‘This is all very speculative, Trish,’ he said, as usual not letting her get away with any sloppy thinking. ‘You’re about to tell me that it couldn’t have been your father because he’s taller than you and would therefore have had eyes easily as high as the wall. Am I right?’
‘Absolutely bang on.’
‘I’m far more convinced by your story of Jeannie Nest having to talk about her fear but having to conceal the truth of it and using your father and her history with him as a blind. Have you run that theory by Lakeshaw?’
‘I might have, but he won’t speak to me. And I didn’t think it was fair to use Caro as a messenger. And then again …’ she paused and waited for George to fill in the gap.
‘Just in case it’s not the truth, and your father is arrested, you want to keep this for the defence to use to get him off,’ he said.
‘Exactly. It would be irresponsible to hand it over now and waste it.’
‘You’d do that, Trish, even if you thought he was guilty?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Of course you would. You’d have to. It’s your job to do your best for your clients.’
And yet I got so prissy about the thought of one ambiguous handwritten document that I was prepared to throw everything away, she told herself. Moral standards don’t count when you apply them randomly. You have to be consistent. Jeannie was.
Yes, said a rather different voice in her mind, and look where it got her. And her son. What ultimate good did she do at such an appalling cost? Apart from getting one murderous thug put away for life, of course.
‘Stop frowning, Trish. There’s no need for all this torment. It makes perfect sense to me, and whatever your nightmares tell you, I do not believe your father is a killer.’
She grabbed another crouton, smothered it with rouille and ate it in one bite, wishing as she tried to chew that she, like snakes, could dislocate her jaw to deal with the enormous mouthful. George was laughing at her by the time she got it under control, then leaned across the table to kiss her.
‘And now the rest. Have you got a suspect for these eyes that are too near the ground to be your father’s?’
‘No. But I do wonder if it’s the person who’s been following me.’ She tried to sound scientifically detached, but she knew her voice had quivered.
George’s face hardened. ‘Trish, for God’s sake! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I suppose because I kept trying to persuade myself I was making it up.’ She manufactured a smile, hoping to see George relax. ‘I did tell Lakeshaw early on, but he wasn’t very impressed. And nothing ever happened, you see. It was just a feeling I had that someone was watching me. To have talked about it would have made it seem as though I was giving in to neurotic fantasy. But now I think he could’ve been real all along.’
‘Who is he?’
‘I don’t know, that’s the trouble. To start with, I thought he was the young man who answered my questions on the Mull Estate when I first went there. I told you about him when you first got back from San Francisco. I’ve been thinking a lot about how he pretended he knew nothing about anyone called Jeannie Nest. I don’t see how anyone could’ve been living there for four years and not have heard the story. Could they?’
‘I shouldn’t have thought so.’ George’s face was changing as his concentration turned inwards, away from her. ‘You’re not talking about a slight chap with fair hair, by any chance? And very clean clothes and an engaging smile?’
‘You’ve seen him, too, have you?’ Trish said as her spine started to prickle.
‘Yes, one day when I was coming here to cook. I had bags of food and I was concentrating on getting them out of the car so I didn’t look up till I got to the bottom of the steps; then I saw him, up at the top by your front door. I challenged him, and he said he was a cab driver, called out by someone whose name I can’t remember. I said he’d got the wrong address and saw him go back to his car and get straight on the radio. It all seemed so plausible that I never thought to tell you about it.’
‘I bet it’s him. And I bet he is the one who tried to get past Maria with stories about coming from the freeholder to inspect my dilapidations. George, you do see why I have to call Lakeshaw, don’t you?’
‘Yes. And then we must sort out what we’re going to do about David.’ The ‘we’ that sat between them was comforting. ‘I can see the temptation of taking him in, Trish. Believe me.’
Now beside the ‘we’ was an unspoken ‘but’, digging holes in the reassurance. She waited again.
‘He sounds thoroughly engaging, and I know he’s your half-brother. But, Trish, think about everything you know from your work. It’s hard enough to bring up a child who hasn’t been damaged, especially when both parents work as hard as we do.’
‘We don’t know that David’s been damaged.’
‘Oh, come on. Of course we do. He’s lived in fear almost all his life. He witnessed the killing of a man, and his own mother being beaten up, when he was two. He felt her blood dripping on him and even if he doesn’t remember that, he’ll remember her fear. He’s going to find trust even harder than you do.’
Trish flinched and thought about explaining that it was herself she didn’t trust, not George – or David. ‘And he may have inherited a tendency to violent temper, if not actual physical violence. You’ve forgotten to remind me of that family failing, George, along with my inability to believe in other people.’
He looked as if the last of his patience was fast disappearing. She knew he loathed what he called ‘drama’, which usually meant her expressing strong feelings too vigorously.
‘Sorry,’ she said abruptly, not wanting to hear the reprimand again. ‘I need a pee.’
She fled up the spiral staircase, not sure whether she was saving George from the irritation of her presence or getting out of the way before she yelled at him. In the bathroom she stared at her reflection in the big mirror over the basin. Antony Shelley had once told her not to look so anguished. Now she knew what he’d meant. She looked ill, too.
