by M. R. Hall
‘No,’ Ross said, with an appeasing smile learned from his father.
‘Well, don’t act like you are.’ She leaned forward into Jenny’s space. ‘Has he always behaved like an old man?’
‘Not at all,’ Jenny said, resenting the girl’s attempted put-down of her son. ‘He’s always been very open-minded.’ Unlike his father, she might have added, but if Sally had an ounce of insight, she would soon glean that for herself.
‘Another thing I keep telling him is he’s lucky to have divorced parents who can both look after themselves. My mum can’t handle being on her own at all. She’s at my sister’s house every day. She won’t even begin to think about dating anyone. It’s crazy – she’s really quite good-looking.’
‘Give her time.’
‘It’s been nearly a year. It’s not like he’s in any danger of coming back. How long did it take you to start seeing other men?’
Jenny’s mouthful of coffee lodged part-way down her throat. She swallowed hard. ‘It takes a lot of readjustment when you’ve been married a long time.’
Ross looked away, embarrassed at the turn the conversation had taken.
Sally kept her eyes on Jenny but her hand firmly on top of Ross’s. ‘You see, she doesn’t say that. She claims she’s glad not be fighting with him the whole time. She claims she prefers being on her own, but she’s obviously lonely as hell.’
Jenny glanced at Ross, sensing his discomfort. ‘Has she got any close friends?’
‘Not really. You know, I think she might still be trying to compensate for what’s happened. I think she feels she has to keep reassuring my sister that everything’s still all right – even though she’s twenty-six.’
‘It’s always complicated.’ Jenny glanced down into her cup, hoping Sally would take the hint and change the subject.
Sally traced a finger along the back of Ross’s hand. ‘What do you think?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t met her.’
‘You’ve heard me talk about her enough.’
Jenny suppressed a smile.
‘Mum’s got to be in court tomorrow. I should get the bill.’ He slipped away from her and went in search of Mario, the pot-bellied proprietor.
Sally gazed after him, wearing an expression of concern.
‘I don’t have to go just yet,’ Jenny said. ‘Is he all right, do you think?’
‘I guess,’ she answered, ambiguously.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘He’s really the one who ought to be having this conversation.’
Jenny glanced over to where Ross was waiting patiently for Mario to finish relating a lengthy and dramatic anecdote to customers at the till. ‘What conversation?’
‘I shouldn’t really—’
‘I’d be grateful if you did.’
Sally’s eyes tracked from Ross back to Jenny. ‘Has he told you he’s been seeing a counsellor at college?’
‘No.’ Jenny felt a spasm of anxiety. ‘What about?’
‘I think he might have something he wants to say to you.’
‘Like what?’
Sally tilted her head, indicating that Ross was returning to the table.
‘He said we can pay on the way out. Are we ready?’
Jenny and Sally exchanged a glance.
‘I won’t be a moment,’ Sally said. She slid out of her seat and headed to the Ladies.
‘She seems very nice,’ Jenny said, trying her very best to sound sincere. ‘How long is she staying?’
‘A few days, maybe longer. Depends on Dad and Debbie, I guess.’
‘You’re both welcome at my place.’
‘Thanks,’ Ross said. ‘Maybe at the weekend.’
The conversation lapsed into awkward silence. Jenny let it stretch on as he picked at the drips of candle wax that had fallen onto the tablecloth.
She tried to coax him. ‘Sally mentioned you’ve been seeing a—’
‘How’s Michael?’ Ross said, cutting across her.
‘We haven’t spoken for a couple of days.’
‘Oh. Is everything all right?’
‘We had a few words.’ Jenny downplayed their argument.
‘I liked him. You won’t push him away, will you?’
‘Why would I do that?’ Jenny said, shocked at his sudden directness.
‘I think sometimes you can do it without even realizing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I just think he’s good news, that’s all.’ Seeing Sally reappear, he stood up from the table, relieved to have avoided the issue, whatever the issue was. ‘Can we split the bill?’
‘No. My treat.’
