by Jenny Colgan
“Perhaps try some deep breathing exercises,” said Lissa, then immediately felt bad. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
But Anita was looking around anxiously. “Where is that sodding cat?” she was saying to herself.
Just at that exact moment, a cat shot past the screen, so fast it was just a blur, pursued by two rampaging children.
“Not on the road! Not on the road!”
Lissa found herself thinking about Nina and Zoe, baby John pottering about the farmyard with his dad and Zoe’s little tribe cavorting about the fields. Anita obviously lived in a nice terrace house in South London; it was probably worth more than the entire village up here. But as the children sped around the nice, expensive kitchen, it couldn’t help crossing Lissa’s mind if it was worth it. How much it must cost to pay the mortgage; how hard it must be to raise children you couldn’t let out on their own.
“Honestly, I can—”
“No, you have these sessions paid for and I need to complete them before you go.” She looked crestfallen. “Sorry they’ve been a little rushed . . .”
“It doesn’t look easy, your job,” said Lissa mildly.
“I know,” said Anita, as little shoes pattered overhead. “I’m sorry . . .”
Lissa shook her head. “Actually,” she said cheerfully, “turning off my social media . . . it really helped.”
“Did it?” Anita brightened.
“Yup. And so did you telling me to go over it in my head.”
“Did you?”
“No, but I thought the idea was solid. So . . .”
Outside Anita’s door a taxi honked its horn and her face fell.
“Tell me quickly,” said Lissa.
“It’s quite strong,” said Anita.
“I don’t care. Call it efficient and I’ll give you a good feedback form.”
“That would be good,” said Anita, looking stressed.
There was a pause.
“Okay,” she said, then took a deep breath. “If you don’t go over this right now, out loud, whether to me or somebody else, this is your last chance. You’ll be in the witness-box. And the perpetrator is going to be staring straight at you. Possibly his mates will be there. Staring at you. Threatening you. I’m not trying to scare you, Lissa. But what if you freeze? Clam up?”
“Oh, actually this is quite harsh,” said Lissa.
The honking grew louder. Anita paused.
“I won’t freeze,” said Lissa suddenly.
“You might.”
Lissa blinked back tears. All at once, the gray day outside the window didn’t look soft and welcoming: it looked ominous and oppressive.
“And I have to warn you. You could cause a mistrial or let the offender go free, if you can’t explain clearly what you saw.”
Lissa could barely speak; the lump in her throat was huge.
Upstairs, Anita’s children were yelling their heads off. Anita leaned forward.
“Lissa, I have black sons. One day you might too. The streets of the city have to be safe for them. You know that. You know that, right?”
And her voice was intense and serious and not at all distracted. All Lissa could do was back away from her gaze, nodding slowly. The taxi honked for the last time, and Anita straightened up.
“And now I have to go,” she said, and Lissa simply nodded.
THERE WAS ANOTHER honking sound, and Lissa belatedly realized it was her own cab. Her heart was racing. She knew Anita was right. She knew. But suddenly it seemed harder than ever.
Chapter 60
I won’t know what you look like, Lissa had typed as she set off for London, after she’d been driven through a bright and golden dawn.
They hadn’t been communicating beyond the professional in the last week, mostly because both of them, without mentioning it, were extremely nervous. Lissa nearly wrote “it’s a blind date” but managed to delete it just in time because it wasn’t a date, it was a meeting with someone she had been doing a job share with—professional, if anything. They had already discussed dates they’d had with other people. So. The fact that she hadn’t mentioned it to Kim-Ange had . . . nothing to do with anything.
Cormac also hadn’t mentioned their meeting to Kim-Ange. She would just make a big deal out of it. Plus, she and Piotr were madly in love and snogging up a storm at breakfast time every day and frankly making everyone a tiny bit sick, and nothing would make her happier than to think of the two of them . . . going for lunch, no more, no less, he told himself, nonetheless ironing his best shirt, a yellow check.