Was it just delayed after-effects of the miscarriage and anxiety over Paddy, or was she really in danger of cracking up again? As she stared, her reflection shimmered and changed and in the place of the cool, slightly funky woman with the spiky hair was a witch with hollow cheeks and eyes like hot black charcoal and a mean red slash of a mouth.
George’s reflection in the mirror behind her made her face return to normal and the feeling of his arms round her and the resilient solidity of his body behind hers, pulling her back into his strength, made her feel as though she might get through this after all.
‘It’ll be all right, Trish. The right answer will emerge. It always does if you’re patient enough.’
‘I don’t know that it will. Neither you nor I are the same as we were, and my father may be going to prison for murder. Even if he doesn’t, he’s not going to take on David. George, I cannot let that child be abandoned to the care system.’
‘Even though you’ve fought nearly all your professional life to get children away from hopeless or wicked parents for exactly that?’
She felt as though he’d stabbed her, even though he’d only put into words everything she’d been facing for days. She struggled to be fair.
‘I know. Which is why I’ve said I’ll go along with Antony and Sprindlers and give Nick Gurles’s case everything I’ve got. If I can earn enough to give David a truly happy, productive, safe childhood, I’ll have done something useful, probably more useful than arguing children into a care system that even when it doesn’t actively fail them hardly seems to equip them for successful adulthood.’
‘Trish …’
‘I have to, George. I felt abandoned because of what Paddy did to me and the residue of that has often nearly screwed up you and me. But at least I had my mother. David hasn’t anyone now.’
‘Calm down, Trish. It doesn’t have to be so dramatic.’
‘It’s pretty dramatic for David.’<
br />
‘True,’ George said, after giving the proposition some thought. ‘But what if his early experiences mean that he turns out to be psychotic? Or sociopathic.’
‘Then I’d just have to deal with it.’
‘And what, Trish, if we do manage to have our own child? Will David be able to bear that? And would we ever feel that ours would be safe with him in the house, too?’
Talk about anguish, Trish thought. She turned to face George. This was too important to be said to his reflection. ‘David has lived with this appalling threat and been told all his life that if the worst happened, he must go to Trish Maguire. Well, it has, and Trish Maguire can’t fail him. Her father and his might, but she has to look after him. George, you must understand.’
‘I suppose I’d better have a look at him.’
She said nothing, still not sure what he was going to decide. In that icy moment she knew that she needed him if she were ever to be whole.
‘If he’s going to be my son – or even my half-brother-in-law – I need to get to know him first.’ His arms tightened for a second before he let her go. ‘And you’d better phone Lakeshaw to tell him about the height of the man in Jeannie’s garden.’
Chapter 19
Mikey felt his muscles tugging as he jogged back from the gym. It had been a good workout and he felt almost right with himself again. Each time his feet hit the pavement in the new trainers he felt the good bounce they and his own strength gave him. He came round the corner, dodged the wrecked bollard and the big puddle beside it and saw the police van at the bottom of his building, and stopped.
‘Mikey! Mikey!’
He forced himself to stop looking at the van and saw Kelly flying towards him over the smashed-up concrete.
‘Mikey, they’ve been beating up your nan.’
‘What? Who – the police?’
‘No. The men. The ambulance came and took her, and the p’lice are in the flat now.’
‘Christ, Kelly. I gotta go. Is she … ? Was she … ? D’you know how bad it was?’
‘She wasn’t dead, Mikey. I promise.’
That’s something, he thought, sprinting towards the building. All his life everything he’d really wanted had been taken away from him. He couldn’t bear it if he was going to lose his nan, too. Not now when everything was working so well. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t bother to try the lift, but ran upstairs until he saw them outside her flat.
‘Hey!’ he called. ‘What’s happened? One of the kids said my nan’s been taken to hospital.’
‘Is that Mikey?’ said a familiar voice.
‘Mr Smith,’ he said, recognising the police officer. ‘Is she OK? What happened?’
‘One of your neighbours heard her calling for help and phoned us, which is a pretty good miracle for this place.’
Except that if it was Margery from next door she’d have known she’d never be able to put enough money on her electric key if it wasn’t for Nan.
‘Thank God. But did you catch them before they—?’
‘No. By the time we got here, they’d gone. But I expect she’ll be OK, Mikey. She’s a tough old bird. It looked like broken ribs to me, and some bad bruising to her face and maybe back.’
‘Her kidney,’ he said. ‘If they’ve been kicking her back again she’s in trouble. The last time she was pissing blood, the doctor said …’ He choked.
Smith put a hand on his shoulder. ‘That’ll be for the hospital to say. They were taking her to Dowting’s. You’ll be able to see her there later. But do you know who it could’ve been, beating her up?’
Mikey was thinking fast. Was this the time to drop his Uncle Gal in it? But how could he get at the trousers without letting the police into the other hiding places? And what would his grandmother do if she decided it had been the wrong time to use them? Could she go back on her almost-promise to give him the business?
