by Harriet Tyce
Zora introduces me to them. The less tailored is the bishop, as I had assumed, the more suave a headmaster, recently retired, from a boarding school in Oxfordshire. They both embrace Jeremy, their voices sympathetic.
“I’m sorry my father can’t be here,” Jeremy says, “but he sends his regards.”
“Bloody useless man,” Alexandra interrupts. “His only son is on trial and he hasn’t shown his face.”
“Please,” Jeremy stops her. “You know he’s stuck on a case himself.” He turns back to the two men. “I know he’s very grateful that you’ve been able to make the time to attend. I’m grateful too.”
“Of course, dear boy. Very happy to say a few words on your behalf,” the bishop says. The headmaster nods his agreement.
“I’ll have to ask you to wait outside court,” Barbara says. “And with any luck, you won’t be needed at all. But if you don’t mind sitting here, I’ll let the court know where you are so that you can be called if necessary.”
Both men nod and sit down. We go into court. Zora and I stand together at the back of the room while the others take their places.
“You look tired,” she says. “How is everything? Is Robin’s friend doing OK?”
“I don’t really know. There doesn’t seem to have been any improvement. Robin’s putting on a brave face, but I can tell it’s bothering her.”
“I told you that school was a bad idea…”
I shoot her a sharp look, and she puts up her hand in a gesture of apology. “Sorry, I know. I get it. Anyway, talking of dreadful parents…”
“Funny the father hasn’t made it to court at all,” I say. “Though if he’s anything like the mother, it’s probably as well.”
Zora rolls her eyes and laughs. I take my seat behind Barbara, ready for court to begin.
“Will Your Honor be minded to rule on the submission of no case to answer that I made on behalf of the defendant yesterday?”
“Yes, I was getting to that.”
Barbara murmurs an apology, but the judge carries on regardless.
“I have considered your application carefully and while I appreciate the merits of what you had to say, it’s undeniable that this case stands and falls on the credibility of the complainant. In my judgment, this is a matter that must therefore be considered by the jury, and on that basis, I am dismissing your application. The case will proceed.” She pauses. “However, I regret to inform the court that due to an unexpected personal commitment, I will have to adjourn the case today at lunchtime, to recommence on Monday morning.”
Barbara rises to her feet. “In light of that, Your Honor, perhaps it would make sense to call only the two character witnesses who are here in attendance today, and wait until Monday to call the defendant to give evidence.”
Edward Kayode stands. “I have no objection to that course of action, Your Honor.”
The judge nods in agreement. While the first of them is brought into court, Barbara turns back to me and mutters, “I can’t say I’m overly surprised. It’s a shame, though. I was hoping we could put him out of his misery today. I’m convinced they’re going to acquit, but I suppose they have to go through the motions.”
I nod. She’s right. I glance back at Jeremy. He’s staring straight ahead, his expression blank, only a faint twitch at the side of his face an indication of the disappointment he must be feeling.
Barbara takes the headmaster through his evidence first, every line he delivers measured, polished, honed to perfection. It’s praise, but not hagiography, a little criticism of Jeremy’s impetuous nature as a youth thrown in to temper his account, render it more impressive. The jurors nod along, approval on most of their faces. Edward is doing a good job keeping his face under control—I can quite imagine that he would otherwise be rolling his eyes.
When asked if he would like to cross-examine, he stands up.
“Just a couple of questions,” he says. “You’ve known the defendant since he was born?”
“Yes.”
“A family friend, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a friendship with the defendant’s mother, or his father?”
The headmaster looks irritated. “His father. We were at school together. I’ve known him almost all my life. I wouldn’t hesitate to vouch for him or for his son.”
Edward nods. “But of course. How old were you when you first met?”
“Thirteen.”
“So that would mean the friendship is one of over fifty years, am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“A school friend?”
“Yes. As I’ve said.”
“Was it a boarding school?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Yes or no, please,” Edward says.
“Yes, a boarding school.”
“Great loyalties are engendered at boarding school, aren’t they?”
“Well, I mean. If you’re suggesting that I would put loyalty to my friend over telling the truth about his son, then…”
“I’m simply establishing the facts of your relationship with the defendant,” Edward says. He looks over at the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
The bishop is just as impressive, his voice mellifluous and calming. What he lacks in grooming he more than makes up for in serenity. When Edward cross-examines him in the same vein it feels almost like an affront that the clergyman should be thus challenged. He hides his irritation better than the headmaster, but the good effect of his testimony is left tarnished, a small smear left on the glass of piety. With a few words Edward has conjured up the sense of a clique, a faction bonded on the playing fields, loyal to each other above all else. He’s good. But is he good enough?
It’s only half past eleven when both witnesses have finished. Barbara reads out two more letters from character referees—one Jeremy’s chaplain from his former school and another, a business executive, who states that he is a friend of Jeremy’s father from school. It’s obvious that Edward wants to raise his eyebrow at this, but he’s too professional to grimace at the jury. He just nods his head at the conclusion of each, and I watch as a couple of jurors make notes. Court is adjourned until Monday, when Jeremy will give his account.