He glanced at her message and typed, I’ll recognize YOU. You’ll be the one loudly complaining about diabetic prescribing.
It just makes everything else MORE DIFFICULT, started Lissa, a bugbear that always made him smile.
ROISIN HAD TOLD Lissa to look sensible in court, so she pulled her hair back into a tight bun that made her look more professional than the curls everywhere and put on a sleek houndstooth check skirt suit that she never really got a chance to wear. Paired with a blouse and some smart earrings her mother had sent her (as well as the suit), she looked surprisingly professional, particularly after having spent the last two months either in uniform or wrapped up in woolly jumpers and thick tights, even through the Highlands spring.
She had brought her overnight bag; she was coming back on the night train, which she was rather excited about; it stopped just up the road from Kirrinfief and was patently the best way to get there, even if it was expensive.
All she had to get through was the trial.
Her heart was beating hard all the way to the airport. Being in Scotland had felt safe, protected, away from everyone else. Not having to face what had happened. There weren’t any teen gangs in Kirrinfief, at least not that she’d heard of. Children ran around practically free range, something that had surprised her when she’d first noticed it, but then realized that everyone knew everyone in their small corner of the world; their children were everyone’s children. It was nice, to see children playing in the streets and down on the little shore and not have to worry about them.
As the little twin prop plane burred its way down the length of the country, Lissa looked at the patchwork fields through the window, unable to concentrate on the book Nina had pressed on her, worrying more and more about coming face-to-face with Kai’s family again. Would they be mad at her? Would questions be asked about that dreadful night at the hospital? No complaints had ever been filed; nothing had happened to her except the secondment, and that hadn’t ended up feeling like a punishment, not at all.
Maybe, she thought, it would be straightforward, would take two minutes. And there would be . . . the Loch Ness monster. She bit her lip. It was nice of him, that was all. And no doubt he wanted to cast an eye over the person who’d been sleeping in his spare room, would be trying to work out whether she’d killed all his plants or broken his fridge. At least he probably knew she hadn’t exactly been having wild parties.
Then another two weeks to pack up and then . . .
Well, she’d think about the future when she had to. She had had a little fantasy, it was true, of possibly renting the guest room, if he was keen—imagine living somewhere where you could afford to have a spare room on an NHS salary! It still beggared belief. A fantasy of finding a job nearby. Maybe not what she was doing, but there must be something. Of, dare she say it, escaping once and for all. The pressure and the racing and the craziness of the city. Just turning her back on it. Leaving the new restaurants and the high heels and the hot new thing to other people. People who got more out of it than she did. People who wouldn’t be constantly worried every time they heard an ambulance whoop, sirens go off, or a helicopter pass overhead.
She blinked. She had barely slept and the drone of the engines was making her want to drop off (everyone else was comfortably snoozing), but every time she came close to doing so, she remembered, yet again, what the day was for, and bolted back upright again.
SOUTHWARK CROWN COURT was a squat, ugl
y brown 1980s building, put up by someone who had obviously taken their inspiration from a supermarket. It was faceless and bureaucratic, neither terrifyingly grand nor trying to be welcoming. It simply was. Lissa supposed in some way that was the point.
It was boiling. A damp, oppressive heat. Lissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so hot. She was wearing far too many clothes, it was ridiculous. She pulled off her large coat and jammed it on top of her wheelie bag, making it unwieldy and hard to get past the crowds on the tubes. She’d forgotten about those too. So many people! How did anyone get anywhere? And could she really have forgotten about this in such a short space of time? She felt herself begin to sweat. This was the last thing she needed, to look damp and flustered.
Roisin—short, businesslike, and dressed in a smart black suit and heels that looked like absolute torture to march about in all day—met her at the side entrance. People were milling around and Lissa was anxious, concerned about seeing the boy’s mother again, jerking back to the memory of everything that had happened before, again and again.
