Every word, every breath, every action of her life was done to help Jacob. She stood up.

  ‘Mrs Goddard, if you wish to remain present at the interview you will confine your comments to support and advice. Please sit down.’

  Mel remained standing. She would not let this woman bully her son. She would not be bullied herself. In her low, calm voice, the one she used in negotiation with difficult opponents, she began to explain.

  ‘This is support and advice. You asked two identical leading questions. My son has made it clear that he did not hit this boy. He has answered all your questions. It’s time to stop.’

  ‘She has a point,’ said O’Hare. And Mel couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t intervened himself.

  Williams looked at her with a supercilious smile. She appeared to be contemplating her reply. And though the rage had passed, Mel thought she would like to strangle her. No, she must not go mad. She continued to speak.

  ‘The manner of questioning is oppressive,’ she paused a moment and added, ‘contrary to Code C.’ She couldn’t remember whether it was A, B, C, or D. Or possibly F. But it did the trick. Williams looked confused. A bleeper sounded, and Williams put on headphones. Someone must be speaking to her. Mel sat down.

  ‘Are you all right, Jacob?’ asked O’Hare, as if it were Mel who had caused the problem.

  Jacob nodded. Williams took off the headphones and said, ‘I am ending this interview now. The time is 11:56 a.m. Jacob, you will be subject to police bail. The conditions are that you are to live at home and you are not to contact or attempt to contact any prosecution witnesses. That includes Nikita Vasiliev, Donna Seymour and anyone else who was present at the party at Jimmy’s that night.’

  Mel felt her body slacken with relief. She heard the solicitor’s voice. He was saying something to Jacob. The bail conditions were written out and he was taken to have his wound photographed. Afterwards, accompanied by Mel, he was shown mugshots of young men to see if he could recognise his attacker. He couldn’t. The boy had come up beside him, the light was dim, and he had seen him for only a fraction of a second. The police didn’t seem too troubled about finding the culprit. Mel was enraged. Jacob had been seriously injured. He was lucky it had not been worse. The attacker could have severed an artery. Jacob could have died. The evidence was in front of them. Yet the police treated him as if were the guilty one. She felt sick with fury. At worst he had pushed a boy who was bullying a girl, a young person, standing in his way. He had defended someone vulnerable. He had suffered a serious wound. Surely, they wouldn’t charge him? They had twenty-eight days to decide.

  She declined the offer of a lift home in the police car. They took the bus. She tried to reassure him.

  ‘It’ll be all right. They’ll drop it. What did the solicitor say?’

  ‘Not much. He didn’t say they’d drop it.’

  ‘Was Nik a friend of the guy with the knife?’

  ‘Dunno. I don’t wanna talk about it.’

  The bus edged through traffic. It was Sunday, yet the streets were packed. Rumbling buses, cars packed with families and luggage boxes trundling off on their holidays. She had forgotten about holidays. It was years since she’d had one. Claude had been planning to take Jacob away. Now he wouldn’t be allowed to go. Not unless they dropped the investigation.

  Eventually they reached the stop near the bridge where the boy had jumped her. Something turned inside her as she looked at the place. They still hadn’t found GJ. A different police station. Different officers. Initially they had seemed sympathetic. Occasionally they asked her to come in and look at another picture. But they hadn’t contacted her for a couple of weeks and last time she spoke to the case officer he seemed uninterested, harassed by other duties. Not like the pair who had picked up Jacob.

  Williams would pursue it; Mel was sure. She would try to get him on ABH. Jacob was there, he wouldn’t run away. Nikita had named him. They’d pick on the easy one. That way there’d be a tick in the box. Crime solved. Never mind the boy who slashed him. A kid in the shadows who got away with it. Like GJ.

  It was a warm bright day; the sky was a clear cobalt blue behind the huge trees. They walked past the corner shop.

  ‘You hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  They stopped and bought croissants, eggs and bacon. Back in the flat she cooked. Jacob gobbled it down.

  ‘You were brilliant,’ she said.

  ‘I told the truth. You were a bit extreme.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Did I embarrass you? It won’t make any difference. They’re not going to charge you just because your mother is a maniac.’

  ‘Guess not.’

  She asked, ‘Where were you last night? You were really late.’

  ‘I was round Don’s.’

  ‘You said you didn’t know where she lived.’

  ‘I don’t want them hassling. Don’s cool.’

  ‘So, it wasn’t a party.’

