by Susan Lewis
‘In which case,’ Russ said, before Oliver could object again, ‘we’ll be looking at a charge of causing death by dangerous driving, which won’t only incur a ban regardless of the drink-drive charge, but a custodial sentence?’
‘That is certainly the worst-case scenario,’ Jolyon agreed, ‘but happily we’re not there yet. I’m still waiting on more information from the police investigation and frankly, with the way things are going, anything could happen between now and when this case finally comes to court.’
‘Whatever happens,’ Oliver broke in hotly, ‘I’m not going to say I wasn’t drunk, because I was.’
‘Oliver,’ Russ said quietly.
‘No one’s asking you to lie,’ Jolyon assured him.
‘But you’re going to try and get me off on some kind of technicality, when we all know that I’m responsible for what happened. Do you reckon that’s fair? What’s it going to do to help her?’
Flicking a quick glance at Russ, Jolyon said, ‘But it’s not in our power to help her, Oliver. You must understand that. You’re our concern. We have to do what we can to help you.’
Oliver’s face was stricken, his eyes burning bright with emotion as he accepted the words and looked away.
After a moment’s awkward silence, Charlie said, ‘OK, so next move. Do we go ahead and talk to Mum?’
‘Why not?’ Jolyon replied, tearing his gaze from Oliver. ‘If you’re able to get her onside it can only help.’
‘And an affidavit will do it? Won’t it have to be notarised?’
‘It will, and I can do that for you. I’ll need to be there when she makes her statement, unless she’s prepared to come here to the office and swear under oath that whatever you concoct between you is true and wasn’t given under duress.’
As Russ got to his feet he was tempted to declare, she’ll do it if I have to put her in a mangle and wring it out of her, but deciding the humour was likely to misfire, he kept it to himself and waited until his sons had left the room before saying to Jolyon, ‘Oliver’s becoming fixated on the girl. He’s online morning, noon and night watching videos of her, reading everything he can find about her. Do you think I need to be worried?’
Jolyon gave it some thought and still appeared uncertain when he answered. ‘It often goes one of two ways in these situations,’ he said, ‘total denial, in that the driver won’t allow him or herself to know or feel anything about the victim at all; or a terrible racking of conscience that makes it virtually impossible to stop thinking or worrying about them. And now we have Facebook, and YouTube, all kinds of new media providing a false sort of connection that I can see might easily turn into an obsession. Whether that’s happening here ...’ He sighed as he shook his head in dismay. ‘The girl is very close to Oliver’s age, and I’d say that being the kind of young man he is, he’s probably feeling the responsibility as acutely as it’s possible to feel it. Which, though tough on him, should serve him well when it comes to court, because showing no remorse would definitely work against him.’
Russ’s irony was weighted by despair. ‘Oh, he’s full of that,’ he assured Jolyon. ‘To the point that what’s starting to worry me now is what the heck’s going to happen to him if she doesn’t pull through.’
‘How was Lauren today?’ Polly asked, as Emma searched for a corkscrew. They were in Emma’s kitchen which, thanks to her mother, was as clean as a new pin.
‘Still managing without the ventilator,’ Emma replied, looking haunted and wrecked by tiredness. ‘They took her off yesterday; you know that, don’t you?’
Polly smiled sadly as she nodded.
‘It’s good that she’s breathing on her own,’ Emma continued, ‘but she still hasn’t come round.’ The dark night beyond the window started to fill with the sound of a plane going over, but neither of them attempted to guess where it might have come from, or who could be on board; it had no meaning now.
After it had passed and quiet was resumed, Emma said, ‘I felt tempted to tell her why her father hasn’t been to see her since last Thursday, but if she can hear me ...’ She bowed her head. ‘Hurting him through her would be an awful thing to do. Do you know, when I texted to tell him she was breathing on her own he sent a message back saying it would only be good news if she’d woken up.’
Flinching at such brutality, Polly said, ‘Does he have any intention of coming to see her?’
‘Personally, I’d like it to be never after the things he said,’ Emma replied, a wave of resentment washing through her at the mere thought of Will showing his face again.
