I nodded. Swallowed hard. Got into the car. How could she know it already had?
Chapter 25
How I would have loved to tell my mother. How I would have loved to sit down in the car at that moment and just let it all out. Not because I felt it would change anything. Not because I thought it would help with anything, but simply because I knew she’d forgive me. That she’d love me not an atom less after the telling.
Nick was to be at the dinner, as it turned out. I knew this because Mr Monroe (the area director, and he of the interview) had telephoned me at work on Saturday morning to let me know that as we were both ‘going solo’ as he put it, he wondered if I’d mind if he took me off Mr Brown’s table, and allow him and his fellow directors the benefit of my company instead. They were sharing a mini-bus. I said that would be fine and gave him my address, my heart thudding at this disquieting news. If he’d not been going I would have felt safe. Were he going and sitting on my table, it would have felt dangerous. But there and not there, as in not within reach, would be frustrating, difficult, exquisitely painful. I wondered if Nick himself had had anything to do with it. I wondered if I shouldn’t just get on and stop wondering. Yes, that would be best. Put him out of my mind.
A sensible decision all round, I figured. Out of my mind. Out of my life. Out of my unhappy little universe.
By the time I had returned from work, my mother and Kate had already left for the community hall, leaving me a precious hour of solitude before girding my loins – with something steely and unbroachable, ideally – and heading off to the dinner. I had about as much interest in going as I had in particle physics, but as it looked like my career was now blossoming in direct relation to the withering of my heart, I knew I must make some sort of effort.
And still no word from Morgan. What was going on with her? I checked the phone five times before leaving the house. Something was wrong. I could sense it so keenly.
And my senses were not, it seemed, wrong.
My mobile rang halfway through the main course. Not wishing to suffer the same embarrassment as I had the previous evening, I had switched it to vibrate, so it took several seconds and an astonished guffaw from beside me before I realised what was going on.
‘Good grief!’ said Mr Monroe. ‘Do you keep a pet gerbil in there, Sally?’
He was pointing to my evening bag, which I’d placed on the table in front of me, and which was now making juddering progress towards the cruet. I put my cutlery down and picked it up. The phone inside zizzed a bit more.
‘It’s my mobile,’ I said. There was a ripple of laughter. Someone started telling a joke about two rats going into a pub.
I had pulled the phone from my bag by now, but it had already stopped. Missed call, it said. I checked the register. A number I didn’t recognise. Yet some instinct made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I glanced across the table to respond politely to the punchline. Nick, on the table next to us, was looking my way.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, smiling and pushing my chair back. ‘Might be my daughter or something. You know what it’s like.’
They did, they said. So I made my excuses and threaded my way out of the function room. There was something badly wrong. I could feel it.
The phone was ringing again by the time I got to reception. I was right. There was.
‘Mum? Oh thank Goodness!’
It was Morgan. And she was crying. Crying very hard.
‘Morgan?’ I said, panic rising in my throat. ‘What on earth is the matter?’
‘Oh, Mum –’she sobbed.
‘Morgan, what is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Oh, mum,’ she said again, between gulps. ‘Mum you’ve got to come – ‘
‘Come where? Morgan, what’s happened? Is it Cody?’
I could hear her ragged breathing.
‘Yes, yes it is. Please. You have to come. Leman Street. It’s – that’s right, isn’t it?’ she was speaking to someone else now. I could hear a low rumble of assent. A male voice. ‘Leman Street Police Station –’
‘Police Station?’
‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, mum! I’ve been arrested.’
I gripped the phone tighter. What on earth – what on earth –
‘Arrested? Morgan – why?’
The floor seemed to be moving beneath my feet all of a sudden. I walked half a dozen paces on wobbly legs and sat down heavily on a sofa. Morgan was still crying, taking in air in huge gulps.
‘Why?’ I said again. ‘What on earth has happened? I couldn’t begin to imagine what possible reason there could be for my daughter to be at a police station. An accident ? Oh, please no. Not an accident.
