Where the Truth Lies

by Julie Corbin

  ‘The clerks at Chambers? The other barristers?’

  ‘Edward knows. As head clerk, I run developments by him.’

  ‘And of course Megan knows.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did she know from the beginning?’

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘Do you unburden yourself to her?’

  He frowns. ‘It’s not a case of un-bur-den-ing.’ He stresses each of the four syllables. ‘She’s my instructing solicitor and I have had to resign.’

  ‘I’m a solicitor.’ I bring my fist into my chest. ‘And I’m your wife and Bea’s mother. Plus I’m mentioned by name in the emails. I would have thought that gave me a vested interest that at the very least equals Megan’s.’

  He sighs. ‘I thought we’d moved past this.’

  ‘I think that because I’m no longer part of that world, you’ve shut me out.’

  ‘That isn’t true.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Once upon a time I was your best friend, your confidante.’

  He takes my hands. ‘And you still are.’

  I give a short laugh. ‘Are you denying that when I worked full-time, you talked about your work more?’

  ‘Yes, I did, but it’s only natural that now you’re no longer practising law I talk about it less. We knew a lot of the same people then. You had a reference point for the cases and people I talked about.’ He releases my hands and rubs his own across his face. ‘You know perfectly well that most of my work is mundane: going through witness statements, advising on evidence, preparing cross-examination. Do you really want chapter and verse on that?’

  ‘It’s become a habit for us not to talk about your work,’ I say. ‘You share your thoughts and ideas with . . .’ I pause ‘. . . other people.’

  ‘I’m not sure what we’re arguing about here.’ I watch his body tense and the good feeling between us begins to evaporate into air that’s rapidly losing its oxygen. He stands up and takes a sweater from the cupboard. ‘I’ve apologised several times for not telling you about the emails sooner. ‘Or’ – he pulls the sweater over his head and glares down at me – ‘is this about Megan?’

  ‘You spend a lot of time together.’

  ‘Working.’

  I stand up too. ‘Late evenings, weekends.’

  ‘You’re making something out of nothing.’

  I rub my sore palm and think about the way they looked at each other when they were outside. ‘Am I? She clearly has a crush on you.’

  ‘A crush? That’s for teenage girls. She’s almost thirty. Here.’ He picks up his phone and hands it to me. ‘You check the message.’

  I do. Megan’s voice says, ‘Gordon is happy with the handover. Speak to you on Monday.’ I pass the phone back to him.

  ‘So is that it, then, or am I about to be accused of full-blown adultery?’

  ‘Well, now you mention it.’ I make an effort to say it lightly. ‘Have you had sex with Megan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’ve thought about it?’

  ‘Not really.’

  My stomach tips sideways and I stifle a gasp. ‘So you have, then?’

  ‘About three months ago she started coming on to me. Nothing too strong, just hints here and there.’

  My arms fold over the bitter jealousy that’s swirling in my stomach. ‘And did you take her up on those hints?’

  ‘Claire!’ He looks at me as if he thinks I’m being deliberately obtuse. ‘After the way we made love last night, I can’t believe you’re even giving it a passing thought, never mind voicing it.’

  ‘I watched you from the window. It’s the reason I cut my hand.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘You looked at each other with . . .’ I can’t think of the right word and settle for ‘fondness.’

  ‘Fondness?’ He laughs. ‘If I never saw Megan again, it wouldn’t matter to me. That’s the truth.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have asked for another solicitor?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To eliminate temptation.’

  ‘There was no real temptation.’ His expression is closed. ‘Most adults can work with members of the opposite sex without sleeping with them.’

  The implication is clear and it hurts so intensely that when I breathe in, my chest aches.

  ‘I am happily married. I love you. It was nothing.’ He takes hold of my elbows and I look up into his face. ‘I’m committed to you and to our family. I would never jeopardise that for a cheap affair.’

  Put like that, my fear seems ridiculous, but my heart is slow to catch up with my head. I briefly rest my lips against his chest. ‘I’m sorry.’ I bend down and pick up the email, pushing it in beside the others underneath a pile of sweaters.