‘I know she was scared of my uncle,’ he said, and saw greedy pleasure make Smith’s eyes glisten. ‘You know we went round to his place after you were here that time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I had to put her behind my back because I thought he was going to hit her then. I … I shouldn’t have ever left her, but I thought she’d be OK. She said she would.’
‘As a matter of fact, where’ve you been this morning?’
‘I went to the gym like I always do at seven. They must’ve known that, whoever it was. I always go. Anyone here could’ve seen me jogging off. Same time, same route usually, same clothes.’
‘That could be it. OK. We’ll be off now, but we’ll take your grandmother’s statement as soon as the doctors give us the all-clear. She may be able to tell us more.’
So, he thought, they’ve already talked to the neighbours, old Margery probably and some others and knew he hadn’t been there. That was good. It would be typical of the filth to suspect the wrong man for something like this.
‘We’ve taken prints, but there’s nothing else we can do here. We’ll need yours for elimination. You can come down to the station later and give them. But you’ll be all right now?’
‘Sure.’ Mikey wasn’t certain if it was rage or worry that was making his head feel so bad. ‘I’ll get the place cleaned up first for when she can come back. And then I’ll have to see if she’s OK. You’ll talk to my uncle, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Great.’
Mikey watched them go, then had a shower. The water pressure was weak here, but he never fancied showering in the gym, not with that lot around, watching him. Dry, dressed, and certain that the Old Bill had gone, he cleared out all the hiding places. He took the books and the money, still not sure where he’d be able to put it all safely but certain he had to get it out of the way before they thought of making a real search. Then he fetched her shabby old blue suitcase, laying the business stuff at the bottom, then filling the rest with her nightclothes and brush and washbag. He’d take it to her in hospital, then if he was stopped on the way, he should be able to talk his way out of it. And then, when he was back and clearing up he could ‘find’ the trousers. And that should settle it all. Or it would so long as he could think up a good enough story about why they were in the flat and why his grandmother hadn’t done anything with them before.
Terrified of what Gal would do to her, was the best story. Yes, he’d come, forced her to hide them, then told her if she let anyone know about them he’d come back and kill her. Yes, that could work.
But it might be better to do it now. He could take the case and leave it in the back of his car, go into the nick to give them his prints and show them the trousers, saying he’d found them under his nan’s nightclothes when he was packing her stuff for the hospital.
Trish was drinking coffee while George ate his bacon and eggs. They’d got to the stage of agreeing that if they were to take on David, they would have to employ a nanny.
‘There isn’t room to keep her here, if David has the spare room,’ Trish said, sitting with her elbows on the table and her big coffee cup between her hands. ‘So I’d better start looking for something to rent nearby.’
‘So you’re expecting us to carry on as we always have?’ George said. ‘With a boy with a blood claim on you living here with you, and me having only visiting rights?’
‘George, I thought we’d agreed …’
‘In principle, but not in detail.’ He put down his knife and fork and smiled at her. She couldn’t smile back. Already she could feel the walls of a budgie’s cage pressing around her.
‘Trish, I’m not trying to bully you, or force you to live with me, so you don’t have to look like that.’
A smile, rather shaky, seemed possible then and she watched his eyes soften in response.
‘I just want to be sure that we’ve faced all the implications before this is irrevocable.’
‘Would it be?’ She drank too big a mouthful of coffee and had to fight to swallow it.
‘Yes, it would. I know you like
to keep all your options open. Christ! I’m not stupid. I know that’s why you’ve insisted on our keeping our separate houses, and it’s fine, it’s suited me, too – but with a child you can’t. If you take him on, you can’t hand him back if it gets too difficult. This is crunch time, Trish.’
First Antony Shelley and now you, she thought. ‘Are you saying that I always hedge my bets?’ The answer to that was easy once she’d put herself to the question. Of course she did.
‘It’s only me I can’t trust,’ she said at last and saw all the tenderness she’d ever wanted in his eyes.
‘I know. I’ve always known that. But, Trish, surely by now you know you’re not going to turn into …’
‘My father? Do I? I might feel safer if I’ even knew what he is.’
The phone rang. Trish reached for it, hoping it would be Lakeshaw, who’d played his usual game last night. She’d left as detailed a message as she could, and that might have persuaded him she was worth talking to.
‘Trish Maguire.’
‘They’ve arrested Paddy,’ Bella said, sounding on the edge of hysteria.
The news hit Trish like a punch in the stomach. But with the breathlessness came enough adrenaline to keep her upright.
‘Trish, you must help. You must get him out. You will come now, won’t you? Trish? Trish, are you there?’
She couldn’t let herself feel anything now. Now, if ever, was the time to behave like a detached professional.
‘Hold on, Bella,’ she said, clamping down hard on her own instinct to scream. ‘We’ll do whatever has to be done, but calm down. Has he been charged?’
‘He’s been arrested, I told you.’
‘There’s a difference. Has he got a solicitor with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. That’s good. Then they won’t be able to trap him into confessing to something he hasn’t done.’
Trish felt George’s hand on her shoulder and she leaned back, knowing he would be there, supporting her. His arms hugged her and she felt his chin on her head.
‘I’ll go there at once, but Bella, just tell me: what grounds did they have for an arrest?’
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