Dom did his level best to sound normal. ‘Yes. Everything’s fine. Fran called round to have a word with me about something. She got a bit upset.’ Fran seemed transfixed by Martha. Dom didn’t like it. ‘You go and get dressed. Fran’s just leaving.’
Martha half-turned as if to leave, but then she did something totally out of character. She defied Dom and faced into, rather than away from, the awkwardness of the situation. In other circumstances Dom would have been proud of her. She came into the kitchen and walked over to the kettle. ‘At least let me get Fran a drink before she goes. A cup of tea?’
Trapped by Martha’s insistence on kindness, Dom had to acquiesce. Fran said nothing, but continued to track Martha’s movements as she moved round the kitchen, getting out mugs and teabags and milk. Holding onto Fran became too uncomfortable, so Dom let her go. But he stood poised, ready to react, watching Fran watching Martha like a hawk. There was something very unsettling about the intensity of her focus.
Tea made, they moved into the conservatory and sat down.
There followed the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of Dom’s life. Martha tried to fill the void with chatter about school, while Fran sat on the sofa, gripping her mug with white-knuckled fingers. Dom just wanted Fran out of his house – the woman who had babysat for his kids more times than he cared to remember, fed them their teas, wiped their noses and their backsides, read them bedtime stories and kissed them goodnight – he wanted her as far away from his family as possible. Martha valiantly moved on to an anecdote about one of the ponies at the stables. Dom wasn’t listening. He was too on edge, alert to any signs of life from upstairs, or movement from Fran. He was also busy contemplating whether he was going to have to speak to the lawyers about some form of restraining order.
Suddenly Martha’s face drained. Fran had said something that he hadn’t heard. There was a beat, then Fran delivered her follow-up blow. ‘Didn’t your dad tell you? Your brother’s been charged with Jess’s death?’
Martha recoiled. Tea spilt from her mug all down her PJ bottoms, but she didn’t seem to notice. The look of distress on her face galvanised Dom. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed hold of Fran. This time there was no hesitation.
‘Out! Now!’ He dragged her, stumbling and resisting to the door, fumbled it open and pushed her through it. ‘If you come near Martha, or Harry, or this house ever again, I will call the police. Go away and stay away, Fran. There is nothing for you here. Nothing.’ He slammed the door shut and went to comfort Martha.
The windows in the whole house rattled. Harry felt the reverberation travel up through his spine. He waited on the landing, keeping watch, out of sight. Fran emerged. She walked quickly down the drive, turning round every few steps to look back at the house, her face a blur of emotions.
He’d heard it all.
He’d heard her arrive. Heard her demand to speak to him. Heard his father block her. Then the ominous quiet. He hadn’t realised, until it was too late, that Martha had joined the ‘party’. He’d been so close to walking downstairs, into the room and presenting himself for Fran to take a swing at – as many swings as she wanted. She was right, he did owe her some answers, but he’d bricked it. Totally, humiliatingly, bricked it. He’d hidden upstairs, too afraid to face Fran’s condemnation, and her questions. Instead he’d let his little sister step into the firing line. What a coward!
Fran used to love him.
Now she hated him.
He understood that.
He deserved it.
But he didn’t know how to handle it.
Chapter 42
THE MEETINGS with the solicitors were held in their offices now, the time for informal chats at home long gone. Theirs was an active case. The billed hours were racking up, as Harry’s defence was honed and polished.
Fenwick and Milling’s offices were on St Saviourgate. The parking nearby was awful, but Dom had driven into the city centre regardless. He had meetings afterwards. As they waited to be shown into the conference room, he glanced at Harry. He was sitting, totally immobile, staring into space. Dom looked away. There was no point speaking to him until they were in the room. Harry had always rationed his words, even as a child, but since the accident this trait had grown worse. Dom was tired of having to tease and cajole anything out of his son. And besides, it was largely pointless. He no longer expected any of the scant words that did emerge from Harry’s tight lips to bear much relationship to what he was actually thinking or – God forbid – feeling.
