by Ruth Mancini
‘Honestly?’ I ask him. ‘I don’t know. She’s definitely hiding something. She virtually begged me not to talk to Jay Barrington-Brown...’
‘Jay Barrington-Brown?’ Will interrupts, frowning. ‘He’s a prosecution witness. The father of the victim. Why would you talk to him?’
I nod. ‘Exactly. But she was very concerned about it for some reason. She told me he “didn’t know anything”.’
‘About what?’
‘That’s what she wouldn’t tell me. She got quite upset. She looked... scared. But, then again, why wouldn’t she be? She’s been charged with attempted murder.’ I think about this for a moment. ‘And she’s young. She’s had a rubbish upbringing. Righteous anger and mistrust of her lawyers are par for the course with your average teenager, guilty or not.’
‘She’s not a teenager,’ Will points out. ‘She’s twenty.’
‘Yeah. Of course she is. She seems younger somehow.’
‘True.’
‘I can see why she didn’t come across well in the police interview,’ I continue. ‘She’s way too defensive. Her arguments have no punch. But on the other hand, she really does seem to love her baby. I don’t know if you noticed, but it wasn’t just bail she was after; she wanted to be allowed to see Finn. She seemed genuinely upset about the “no contact” condition. She seemed genuinely upset about it all.’
‘Hmm.’ Will scratches his chin. ‘Well, we’ll see what the rest of the evidence is like. But the statement from the nurse is pretty damning. If it goes in, we’re on the back foot, that’s for sure. And I’m not sure what kind of a witness our young lady will make. She’s emotional, without a doubt but, as you say, she hasn’t told us anything that’s terribly helpful so far.’
‘So, we might have to think about not putting her on the stand?’ I suggest. ‘As you say, she doesn’t really come across too well, and I can’t see the female jurors empathising with her. She’s too pretty. She’s going to make them feel inadequate.’
Will smiles. ‘I hope you’re not feeling inadequate, Ms Kellerman.’
‘I always feel inadequate.’ I smile back.
Will frowns. ‘Don’t be silly. You’re one of the most adequate solicitors I know.’
‘Sometimes. When I’m being an adequate solicitor, I’m being an inadequate mother. That’s how it works.’
Will’s face softens. ‘Sounds as though you need a drink. Are you sure you can’t spare half an hour for a quick one at the Uxbridge Arms?’
‘Sorry. Spare half-hours are not to be squandered lightly. They’re for shopping for essentials. For things you can’t do with a baby in tow.’ I pick up my bag and wonder briefly if Will knows how old Ben is, whether he’s wondering why I’ve called him a baby. The truth is, he’s still a baby in every way that matters, and it doesn’t seem likely that this is going to change very much in the years to come. I’m starting – slowly, painfully – to accept that now.
Will touches my arm. ‘Well, let me know as soon as you get the papers.’
‘I will. I’ll be in touch.’ I check my phone one last time before tucking it into the zip pocket of my handbag. ‘Will,’ I call after him as he walks off down the concourse. He turns to look at me. I nod at his ankles. ‘What’s with the socks?’
Will glances down at his feet and back up at me. He winks. ‘They’re my lucky socks.’
I smile. ‘Well, they certainly worked today.’
I turn to go back to the advocates’ room to collect my bag. As I do so, the double doors that lead to the courtroom open and Carmel walks out, followed by the middle-aged woman who was sitting at the back: Lady Barrington-Brown. Carmel walks off down the concourse, but the woman stops in her tracks and looks in my direction. She’s tall, slim, and elegantly dressed in a fawn calf-length silk dress with bell sleeves. Her shoulder-length light brown hair is drawn back into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. Our eyes connect and she gives me the briefest of smiles before pushing her handbag onto her shoulder and taking a step towards the door.
Before I can stop myself, I’m running after her down the concourse.
‘Wait,’ I call. ‘Lady Barrington-Brown. Please wait.’
She stops and turns back to face me again.
‘I’m Sarah Kellerman. Ellie’s lawyer,’ I say.