  ‘We play games.’

  ‘What sort of games?’

  ‘Mum…’

  ‘OK, none of my business.’

  ‘Computer games. Board games. Ze’s a geek.’

  Board games. Sunday afternoon at her mother’s. She was due there in less than an hour, but how could she leave Jacob now? While he was finishing his croissant, she dialled her mother’s number.

  ‘Where are you, darling? I was expecting you at twelve.’

  ‘I thought it was one.’

  ‘Never mind. So, are you on your way? It’s a simple meal. Sardines on toast and a fruit salad.’

  ‘Mum, I’m really sorry. Jacob’s not been well. I should have rung.’

  ‘What is the matter with him? Should I be worried?’

  ‘I’ll explain. It’ll have to be a bit later. I’m meeting someone at the Picture Gallery at four thirty. So maybe sometime after six.’

  ‘There’s Countryfile and Fake or Fortune.’

  ‘We can watch them together.’

  ‘Just go,’ muttered Jacob.

  ‘May I call you back, Mum?’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Isabel’s words were like tiny darts. Mel hung up.

  ‘Mum, will I have a criminal record?’

  ‘Not if they don’t charge you. And even if they charge you, well, only if you plead or…’ She couldn’t get the words out. ‘We’ll take it one stage at a time.’

  ‘That solicitor didn’t say much.’

  ‘He won’t know what the police are planning. Anyway he seemed OK; he’s got a note of everything. You were good, darling. I’m proud of you.’ She threw her arms around him, felt him tense and pull back. He would allow her to hug him, but he would no longer respond. For months he had been like this, throwing up an invisible wall between them. He used to kiss her, even cuddle her. Other parents said it would pass and he would become affectionate again. But everything was happenin
g so fast. What about Don? Was she his girlfriend, his… whatever the word should be?

  She said, ‘I’m supposed to meet this woman about work. Though I could cancel.’

  ‘Don’t cancel her for me. I’ll be fine, Mum.’

  He looked up at her and his beautiful eyes were alive again, shining, and the last two horrible hours had been a big mistake, and all would be well. She wanted to grasp him and pull him close, but she wouldn’t, she would stand back and wait.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said.

  ‘Not if you’ve got a work thing.’ His face was face tense with the effort of holding back the tears.

  ‘It’ll be fine. She’s my pupil. You can just drift around the gallery when we’re talking.’

  ‘I’d rather stay here.’ He gulped, as if trying to force back whatever was surging inside him. His throat quivered. She noticed for the first time, the hint of an Adam’s apple, sign of manhood, symbol of man’s fall. He was swallowing again, battling against collapse, a hundred Jacobs warring with each other, the frightened, the angry, the child, the man… She desperately wanted to hug him, to protect him from everything, from the whole world, from himself. But she could not live for him.

  ‘I’m not leaving you alone, Jacob,’ she said. ‘Not today.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Natasha

  Everything was back to normal. Luke wanted to take her for a long bike ride through Epping Forest, but she reminded him she was meeting her supervisor for tea.

  ‘What’s she ever done for you?’

  ‘Yeah, well maybe she wants to make amends. Anyway, I’ll need a reference for the CPS.’

  ‘When do you think you’ll be back?’ he asked.

  ‘Not late. Around six. The gallery shuts at five.’

  ‘I’ll make a nice supper for you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  She kissed him. He was onside again and she could breathe.

  And now the scruffy fringes of Brixton had been left behind and the bus was trundling up Herne Hill. Both the sky and the prospect brightened. The 1930s houses were freshly painted and set back from the road. Natasha felt a smile creep up her face as they swept over the crest of the leafy hill and down towards Dulwich with its cafes and arty shops, tiny fingerposts on every junction. This was where she should be. Mel might have prevented her getting the chambers tenancy she deserved, but she’d get the next best thing, a proper job with the CPS. It might be less exciting, less prestigious than working as a defence barrister, but it made sense. Regular hours, holiday pay, security. She thought about the sickness that had troubled her for the past four days. She was still unsure what she would do. But, if she did decide to keep it, there’d be maternity pay. It was foolish to discount it as an option. And the thought of prosecuting villains was appealing in a different way. It would turn her life around. She’d satisfied all the criteria so far. She just needed the reference. If Mel was tricky, Natasha would mention Paul. Just a nudge. An unspoken agreement. You help me. I help you. Simple as that. Mel wouldn’t want the world knowing her dirty little secret.