She looked around nervously. How would the family of the defendant be? Angry? Frustrated? Violent?
Instead she saw a mixed lineup of smartly dressed solicitors and barristers hurrying in and out of entrances; clerks with huge bundles of papers and files, sometimes rolling them along in carrying cases; and other people, some dowdily dressed, smoking patiently by the bins or sitting staring into space. It did not feel like a cheerful place, nor was it meant to.
“You’ll be fine,” said Roisin, sitting her down in the witness waiting room after they got buzzed in. It was completely plain and bare, and the coffee was absolutely disgusting, served in a thin white plastic cup. Lissa kept forgetting and took automatic sips of it.
She read over her statement again. It was just as she recalled it, and she felt her heart begin to thump. The day, the person she’d been visiting. Seeing the boys in the walkway. And the flash, the hideous flash, of the phone, glinting in the sun; the crunching of bones; the squelching of flesh.
The rush. The ambulance. The sitting. The begging, the bargaining. The faces.
She started to cry.
“You’ll be fine,” said Roisin, glancing at her watch. “Come on! You’ve been a big tough A&E nurse! You’re used to all sorts! How come this one is bothering you?”
She remembered the boy’s soft face lying on the hard pavement. “It just does,” she said.
“Well, distract yourself,” said Roisin. “How’s country life treating you?”
At this Lissa felt herself turn pink. “It’s all right,” she said.
“Seriously? Lots of cows to talk to?”
“Yup,” said Lissa. “Lots of cows.”
“Isn’t it freezing? I couldn’t handle the weather.”
“It’s fresh,” said Lissa. “I quite like it. It’s better than . . .”
She indicated out the tiny window: the heat shimmers coming off the pavement, the scent of rubbish rising into the stuffy air, smoke everywhere.
“Well,” said Lissa, “I quite like it.”
“I see your point,” Roisin sniffed, and Lissa bent again to the black-and-white sheet of paper.
Chapter 61
Cormac woke early that morning, the room stuffy already, excited about something before he remembered exactly what it was. He sat up, grinning to himself. Then he stopped and felt worried instead. Today was the day. He was going to meet Lissa.
He told himself to stop being daft. He was a grown man, and he felt like a teenager on a first date. Getting overexcited was only going to lead to disappointment. Plus, she was stressed out and worried anyway; the last thing she’d be thinking about was him. But he could be there, take her to lunch—he was proud of discovering somewhere lovely to take her—listen, get to know her. That was all. Yes.
He still couldn’t keep that infernal smile off his face as he got into the shower and pondered the new, slightly flowery shirt Kim-Ange had persuaded him to buy. It wasn’t his style at all and had been to his mind hideously expensive, but Kim-Ange had been extremely persuasive on the issue, and sure enough, nobody had pointed and laughed when he’d worn it to the pub for half an hour just to give it a tryout.
The way he was thinking about Lissa, though . . . nothing about Emer or Yazzie had ever come close to. No. He was being ridiculous. Overthinking everything.
But it was the first time in such a long time that he’d just felt so . . . so alive.
He thought back to Robbie. He’d better call Lennox and see how he was doing, although so far no news felt like good news. And Lissa would be seeing him, of course . . .
Don’t go overboard, he told himself. She was in for such a tough day. Testifying in court. Reliving that awful time. He had to play it cool.
Or, he also found himself thinking, he could turn up early, go support her in court. It wasn’t right she had to be in court by herself. He could just say hi, just let her know that he was there for her. Would that be weird?
It was a glorious day out there. Perhaps he would take a stroll—just a casual stroll—in his new shirt along the south bank, a place he had come to . . . Well, it wasn’t Scotland. But it definitely had something. So. He could take a stroll. Get a lovely cup of coffee that took someone quite a while to make grinding beans and stuff, and, well, he could see where the day took him.
THE CURVACEOUS WOMAN with the thick spectacles and the tightly pulled back hair barely gave the man in the flowery shirt who held the door open for her a second glance as she marched toward it, head down, anxious beyond belief about what was coming.