Her heavy-lidded brown eyes meet mine. Her eyelids are powder blue, her lips a creamy pink. ‘I saw you in the courtroom,’ she says.
‘Have you seen Finn?’ I ask her.
She nods. ‘Yesterday evening.’
‘And how’s he doing?’ I breathe in sharply as I wait for her reply.
‘As well as can be expected. He’s hanging on in there.’ She swallows and touches her throat, forcing a smile. ‘His kidney function is improved. His heart’s been under a lot of strain and he still needs the ventilator. But his condition certainly hasn’t become any worse, so there’s still hope. There’s always hope, right?’
‘Right,’ I agree. ‘Definitely. I... well, my son was very ill in hospital when he was Finn’s age and we had a discussion about that – my partner and I – and we decided that we would hope for the best, rather than prepare ourselves for the worst, because... because you never really do prepare yourself for the worst, anyway. You can’t actually imagine “the worst” properly until it’s happened, and so there’s no point in putting yourself through that. You may as well hang on to that hope...’ I tail off and cringe inwardly at myself. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m rambling. That probably doesn’t make any sense at all.’
She reaches out and touches my hand. Her face softens, suddenly, and her forehead creases. Her eyes glisten with tears and her lashes flicker as she says, softly, ‘It makes perfect sense. And I agree with you entirely. We will one hundred per cent hope for the best. Thank you, Ms Kellerman, for your very kind words.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, quickly. ‘I really didn’t mean to upset you.’
She shakes her head. ‘You didn’t. Really. The truth is, I haven’t been sleeping well.’
As I look at the pained expression on her face, my heart melts. I know what it’s like to worry about a child. I know what it’s like to wake up in a cold sweat in the early hours of the morning, to lie there in the dark, turning things over and over in your mind until you drive yourself crazy, knowing all the while that there’s nothing you can do, except drag yourself out of bed and stumble through another day. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her again. ‘For what you’re going through... I understand. I really do.’
She looks hard into my eyes for a moment. Then she says, ‘But do you, Ms Kellerman?’
‘What? What do you mean?’ I ask, confused.
‘I’m talking about Ellis,’ she says, kindly. She looks down at her feet before looking back up again. She heaves a sigh. ‘I’m really very worried that she’s got bail.’
‘Are you involved in the case?’ I ask her quickly. ‘Are you going to be a prosecution witness? Because if you are, I shouldn’t be talking to you.’
‘No.’ She puts a hand on my arm. ‘No, I’m not. I wouldn’t do that. I’m very fond of Ellis. We all are. She’s the mother of James’s child, after all. We don’t want her locked up for this. But on the other hand, we have to make sure that Finn is safe.’
‘Well, the judge thought...’
‘The judge doesn’t know Ellis, not the way we do,’ she interrupts, in a whisper. ‘She’s a troubled young woman. She loves Finn, I know she does. But she has problems. There’s something about her... it’s difficult to explain, but there’s something about her that’s not quite right...’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, abruptly. ‘But I really can’t discuss this with you. I’m Ellie’s lawyer. I have a duty towards her.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry.’ She smiles. ‘It’s just... well, you seem such a lovely person. So sensitive and kind. How are you going to feel if she gains access to him and... well, something happens?’
Mild anxiety grips my chest as I consider the possibility th
at this woman could be right, that Ellie could be lying to me – that she could ignore her bail conditions and get access to Finn.
‘She’s not allowed to go anywhere near him,’ I point out. ‘She’s not allowed to go to the hospital.’
‘And if she does?’
‘Well, as soon as anyone sees her, they’ll call the police and she’ll be arrested.’
Her forehead creases, anxiously. ‘But what if no one sees her?’
I open my mouth and close it again.
‘Look,’ I tell her. ‘Ellie’s innocent until proven guilty. I can see how worried you are, but the judge believed that it was safe to grant her bail.’
Lady Barrington-Brown presses her lips together and nods. ‘And what do you think? Do you think it was safe for him to grant her bail?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ I say, weakly. ‘It’s not my decision to make.’