When they were all settled, Ross explained that the purpose of the day’s meeting was to explore the factors the team were planning to put forward in mitigation. They were past the point of denial; they were into minimising, challenging and reframing the contributory factors that the prosecution was intending to present. Harry might not have expanded his legal vocabulary, but Dom certainly had.
One of the assistants dealt out a stack of documents. The binders slid across the tabletop like cards on a poker table. They all opened their packs and turned to page eight, as instructed – everyone, that is, except Harry. He didn’t pick up his folder, but merely stopped it skidding off the edge of the table with the palm of his hand. The binders were substantial. Dom was both impressed and horrified by the volume of work the solicitors had done. There were bold headings and bullet points, and photographs and statements, all divided into colour-coded sections.
Ross began speaking, fluently, quickly and totally unemotionally. ‘One of the biggest problems we have is the video from the traffic cop’s vest-cam. To a lay person, it does look very much like Harry is drunk…or high. For those who haven’t seen it yet, I think it’s worth reviewing the footage.’ He clicked a remote device, and a hidden system somewhere threw the footage from the night of the accident up onto the wall.
Instantly the room was filled the noise of sirens. The world of expensive suits and measured words receded, replaced by the loud, messy aftermath of the crash, projected onto the pristine white walls. They all watched transfixed as Harry – the driver, the person who had just caused so much damage and pain – swayed in and out of the frame, his face sometimes visible, sometimes not. The officer was moving around a lot as well, the camera picking up the crashed car, the emergency services on the scene, even the shadowy crowd gathered in the distance. But the focus kept returning to Harry. A sweaty-faced, bloodstained, wild-eyed, incoherent Harry. The crackly, discordant audio bounced around the conference room, hurtful to their ears. Harry was rambling – by turns aggressive, then pathetic. A flood of guttural panic gushing out of him, unmoderated, unchecked. The officer kept telling him to stay put, to leave it to the professionals, that there was nothing he could do.
Dom tore his horrified attention away from the screen and looked at his son. Harry was staring at the wall. Catatonic.
On the video the officer asked, ‘Who was driving, Harry?’
‘What?’ Even that small word sounded slurred.
‘I want to know who was driving the car, Harry? Look at me, lad! Was it you who was driving?’
At this point in the footage Harry turned away and started shouting again, a jumble of words, some of which were discernible. ‘Be careful with her. No! Please!’
The officer persisted. ‘Leave them to it, Harry. They know what they’re doing. I want you to answer my question. Were you driving the car, Harry?’
Harry’s face swung back into frame, in close-up. He looked terrified. ‘Yeah. It was me. Me driving. It’s my car. Oh God. Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
A click.
The images disappeared from the wall, but not from Dom’s mind. It had been like being there, on the ring road, trapped inside his son’s panic. The footage brought home to Dom just how much of a nightmare the crash had been. He felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch Harry, offer some comfort, but the presence of the lawyers stopped him.
Ross picked up again, smoothly. ‘There’s no need to view any more of the tape, as that’s the salient sec
tion they’ll be submitting in court.’ He referred them back to the binder. ‘This is where the toxicology report comes in. Clean for drugs, as we expected. And for alcohol: ninety-eight milligrams per hundred, on the blood sample.’ He tapped the page. ‘Less, or none, detected would obviously have been better, but ninety-eight – that’s not disastrous. The issue for us is Harry’s behaviour on the tape. Unfortunately it plays into the reports of him being drunk on the night, though on this we can show the undue influence of Jake Hammond’s behaviour at the party. There is a case to be made that Jake’s drunkenness had a halo-effect on witness testimony. They tarred Harry with the same brush, et cetera.’