  ‘Let’s go through to bed.’ He takes my hand. ‘We’re both exhausted.’

  I let him lead me into the bedroom. Bea is still fast asleep, her head almost completely covered by the duvet. ‘I’m going to get a drink of water,’ I say. ‘Do you want anything?’

  ‘Not for me.’

  I go out on to the landing. I feel sad, ashamed, achy inside. I’ve always known that Julian is a better person than me. He has enough integrity and honour for ten men. He didn’t have to spell it out for me to know that he found my suspicions about him and Megan insulting. I was judging him by my standards rather than his. I feel thoroughly put in my place and I’m reminded again of why he’s so successful in court.

  When I’m at the top of the stairs, I hear the front door close. Sezen comes in from the porch and goes into the sitting room. I’m not wearing anything on my feet. I make hardly any sound as I go down the carpeted stairs and she doesn’t realise that I am behind her. When I reach the entrance to the sitting room, she is standing in front of the bay window, staring at a man’s retreating back as he walks along the street. She leans right into the glass, her palms flat against the pane, so that she can catch the last sight of him as the pavement curves round the corner. Then she stands back and sighs, closes her eyes and turns her face up to the ceiling.

  I don’t want her to find me watching her like this, so I tiptoe along the hallway to the kitchen. Jack is taking some leftovers out of the fridge. He holds up a cold chicken leg. ‘Is it OK if I eat this?’

  I nod. ‘Do you know who that was at the door?’

  He shrugs. ‘Some friend of Sezen’s.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘Not much. I answered the door and he asked if Sezen was here and I said I’d get her.’ He uses his teeth to tear off some meat. ‘That was it.’

  ‘Did he speak English with an accent?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Unshaven. Serious fish.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘He didn’t smile.’

  ‘Did Sezen bring him in?’

  ‘They stood outside.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘A minute or two.’

  ‘What did they talk about?’

  ‘I dunno!’ He looks exasperated. ‘What’s with the twenty questions?’

  ‘I’m interested.’

  ‘Then ask her yourself. Maybe he’s her boyfriend.’

  ‘Is Charlie back from Wendy’s yet?’

  ‘He’s in his room listening to music. He told me to F off.’

  I pour some water into a glass.

  ‘I think he feels bad about what he said to you,’ Jack says. He comes and stands beside me, claps a heavy hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Mum.’

  ‘I feel bad about it too.’ I kiss his cheek. ‘Don’t you stay up too late, now. You need your beauty sleep.’

  He gives me an affectionate smile and returns to tearing into the chicken leg. I take my glass of water and head to bed. My foot is on the bottom stair when I decide to have a word with Sezen. She’s still in the sitting room, her book unopened on her lap.

  ‘Was that someone at the door?’ I say lightly.

  ‘It was just
a man.’

  ‘A friend of yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh!’ I take a sip of water. ‘Jack thought you knew him.’

  ‘I met him before.’

  ‘And you gave him this address?’

  She stands up, walks towards me and stops a couple of feet away. Her expression is sombre, but her eyes are bright. ‘He will not come here again.’

  ‘It’s not that I mind you having friends aroun—’

  ‘I am an honest person.’ Her tone is firmer. ‘He will not come here again.’ And then she adds, ‘He is nothing to me.’

  I don’t believe her, but I can’t read the expression in her eyes, cloaked as it is by a fierce self-control. I take a step backwards. ‘I’m off to bed,’ I say, half turning my body towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Sleep well.’ She smiles. It’s automatic and has none of her usual warmth.

  I leave the room. I feel an impulse to apologise – but for what? Her words don’t ring true. Why stand at the window as if hungry for further contact? Why stare so intently after a man who is nothing to you?

  Julian has turned out the light. Bea is on my side of the bed. I climb over her and lie down between them both. ‘There’s just been a man at the door for Sezen.’

  ‘Did she invite him in?’