Knowing how viciously he’d lashed out at Emma during their talk with the surgeon, and how divided they were over keeping Lauren alive, Polly said, ‘My guess is he’s too embarrassed to face either you or Farraday again after behaving the way he did.’
Reaching for glasses, Emma said, ‘I got the impression Mr Farraday’s seen a lot worse. I suppose when you’re dealing with matters of life and death the way he is every day, his news doesn’t always bring out the best in people.’ She smiled wanly. ‘That was more or less what he said after Will had gone, that people often behave out of character, or irrationally, at times of grief and stress. I’m not sure it is out of character for Will these days, but I didn’t say so. What mattered more was how kind he was when he told me not to be rushed into a decision and reminded me that it will only be an issue if she experiences another surge, or some other complication.’
‘Does he think it’s likely that she will?’
Emma sighed shakily. ‘I don’t think he knows, but he says there’s no conscious aspect ...’ Her voice trailed off as fear and exhaustion tried to overwhelm her again. ‘He’s happy to talk to me any time I feel the need, but I want to leave it for a while, because I’m sure the upshot of any further conversation now will only be a repeat of what he told me on Thursday, and I really don’t need to hear it again.’
Understanding that, Polly took the glass Emma was offering and looked carefully into her eyes as she said, ‘Here’s to you and how brave you’re being.’
Emma tried to smile. ‘To Lauren,’ she whispered, but before taking a sip she put her glass down again. ‘I’m sorry, but to think that this, alcohol, is what’s responsible for putting her where she is ... I wonder if I’m ever going to be able to drink again. Am I repeating myself? How many times have I already said that?’
‘You’re completely shattered,’ Polly told her. ‘You should be getting some sleep, not standing here talking to me.’
‘But I need to talk to someone ...’ She broke off as her mobile bleeped with a text, and going to fish it out of her coat pocket she opened up a message from Will. How was she today? Are you still with her?
Suppressing the urge to ignore him, or send back something he wouldn’t want to read, she quickly tapped in The same and clicked off. ‘I see no reason to expand,’ she told Polly after showing her the texts. ‘If he wants to know how she is, he should be here.’
‘Of course he should. He’s doing this to punish you for not seeing things his way. He’s not thinking about Lauren at all.’
‘According to him, he’s thinking about nothing else, while all I’m thinking about is myself. I had an email from him yesterday explaining why he’s decided to stay away – have I already told you this?’
Polly shook her head.
‘He’s saying that he’s not prepared to go on pretending Lauren can hear us, or kidding himself that she’s coming back, when as far as he’s concerned Nigel Farraday made it perfectly clear that she isn’t. I think his actual words were: What you’re doing, Emma, is beyond cruel and selfish, and if you can’t see that then I’m almost as sorry for you as I am for Lauren.’
Polly’s eyes were full of pity. ‘This is so hard for you,’ she murmured sympathetically.
Unable to deny it, Emma simply shrugged and went ahead into the sitting room, where she slumped down on the sofa and let her head fall back.
‘Where’s your mother?’ Polly asked, going
to the armchair.
‘At the hospital. She’ll be with Lauren till the end of visiting hours, then she’ll come back here. I only left because I was afraid I’d fall asleep at the wheel if I stayed any longer, but if I don’t talk to someone I’ll be awake again in the early hours, driving myself crazy, frightening my mother who doesn’t have a clue how to handle me, and why would she when she’s never even tried before, but let’s not go there now. What I need is someone who’ll tell me what they think even ... even if it’s not what I want to hear.’ Her eyes were so desperate that Polly almost went to hug her.
‘If you’re asking,’ Polly said softly, ‘what I’d do in your position, then all I can tell you is that I’m absolutely sure it would be the same as you’re doing now.’
As a spark of warmth flickered inside Emma, she said, ‘Even if the doctors were telling you that all the chances have gone?’
‘Doctors have been known to get it wrong, and you are her mother. I think your feelings, your instincts are every bit as important as medical science. Maybe even more so.’