She sniffed noisily. ‘It’s drugs. It’s drugs. I’ve been arrested for possession of Ecstasy! I don’t even know anything about it, Mum. Really I don’t . It’s Cody. It’s to do with Cody ! He’s been – Oh, God, Mum. He’s disappeared! What am I going to do? I was just –’She dissolved into speechlessness and sobbing once more.
It was too much to take in. ‘Right,’ I said, taking deep breaths and trying to get my head together. ‘I’ll phone your father – ‘
‘Noooo! No, Mum, please. Don’t tell him. Don’t phone him. Don’t. I couldn’t bear it. Please. Just come. Please come. Please just come and get me out of here. I can’t –’she broke into sobs again.
I took another deep breath. He was in Brighton anyway. There was no practical point in phoning him. ‘Calm down,’ I said. ‘Calm down. I’m on my way. I’ll go and get the car and I’ll be with you as soon as I can. What’s the address again?’
‘I don’t know! It’s near Fenchurch Street. You know Fenchurch Street?’
In the city. I could find my way there.
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Hang on,’ I heard her talking to someone else, then a different voice came down the phone. A policeman, I presumed, who told me in flat, matter of fact tones exactly where to go. I scribbled his directions down on the back of my invitation card. Yes, I could find my way to Tower Bridge. Yes, I knew the city a little. Yes, I was sure I could find my way to Leman Street. He gave me the station number and told me to phone if I got lost. And then he was gone and so was Morgan.
‘Is something wrong?’ Another voice. Another male voice. I turned around. It was Nick’s.
Seeing him, standing there in his dinner jacket and pink bow tie, it was all I could do not to fall sobbing into his arms. But that would be no use to anyone, least of all Morgan. I stood up, pushing the card and the pen back into my bag.
‘I have to go.’
‘Go? What’s happened? Sally? Are you all right? You look ashen.’
His hand hovered somewhere near my elbow. I stepped back a pace, brain whirring with unanswered questions.
‘I’m OK,’ I said, grasping for some strength to put into my voice. ‘it’s just that I’ve got a problem to sort out.’ Yes. That was it. A problem. Jesus. Morgan arrested. It was unthinkable. ‘Morgan,’ I said. ‘I have to –’
‘Sally, for God’s sake! What’s happened?’ Now he did take hold of my arm. ‘You look terrible! What’s happened?’
‘I’m OK,’ I said again. ‘I just have to go to London to get – ‘
‘London? What, now?’
I nodded. ‘Morgan’s in some sort of difficulty. So I’ve got to – will you tell Mr Monroe for me? Give him my apologies and everything? Only I’d better get going because it’s already gone ten and –’
‘No,’ he said, putting his hand on my other arm too. ‘I will not. Not until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘I can’t–’
‘You can. I’m not letting you leave here in this state. No way. Tell me what’s happened. What’s happened with Morgan?’
His eyes were staring steely blue into mine. His hands were still firm on my arms.
‘She’s been arrested,’ I said.
‘What? What for?’
‘For
possession of Ecstasy, by all accounts. Something to do with her fiancé. Nothing whatsoever to do with her.’ The words came out in a crisp staccato tumble, pushed ahead by the bile that was rising in my throat. I swallowed hard. ‘And now I have to go.’ I shook his hands from my arms and turned towards the exit, but he was still there, hand on my shoulder now, stopping me.
‘Is your husband coming to pick you up?’
I shook my head. And then regretted it. If I’d simply said yes I could have gone by now. But it was too late.
‘He’s away,’ I admitted. ‘I’m going to get a cab to take me home. Then I can pick up my –’
‘I’ll take you,’ he said.
‘There’s no need. There’s a cab rank –’
‘No, no. I’ll take you to London,’ he said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I started walking towards the foyer. My fingers were shaking. Vibrating, like my phone. I balled my hands into fists. ‘I ‘m quite capable – ‘
‘I know that, Sally.’ He was still behind me. ‘But I’ll take you anyway. I can’t let you drive all the way up there at this hour on your own.’