  ‘No. She denied he was her friend.’ I shift my position, try to relax into Julian’s side, but his earlier words are still stinging. ‘And yet she stood right up close to the window and watched him all the way to the end of the street, like she couldn’t get enough of him.’

  ‘A secret lover?’

  ‘Not one she’s willing to admit to. Maybe he’s someone from her past. Lara’s father even.’ I come up on to one elbow and look into Julian’s face. There’s just enough light for me to make out his features. ‘Julian?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Under what circumstances would you consider giving up the witness’s name and whereabouts?’ I say it lightly, but my heart is hammering in my chest. That’s the simplest way to end all this, isn’t it? For Julian to just give the blackmailer the witness. As she said in one of her emails, leaking the name and the whereabouts of the witness will be easy.

  ‘You know I can’t consider doing that.’ He takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. ‘We can’t bend to this sort of intimidation.’

  ‘But, Julian . . .’ I can’t say the words. I can’t say ‘Bea’ and ‘dead’ in the same sentence. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, you would put our family first, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘But if it did,’ I persist. ‘Would you put Bea’s safety before the interests of this case?’

  ‘Claire, I will do everything in my power to protect our family.’ He turns towards me in the bed and puts his arms round me. ‘I’m surprised you even have to ask me that.’

  I believe him. I trust him. He is always there for me and for the children. He’s my husband, solid and true – he has never let me down.

  So why am I not reassured?

  11

  Saturday and I wake early. Julian and Bea are still asleep. I climb over Bea, go into the walk-in wardrobe, take all the emails out from underneath my sweaters and sit down on the floor to read them again. By the time I get to the final one, I feel the intensity of the threat tightening, like a snake coiling round a human body. I am almost certain that if all these emails had been addressed to me, I would have given in by now. Not so Julian. I know that his resolve is stronger than mine. His belief in the criminal justice system runs deeper than mine. He trusts the system and he trusts others to do their best. I don’t. I know that the system is only as strong as the people who are running it. I know that most people are weak. They respond to the offer of money. The blackmailer could be gleaning information from several sources, some of them within the police service, some of them people much closer to our family. From a professional viewpoint, I know that giving in to this sort of intimidation is not an option. The system stands and falls by its principles. But as a human being, I can’t help seeing this as a simple case of knowing when to give in. Like the bully in the playground who wants your pocket money – after sustained intimidation, you just give it to him. Move school. Move on. Don’t wait for the adults to sort it out.

  But the fact that she has copied me in on the emails should make it easier for me to track her down. Few people know my email address. Miss Percival is one of them. As Bea’s nursery teacher, she does on occasion send round nursery details. And the more I think about it, the more suspicious she seems. I see far more of her than I should, considering she doesn’t live close by. She’s often walking Douglas in the park opposite my house and yet there is a larger, far more dog-friendly park nearby. I’m going to mention her to Mac. See whether he will bring her in for questioning.

  I put the emails away and have a shower. The cut on my hand has stopped bleeding, the edges of the wound pulling together nicely. I stand under the water, directing the flow on to my shoulders, where tension has tightened them into knots. My mind loops back to last night. Sezen. What was that all about? Even if I wasn’t worried about the blackmailer, I would find her behaviour odd. I think about her sincerity, the look on her face when she said, ‘I am an honest person.’ I want to believe her. I asked her to work for me. Her references were exemplary. But how could she not know the man, when he found out where she lives, and asked for her by name? I wonder what she’s hiding. Bad debts, maybe? Judging by her accommodation in Tooting, she has been living from hand to mouth.

  By nine o’clock everyone apart from Jack and Charlie are up and dressed and at the breakfast table.

  ‘How is your hand?’ Sezen says to me.

  ‘Feels much better.’ I show her my palm and the smaller plaster now covering it. ‘It’ll be healed in a couple of days.’

  Bea has reminded Julian of his promise to take her to the Sealife Centre. We have season tickets. It’s her favourite place to visit. She is fascinated with fish and crustaceans and anything that lives in the sea. Julian has offered to take Lara too. ‘There is the eagle fish and the dog fish,’ Bea is saying to Lara, ‘and the fish that nobody loves because he is very, very ugly.’

