by Abi Silver
Therese reached across and took her husband’s hand. Then, with her other hand, she stroked his face.
‘It’s OK,’ she said.
‘I don’t know what to do now,’ Neil spoke between sobs. ‘It’s been all about today, for so long.’
Therese pulled him close.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But it wouldn’t have made any difference, sending him to jail,’ Therese fought back her own tears. ‘He didn’t do it on purpose. He wasn’t drunk or on drugs. He didn’t steal the car. He didn’t try to hit us.’
‘But he was on his phone, you said, not paying attention. You said.’
‘I just said that,’ Therese said, ‘because I was angry. I don’t know if he was on his phone. I don’t remember anything about the car or who was driving. I didn’t even remember what colour it was before I watched the video. But I do remember what happened just before.
‘I remember it was a lovely afternoon, sunny and bright and we were walking along the road and Bertie was in such a hurry. Georgia was whingeing, she wanted to be first but she was being so slow and she was talking about what she ate for lunch, something about cutting her sandwiches into quarters.
‘And I was tired, so tired from getting up early and ironing my clothes and washing my hair. Trying to look normal. Pah. That was a joke, as if anyone cared what I was wearing. And organising everything for Mum. And my head was filled with nonsense from the surgery. I was thinking about what stocks were low and how I could reorganise the shelves next time I was there, and I saw the roadworks and I thought about crossing at the proper crossing, just like his lawyer said. I really did.
‘But Bertie was whining and he kept jumping on the buggy board and it was heavy and Georgia was hanging back on my other arm. And, do you know what? Ruby was smiling at me. Just waving at her mobile and gurgling and smiling and even that made me angry. I thought “what are you smiling at?” And I wondered what my life would be like if I didn’t have them, any of them. Only for a moment but I did. I thought about all the things I could do if I wasn’t weighed down so low with our children.’
Neil frowned but he didn’t interrupt.
‘I didn’t think that I was blessed with three, beautiful, healthy children, like I should have done.’ Therese clasped her hand to her mouth before continuing.
‘So we crossed there and we huddled in the middle with the pram sticking out and we waited, except Bertie couldn’t wait. And, as I was cursing him for being so impatient, and scowling at Georgia for delaying us and dragging her forward for not keeping up, and fuming at Ruby for being so happy, Bertie slipped out of my hand.’
Neil let out a low moan.
‘I’ve been waiting all through the trial for someone to say that, you know. They’ve been busy looking at so many details about the car. I kept thinking they would say “Mrs Layton. When we stop the video, you can clearly see your son runs out into the road. Why didn’t you stop him?”’
‘He should’ve seen you. He should’ve been driving more slowly.’ Neil spoke softly.
‘Have you not been listening to what has been said in this room? Because I have, all of it. He’s a man too. He did his best. It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. I read one child pedestrian dies every week on our roads. We lost two in one go. We were unlucky, desperately unlucky. But that means someone else’s children were saved.’
‘Tay.’
‘No don’t. It helps me to think like that. When I see other children Bertie and Georgia’s age I don’t feel so bad any more. And the papers say he has two sons, one still at school. What would be the point of sending him to prison for fifteen years, to take his life away too? Especially when all his work is to reduce road accidents.’
‘He’s taken you in. He wants to make money selling his cars. That’s all he cares about.’
‘We all have to live. There are worse things he could do. I’m not angry with him any more.’
Neil wiped his eyes and stood up. Therese stood up too, pulled Neil closer and she held him tight.
‘You’ve done your bit,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve had your say. It’s over. I want to go home now, quietly, no more speeches, no more newspapers, no more Twitter, and I want us to be a family again. You and me and Ruby.’
PART FOUR
72
JAMES WAS sitting at his desk when Juan knocked and entered. He was pleased at the distraction; he had insisted on coming in to the office today, despite Martine’s protestations that he should ‘take at least one day off’. But once he had got here, he had found it almost impossible to concentrate on work.
First of all, he had trawled the internet for coverage of the trial and the verdict, related features and editorials. Then he had allowed at least fifteen minutes to elapse, staring out at the driving rain and at his employees heading in, with a variety of interesting mechanisms to cope with the inclement weather. Why did no one use an umbrella any more? he queried, before appreciating his own inactivity and shaking his head violently to engage his brain.
His inbox was full, but not overflowing. Toby had played his part in keeping things under control and diverting the more mundane traffic to his own account. But James could not bring himself to delve into any of it; not quite yet. He could not completely erase recent events by putting on a clean shirt and opening a new day in his diary. It wasn’t like shaking the Etch A Sketch and beginning anew.
‘Mr Salisbury, you must be so busy, but I wondered if you had a minute?’ Juan’s usual jovial manner was absent as he closed the door behind him. James was slow to respond and Juan took that as encouragement, crossing the room to sit down. As he leaned back and fingered the arms of his chair, there was a second knock and Toby’s face appeared around the door. He froze when he saw Juan.
