Sign of the Times

by Susan Buchanan

“Dinner will be ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dad’s making dinner?”

  “Yes, but I’m helping him. We’re having spaghetti carbonara.”

  “Lovely. I’m on my way.”

  “Can you set the table, Clara, please?” her father asked.

  “OK.”

  “Don’t forget black pepper.”

  Clara rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry, you know what you’re doing.”

  “It needs black pepper and parmesan,” Clara said knowledgeably.

  “Is Felix coming back for dinner?” Jack wondered aloud.

  “Don’t think so. He was going over to Tigsy’s for practice.

  “Who’s Tigsy?”

  Clara shrugged, “one of the band?”

  He’d have to keep a closer eye on his son. He didn’t know who his friends were these days, but then, he was seventeen and who did know what their kids did at that age?

  “Did he eat before he went out?”

  Another non-committal shrug from Clara. His son had looked a little thin. He’d have to get a good look at him next time he saw him. He should have made him get a summer job. Felix wouldn’t be thrilled at that suggestion. With the schools in their last week, no doubt all the summer jobs had been snapped up anyway.

  Antonia opened the door and dropped her handbag in the hall, to help her more ably manage carrying the five shopping bags through to the kitchen. She kicked the door closed behind her and ploughed through to the kitchen, which was a hive of activity. She almost laughed at the sight of Jack, in an apron.

  “Hi you lot,” Antonia kissed first Clara on the cheek and then Jack on the mouth, making Clara groan and seek refuge in the lounge.

  “Good day?” Jack asked.

  “Better now. That smells great,” she said, as Jack dished up.

  The three of them sat companionably eating their spaghetti carbonara and garlic bread, which Clara had popped in the oven, as a welcome afterthought. They talked mainly about Clara and Felix, although Felix less so, it being difficult, when they didn’t actually know anything. Antonia and Jack actively encouraged the kids to do what they wanted and improve upon what they were good at and fortunately they had enough money to throw at the various enterprises the children chose to undertake, within reason.

  “So, could you dance to Felix’s band?” Jack played devil’s advocate.

  “That dirge?”

  “Now Clara, you must appreciate your brother’s gifts too,” her father admonished her, jokingly.

  “But they’re terrible! They really are. They played a gig at Glasgow Academy last week and they were booed off the stage!”

  “Really?” Jack exchanged a look with Antonia, whose eyebrows told him all he needed to know. He’d need to challenge his son at some point on where this was all going. This was an important year for him, A levels. Jack and Antonia were liberal, but to a point. They still wanted their kids to do well and if they were overly distracted, then they wouldn’t hesitate to rein them in.

  “So, are you going up to Hazelton tomorrow?” Antonia asked Clara.

  “For a couple of hours. Laura’s mum is picking me up.”

  They owed that woman a medal. She was always running their daughter places.

  “So, will you be mucking out the stables or just trotting around on Ginger?” her mum asked.

  “Both. Colette’s got a new pony, Cosmo.”

  “Cosmo?”

  “Yes. It’s a Welsh Cob.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s black, male.”

  “I’m surprised her parents let her get such a powerful horse. How old is she?”

  “Thirteen.”

  Antonia’s eyebrows raised and Jack looked from his wife to his daughter, seeking enlightenment. He didn’t do horses.

  “Clara, could you clear the table please?” he asked her, motioning with his eyes for her to skedaddle. His canny daughter caught on straightaway.

  “I’m going upstairs to listen to my iPod,” she said to her parents.

  “I’ll bring you up a cup of tea later,” her mother said.

  “Antonia, you coming through to the comfy seats?”

  “I think so. Is there anything on TV?”

  “Not sure. Actually, I wanted to talk to you,”

  “Fire away,” Antonia made herself comfortable, plumped three cushions round about her and leant on the arm of the sofa.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking that we haven’t had a holiday yet.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “I know we’ve been busy, but my idea was perhaps during the October week, we could take the kids to New York,” Jack blurted out, before Antonia could take over the conversation, as she was wont to do.

  “New York? We haven’t been there for years.”

  “I know, but now the kids are old enough to appreciate it and there’s so much for them to see and do. Even if they just recognise more places in movies they watch when we get back, it will have been worth it.”

  “I need to check my calendar for October, but I don’t see that being a problem.”

  “Fantastic. I’ll get Gloria to look into flights.”

  “This is exciting. Gives us something to look forward to.”

  “I know,” Jack leaned forward and gave her a hug. “It’ll be great.”

  As Antonia flicked the TV on, Jack excused himself, saying he needed to get a jumper. Antonia thought he must be coming down with a chill. It was positively tropical inside.

  Jack padded up the stairs and knocked on Clara’s door. No answer. Then he remembered what she’d said about her iPod, so he opened the door, to find his daughter dancing about the room, headphones on and her iPod stuck in her jeans pocket.

  “Clara,” her father leaned down into his daughter’s face. She almost screamed, as she had her eyes half closed, as she danced around, lost in the music.

  “Dad! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

  “We’re going to New York!”

  At that she did scream and jumped up and hugged her father.