He waved his hand expansively. ‘In fact I’m not overly worried about the party hearsay. Most of the witness statements can be challenged, due to the generally high levels of intoxicants consumed by nearly everyone present. But the tape remains damaging. We need to put it into context, and for that we need to talk about the impact that shock can have on a person, in terms of behaviour, speech and clarity of thought. For this, I’d like to draw your attention to the expert witness statements in Section F, pages twenty-four to thirty-two. We intend to show that what we’re seeing on this video is a young man in profound shock. We need to get the court to realise that Harry’s demeanour is evidence of someone who is acutely distressed about what is happening to his friends, in front of his eyes; not proof of intoxication and guilt. Our expert thinks that isn’t going to be that difficult, given the impact of the crash, Harry’s closeness to the people in the car, the trauma…’
They all looked at Harry. His eyes flicked round the table, settling on no one. His expression was impossible to read.
Ross went on, ‘The second factor the prosecution is relying on, to get the charge to stick, is “excessive speed”. This is where it gets technical. The angle and depth of the skid marks on the road, and the tracks on the grass, are the basis for evidence here; and the good thing is that, with road analysis, there’s always leeway for interpretation. We’re on that, aren’t we, Mia?’
The silent, note-taking assistant nodded. Dom wondered how much of the legwork she was doing, and how many of those long hours were being charged as Ross’s expensive endeavour.
‘There are, as we know, no witnesses from the night, other than passengers in the car.’ This time he referred to his notes. ‘The only person to make any comment about the speed the car was travelling was Leticia Reynolds, and her perception can be presented as unreliable, given her consumption of alcohol and’ – here he actually smiled – ‘cannabis. Apparently she was very forthcoming about smoking a joint before going out that evening, and that she shared another one at the party.’
Dom was impressed with their thoroughness. Ross wasn’t finished.
‘Road conditions are of no help. Too benign. So we’ll leave that alone. There’s no point fighting battles you can’t win. It tends to weaken your case. But there is one other thing I wanted to raise.’ More paper-shuffling and page-turning. When he looked up, Ross focused exclusively on Harry. ‘I want to return to your claim that there was something in the road that caused you to swerve, but that you couldn’t say what it was. I know we’ve raised our concerns that this statement is too vague and unsubstantiated to be helpful. That it is, in fact, harmful, as it feeds into an argument about lack of attention, which, in turn, supports the prosecution’s contention of “dangerous” driving. But I wanted to check: do you have anything more to add, Harry?’
The pressure in the room built. At last Harry responded. ‘Like I said…Jess suddenly shouted to watch out.’
‘And you still have no idea why she shouted?’
They all stared at Harry, waiting for more.
‘She just shouted. I guess I reacted. Pulled the wheel a fraction. I don’t know. Maybe that’s what made us crash. I don’t know.’ He folded his arms.
Ross, suave as ever, made a note on his folder. ‘That’s honest, but doesn’t help us, I’m afraid. No matter. We’ll put a pin in it for now. We can always circle back to that another time.’ He flipped over some more pages in the folder. ‘The last issue we want to discuss today – and it is a critical one, when it comes to mitigating factors – is “character”. It’s an amazingly influential area, when it comes to trials. We need to make sure we maximise the fact that – up until this incident – Harry has been an exemplary young man. Well liked, a good student, hard-working, responsible, trustworthy. As you’ll see, we have ample statements from his tutors, his employers at his holiday job at the showroom, some of your family friends. It builds a solid picture of Harry being “of good character”. All of which will be presented. As you know, the issue of the footage from Mohir Akhtar’s phone has been contentious, in terms of its relevance. Teenage relationships are hardly a matter for the courts to have an opinion on, and we are still challenging its admissibility. Overall I think it’s fair to say that we’re in a strong position when it comes to Harry’s character.’
Harry stiffened in his seat. Ross straightened in his.
‘We are, therefore, almost there, in terms of putting forward a strong defence case for the barrister to present. But – and I have to stress that this is your choice, not mine – there does appear to be another option open to us. One that would avoid a court case.’
He paused, checking that he had their attention. He had.