‘I’m here for our catch-up but I can come back later if you’re busy,’ Toby said. ‘You did say “no one was to come in before eleven”, I thought, so you could get through your messages.’
James surveyed the two men.
‘Don’t panic, Toby,’ he said, ‘you haven’t missed anything. Juan has only just arrived. Is it about Connect?’
‘No.’ Juan turned around and frowned at Toby. ‘It’s something else, but maybe Toby should stay and hear it.’
James laughed uneasily. ‘All right. That sounds ominous. Out with it then. If it’s something bad, I’d really rather know now.’
Toby sat down, his eyes scanning Juan’s face.
‘It’s something I should have picked up earlier,’ Juan said. ‘I only thought about it after I came to the court.’
‘This is about my car?’
‘Yes. And the last witness at the trial. And the EDR.’
Juan shot a quick glance at Toby. Toby deliberately focused on James.
‘Go on,’ James said.
‘Well, if there was a car coming in the opposite direction, like the CCTV showed, then why was there no record of it on the EDR?’
‘Yes. That crossed my mind too, although I’m sure it can be explained.’
‘I know it wasn’t a live feed from your car, like I’m used to watching, but we should have been able to see data from the LIDAR, detecting that car coming towards you on the EDR, even if it was some distance away.’
‘Have you checked?’
‘I’ve been back through the copy the police gave me and there’s nothing there.’
‘So, the EDR malfunctioned?’
Juan looked at Toby again before speaking.
‘It’s possible, yes. It’s possible that it failed to record all the data correctly, to retain it for review afterwards. And your car is an older model. Or…’ Juan trailed off.
James sat forward in his seat. ‘You’re saying someone could have deleted that data from the EDR?’
Juan nodded. ‘If they didn’t want anyone to know about the other car. I swear it wasn’t me. I w
ouldn’t have had the time, anyway. I got the call from your friend, I collected it, unlocked it, downloaded it and gave it to the Abrams guy.’
‘When you say “my friend” you mean Peter Mears?’
‘Yes.’
James turned to Toby. ‘You’re quiet,’ he said.
Juan stared at Toby too. ‘I think it’s time we told James about the calls,’ he said.
‘What calls? What else don’t I know?’ James stood up and marched around his desk, so he stood looming over Toby.
‘I had some messages and a call…asking to meet up, in the weeks before your crash,’ Juan continued.
‘Who called you?’ James’ face was working its way through the gamut of emotions.
‘We didn’t want to worry you,’ Toby finally spoke. ‘You had the trial and everything.’ And then to Juan, ‘You think it’s connected?’
Juan’s lips were set tight.
‘Who was it who called you? Some crackpot?’ James was losing his patience.
‘No. I’m sorry James.’ Toby was desolate beneath James’ penetrating stare. ‘I thought it would be a good thing to do, to meet him. I thought it would help, what with the Cinderella project stalling.’
‘Who did you meet behind my back?’
‘Him. Peter. Peter Mears.’
73
CONSTANCE AND Judith travelled together to James’ house that evening. The invitation to join him at a celebration of his acquittal had been low-key, as James was keen that he should not be seen to be gloating in any way. He had invited all his London staff, a few friends and business associates and the two of them.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Greg?’ Constance had been waiting for an opportunity to broach the subject with Judith and, seated in the back of their taxi, this seemed as good a time as any.
‘About Greg? There’s nothing to tell, is there?’
‘That he’s moved out.’
‘Ah. He never really moved in,’ Judith said. ‘Well it was never forever. Just a trial and, well, now both trials are finished.’
‘I don’t think he sees it that way.’
‘You two have been talking? I knew it was a mistake to introduce you; ganging up on me, are you?’
‘He called me to ask if the information he had given me, given us, was useful.’
‘That was nice of him.’
‘He’s very upset.’
‘He told you that, did he?’
‘I could tell. Maybe you should call him.’
‘And maybe I shouldn’t. It’s really not your business, you know.’
‘Did he do something wrong?’
‘Connie. Don’t push our friendship. I don’t do confidences.’
Constance tapped the fingers of one hand lightly against the other.
‘My brother, Jermain, was arrested for resisting being searched on the street, when he was seventeen. They gave him a caution, so he lost his apprenticeship place. Now he flits around doing jobs here and there. Calls me every six months or so, usually when he needs money or a favour.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty-six.’
‘It’s not too late for him to study, to train for something. Maybe Greg could help him, with his new venture?’
‘You see. You like dishing out advice but not receiving it.’
‘All right. Point taken.’ Judith sighed and stared out of the window. ‘Perhaps I have made a mistake with Greg, but I just felt suffocated. I think he wants more of me than I am prepared to give. I’m quite good at being on my own, you see. I am not sure I really need anyone else.’
‘You should talk to him, meet him for a drink. I’m sure if you explained you could work something out. Being on your own, that’s OK when we’ve got a trial, loads to do, rushing around. But when things quieten down again, won’t you be lonely?’
