by Ruth Mancini
‘Yes, My Lord.’ Will sits down.
The judge continues. ‘Ms Stephens has entered her pleas and directions have been made. The trial will begin on the fifth of February next year. It will be listed for five days. Any issues that are likely to affect trial readiness are to be notified to the Court a fortnight before the opening of the prosecution case. Court rise.’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Ellie yells as the judge exits the courtroom. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she yells again at the prosecutor as the usher lets her out of the dock. Carmel simply blinks at Ellie and continues to gather her papers and pack them into a flight case at her feet. She turns to talk to Will as he approaches her.
I take Ellie’s elbow and steer her out of the courtroom. ‘It’s a setback,’ I tell her. ‘But it’s not fatal to your case. As the judge said, the jury will be warned that her evidence has not been tested. Challenged, you know? And they’ll be told to bear that in mind.’
‘No,’ Ellie says, flinging her handbag over her shoulder and flicking back her hair angrily. Her voice echoes around the hallway, breaking the silent stillness of the air. ‘No, what he said is that she’s a nurse, an upstanding member of society, and I’m just a scumbag whore. He’s made his mind up already who to believe.’
‘When it comes to the making up of minds about you, it’s not his decision, Ellie, it’s the jury’s,’ I tell her. ‘And no one knows about that yet...’
‘Yeah, great,’ says Ellie, her lip curling up. ‘So, if this is how things are playing out now, what with a piece of paper – written by a copper and supposedly signed by a nurse that nobody can find – being more important than a real person, whose life is in the balance, then what are they going to say when they find that out about me?’
I glance at Will, who has appeared behind us. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie,’ he says. ‘I know you’re disappointed. I am too.’
Ellie looks at him for a moment. ‘It’s not your fault,’ she says, calming down a little. ‘You did a good job. Thank you.’
Will says, ‘Let’s meet again in a week or two and, in the meantime, see if you can get Marie on board.’
‘OK.’ Ellie nods. She heaves a sigh and taps my arm. ‘I’ll see you, Sarah.’
Will and I watch as she strides off across the hallway and disappears down the staircase.
I heave a sigh. ‘You can’t blame her for being upset.’
‘At least she’s talking to us now,’ Will says. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to get through to her, but the angry, involved Ellie is a damned sight more useful to us than the sullen, silent one.’
‘Hmm. Well my next job is to try and take a statement from Marie before she goes and makes up with the indomitable Darren.’
Will puts his hand on my arm. ‘OK. But first, let me buy you a drink.’
I shake my head. ‘I should get back to the office.’
Will frowns.
‘They’re on my case a bit,’ I add.
‘Really?’
‘Don’t ask.’
Will looks disappointed. ‘I was just going to suggest we finish up our conference over a nice bottle of Sauvignon at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese off Shoe Lane. It’s where I do all my best thinking.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘Another time. So what happened in there...’ I nod my head towards the courtroom. ‘Is it appealable?’
Will shakes his head. ‘Probably not. I think we’re just going to have to suck this one up.’
‘Unless...’
Will rolls his eyes. ‘No. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.’
I bite my lip and try to stop myself from smirking.
Will gives in and smiles.
‘OK,’ I tell him. ‘What would you say if I could find the nurse?’
‘You want to find the nurse?’
‘Sure I do. If I find the nurse, then subsection d doesn’t apply. She’s no longer missing. They’d have to rescind their application...’
‘And call her to give evidence, during which she might make a positive identification of Ellie!’
‘She might not. What if she doesn’t?’
‘What if she does?’
‘What if she doesn’t?’
Will sighs. ‘So you’re going to go looking for her? How are you going to do that?’
I shrug. ‘Dunno yet. So what do you think?’
Will narrows his eyes. ‘I think she’s a prosecution witness.’
‘An independent one, as Judge Collins kept reminding us.’
‘I think you’ll be playing with fire.’
‘What’s the alternative? Let Ellie get convicted on the basis of hearsay and circumstance? Because, you and I both know that that will be the outcome unless we find out what really happened.’
Will looks me in the eye. ‘Unless what really happened is that Ellie tried to kill her baby.’
‘But what if she didn’t?’
‘Then who did?’
‘I don’t know. But if Ellie’s telling the truth, then it points to one of two things: either the police have missed someone going on or off the ward – or it was one of the nurses. Someone who was already working on the ward that night.’
‘An angel of mercy? Of death? Is that what you’re suggesting?’ Will frowns. ‘Some kind of crazy nurse?’
I shrug. ‘Possibly. Or maybe it was an accident. Look, we need the CCTV. We need to view it for ourselves. We need to ask around at the hospital, find out who else was working on the ward that night, if anyone saw anything that could help us. We need to find Mary Ngombe, ask her some questions, scrutinise her account. Don’t you think it’s even a tiny bit weird that she disappeared so suddenly, so soon after what happened to Finn?’