Emma seemed to crumple with relief. ‘That’s what I keep telling myself, but I can’t make up my mind if I’m delusional, or in denial, and you know what Will thinks ...’
‘He’s entitled to his opinion, but I don’t think it should have any bearing on what you know in your heart. And if you know, or feel, that there’s still a chance, you absolutely have to go with it. If you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered raggedly.
After allowing a few moments to pass quietly, Polly said, ‘I’m interested to know what your mother thinks of your decision.’
Emma’s eyes were closed; her head was swimming with tiredness and too many emotions. ‘She says she’s willing to support whatever decision I take, which means I suppose that she doesn’t have the depth of belief that I do, but at the same time she’s not prepared to criticise, or stand against me and take Will’s side. I think that surprised me, though I’m not sure why when I know she loves Lauren almost as much as I do.’
‘So how are the two of you getting along, here on your own?’
Opening her eyes and lifting her head, Emma said, ‘OK, I guess, probably because we don’t actually see all that much of each other now she’s taken over Will’s visiting hours at the hospital. Harry came at the weekend with Jane, which seemed to cheer her. You saw them, didn’t you? Actually, you cooked dinner for us all. Sorry, my head’s all over the place.’
‘It must be reassuring to know that Harry and Jane think you’re doing the right thing.’
Emma nodded. ‘Yes it is, and Berry agrees with me too. I just keep wondering what they’d say if I suddenly decided that Will was right after all – and I have to admit, there’s a tiny part of me that’s afraid I could be getting this horribly wrong.’
‘You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t have doubts, especially over something so important.’
Putting her face in her hands, Emma combed her fingers back through her hair and took a deep, ragged breath. ‘The orthopaedic surgeon is keen to operate on her leg,’ she said. ‘I think they’re scheduling it for sometime in the next few days. All this surgery, so much anaesthetic ... Still, it has to happen,’ she added briskly, as though to buoy herself. ‘Tell me what happened when Donna and Melissa went to see her on Sunday. Did you hear them talking to her?’
Polly shook her head in regret. ‘No, they wouldn’t relax the rule of two visitors at one time, so all I can tell you is that whatever they said to her, they’ve decided to carry on keeping it to themselves.’
Emma’s laugh was mirthless. ‘Well, at least that shows they have some faith in her coming round, or why keep the secret? Maybe they wouldn’t tell us anyway. I was thinking I’d give Clive Andrews a call tomorrow. I haven’t heard from him since last Friday, so maybe something new has happened, though I’m sure he’d have been in touch if it had. Come to think of it, I must contact Hamish Gallagher too, to let him know what I’ve decided about the job.’
‘And what have you decided?’
‘That I can’t take it, not even on a part-time basis, but I’ll ask him to consider me for freelance work at a later stage, once things have settled down a bit.’ Would that ever happen, she was wondering. What on earth did the future hold for them? ‘Will was asking in his email if there’s been anything in the local press about what’s happening to the Lomax boy. Have you seen or heard anything?’
Polly shook her head. ‘Not recently, but he must be going in front of the magistrates any time now.’
‘I’ll ask Clive when I speak to him. I’m as keen as Will to know that justice is taking its proper course, and not just focusing on Lauren and where she went that night.’
Jackie Dennis was at her desk, half hidden behind a mountain of paperwork, when Clive Andrews returned her call.
‘You wanted to speak to me,’ he stated.
‘I did. It’s about Lauren Scott. Have you seen her mother recently?’
‘I spoke to her this morning. I didn’t mention anything about Lomax’s missing blood, because I was hoping it might have turned up by now.’
‘You, me and the CPS,’ Dennis answered, trying not to be annoyed. ‘I don’t know what the bloody hell’s going on over in those labs, but I heard yesterday there have been a few mistakes recently, and apparently questions are raining down from on high. Which doesn’t help us much, I know, but for the moment I’m afraid it’s all I can tell you about that.’
‘So no magistrates’ hearing in the offing?’