I whirled around to face him again.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I said again. ‘I’m not a child!’
He looked hurt.
‘I never said you were! But I still can’t let you – ‘
‘There’s no ‘let’ about it, Nick! I am going. So would you please just tell Mr Monroe for me? Please?’ I started walking again. He did likewise, matching my stride.
‘Sally, don’t be silly. Let me drive you. It’ll be much quicker if we take my car. And besides, there’s no way you can drive anywhere in this state.’
‘I am not in a state.’
‘Yes you are. You look like death. You’re shaking. Please, Sally – let me do this for you.’
‘Nick, please. I don’t want you to come with me, OK? I can sort this out on my own. Really. It’s very kind of you to –’
He looked more hurt still. Then stern. ‘Sally, I am not being kind, OK? I am being sensible. I am being concerned. I know full well that you don’t want me to take you, and I know full well why you won’t let me help you, but you are being ridiculous. I have my car here. We can be there in little over an hour. There’s just no sense in you hiking all the way back home to pick your car up when mine is here. Is there? Is there?’
What was the point? He was right.
‘OK,’ I said. Damn him. ‘OK, OK, OK!’
I let him go back in and explain in the vaguest terms possible that one of my family was unwell and that I had to get home. Not the detail, but just that I had a small family crisis. He led me round to the car park and I was soon back in his passenger seat, headed for London and whatever we’d find there.
Within minutes we were on the M25.
I felt numb with fear. ‘This is all my fault.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ he said calmly. ‘How on earth can it be your fault?’
I grasped the bag in my lap. ‘It is my fault. I should have seen it coming. She’s not been herself for weeks. I should have gone up there last week – I should have – Oh, God! I’m so selfish! I should have spent less time worrying about me, that’s what! You, quite frankly. Us, in fact. If I’d just – ‘I couldn’t speak any more. All I could think of was that Morgan would go to prison and that it would be all my fault. I had failed her utterly.
He turned to glance at me. ‘Sally, don’t do this to yourself. It – whatever it turns out to be, which I’m sure will be far less dreadful than you imagine – is not your fault. In any case, she’s said she’s done nothing wrong, hasn’t she? And I’m quite sure she’s telling the truth. Let’s just get there and play it one step at a time.’
‘How would you know? How the hell would you know? For all you know she could be running a heroin empire!’
‘Do you think that?’
‘No, of course I don’t!’
‘Then neither do I.’ He continued to stare at the road.
‘Oh, God. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry, Nick. I just can’t get my head round it. I just can’t –’
‘I know.’
‘And I should have called Jonathan.’
‘D’you want to call him now?’
I shook my head. No. No, I didn’t.
When we got over Tower Bridge the streets were quiet and dark. He parked the car down a side street and walked with me up the steps to the station entrance. I had calmed down a little. This was Morgan. Honest, good, sensible, law-abiding Morgan. Everything would be all right. I would sort things out. Bail her out? What happened in circumstances like these? My last brush with the police had been over a decade ago, when I’d come along to some road safety talk at Kate’s junior school. This was so very different. So frightening. There was a uniformed policeman manning the front desk. He looked at me enquiringly, taking in, I could see, the ridiculous sparkles, the spindly evening shoes, the little sequinned bag. I must have looked like a reject from a Chicago audition. In that place, with its unforgiving fluorescence, its acres of lino and Formica. I marched up to the desk and told him who I was. His manner changed perceptibly, to one of mild boredom. Just another parent come to rescue their miscreant offspring from an everyday unpalatable mess.
They showed me into a little room, lit like an operating theatre. And then, minutes later, Morgan came in.