Will regards me in silence for a moment, his face inscrutable. ‘So, will the legal aid fund pay for you to hunt down the nurse?’ he says finally.
‘I’ll do it on my own time.’
Will shakes his head. ‘Don’t you have enough going on in your life, Ms Kellerman?’
‘Yeah, well...’ I smile. ‘You know what they say: if you want something done, ask a busy person.’ I look up at him. ‘So you’re in?’
‘OK.’ Will nods. He takes off his glasses and studies my face. ‘But only because I don’t think you’ll find her.’
I look him in the eye and bite my lip. ‘Care to make this interesting?’
Will’s eyes widen. ‘You want to place a bet with me?’
I hold out my hand. ‘A bottle of Sauvignon at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese says I can find the nurse.’
Will looks at me for a moment, poker-faced, before taking my hand. ‘A bottle of Sauvignon it is.’
‘May the best man – or woman – win,’ I add.
The corners of Will’s mouth twitch. ‘I certainly hope so,’ he says.
9
Anna and Tim arrive just before seven on Saturday evening. Alex knocks at the door a few minutes later. Ben is momentarily alarmed by the number of people who have suddenly appeared in his living room, but the lure of the computer screen in front of him is enough to allay the usual wails of protest and the fight to get away. Instead, he clutches the mouse firmly in his right hand and clicks on the ‘play’ button on the YouTube video that I’ve opened for him on the screen, the noise and music softening the sound of our voices and taking him away into Teletubby world.
‘He’s doing really well with that,’ Alex comments, nodding at Ben. ‘Has he been using it a lot?’
‘All the time,’ I say. ‘He’s completely motivated. He’s even worked out how to drag the cursor back on the video clip to rewind it. I can’t get him out of the chair – unless it’s to get the DVD player going in sync,’ I add, with a smile.
‘He’s dual screening.’ Alex gives a pretend roll of the eyes. ‘They’re all the same, the kids of today.’
I smile back at him. I love it when he talks like this, as if Ben’s just like other kids, even though we both know that he’s not. Other five-year-olds actually watch the video, they don’t keep rewi
nding it and watching the same bit, over and over again. But it makes me feel good when Alex talks this way. ‘Thank you so much for the computer,’ I say, gratefully. ‘I just can’t believe how he’s picked it up, using a mouse like that.’
‘I honestly only had to show him a couple of times,’ Alex said. ‘He just seemed to get it.’
‘He’s still bringing all his fingers down together, you know, left and right clicking at the same time. He can’t isolate his index finger yet, so he keeps on bringing up a pop-up box every time he clicks,’ I say, ‘but it doesn’t seem to bother him.’
‘He’ll get there.’ Alex walks over and ruffles Ben’s hair. ‘We can work on that, can’t we, buddy?’
I laugh as Ben lets out a loud ‘Aargh!’ which I know from experience means, ‘What use is a pat on the head? Either do something to help me, or step away.’
Anna is watching us both keenly as we talk, looking from one to the other. She says to Alex, ‘I hear you were responsible for Ben’s first steps.’
Alex looks pleased but says, modestly, ‘He was nearly there anyway. The groundwork was all laid by his mother.’ With that, he gives me an admiring smile.
‘She’s pretty amazing,’ Anna tells him.
Alex sits down, leans back into the sofa and says, ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’
‘OK,’ I say to Anna, hastily steering the conversation away from my virtues and on to the practicalities. ‘Ben’s had a bath and some dinner, so he should be getting tired and ready for bed in half an hour or so. He likes his music played when he goes down. And then there’s his medication. Let me show you.’
I glance at Ben.
‘Leave him,’ says Alex. ‘He’s happy. He’s fine with us.’
I nod and beckon to Anna and she follows me down the hall and into Ben’s room.
‘He bought Ben a computer?’ Anna whispers, shutting the door and nodding her head towards the living room. Her eyes widen.
I shrug. ‘It’s just an old recycled one of his that he doesn’t use any more.’
‘Even so... he’s so lovely. He’s so sweet with Ben. And so handsome,’ she gushes.
‘I know,’ I agree. ‘He is just a bit perfect, isn’t he? That’s the thing. I just don’t quite get why he likes me.’
‘Sarah! Why wouldn’t he?’ Anna objects. ‘You’re smart, you’re pretty, you’re funny... and, well, you’ve got the boobs, haven’t you?’
I slap her playfully on the arm. ‘You think that’s it?’
‘No, of course not. It’s everything. The whole package.’