Cormac didn’t notice the woman either; he had meant to look around for someone who might be Lissa, but his phone had rung just as he was walking in. He recognized the number, grimaced, and picked up.
“Hi!” came the English-sounding voice. “Is that the lifesaver?”
Cormac frowned. “Larissa, hi.”
“Hi! Listen, darling, beautiful day, we’ve got lunch booked on the roof of Coq d’Argent. It’s beautiful and you’ll be able to save anyone that falls off it. See you there, yah?”
Cormac passed the door to the girl behind him, who took it with muted thanks and dived past the annoying man walking too slowly in a flowery shirt.
“I’m a bit busy today,” he said quite happily.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling, we’ll be there all afternoon. Ciao!”
But Cormac’s thoughts were still on a laughing girl with tumbling curls. Plus, he had realized to his slight annoyance that he was absolutely miles too early—bursting, truly, from turning up, too excited and over the top—and was contemplating going back out again to find another coffee, but then he’d have had far too much caffeine and that really wasn’t an ideal situation for meeting someone either, so he decided to go fill up his water bottle from somewhere and sit and stare out at the passing boats and, hopefully, calm the crap down before he ruined everything.
Chapter 62
“Are you ready?” Roisin asked. “You do know this is a murder trial?”
“Why isn’t it manslaughter?” said Lissa.
“Because we have evidence the defendant thought Kai was a gang member from a rival group, even though he wasn’t. It was mistaken identity, but we’re fairly clear it was deliberate. Kai was the youngest of his friends; he was only fifteen. They thought he was a runner. He wasn’t. The driver never meant to get caught, but he did mean to do it.”
Lissa thought again of the car speeding up. Speeding up. This was worse—not a hideous accident, but a deliberate attempt to extinguish a young life. The wrong life. It was almost unbearable.
Lissa took a deep breath and bent her head to the paper. The words swam in front of her eyes.
“. . . I saw the car swing round the corner and mount the curb . . .”
She saw the boy again, his phone glinting as it was thrown up and fell, thrown up and fell, spinning in the sunlight
“. . . and when I got to him . . .”
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She remembered the trickle of blood dripping down from the side of his mouth; the shouts and yells of the rest of them chasing the car down; the cries and the shrieking of brakes and the drip drip drip of the blood.
Blindly panicking, unable to breathe, her heart trying to burst out of her chest, she stood up, leaving everything behind her, and ran out of the room.
Chapter 63
Cormac wandered back into the courthouse, figuring he needed to use the bathroom and surely the case would be starting soon. He was still annoyed at how restless he felt. When someone pushed past him . . .
It was a flash, nothing more; he didn’t catch sight of the person . . .
He dismissed it as the fact that he had curly hair on his mind, but then it struck him, as the figure dashed past in a blur, ringlets bouncing out of their tight band, that she might well be here by now, and by the time his heart had suddenly dialed up to a hundred miles an hour and he’d turned around, there was a loud bang, and he realized that the figure had disappeared into the disabled toilet and locked the door behind her.
AH. NOW HERE was a thing. Lurking around the loo was . . . Cormac tried to think of a worse possible way to meet Lissa for the first time—if it even was her; it might just have been his mind playing tricks. How would he even know?
The corridor was empty and he backed away carefully, concerned at the loudness of the bang she had made and the speed she’d been running. Whoever it was, she was clearly upset.
He took out his phone and was about to text her, then he put it away again. If it wasn’t her, it would be very weird. If it was, saying “have you locked yourself in the toilet right now?” was hardly going to come over well.
He was about to go over to the courtroom, check if he could see her there, when he heard a noise coming from the door. Just a sob. The tiniest little sob.
Cormac stopped in his tracks. Whether it was her or whether it wasn’t . . . someone was really upset. And it just wasn’t in him not to pay attention to that.