  The way Bea says it, it sounds like ‘velly, velly uggerley’.

  ‘Uggerley?’ Lara says.

  ‘And at Christmas I saw Santa,’ she adds. ‘Because the Santa in the shopping centre wasn’t the real Santa.’ She shakes her head vigorously and her hair falls into her cereal bowl. I lean across to tuck it behind her ears. She takes a spoonful of cereal and says in hushed tones, ‘The Sealife Centre had the real Santa. Didn’t it, Mummy?’

  ‘I don’t think Nemo would settle for anything less.’

  ‘See.’ She looks round at Lara. ‘He had a real beard and was fat with a proper tummy, not a cushion.’

  I stand up. ‘I have to go now. You girls have fun!’ I kiss the tops of their heads and then Julian’s cheek. ‘I’m off to get Lisa.’

  ‘Need a hand?’

  ‘No, we’ll be fine.’ I kiss him again. ‘Would you mind having a word with Charlie before you go out?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘What would you like me to do this morning?’ Sezen asks.

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ I say. ‘Take some time off. It’ll give you a chance to look for somewhere to stay between now and moving into Mr Patel’s place.’

  ‘But would you like me to help you with Lisa? I can make some food for when you return.’

  I tell her it isn’t necessary. There’s enough food left over from yesterday’s cooking session. She follows me into the hallway. ‘But Julian is taking Lara,’ she says. ‘I would like to give those hours back.’

  ‘Really, it’s fine.’ I smile at her. ‘Take some time for yourself.’

  ‘Claire.’ She has followed me into the porch. ‘About last night.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I hope you did not find me rude.’ She stops, thinks. I ca
n see she’s choosing her words carefully. ‘I am very appreciative of this job.’

  ‘You know that you can talk to me, don’t you?’ I see a moment of uncertainty flit across her face. ‘Sezen, I hope we’re friends. I hope you trust me.’ I smile. ‘I’m fairly unshockable, you know. If there’s anything you need to tell me . . . something from the pas—’

  ‘No!’ she interrupts me, quite forcefully, and at once I know there is something in her past.

  ‘The man who came last night?’

  ‘I will not see him again.’ The shake of her head is emphatic. ‘He is not good for me.’

  ‘Sezen.’ I reach for her hand. She lets me take it. ‘I’m a good listener.’

  Her expression softens. Her eyes fill with tears. ‘You are a good person, Claire.’ She hugs me quickly and then backs away.

  ‘You will talk to me?’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiles her thanks. ‘I will.’

  She closes the door after me and, feeling like I might have made some progress, I’m about to climb into my car when Jem calls me on her mobile.

  ‘Only me,’ she says. ‘I didn’t leave my Stanley knife in Lisa’s room, did I? I woke up this morning with a horrible feeling I had. I don’t want Bea to get hold of it and hurt herself.’

  ‘Hang on.’ I go back in the house and look around the room. ‘Can’t see it anywhere.’

  ‘Oh well, must be in the van somewhere. How’s things?’

  I tell her about Julian taking the girls out to give me space to collect Lisa, walking into the sitting room as I talk. I look through the window and spot Mary Percival heading towards me through the park opposite. There’s a light summer rain falling and she has her umbrella up, but I can see her face just below the rim. Douglas is trotting along beside her, head up, beady black eyes fixing on passers-by. When she reaches the pavement at the edge of the park, she crosses over to my side of the street. She looks up at the house and I automatically pull myself back and to the side a bit so that she won’t be able to see me at the window. She stands at the bottom of the steps, looks at her watch, then back at the house. She climbs three of the steps and stops. Douglas climbs the steps with her. He is watching her. She is watching the front door. I can just make out the expression on her face. She looks nervous, scared even. She is biting her lip. She climbs one step higher and then abruptly changes her mind, does an about-turn and ends up back on the pavement.