The Pupil

by Ros Carne

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘Wow. That suggests she must have trusted you.’

  ‘She was drinking at the time. We were in the wine bar after work. It just came out. She asked if I knew the guy. He was one of my tutors at North Bank. Married. Bit of a creep. Then when I mentioned it again, she was furious.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘She’s a control freak. If I got a brief, she thought I was stealing her solicitors. Georgie warned me about that. She’s got a reputation. Thinks everyone’s out to get her.’

  ‘Still, hitting out like that.’

  ‘You sound like you don’t believe me.’ His eyebrows were lowered in a frown. ‘Luke, I know I’m not perfect. But I’m not lying about this.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do? Are you going to the police?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided. I’d have to give evidence. I don’t know if I can face that.’

  ‘I’ll take some photos, just in case. Your eye’s a hell of a colour.’

  He picked up his phone and took a range of shots from different angles. Then he said, ‘So, what shall we do today? There’s no way you’re well enough to go out.’ He looked into her good eye and traced his hand around the contour of her wound. ‘Let’s go back to bed,’ he said.

  ‘I’m a bit…’ She was afraid she might shatter.

  ‘I won’t hurt you. I only want to hold you.’

  He stood up and stretched out his arm for her. She took it.

  * * *

  They lay together in the grey light, the curtains half closed. Through the mid-morning stillness, she could hear the rumble of buses from the road below, overground trains in the near distance. London was at work; she and Luke were at peace in their private world. They faced each other, inches apart. Her head was throbbing more slowly now, but the pain was raw, and she was conscious of her damaged face. Yet he looked at her as if she were the loveliest creature he had ever seen. She longed for him, yet she was afraid that if he touched her, she might scream. After a few moments, he began to stroke her arms, her shoulders, then her breasts, her thighs. His desire met hers, coursing through her like an electric current. She pulled away.

  ‘No, please, I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. You had a shock.’

  Then he leant over her, held her face between his hands and kissed her good eye, her forehead and then, with a feather-light touch, her bad eye. The sheets were warm and the mattress soft against her nakedness, and his body beside her was her bulwark against the world. She remembered once telling another woman why she liked big men: that sense of being protected. And the other woman had replied that sometimes it’s the big man you need to be protected from. But no, not with Luke.

  He murmured, ‘I’m sorry I was angry – about the boy’s profile.’

  ‘You were right. I deserved it.’

  ‘I should have at least given you a chance to explain.’

  ‘Shall I explain now?’

  ‘No, not now. I just want to be close to you.’

  He held her. One day she might have to tell him about Jacob, or some of it. But this was a special moment and she would not tell him now. His body was warm and comforting against her skin. They had never lain like this for so long without having sex and there was something soothing and sweet to her now in this simple affection. Like coming in from a long run, lying in a hot bath, only better. She was loved and safe. From now on she would take care. She couldn’t afford to lose Luke.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For everything. For being difficult. You don’t want to talk about it now and I get that. Only…’ she snuggled into his neck, breathing the deep animal scent of his strong body, ‘sometimes I’m afraid you’ll throw me out.’

  ‘You’re crazy. I’m the one who should be afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what?’

  ‘Afraid I’ll bore you. Afraid I’ll try to hold you down, put you in a box. Afraid you’ll run away.’

  ‘You’ll never bore me. And I’d like that. A little box, just you and me and…’

  She hesitated. This time yesterday she had been sure she would have an abortion, had persuaded herself it would be a kindness to destroy this baby before it had a chance to suffer, as suffer it surely would with such a mother. But everything had changed when Mel attacked her. She had attacked both Natasha and the child she was carrying. Natasha took a deep breath. If she told him now, she could never go back on that decision.

  ‘And?’ he nudged.

  She let the breath out and as she did so, she knew that Mel had made the decision for her.

  ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m… we’re… going to have a baby.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Mel

  As she entered the flat, she could hear her son’s voice drifting out from his room. Her body settled in relief. Whatever crazy things he might have done, at least he was home. And though she needed to confront him, she needed to support him too. He was young. Thoughtless. He meant no harm. But the anguish at what she had seen was churning inside her.

  In the kitchen, an empty pizza box had been squeezed into the top of the bin. There were beer cans in the recycling. And now she heard the unfamiliar voice of a girl. This was a new development. Jacob rarely invited friends back to the flat and any girls that did come were in large chattering groups, picking him up on the way to somewhere else.

  She stood by his door, listening. The words were unclear, the tone suggesting conversation rather than the excitement of teenage sex. She knocked.

  ‘Hang on,’ called Jacob. He opened the door a crack and his face appeared. His hair was tousled, but no more than normal.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Are you going to introduce me to your friend?’

  He turned his head. ‘Don, come and meet my mum.’

  A bright pixie face framed in short black spiky hair appeared around Jacob’s elbow. A small area around the ear had been shaved, drawing Mel’s attention to three silver stud earrings and a feathery tattoo which ran down the side of the neck.

  ‘Hello, I’m Don.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Don. I’m Mel,’ she said. There was an openness and confidence about the girl that was unusual among Jacob’s gang. Then it hit her. Don. Donna. The girl who was not a girl. Her son was breaking his bail conditions.

  ‘Don from the party?’ she said, trying to sound calm.

  ‘I go to lots of parties,’ said Don and a huge smile broke across her delicate features. She was pretty, with a small nose and fierce dark eyes. The loose grey shirt failed to disguise her slim female form.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Jacob.

  He was standing in the doorway, blocking his mother’s path into the bedroom. Mel remained in the hall, less than a couple of feet away, aware that even a tiny step forward would feel to him like an invasion.

  ‘What do you mean, OK? You’re breaching your bail. You could go to prison. What the hell were you thinking?’

  ‘Mum, it’s OK. Nik’s gone. Left the country. He and his mum are in Moscow. They’re dropping the case. I’m going to the station to sign something tomorrow.’

  Her heartbeat slowed.

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘The policewoman rang me. The stroppy one. She said the witnesses weren’t testifying so the CPS was dropping it. I rang round some of the guys. Turns out Nik’s left the school. Something to do with his dad and Putin.’

  ‘State secrets,’ added Don with a cheery grin.

  ‘The police should have told me,’ said Mel.

  ‘You weren’t around. She said they’d write.’

  ‘Good, innit,’ said Don. ‘Our Jake’s a hero.’

  ‘And the knife attack?’

  ‘Mum, we don’t know who it was. Anyway, it wasn’t an attack, it was a scratch.’

  Her body softened and she leant back against the wall
for support.

  ‘You all right, Mum?’

  ‘I’m just relieved. So relieved.’

  ‘Don’s disappointed,’ he said, turning to his friend.

  Don punched Jacob playfully in the arm and said, ‘Course not. I’m glad for you. Only I was kind of looking forward to the court bit. Good chance to speak out.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll have the chance to speak out on another occasion,’ said Mel, straightening up, ‘maybe in a more sympathetic venue.’

  ‘We’re not looking for sympathy. People have got to understand. But you’re right. There’ll be another time. A better time.’

  Mel could believe it. There was an assurance about this girl, this child, this person. It would be interesting to talk to her. But right now, she needed to speak to Jacob alone.

  ‘Don, I have to talk to Jacob. It’s important. Can I give you a lift home? Where do you live?’

  ‘Not far. I can walk. No problem. You stay and talk to Jacob. Nice meeting you.’ Mel took the offered hand, pleased and surprised by the unusual display of manners. They exchanged smiles.

  Jacob walked slowly with Don towards the door. There was none of the verbal banter Mel had witnessed when he was with a member of his own sex. She realised she had never seen him alone with a girl, apart from one of his cousins, since he was in primary school. She withdrew to the sitting room, trying not to listen to their murmured goodbyes. The front door opened and shut and she could hear Jacob returning to his room. The sitting-room door was ajar and she called out, ‘I need to speak to you.’