‘We had a meeting with the CPS yesterday, at their request. While we were there an interesting line of discussion opened up, which I want to walk you through. The prosecution has come back with an offer that could take all the evidence out of the public domain and negate the need for a trial.’ Dom leant forward. ‘They have asked me to ask you to consider the nature of your plea.’
‘Meaning?’ Dom asked.
Ross held up his hand to still Dom’s impatience. ‘They’re willing to discuss the option of the charge being reduced to “careless driving”.’
‘And that’s good news because…’
‘Because “careless driving” carries reduced penalties. Or, to put it another way, there’s an increased chance that we might be able to minimise any custodial sentence. And there is a less stigma. “Careless” implies more error of judgement; “dangerous” speaks for itself.’
‘Why would they offer a lesser charge, after all the effort that’s gone into pinning this on Harry?’
‘Well, the honest answer to that is cost, and to obviate the need for a trial. Trials are expensive, and the system is backed up. The other argument is that it reduces the trauma and stress for the victims’ families.’
Dom winced at the use of the word ‘victims’.
Ross went on, ‘But here’s the rub – the offer is contingent on Harry entering a guilty plea.’ He stopped talking. Glanced from Dom to Harry. As expected, it was Dom who responded.
‘So Harry gets dumped with the responsibility. After all this…’ He pushed the file away angrily, ‘after all this effort to prove that he’s not to blame, you’re advocating that we fold and he puts his hands up?’
‘I’m not advocating it. I’m presenting you with the option. There’s a gamble with any trial. We are ready and able to present our case as clearly and forcefully as possible, but there are no guarantees. A guilty plea removes the element of uncertainty. And, as I said, it avoids the trauma and cost of a court case. It can be in everyone’s interests. Hence them offering it.’
‘But Harry will serve time and he’ll have a criminal record.’
‘A custodial sentence, yes – that’s unavoidable because of the alcohol, the severity of the injuries incurred and Jess Beaumont’s death. A criminal record is also unavoidable.’
Dom squared his shoulders. ‘I say we fight it. Harry has his whole life ahead of him. Prison, a record: it will screw it all up. No. That’s not happening to my son.’
Ross nodded in acknowledgement, but not necessarily agreement, then switched his attention to Harry. ‘What are your thoughts, Harry?’ Everyone else looked at him as well.
‘Correct. The court moves straight to a sentencing hearing.’
‘And neither of the videos would be shown at that?’
‘No. Not in open court.’
‘And Tish and Jake and Mo, they wouldn’t have to give evidence at this sentencing thing?’
‘No. They will be asked to submit impact statements, and they’ll be able to present these at the hearing, if they so wish, but they’ll not be asked to give witness testimony.’
‘And I wouldn’t have to stand up and say what happened?’
‘You’ll need to confirm who you are and enter your plea formally. Whether you want to say anything “in mitigation” is up to you.’
‘Look, wait a minute,’ Dom started flustering.
Harry stared at the file on the table. They all waited. ‘In that case…I’ll plead guilty.’
As Dom imploded with indignation, and Ross responded with cool professionalism, Harry sat stoically amidst the storm. A decision had been made. Whether it would be in everyone’s interests, including his own, remained to be seen.
Chapter 43
FRAN WAS in the park, watching the drifts of cherry blossom. She went there often. It was the only place she found any respite. The compulsion to keep moving and doing was getting worse; day and night her brain whirled and raced, but never tired enough to let her sleep. Only in the park was she able to switch off. It was a relief do nothing except sit and let the hard screw of grief that propelled her through each day ease a little. Droplets of other people’s lives fell on her as she sat under the trees, swaddled in her sorrow. She observed the older couples going about their daily routines, and the young mums with their children killing time. She smiled at the sprightly progress of the old folk and the make-believe games of the families. As she sat, unobserved, she caught snippets of conversations: humour, patience, kindness and imagination – a world of caring that was lost to her.
One Split Second: A thought-provoking novel about the limits of love and our astonishing capacity to heal Page 15