‘If you’re sure. Thanks.’ He slid his arm around Sally’s waist and, using her as a shield, steered her through the tables to the exit.
Jenny made her way to the counter alone to pay the bill, a tremor in her fingers as she slotted her credit card into the machine. Sally’s revelation had shaken her. She had always tried to convince herself that Ross had remained insulated from her problems, but if he had been seeing a counsellor, it could only be her fault. She feared she had shaken his faith in life itself. His comment about her pushing Michael away had tapped into her deepest fears. Ross understood instinctively. He didn’t have to articulate the words, he felt it in her: that she was frightened to live, because deep down she didn’t believe she deserved it, didn’t believe that she could love and be loved as other people could. And somehow along the way, she feared she had passed him the same disease.
She folded the receipt into her purse, deliberately delaying the moment of goodbye. If she failed to hold back the onrush of emotions, she feared she might embarrass herself. Be strong, she told herself. For God’s sake.
‘Would you like a lift home?’ Jenny asked pleasantly.
‘No need. We’ll walk. But thanks,’ Ross said. ‘It was a lovely dinner.’ He spoke graciously, but from an unreachable distance.
Jenny said, ‘You’ll think about the weekend?’
‘Sure,’ Ross said. ‘That sounds great. I’ll call.’
‘Bye,’ Sally chimed in, and hand in hand they turned and walked away.
Jenny watched them for a moment, Sally leaning her head into his shoulder, closer to him than she would ever be. Perhaps he’d call, perhaps he wouldn’t. He was getting as hard to read as David. Starting back towards her car, Jenny was seized by a dread that he would only ever drift further away, that he’d shut the door on her for good. She could deal with anything else, but not that. Please not that.
In the midst of her anxious thoughts, a male face, dark and soft-featured, was briefly illuminated by a phone’s light in a stationary Range Rover idling on the opposite side of the road. A glimpse of profile was enough to make her turn around – he had been looking at her, watching her – but the light had gone out and the man’s face was once again hidden in the darkness. The car pulled slowly away and moved off up the hill.
‘Pull yourself together, Jenny,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Now you really are becoming paranoid.’
NINETEEN
CALL ME. WE SHOULD TALK. THEN A PAUSE. You know how much I care about you, Jenny. She had lain awake agonizing until 2 a.m. before her pride finally gave way, but when Michael had answered the phone he had groaned that she must be out of her mind to call in the middle of the night. Go back to bed.
So much for being in love. Steve would have trekked through a blizzard to be with her. Even David, when they were first seeing each other, had once hitchhiked all the way to southern Spain to where she had been working in a cheap bar. He had slept rough at the roadside and fought off muggers in Barcelona, just to share a few sleepless nights in her mosquito-infested bedsit. The difference between her and Michael, she had decided in the depths of the night, was that she was still in the fight, while he was looking for a way out of it.
Jenny couldn’t comprehend life without a struggle, without something to kick against. Every tree, every blade of grass
, every bird and insect was radiant only in the face of what it had overcome in order to exist. Life was a constant, defiant celebration in the face of death. Driving through the Wye Valley early in the morning as it shrugged off its mantle of mist, she felt like a kind of animist. She absorbed the energy of the forest and marvelled at the alchemy that had created it from dust. Passing under its arcing canopy more intricate than any cathedral ceiling, she wondered if Michael could ever understand how she fitted with the world. Adam Jordan would have done. He had shared her need to go back to the source; to move in time to the raw pulse. She had a picture of him in her mind: in a mud-stained T-shirt, drinking water from a hand-pump at the end of a day’s work, children playing nearby in the dust. She had a feeling she would have liked him; in fact, if he was anything like the man she imagined, she probably would have fallen a little in love with him, too.
Alison spoke only to tell Jenny that the lawyers had arrived and were anxious to begin. It was a Friday morning and they all wanted the inquest dealt with in time for them to be safely back in London by evening. Jenny tried to embark on a long-overdue apology for her neglect in recent days, but Alison was impregnable. Jenny had left her in the lurch one too many times to be forgiven. The bond of trust between them had been broken, and nothing Jenny could say at this moment would rebuild it.