She looked terrible. She was wearing a tracksuit, much crumpled, and had mascara running in sooty trails down her cheeks. She looked tiny and scared. I leapt up to hug her. She too had lost weight. It had only been a matter of weeks since I’d seen her, but she looked so changed. So fragile.
My presence had her bursting into great heaving sobs again.
‘Oh, mum, thank god. You can tell them now. Please tell them. I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know anything! I didn’t know anything about it!’
The policewoman who had brought her in gestured that we sit down.
‘They’ve arrested Cody as well now!’ Morgan was wailing hysterically. I tried to still her with my arms. ‘They’ve found him! They’ve arrested him too, mum! Oh, God, mum! What’s going to happen?’
I looked at the policewoman. She seemed kind, if a little detached. As you would be, I thought sadly. She nodded at me.
‘He fetched up here half an hour ago,’ she told me. ‘And we’ve taken him into custody, so Morgan here is now free to go.’
‘She is? But you arrested her. What was she arrested for?’
‘It’s standard procedure, Mrs Matthews. Where drugs are found on premises then everyone on those premises is arrested as a matter of course. But Morgan hasn’t been charged with anything. She’s made a statement for us, and we’re satisfied that she isn’t involved in any way. We may need to talk to her again at some point, but as of now, as I said, she’s free to go.’
I squeezed Morgan’s hand. ‘Oh, thank God. But what about the drugs? What’ll happen now? What will happen with her fiancé?’
‘His father is on his way, apparently. Look, I’m sorry, but I really can’t discuss this with you.’
‘But what about Cody? Can we see him?’
‘He’s being interviewed at present, but if you –’
‘No,’ sobbed Morgan. ‘I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see him, OK? Please, mum. Just take me home.’
‘But what about the drugs?’ I said again to the policewoman. ‘Will Cody go to prison?’
Stupid, stupid questions, but I couldn’t think what else to do. The policewoman smiled in a gentle sort of way. ‘As I said, I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you, Mrs Matthews. Thank you for coming to collect your daughter. I think it’s best that you get her home now, don’t you? We’ll be in touch in due course.’
Nick was still sitting in the front of the police station when we returned, sipping from a polystyrene cup of something. He put the drink down and stood up as we approached.
�
�This is Nick Brown,’ I said to Morgan. ‘He works with me. He was at the dinner tonight, and he very kindly offered to drive me up here.’
The words sounded stiff and unnaturally formal. Morgan nodded, dull eyed, then extended an arm to shake his hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, always polite. My heart was breaking for her. For this awful thing Cody had done to her. If he’d walked into the station at that moment I think I would have killed him stone dead on the spot.
Nick raised his brows enquiringly and reached into his pocket for his car keys.
‘We need to go back to Morgan’s flat,’ I told him. ‘If that’s OK. To get some things for her. Clothes and so on. He was nodding his head. ‘It’s not far. Only Docklands.’
‘Not a problem,’ he said, opening the door for us both.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Morgan again.
It took twenty minutes to drive to Morgan’s, the streets here busier with Saturday night traffic and the spill out from various clubs and bars. She let us in. Her flat was in a minor state of chaos.
‘They just came in’ she said. ‘It was awful. Just came in and started turning everything over. They already had a search warrant. I couldn’t take it in. I was so scared.’ She ran her hands over her forehead and seemed to pull herself together She looked around her as if trying to make sense of our being there now also. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ We both shook our heads.
‘Just get your bits and bobs together and we’ll get you home, darling,’ I told her gently. ‘Shall I help you?’’
She shook her head. ‘I need a shower. Would it be OK if I had a quick shower? I feel so dirty – ‘
I started to tell her not to worry. That she could shower once she was home, but I stopped myself. She probably needed a shower. She probably felt soiled. That she needed to wash it away.
‘Perhaps we will have that coffee then, eh?’ Nick suggested. ‘Keep us awake.’
‘Right,’ I said, leading him into her little kitchen. ‘Coffee. Yes. That’s the thing. Come on.’
Straight on Till Morning Page 27