  He stopped in the doorway. ‘Speak.’

  ‘Come and sit down. You’re making me uncomfortable standing over me like that.’

  He walked in, threw himself into an armchair, stretching out his long legs, resting them on the coffee table. One of his socks had a hole in it.

  ‘I like Don,’ she said. He said nothing and she added, ‘Good about the case.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I need to talk to you. About Natasha.’

  ‘What about her? I’m not contacting her again if that’s what you mean. No way.’

  ‘It’s more complicated than that.’

  She longed to tell him. But it would have to be an edited version. The version she was working on. And yet. There were things she needed to know. She pulled Natasha’s phone out of her bag.

  ‘I’ve got her phone.’

  ‘What the f—’ he stopped. He was sitting up straight now. She had taught him not to swear, taught him well. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Are you any good at hacking a password?’

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘You sent her photos.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ His troubled eyes were fixed on hers.

  ‘She showed me.’

  ‘For fucks sake.’ The teaching had fallen away; the voice was angry. He jumped up as if to go and she sensed his internal struggle, the need to get away from her wrestling with the need to know what this was about.

  ‘Please don’t walk away, Jacob.’ She kept her voice steady. It was important to stay in control. ‘Natasha and I had a row. I almost lost it.’ She had lost it. But she could never admit that to her son. ‘So, you see, darling. I need to know exactly what you sent her. I’m assuming you took the pictures yourself.’

  He sat down. ‘So how come you got the phone?’

  ‘She fell over. Dropped it. Jacob, we need to decide what to do.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me what this row was about.’

  ‘I’ll tell you. I promise. Just not tonight. Please, darling, trust me in this. Right now I need to know about the photos. I’ve seen a couple. I got the impression there were more. I could take the phone to a shop but…’ She knew he could crack the password. He had told her, boasted about how easy it was. It was all on YouTube.

  ‘I could do it but…’ He hesitated. ‘It won’t help. She’s already copied them. They could be anywhere now. You might as well just give this back.’ He spoke in a low calm voice. It sounded strange to Mel, not like the son she knew. Then whatever was controlling him snapped and he exploded. ‘Why d’you want to wind her up? She’s a fucking nutcase.’

  ‘Who said I wound her up?’

  ‘You just told me you lost it.’

  And she realised it was not only Natasha who had incensed him, but also his mother. It was Mel who had shown Natasha his photograph, she who had insisted he come to the park. His eyes were on hers, challenging her to answer with the truth and she couldn’t help thinking of sons who turned against their mothers. She didn’t reply and he lent back in his chair with an air of resignation and said, ‘The phone’s irrelevant. She doesn’t need it. She can still post her crap all over the internet.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ And then, when he said nothing, she continued. ‘Are there more?’ They were bad enough. Could there be worse? ‘You didn’t actually, you know, do anything with her?’

  ‘Fuck off, Mum. What do you think I am?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. I thought I did but I don’t know any more.’

  He slumped forward, head in his hands. Then he raised his head a little and fixed her hard with his dark eyes.

  ‘No. I didn’t, as you say, do anything with her. When I saw her in the park I freaked. That’s why I came home. I already told you that. Only…’

  ‘Only what?’

  ‘There were texts.’ Her head was already full. There was no space to process all this. ‘Listen, Mum, give back the phone. There’s no point in riling her. No point in breaking the password, no point in deleting anything. She’ll have everything on her computer.’

  She paused, waiting for her breath to still. ‘OK. But keep what you’ve got.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘If anything happens… I don’t say it will… but if it does… if Natasha tries to make things difficult for me, for you, we need something to get back with. You’re sixteen. She’s twenty-nine. What she’s been doing is not exactly a crime, particularly if you’re OK, but it’s a grey area. She’ll say she never intended to meet you in person. But if it comes out, it’ll do more harm to her than to you. Listen, darling, I’m not going to ask you to show me anything. I’ve seen enough. But whatever is there, I’m asking you to keep it. Just in case.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone seeing it. Any of it. I don’t want anyone knowing about this.’