‘Is Dr Kerr here?’ Jenny asked.
‘He is,’ Alison answered abruptly. ‘You’ll be glad to know Major Fielding’s answered his summons, though I can’t say he looks happy about it. Shall I tell them you’re ready?’
‘Yes, please.’
Alison turned to the door.
Jenny said, ‘I haven’t told you all that I found out yesterday, but when I do, I think you’ll understand.’
‘You and I have always had different priorities, Mrs Cooper. I think we can safely say there can be no argument about that now.’
The scent of her perfume hung in the airless office as a reminder of her disapproval, but also, Jenny sensed, of the desperation it masked. Beneath the manicured exterior, she was in fear for her life.
The courtroom was even more crowded than it had been before Jenny had adjourned at the news of Elena Lujan’s death. The rumours circulating in the hospital had spilled out into the world beyond. A dead thirteen-year-old girl had become public property. Sitting behind their lawyer and angled away from one another, Ed and Fiona Freeman might as well have had a wall between them. Fiona was inhabiting a realm of anger and recrimination; Ed was simply drowning in grief.
Hidden at the end of a row at the back of the court was Dr Kerr. Jenny could see only half his face, but it was sufficient for her to register his fear at what horrors the witness box might hold for him. He would be wondering if he would end the day with a job to return to.
Jenny took her seat on the raised dais at the head of the court, grateful that after years of relying on pills to get her through the courtroom ordeal, she was at last able face it without. Her heart beat slow and steady. She was apprehensive but strong. All that stood between her and the truth were four witnesses and three determined lawyers. Turning to address them, she reminded herself they were only human; beneath the bravado they would be as nervous and as fallible as she was.
‘Thank you, everyone, for your patience over the last few days. I believe we’re now in a position to proceed to the conclusion of the evidence. If we could begin with Mr Freeman, please.’
Fiona Freeman folded her arms across her chest and looked away, as if disowning her husband.
‘Ma’am, if I may . . .’ Alistair Martlett, counsel for the Health Protection Agency, was on his feet. ‘We have received two brief, and if I may say so, obscure statements, one from Mr Freeman and one from a Major Fielding. Neither appears in any way relevant to the issue of what caused Miss Freeman’s death. May I suggest we hear Dr Verma first? You may find that no further evidence is required.’
‘I appreciate that you are used to civil trials, Mr Martlett, but these proceedings are not a contest. You are here to assist my inquiry into the truth. I will decide on the relevance of the evidence and in what order I call it.’
‘With the greatest of respect, ma’am –’ she had never heard the phrase used less sincerely – ‘I am only seeking to save this witness, in particular, the distress of giving evidence.’
It was a cheap shot, but it stung nonetheless.
‘I’m sure your clients would prefer to dispense with the inconvenience of an inquest altogether, Mr Martlett, but I’m afraid they’re not above the process of law any more than you or I. Come forward, please, Mr Freeman.’
Martlett exchanged a look with the small team of lawyers behind him, as if to say they should have expected nothing less of a jumped-up coroner from the backwoods.
Ed Freeman mumbled the oath in a voice that barely carried to Jenny, let alone to those at the rear of the courtroom. Gently reminding him to speak up, she started to lead him through the facts of his visit, along with his daughters, to the Hampton’s Health Club, although she was careful to omit reference to the still-anonymous woman friend he had met there. If necessary she would visit that detail later, but for now she would spare him – and Fiona – the embarrassment.
The two girls swam in the pool for a little under an hour while he sat in the cafe, he explained. It had been busy that day, but not excessively so. It was an expensive club, always clean, the last place you would expect to pick up a disease. Neither of his daughters seemed to suffer any ill effects. As far as he was concerned, it had been a perfectly harmless trip.