She shakes her head, slowly, her face softening again. ‘No. No, of course it’s not. Please, take no notice of me... as I said, I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m really not myself today.’ She forces a smile and clutches at the strap of her handbag. With her other hand, she reaches out and takes mine. She shakes it firmly. ‘It was so nice to have met you, Ms Kellerman. Have a good day.’
I watch as she walks down the concourse and then turn back towards the advocates’ room. A vague sense of unease flutters in my chest and stays with me all day.
4
When I reach the magistrates’ court, there’s just enough time to speak to the probation service and collect their report before the case is called on. I deal with the sentence hearing and then hop on a bus to Walworth, where I spend the rest of the afternoon.
I’m just leaving custody when my phone rings. I glance at the screen. It’s the office. I’ve got less than an hour to pick up Ben, but against my better judgement I answer it.
‘Sarah.’ It’s Lucy. ‘Are you still at the police station?’
‘Well, yes,’ I say, ‘but I’m just leaving.’
‘There’s another one in. Matt wants to know if you can deal with it.’
‘I can’t,’ I tell her. ‘I have to pick up Ben, now. I’m late as it is.’
‘Hang on,’ says Lucy, and then she’s gone and Matt is on the line.
‘Sarah,’ he says, ‘can you deal with this job? The officers are ready to go. I tried to catch you in custody before you left.’
‘Matt, I can’t. I’ve got to pick up Ben. I’m running late as it is.’
Silence. ‘Well, you’re there already. It makes sense if you deal with it.’
‘But I told you, I—’
‘Can’t someone else pick him up for you? One of his friends’ parents or something? This won’t take you long.’
‘Not really. I don’t really have anyone I can ask—’
‘It’s rush hour.’ Matt’s voice is exasperated. ‘It’s going to take me over an hour to get there. You’ll have dealt with it before I even arrive.’
‘I know, but... I have to pick up Ben.’
Silence. Then, ‘Right. OK.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘If you want me to cover something for you tomorrow, I can. I could do—’
But he’s gone.
I power-walk to Kennington and then take the Piccadilly line from Leicester Square, positioning myself next to the train doors, where I’m ready to leap off and sprint towards the exit as soon as they open at Caledonian Road. Although there are only five stops to go, there’s a delay at Russell Square and the journey takes over half an hour. My stomach tightens with the familiar knot of mild panic that I experience daily from around three o’clock onwards, as I look repeatedly at the nearest clock and wonder if I’m going to finish and get to nursery on time. My worries are, in fact, well founded today; I’m fifteen minutes late. The building is locked and I arrive to find Helen and Lisa waiting outside for me, with Ben already strapped into his buggy. I’ve run all the way from the Tube station and I’m desperately out of breath, but that doesn’t stop me noticing the look of mild agitation on Lisa’s normally calm and smiling face.
Of all the people that are angry with me this evening, Ben is the angriest, and he expresses his dissatisfaction all the way to Waitrose. I bitterly regret my decision not to have gone yesterday, but I have no choice this evening, because there’s nothing left in the fridge with which to make a meal. Ben’s wailing turns to yelling as the double doors slide open and we enter the brightly lit store. I grab a basket and hook it awkwardly over one handle of the Maclaren Major. It doesn’t fit properly and digs into me as I walk, but it’s the best I can do; Ben’s too big for the baby trolleys, and the trolleys for the disabled are all designed to hook into a wheelchair. I once found a store that had a trolley with a seat designed for a disabled person to sit in and I was elated, resolving to do all my shopping at this store for ever more. But when I went back it had gone. A member of staff told me that it had been locked away and that I’d have to ask each time I wanted it. An assistant first went off to find the key, then to fetch the trolley. It all took what seemed like an age, and by the time she came back Ben had got himself into such a state that he’d thrown up all over the floor.
I glance down at Ben as I negotiate my way past the fruit and veg, grabbing a bag of potatoes and a bunch of bananas and moving on as quickly as I can. He’s calmed a little, thrown out of kilter, it seems, by the high speed at which I’m moving. The aisles are busy and I have to weave quickly round other shoppers, which I know is not entirely considerate, but these are my choices: it’s Ben or them. It’s at times like this that I wish the Maclaren Major came with a bell, or a horn.