  “Oh Dad, that’s fab. Wait till I tell Laura. She’ll be so jealous.”

  Jack released his daughter and said, “Don’t tell Felix. I want to tell him myself.”

  “OK.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Jack snuggled down on the sofa beside his wife, who leant her head on his chest, his arms around her waist, as they lay watching some reality TV show. Jack hated that sort of thing.

  “Antonia, what are we watching?”

  “It’s the end of Wife Swap USA. A Few Good Men is coming on.”

  “That’s ancient.”

  “I know, but I need to hear Jack Nicholson say, ‘You can’t handle the truth’ and besides, Tom Cruise is in it.”

  Knowing when he was beaten, Jack relaxed, enjoying the heat of his wife’s body.

  “Didn’t you find your jumper?”

  “No, not sure what I did with it.”

  “You could have taken another one from the drawer,” suggested Antonia.

  “No, I wanted that one. It’s OK. You’re nice and warm, he said suggestively.

  “Jack. Later. Tom Cruise, remember. Priorities. If you want to be useful, get me some chocolate.”

  Trying not to smile, Jack dutifully fetched the chocolate.

  “Guess who called me again today?”

  “Who?”

  “Holly.”

  “Holly? How’s she doing?”

  “Fine. She’s enjoying Italy and everything’s going well. She asked me again if I’d come over. I was thinking that maybe we could go, just the two of us, maybe get my parents to watch the kids.”

  “When?”

  “In a few weeks.”

  “I can’t. I’m too busy. You go.”

  As Antonia was angling for exactly that, she was happy.

  “Are you sure?” she checked.

  “Positive,” said Jack, turning back to his New Scienti
st. Antonia cuddled into her husband and Jack tried not to laugh. Did she think he was so dim, he couldn’t see her plan? Well, they’d all got what they wanted today, he and Clara, New York; Antonia, Tuscany.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Next day Jack was late getting away from the office. In two days he’d be in court and he still had to polish his opening statement. The house was quiet when he arrived home, so Jack poured himself a glass of wine and sat in his study. As he sipped his wine, he allowed his thoughts to flow away from work, to his enigma of a son. They had almost nothing in common. He wasn’t much interested in the Arts. He wondered what he’d make of New York. Would he want to go? Maybe he and Antonia needed to make a concerted effort to spend time together with the kids as a family, do things they would all enjoy. New York could be the start of it. Clara was certainly excited enough for all of them.

  The door to his study opened.

  “I hear we’re going to New York.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do I have to go?” Felix asked.

  “You don’t have to go,” Jack began, in a tone which indicated he would be disappointed if he didn’t, “but I thought you’d like the buzz of New York. Clara can’t wait to go.”

  “Yes, well, she’s a girl. It’s all shopping for her.”

  “You know that’s not true. Give your sister more credit.”

  “How about you give me more credit?” his son challenged him.

  Whilst Jack felt Felix had a point, he wasn’t going to allow him to speak to him like that.

  “Felix, I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to,” his father chastised.

  “Sorry, Sir!” his son’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Where did he go wrong?

  “Felix, where would you like to go?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” mumbled Felix.

  “It does matter.”

  “Nashville, Memphis, Graceland, listen to the blues on Beale St, that sort of thing, but you,” he spat, “won’t want to do that.”

  This much was true, Jack thought, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it for his son. Who knows, it might be fun. After a few minutes, Jack said,

  “If we went to Nashville and Memphis for three days, would you come to New York?”

  His son looked at him in disbelief. “You’d take me to Memphis and Nashville?”

  “Yep,” Jack smiled. “On one condition.”

  Felix’s face fell. Here came the catch. “What?”

  “You do the research. You find the hotels. You work out the itinerary. It’s all down to you.”

  Felix looked up at his father, his eyes alight.

  “Deal.”

  *

  Over the next few weeks, Jack and Antonia were increasingly busy at work. Jack’s case had begun in earnest and so he and his family flitted past each other. He couldn’t wait for October to come when they could spend some quality time together. There had been a marked improvement in Felix’s disposition. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Well, Jack thought, if getting to go to the Deep South does that for him, we can go more often. On the rare occasions he had crossed paths with his son since their talk, Felix was full of plans and print-outs and had booked the hotel. He’d arranged the internal flights from New York to Memphis and they’d decided to drive the few hundred miles to Nashville, to see a bit of the South at its best. Antonia wasn’t fussed, she was happy Felix was showing a bit of character. Secretly, although their musical tastes differed, Jack was looking forward to it and of course, there was Graceland.

  “Gloria, I have to be in court at ten. Is there anything urgent, before I go?”

  “I’ve left messages on your desk.”

  “Thanks,” Jack let go of the intercom.

  *

  Jack strode into the courtroom, acknowledging Ted Harvey, QC for the defence and sat down beside his clients. Opening statements had gone well and Jack was more than half way through his witness list.