We convene outside: Barbara, me, Alexandra, Jeremy and Zora. Jeremy is looking strained, his mother angry beside him.
“It’s outrageous that this case is going ahead,” Alexandra says. “You should have argued harder.”
“I was convinced she’d throw it out,” Jeremy says. “Freya’s evidence was a joke.”
“I think the jury will agree,” Barbara says, “but the judge is right that her credibility is the point at issue. You must hold your nerve for a few more days.”
“Does this mean I have to give evidence?” Jeremy asks.
“We’ve discussed this,” Barbara says. “It’s entirely your decision, but you know my opinion is that you will make an extremely good impression on the jury.”
“I really don’t want to. But Dad thinks I should, too. It would be really helpful to go through it all again beforehand with one of you, though.”
“Of course. Why don’t we do it now?” Barbara says. “We can go back to chambers.”
“Yes,” Alexandra says. “You need to make sure you’re properly rehearsed. I think I should come too—after the disaster of that so-called application I’ve lost a lot of faith in you,
Barbara. You clearly need close supervision.”
Jeremy shuffles his feet, panic in his eye. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I can’t. I told Dad the case had finished up early today, so we’re meeting for lunch.”
“I thought we were going to go for lunch,” Alexandra says. “It would make a change to eat with you somewhere other than this place.” She gestures around her with an expression of revulsion on her face. “I’ve had enough of being south of the river to last me a lifetime.”
“I’m really sorry, Mum. I can’t. I promised Dad.” There’s angui
sh in Jeremy’s voice.
“As if promises mean anything to that man,” Alexandra snorts. “Well, as you clearly prefer the idea of his company to mine.” She turns with a flourish and struts off. We all stare after her, slightly stunned. After a moment, Jeremy recovers himself.
“Dad does think I should practice my evidence, too. Is there any chance we could do tomorrow at some point?”
Zora shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve got arrangements already,” she says.
“I’m not free either,” Barbara says. “How about you, Sadie?”
I think about Robin and suppress my initial reluctance. I’ll sort Robin out somehow. It won’t take long. “Sure,” I say. “I can spare a couple of hours in the afternoon. Maybe we can meet in chambers?”
“Thank you,” Jeremy says. “Let’s swap numbers and we can confirm the exact time in the morning.”
Zora and Barbara are both smiling at me, pleased that I’ve resolved the issue for them, and I don’t want to disappoint them. I type Jeremy’s number into my phone on his dictation, texting him hello so that he has mine, and we all say goodbye.
43
I sit on the tube with my eyes closed, trying to rationalize my fears, put it all in some kind of order. At least Robin is OK, I can hold on to that. But have I put her in danger, sending her to this school? One incident threatening the life of a child might be regarded as misfortune, but two? The train is approaching a station and, making a sudden decision, I get up. I change tube line and make my way to a stop I do not usually visit.
When I’m out of the station I message Nicole. I was going to visit Daisy. Do you think that’s OK?
Nicole’s reply comes back almost immediately. Yes, go in. It’s floor 7, room 20. I’m sure Julia will be pleased to see you.
My steps slow as I come close to the hospital, the gray of its concrete looming high above me. I nearly turn around and walk away, but I stop myself. It’s all very well for me—I can escape the misery of it, hide from the reality that Julia is facing for her daughter. But that’s no way to behave. I set my jaw and walk in through the front entrance, finding my way up to the seventh floor.
It’s a private section of the hospital, a reception desk immediately through the doors. I approach and ask one of the staff where I should go. He points me in the right direction. I explain who I’m visiting but he’s not interested, just nods, smiles. It’s fine to go through, don’t worry, is his clear message as he turns back to his computer. I walk over, take a deep breath and knock on the door.
There’s no reply. The door is ajar and I push it open without a sound. The room is in darkness and I make my way slowly down a short entrance into the main room. There’s a small lamp glowing at the side of the bed, the blinds shut over the window at the far end of the room. The only other source of light is the blinking of the machines that I guess must be keeping Daisy alive.
Now I’m standing next to the bed, I see a small figure shrouded under the covers. There’s a woman sitting next to the bed, head bowed, hands outstretched on the sheets.
Julia.
“Hi,” I say, my voice soft. There’s no reaction. “Hi,” I say again, more loudly this time. Still nothing.
I walk around the bed to where Julia is sitting and put my hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch at first, my grasp becoming firmer, though she doesn’t react. Finally, just as I’m about to give up, she turns to me, her face drawn.
“Sadie,” she says, in a voice that seems to come from far away. “Sadie.”
“I wanted to come and see Daisy. Is that OK?”
“It’s OK,” Julia says. “You can see her.”
I look at the bed. There isn’t much of Daisy visible. Every part of her not covered by sheets is hooked up to the equipment. Her face is obscured by a plastic breathing mask, and there’s a rhythmic pumping sound from one of the machines nearby.
“Is she going to be OK?” I say, the words bursting out before I can stop them. Julia’s face tightens, a flash of something that could be fear, could be anger at my clumsiness. She looks away, back at her daughter.