I manage to grab cheese, yoghurt and milk before the wailing starts up again.
‘OK, OK,’ I say. ‘But bread. We’ve got to have bread, and eggs. And coffee, Ben. Mummy needs her coffee. It keeps her going.’
I locate the bread and, finally, the eggs, which are in a different place than they used to be. I don’t know why they have to keep moving things around in supermarkets. Well, I do, but it doesn’t help people like me.
As we round the corner to the tea and coffee aisle, Ben ramps it up a decibel.
‘All right, honey. Nearly done,’ I say, knowing that this means nothing to Ben. I can hear the whiny, high-pitched trill of desperation creeping into my voice as I try to reassure him. Ben’s own voice, in contrast, just gets louder. Heads are turning in our direction. The all too familiar feeling of panic sets into my chest for the second time today. We’ve still got the checkout to negotiate and so we are not, in fact, nearly done. Why, oh why, did I attempt this? I should have just... what? I don’t know what I should have done. I take a deep breath. I can do this. We’ve got almost everything we need and here we are now, in the coffee aisle. All I have to do is grab a jar and then get us out of here as quickly as I can.
I reach out for my favourite brand, which is on the top shelf. It’s the last one and it’s set back a little, so that I have to stand on tiptoes to get it. As I brush it with my fingertips, it topples and falls, bouncing against the handle of the Maclaren Major and narrowly missing Ben’s head, before it crashes to the ground. The jar explodes, slivers of glass and coffee grounds spreading across the shiny floor.
‘Oh, fuck!’ I shriek, before I can stop myself. I bend down to pick it up.
‘Don’t touch it!’ a male voice warns me. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’
The man crouches down beside me, takes my elbow and guides me to my feet. He turns and calls out to someone and I then see a shop assistant heading towards us. He points to the mess on the floor. ‘Can we get some help here please?’
The assistant nods and goes off towards the rear of the shop.
I wipe my brow with the back of my hand. ‘I’m sorry I swore,’ I say.
The man smiles. ‘Not at all. It’s good for you. Scientists say that it’s actually advisable to swear at moments like this.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It relieves stress.
Although, if you swear all the time, it doesn’t work. You have to save it up for the times you really need it.’
‘What if you really need it all the time?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘That bad?’
I sigh deeply and nod at Ben.
‘Hey, buddy,’ the man says, crouching down and facing Ben. ‘What’s up? Want to tell me what’s wrong?’
Ben ignores him and carries on wailing.
‘He doesn’t understand you,’ I say. ‘He can’t talk.’
‘Oh. OK.’
But the man remains there, crouching down and smiling gently at my son, in spite of all the noise he’s making. Through the fog of my inner turmoil, I notice that he has a nice face – his features are even, his eyes kind. He appears to be in his late thirties and is wearing a smart beige suit – like me, he’s probably just finished work. He has well-cut fair hair which is receding only very slightly and still leaves a fringe which flops about his forehead as he waggles his head at Ben, trying to make him laugh.
Ben, predictably, continues to ignore him, and after a few moments the man stands up. ‘Must be hard for you,’ he says. ‘Well, for him, of course,’ he adds. ‘But for you, too.’
I look at him, my mouth falling open. ‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘It is.’ Tears prick my eyes. I can’t help it. He’s being so kind, and this is so unexpected.
‘Hey,’ he says, soothingly. After a moment’s hesitation he reaches out and pats my shoulder. It’s an awkward, schoolboyish gesture, but his eyes are full of concern.
An assistant arrives and begins to sweep up the glass.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she says. ‘That’s OK. You two carry on with your shopping. I’ll see to this.’
She thinks we’re a couple. I shoot an embarrassed glance at the man in the suit, but he simply grins back at me and nods at the broken jar. ‘Do you want another one?’
I shake my head. ‘It was the last one.’
‘Do you have another one of those?’ he asks the shop assistant.