  The judge entered, addressed the courtroom and then the jury filed in. Jack knew he had to play to an audience, something Harvey was no stranger to either. Harvey was trying to portray his client as a poor, misunderstood young boy from a crumbling, housing estate, with no prospects. Even if he were only slightly bending the truth, it was irrelevant. A man was dead, leaving a son without a father, a wife without a husband, all because Brodie was driving dangerously along the same road on that fateful night. Jack could see the defendant’s mother in the assembled crowd, face grim. He felt for her. He was still her son at the end of the day, but justice needed to be served.

  The formalities over, Jack called his next witness.

  “Prosecution calls Elizabeth Navarra to the stand.”

  Elizabeth Navarra, a responsible looking woman in her forties, hair tied up in a bun, approached the stand and took her seat.

  “Do you swear by Almighty God that you shall tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  “I swear by Almighty God that I will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” said Elizabeth.

  “For the benefit of the court, can you state your name please?” Jack initiated.

  “Yes. Elizabeth Navarra.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “Eaglesham.”

  “Ms Navarra, can you tell the court of your whereabouts on the evening of March twenty first of this year?”

  “Yes. I was on the A76, driving back from seeing my sister in Sanquhar.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Nine o’clock, quarter past?”

  “Was it dark?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did anything unusual happen on the drive home?”

  “Yes. I saw a Ford Mondeo collide head on with a Renault Espace, just as I approached the Cumnock sign.”

  “Was there anything out of the ordinary with the way either vehicle was being driven?”

  “Objection!” shouted Harvey.

  “Overruled,” said Judge Connelly. “You may answer the question, Ms Navarra.”

  “Yes. The blue Mondeo was on the wrong side of the road.”

  Jack continued, “So, the man sitting in the dock, James Brodie, was the man driving the Mondeo that night?” Jack wished to clarify.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did you stop?”

  “Of course.”

  “What did you do first?”

  She thought for a few seconds, then said, “I pulled my car up onto the verge and checked the Espace. There were several people in it. The windscreen was gone, the airbags had gone off on both the passenger and the driver side and there was crying coming from the back. I later discovered this was a baby. The driver’s head was at a funny angle and there was a lot of blood. The teenager in the back was unconscious.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I looked over at the Mondeo and James Brodie was getting out. So I concentrated on the Espace.”

  “Then what?”

  “I called 999.”

  “So you placed the call to the Emergency Services?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I convinced the mother to get out of the car, although she was bleeding and shaken and I took the baby seat out, but didn’t take the baby out of it, just in case there was any damage we couldn’t see.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I spoke to the father, who was unconscious. He looked in really bad shape and I wasn’t sure if doing anything would make it worse.”

  “What about the other child?”

  “I shook him a few times and spoke to him. I then told his mother he was unconscious but breathing.”

  “Did you check Mr Brodie for any injuries?”

  “No.”

  “Why was that?” enquired Jack.

  “Another motorist had stopped. He was talking to Mr Brodie who said he was all right.”

  “Did the deceased regain consciousness before t
he Emergency Services arrived?” Jack pressed on.

  “No. I believe he died on the way to hospital.”

  “Thank you, Miss Navarra. No further questions,” Jack sat down.

  Ted Harvey QC took the floor and tried to niggle the witness, plant the seed of reasonable doubt in the mind of the jury that his client hadn’t caused the victim’s death. A picture of confidence, he smiled at Ms Navarra and said, “So, Ms Navarra, we have determined that on the night of March twenty first, you were returning from Sanquhar after visiting your sister. Is that correct?”

  The morning continued, with Harvey haranguing the witnesses, in a desperate attempt to set his client free.

  *

  Jack rocked back and forth on his chair, trying to think of his next step. He’d come from court to the office, as he needed to think and here was where he thought best. He clicked his pen on and off repeatedly. Undoing his tie, he made notes on his plan of attack. It was obvious Brodie had caused Alan Fairlie’s death. It was all the rigmarole surrounding the case that needed work now, the waltz that had to be danced.

  “You OK?” Antonia asked Jack that night.

  “Mmm,” Jack was evasive.

  “Bad day?” Antonia was sympathetic.

  “You could say that.”

  His wife hugged him and said, “Jack, you can only do what you can. You do it really well. If anyone can get this guy put away, it’s you. Just remember that.”

  Smiling down at his wife, cuddled into his chest, playing with the grey hairs there, Jack kissed her softly and when she made a move to take things further, he didn’t stop her.

  *

  “Remember I need you here by five. Everyone’s arriving at seven thirty.”

  “OK,” Jack said vaguely. He was playing golf with Oscar at St Andrew’s.

  “That was some game,” Jack grinned at Oscar. It was a beautiful day and there was even some heat in the sun, unusual for the east coast.

  “Yes it was,” Oscar returned his grin. Oscar had improved upon his handicap, but Jack had still beaten him. It hadn’t really been decided until the seventeenth. Overall it had been a good game. Jack’s short game was better than Oscar’s, but Oscar could hit some serious long balls.

  “That you, Jack?” Antonia called from the kitchen, as the front door slammed.

  “Yes.”

  “Good game?” his wife called.

  Jack strode into the kitchen, where Antonia stood, hair swept up, a few tendrils falling loose around her face. She looked hot, in both senses, he thought mischievously.