‘It’s hard for me to change. I have been trying, like Greg suggested, to be more empathetic, to see the other person’s side of things. All that’s happened is now I feel guilty about a whole lot of things I never cared about before. You never went back to Mike?’
‘No. I still see him, at parties and things, when I go to them. His new girlfriend’s a waitress. Bit less challenging for him. Less controversial. We’ve moved on.’
‘Great team aren’t we? Married to our work. Growing old together.’
Constance shuffled around on the leather seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. ‘I never got back to you about Peter Mears, the man at the back of the court,’ she said.
‘You had other more important leads, from what I remember. And I did a little of my own research, which suggested Mears may not be the kindest soul. I plan a quick debrief with James when we arrive – get it over with. And I confess I’d be looking forward to the whole evening more, if we didn’t have to speak to Martine again.’
‘I did finally manage to get round to checking up on her today,’ Constance said. ‘Not that it matters now.’
‘And?’
‘More interesting than we thought. She dabbled in acting too, had a small part in a low-budget film. And the company she ran organised photoshoots for models.’
‘Oh.’
‘It was doing well for a few years but then it folded in 2012. I found a local newspaper article reporting that a rival accused Martine’s company of trying to steal its client lists, but it never got any further than that.’
‘Hilarious. What tools do you think she used? A hairdryer and a lipstick?’
‘And I think Martine and Toby must have had a fling,’ Constance fiddled with her seat belt.
‘Must have?’
‘He can’t even look at her without crumbling.’
‘Ah. Poor boy. That will end in tears.’
‘And one of the receptionists, Carol, she told me Martine is always hanging around the IT lab and spending a lot of time with Juan.’
‘So perhaps it already has…ended, that is. I suspect Mr Herrera can look after himself though. So, her conquests: The toy boy, the technician and the video security man. That sounds like the title for a film. Do you think he knows? James, that is.’
‘I think at least two of them are going to be there tonight.’
‘And with a few drinks inside them…’
‘He doesn’t drink, James. He was an alcoholic. Toby said.’
‘Hm. That’s a shame. I rather liked him in the end, you know.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. He believes in his product, not just because of the prospect of making a killing – oh, excuse the unfortunate pun – but also because of the predictions for reduced accidents, once these cars go live. He is a true visionary.’
‘Gosh. Smitten aren’t you? Are you sure that isn’t why you’ve ditched Greg?’
‘I will ignore that comment as unworthy of you.’
As they exited the taxi and sauntered up the drive, Judith caught Constance’s arm. The patio doors had been flung wide and guests were spilling out into the garden, where a small awning had been erected and chains of coloured lights danced in the breeze, interspersed with towering heaters blasting their flames skyward. The sound of soothing music floated out from the lounge. Judith pointed towards a rotund, bald man who was rushing inside, tucking his mobile phone back in his jacket pocket.
‘That’s him, Peter Mears,’ Judith said.
‘What?’
‘The man from court. James must have invited him too. Ooh, this evening looks like it might be even more fun than I had imagined.’
74
JAMES WAS finishing up in his study when Peter entered.
‘Your own party and you’re still working?’ Peter began, all the time, circling the rim of his glass over and again with his forefinger.
‘Just finalising arrangements for a trip to France next week,’ James sai
d. ‘It’s done now.’ He switched off his laptop and closed the lid. ‘I might be able to drum up support for your review of data security after all, if it’s still on the table?’
‘I have to hand it to you,’ Peter said, striding towards James and making himself comfortable in the nearest chair, ‘you are a real “glass half-full” man.’ He took a sip from his drink and giggled. ‘It’s over though, don’t you see that?’
‘What’s over?’
‘All of it. Alan has gone, well, he’ll be gone by the end of today, and, without him, your precious Bill is unlikely to get through this time around.’
‘Alan has been sacked?’
‘I think the correct term for Alan is “shuffled”. I’ve been sacked,’ Peter said.
‘What? Why?’
‘I supported the Bill, I tried to help you. There’re a lot of people in high places feeling embarrassed right now, because of the speeches you made in that court room. We’re all paying the price. Did you forget everything we agreed?’
‘I told the truth, that’s all.’
‘You talked about the things you agreed never to talk about in public; transparency versus performance, reinforced bodywork, autonomous versus manual. You even talked about the fucking trolley problem. It was like a red devil was sitting on your shoulder feeding you all the most incendiary material.’
‘I suppose I did get carried away. But SEDA was exonerated. I don’t understand why the Bill has to be shelved.’
‘SEDA wasn’t exonerated,’ Peter said. ‘Your own programmer argued that its sensors failed to recognise a simple traffic-light sign, and you agreed with him.’
‘I said it was plausible. We don’t know that’s what happened.’
‘No, we don’t. Because you and your lawyers created this impossible maze with no way out, this tantalising prospect of things going wrong and no one ever knowing why. The British public will never accept that. They demand reasons, explanations, resolution.’