  She refrained from asking why he had sent her the photo of his naked body in the first place. The answer was obvious. He was young. Young people were reckless. And she could see that he regretted what he had done. For a moment, as she looked at his pained expression, she forgot her own actions. But his next question cut through her thoughts.

  ‘What have you done, Mum?’

  ‘Nothing wrong.’ What could she say? He would dig and dig. He was his parents’ child. ‘Like I said. We had a row. She fell over and hurt herself. Gran and I took her to hospital. She might try to blame me. That’s all.’

  She reached out and touched his hand as a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. Jacob didn’t move but his eyes were searching. She drew back her hand as he began to speak.

  ‘Was it about me? I told you not to say anything.’

  ‘Please Jacob. I can’t talk about it now. Yes, you came into it. But it wasn’t just about you. There was a lot of stuff. I need to sleep on it. It’s all a bit of a muddle in my head. But darling, don’t worry. You’ve done nothing wrong. I mean you’ve been stupid but… I guess… we’re all stupid at times.’

  ‘Like you and that bloke.’

  ‘Like me and that bloke. And I’m not seeing him anymore.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes, prayed he would let this drop.

  After a moment’s silence he asked, ‘So are you giving back the phone?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll leave it in chambers.’

  She wished she could tell him everything. There were many things she wished. She wished she had never shown Natasha the photo of her beautiful son, never off
ered her that coffee in Dulwich, never mentioned Paul. She wished she had not left her car in East Finchley, never asked Natasha to log off her computer, never taken a week off work. Jacob looked deflated and she sensed he didn’t want to talk any longer. At least not now. All she could count on was that Natasha would not want her mischief-making publicised. But how could you count on anything with Natasha?

  Through the swirl of thoughts, she heard her own mitigation: her good character, her successful career, her son. Then she heard the words of an imaginary prosecutor, ‘Miss Goddard, you of all people should understand the consequences of your actions.’

  She poured herself a glass of red wine and pulled back the curtains to look at the city at rest. On clear nights you could see stars beyond the light-polluted air, the faintest hint of infinity, though not tonight.

  Tonight, the only visible lights were human, street lamps, splinters of brightness around the blinds and curtains in the houses opposite. She gulped her wine and, as it swam down her throat, she thought of Paul. For the last week he had been texting again. She had ignored the messages, but she wondered how long she could withstand the pressure. Despite the awkwardness of their last meeting, her body longed to be close to his once more, simply, without complication, as it had been in those early days, when secrecy went unmentioned and only added to the excitement.

  Tomorrow she was due at Wood Green Crown Court to defend Vicky Brightman in her prosecution for assault of her ex-wife’s partner. She should have been working on the case this afternoon. If only she had. But what happened in Dulwich had happened, and the only thing to do now was wait.

  It was almost eleven. She would need to be up at six to go over the statements and refine her cross-examination. She should go to bed, but the events of the day had transformed exhaustion to a manic wakefulness, and she wouldn’t sleep for at least an hour. She pulled out her phone to check the time. Another message from Paul.

  I’m sorry about last time. Can we speak?

  She stood up, walked to the bedroom, began to undress, putting out her court gear to speed her progress in the morning. The thought of what she had done was growing inside her, spreading like a bruise. She could see Natasha’s edgy, troubling beauty. Both had sought confrontation, but it had been Mel who lost control. And she couldn’t banish from her mind the panic on Natasha’s face as she fell backwards, twisting, crashing the side of her head against the sharp edge of the dressing table. Mel had wanted to hurt her. She might be horrified at her own violence, but while she had, at the time, felt shock, and now felt both fear and regret, at no stage had she felt remorse.