‘Not yet, no, and I’m sorry to land you with this, Clive, but I’m afraid the Scotts’ case has been relegated to the bottom of my pile, thanks to a lorry decapitating an elderly couple on the M4 on Saturday night, and a father of three who went under a bus on the Fishponds road Sunday afternoon. And that’s just for starters; it’s been a hell of a weekend, so you’re lucky you were off, and frankly I’m considering going off altogether with the way things are. How the hell are we supposed to run an accident investigation unit, or any kind of unit, when they keep forcing all these cuts on us, is what I want to know. It’s a bloody nightmare. Everyone who’s left is either running scared for their job and pension, or they’re so busy looking for some other kind of employment they might as well not be here at all. It’s crazy. We can’t function like this, no one can. But just you wait, any day now some shifty little git from the Home Office, or the press, is going to be down on us like a ton of bricks over something we’ve missed, or got wrong, and will they want to hear that we’ve had our manpower reduced by forty per cent, or that the budgets we’re being given barely pay for the sodding petrol to get us to a scene, never mind getting us back again? Will they hell! Are you sorry you rang in yet, because there’s plenty more in my spleen that’s needing out?’
‘I think I’m getting the picture,’ Andrews answered wryly. ‘It’s the same whoever I ring these days, from traffic, to CID, to the Coroner’s office, which is understandable, given what we’re all having to deal with, but you still haven’t told me what you’re landing me with.’
Dennis’s heart sank. ‘You’re not going to like it,’ she warned, ‘but I know I can trust you to handle it discreetly. A journal’s come to light. It was found in Lauren’s flute bag and it makes for some very, how shall I put it, interesting reading. Made my eyebrows shoot up, anyway.’
‘So what does it say?’
‘I’m going to let you read it for yourself. I haven’t contacted the school yet, you should talk to Emma Scott before we do that.’ She began digging through the precarious pile in front of her. ‘We finally heard back from the service provider for the mobile phone that sent the mystery text to Lauren. Turns out it’s registered to the address in Glastonbury, with its direct debits paid from a bank account in London. The owner’s name’s escaping me for the moment, but ... Ah, here we go. Are you sitting comfortably, Clive-o, because once I’ve explained to you who this is and how they’re connect
ed to both the Osmonds and Lauren Scott, you’re the one who’ll have to decide how to break it to her mother.’
Chapter Twenty
OLIVER WASN’T COUNTING, why would he, but he guessed, if anyone asked, he’d have to say that the sequence he’d watched most on YouTube of Lauren Scott was one of her dancing, a bit like a ballerina in a cream diaphanous dress and no shoes, twirling, gliding, bending, swooping, until she lost her balance and started to fall around laughing at the end. Someone else burst out laughing too – it must have been whoever was shooting the video, probably her friend Donna, because someone had been playing the piano and Donna always seemed to be in the other videos. On the other hand, it could have been her friend Salina, because all the laughter sounded female. Salina was a quality singer, if you were into all that operatic stuff which Oliver wasn’t, but he enjoyed watching the performances anyway, if Lauren was involved.
It was as if by playing the videos, over and over, he was somehow keeping her as alive as she appeared in them. Occasionally when he watched her it was as if she was speaking poetry, or singing in her smoky soul voice, only to him. She had a look in her eyes that could make someone feel as though they were the only person that mattered. And when she played the flute, all romantic and haunting, he’d watch her lips, her fingers, her chest as she breathed, and feel it doing things to him that that kind of music had never done before.
It was like he was getting to know a ghost.
He was blown away by how brilliant she was at just about everything. It was almost impossible to stop watching her. She had a real magnetic quality about her, and she seemed so happy all the time. Everything about her kind of glowed, from her skin, to her smile, to her hair, even her voice seemed to ring with joy which should, by rights, have made her seriously annoying, but somehow it didn’t. It just made her seem like the kind of person you wanted to be with, all the time, and that was what made him feel so desolate and empty, he guessed, that he’d never been a part of her world, nor would he ever be now. It was as though he’d lost her, which was crazy, when she’d never been his in the first place, so maybe what he was thinking was that he’d destroyed his chance of ever knowing her, because he was the moron who’d driven his car when drunk and smashed her beautiful, golden life to pieces.