Anthony Radstock, the Freemans’ solicitor, had no questions for his client, evidently relieved that Jenny had resisted straying into uncomfortable territory. He had the kindly face of a confidant, and she imagined Ed Freeman had confessed to him everything there was to know about his secret companion.
‘I have no wish to trouble Mr Freeman any further,’ Martlett said, ‘and would like to take this opportunity to extend my client’s deepest sympathies to both him and his wife.’
Ed Freeman muttered a thank you and began to step from the witness box, but Catherine Dyer, counsel for the Severn Vale District Hospital Trust, rose to her feet and stopped him.
‘Just a moment, Mr Freeman. I shan’t be long.’ She gave a disarming smile. ‘If you could tell me – were you alone in the cafe?’
Jenny saw Martlett suppress a smile. Somehow he had persuaded his younger colleague to do his dirty work. She fought the urge to intervene as Freeman stared at her, shame and astonishment temporarily halting his answer.
‘No.’
‘Were you with a woman?’
Fiona looked at him with a contempt beyond loathing.
‘I was.’
‘Can you tell us who this woman was?’
Freeman looked helplessly to Jenny. She had as good as promised him this wouldn’t happen. She had to do something.
‘You’re not obliged to name this person, Mr Freeman, certainly not in open court. What’s the point of this question, Miss Dyer?’
‘I’m merely seeking to establish if he may have had contact with anyone who might have been carrying the meningitis infection.’ And for added emphasis, she said, ‘Exchange of saliva is one of the most common modes of transmission.’
‘I have not had intimacy with any woman,’ Freeman said. ‘Besides which, I have tested negative for infection.’
‘I’m told it’s not impossible for someone to play temporary host, given the right set of circumstances. I appreciate it’s an uncomfortable question, especially as the only other confirmed case in the locality was that of a young woman who worked in a city-centre massage parlour.’
‘I have not engaged in any physical intimacy with any woman,’ Ed Freeman repeated, then added unconvincingly, ‘other than my wife.’
‘Or any man.’
‘Is that a joke?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Freeman. We have to cover all possibilities. Are you sure that you’ve never visited the Recife sauna and massage
parlour, whether or not for sexual purposes?’
‘I have not.’ He was furious, and Jenny could see that he held her entirely responsible for his humiliation.
‘I fully appreciate that it’s not the sort of thing that any married man would care to admit to, but by your own admission, you have sought out female company—’
‘That’s enough, Miss Dyer,’ Jenny interrupted.
‘Ma’am, I’m afraid it isn’t. If Mr Freeman is unwilling to name his companion in the Hampton’s cafe voluntarily, perhaps I can ask him to confirm whether he met this woman through an Internet site called Lunchdates.com.’
‘Miss Dyer, I’ve no idea where you’re dredging this from, and I don’t need to know. It’s inappropriate. You don’t have to answer, Mr Freeman.’
‘Ma’am, this evidence comes directly from my client’s lawfully maintained records. They detail the websites visited by Mr Freeman on his hospital computer, and the contents of his emails. He has specifically granted my clients access to this information in his contract of employment. If you’d like to check, I have a copy here.’ She reached for a document and held it up.
‘It’s all right, Miss Dyer.’
Ed Freeman clung to the edge of the witness box for support.
‘I’ve no desire to go into specifics,’ Catherine Dyer continued, ‘but I would like to ask Mr Freeman once again to assure the court that he hasn’t had sexual relations with anyone who might be considered promiscuous.’
‘You’ve already had that question answered, Miss Dyer. That’s enough.’
‘As you wish, ma’am. My clients will gladly make their records available to you.’
Catherine Dyer sat, her job done. No denial could dispel the innuendo once it had been raised. Ed Freeman stepped down from the witness box a man suspected of being the agent of his daughter’s death, and with his wife unable even to meet his eye. What’s more, the offer of evidence of his computer usage had been cleverly made. To refuse to review it would lay any verdict Jenny reached open to challenge. She would now have to look at it and, to Dyer’s obvious delight, she requested that any documents be handed to her before the end of the session.