“I don’t know,” she says, “I really don’t know.”
She says no more. I stay for only a few minutes longer and with a final clasp to Julia’s bony shoulder, I take my leave, the weight of the room heavy on me as I go out of the hospital and make my way home, shaken to my core to see Daisy so ill.
Despite spending the afternoon scrubbing the house and rearranging the tattered furniture, something of this weight still hangs over me as I go to school to collect Robin. I’ve messaged Nicole to say that I’ll be there, suggesting coffee before pickup, but she hasn’t replied. When I see her at the school gate I wonder if she’ll want to talk to me, but she’s friendly as ever, apologizing for the lack of reply and showing concern for the report that I make of my visit to the hospital.
“It’s grim,” Nicole says. “I feel so bad for them. There’s nothing else we can do, though. Just be supportive when Julia asks, that’s all. When she gets out there’ll be more to do.”
“I suppose so,” I say. I’m about to continue, question Nicole as to what she really thinks of Daisy’s chances of recovery, but we’re interrupted by a group of other mothers, flocking around Nicole to ask what the most recent news is. I back up, letting Nicole fill them in until the girls come out of school. Robin’s face lights up to see me.
“How was your day, sweetheart?” I says.
“It was OK,” Robin says. “I got through the test all right.”
“That’s good,” I say. I turn, ready to leave, when I see that Pippa and Nicole are having a very intense conversation on the side of the pavement. Nicole is waving her hands and it looks as if Pippa is crying.
“Is Pippa all right?”
“She did really badly in the test,” Robin says. “Like, below fifty percent badly. She’s incredibly stressed.”
I look at them again, feeling sympathetic. We turn to go when Nicole calls after me.
“Sadie! Hang on. I want to ask you something.”
We turn and wait for them to come over. Pippa is tear-stained, her eyes pink, but Nicole is looking excited.
“I’ve had a brilliant idea,” she says. “I think that what these girls need is a break. A little trip to the seaside.”
Pippa starts to look a little bit more cheerful. Nicole continues.
“I have a holiday house in Aldeburgh, on the Suffolk coast. I’ve just thought, why don’t I take the kids up for the weekend? You could come too?”
“I’d love to,” I say, “but I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“Oh, Mom,” Robin says, disappointment leaking out of her.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I have to go to a meeting.”
“It’s OK,” Nicole says. “I’m very happy to take her. Honestly, it’s no trouble at all.”
The girls both say “yes” at the same time. Robin looks at me, her eyes pleading. So does Nicole.
“You’d be doing me a big favor,” she says. “Robin is such a good influence on Pippa. She’s so calming. Can you spare her for a couple of nights?”
“I don’t think…” I start to say. I don’t want to let Robin go away, keen to keep her close.
“Please, Mom. It’ll be so much fun. Please.”
“Please,” Pippa says too. She’s stopped crying, her face tense with expectation. “I’d love it if Robin came too. I like Robin.”
It’s too much. I can’t deal with the pressure they’re putting on me. I don’t have the heart to cause so much disappointment. “If you’re sure,” I say to Nicole. “You’ve had her a lot recently. I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s not imposing, promise,” Nicole says, reaching over and grasping me by the hand. “Thank you.” Her voice cracks as she says this, and I can see that there are tears in her eyes.
I smile. “It’ll be lovely for Robin to see the sea. Some fresh air is just what they need.”
44
After some discussion,
we decide that Nicole will take the girls the following morning. Robin and I have a quiet evening; pizza and television. She pulls out the clothes she’ll need for the trip to the seaside. It’s very peaceful.
The next day we’re up and out before eight. Nicole and Pippa are both delighted to see us, and I wave as they drive away down the road. I’ve got the whole weekend clear now, nothing to do other than the meeting with Jeremy this afternoon. I should be pleased.
I walk away from Nicole’s house, looking at my phone to check for messages, when I catch my foot on an uneven piece of pavement. I fall forward, regaining my balance only at the last minute, but even as I stand back up it feels as if I’m still falling. Without Robin there, it’s as if I’ve come untethered, my sense of gravity off somehow. I try to shake my head clear, scraping my hand along the rough surface of the stone wall on which I’m now leaning, grounding myself with the feel of it, breathing in once, twice, to get myself back to center.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Robin’s fine. We’re both fine. I stamp home, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth in rhythm with my steps.
Later in the morning I message Jeremy, suggesting we meet in chambers at two. He replies shortly afterward, saying that he’s hurt his knee going for an early-morning run, asking if I’ll go to his flat instead—I can barely stand, let alone walk. I feel a distinct lack of enthusiasm at the idea of trekking across London rather than simply going into chambers. I don’t have anything better to do, though, so I message back and ask for the address.
After some thought I find an outfit that’s about right for a weekend conference—tidy, but not overly so, black on black with a colorful scarf. Barbara has texted with some last-minute reminders for me to give Jeremy about keeping calm, taking a minute to answer questions; I’m all ready. I make my way down to south London on the tube to his flat, a part of town I haven’t visited for years.