‘Yeah, exactly. The whole package, which includes Ben. That’s what worries me. Why would a good-looking man, who’s got a good job, a nice car, his own hair and teeth...’
‘How do you know they’re his own teeth?’
I slap her on the arm again. ‘He’s the real deal, isn’t he? He’s what women want. And if he’s what women want, then he could have any woman he wanted. Why go for one with a child like Ben?’
Anna contemplates this for a moment and I’m glad she doesn’t say something crass about Ben being a lovely boy. He is a lovely boy, of course – to me. But there’s no denying that he’s hard work.
‘Maybe he genuinely likes Ben. Maybe he sees how difficult life is for you and wants to help you both.’
‘Well, that’s what he says.’
‘So maybe it’s true?’
I look her in the eye. ‘Ben’s vulnerable. He can’t talk. My biggest fear is that someone might hurt him and he wouldn’t be able to tell me.’
Anna considers this for a moment. ‘But that could be true of anyone, couldn’t it? Are you telling me you’re never going to have a boyfriend again, just in case?’
She walks over to the window and I join her. We look out at the overgrown tumble of bindweed and morning glory that borders the patio, at the wild buckwheat that’s invaded my pot plants over the summer.
‘Thing is, Sarah, you’re vulnerable too. Isn’t it more likely that Alex is just a nice bloke who’s turned into a knight in shining armour after meeting a damsel in distress?’
‘Probably,’ I agree.
‘What do your instincts tell you?’
‘What you just said.’
‘Well there you go. Listen to your instincts and give him the benefit of the doubt. If he says or does anything that sets off alarm bells, you’ll know what to do to protect Ben.’ She smiles. ‘You know, since us women got the vote, and the right to own land and property and go out to work and bring home our own bacon, there are a lot of displaced men out there whose instincts are still to be the provider, the protector, and a lot of women just don’t want or need that role any more. Maybe you just tick all the boxes for him. Maybe you’re exactly what he wants.’
‘Well, I hope he doesn’t want a doormat,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not that person, either.’
‘Hardly. Anyone can see that you have remarkable inner strength; that’s almost certainly one of the things he likes about you. But maybe he’s been hurt in the past; and maybe he’s aware that you’re not in a position to run off with someone else and hurt him quite so easily as the next person. Maybe you make him feel safe in that way, and good about himself at the same time for helping you.’
I look up. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘And you know, he’s attracted to you, you’re attracted to him. That sort of thing doesn’t come along every day, no matter how good-looking and eligible you are. Maybe he could have any woman he wanted, but you still have to click with someone, and maybe he just didn’t find anyone he clicked with until he met you.’
I put up my hand. ‘OK. Sold,’ I smile, ‘to the lady in the red dress.’
‘Who looks lovely, by the way. Radiant.’ Anna smiles and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I take her hand. ‘Thanks so much for this, Anna. I hope he’s OK for you. He might wake up. He can be a bit difficult. He sometimes gets upset and it’s hard to know what’s wrong.’
‘We’ll cope, don’t worry.’ She smiles, reassuringly.
‘I’m going to be a bag of nerves.’
‘No, you’re not, you’re going to have an amazing night out.’
‘But if anything happens... if he has a seizure... There are things that you need to watch out for, certain signs...’
‘Sarah, I’m married to a nurse,’ she says, nodding towards the door. ‘Tim will know what to do.’
‘Of course he will. That’s reassuring.’ I put my arms round her. ‘Thanks so much, Anna. I mean it.’
‘Any time,’ she says, pulling me to her and hugging me back. ‘And I mean that.’
I smile, wryly. ‘So, can I tell Gareth that I’ll go on the police station rota?’
‘No, you can’t,’ Anna reprimands me. ‘I’m not doing this for your work colleagues. I’m doing this for you.’
When we get back to the living room, Ben is still playing the same section of the same Teletubby clip. Alex and Tim are standing near the window, looking out at Alex’s BMW and talking about cars. I think of Ellie’s comments to me, about men, and smile to myself.
Alex turns as we enter the room. ‘Ready?’
‘In a minute. Tim, before we go, can I ask you a question?’ I say. ‘How would I go about tracking down a nurse who worked in the paediatric intensive care unit at St Martin’s earlier this year?’
‘Hmm. Do you have a name?’ Tim asks.
‘Yes. Mary Ngombe. She’s African, worked there as an agency nurse apparently. She was originally seconded to the paediatric department at St Bart’s, but then moved to St Martin’s when her sponsorship ended. Now she’s left the hospital and no one knows where she’s gone.’
‘Back to Africa?’ Anna suggests. ‘Isn’t that what you said?’
‘Possibly,’ I say. ‘But they don’t know that for sure.’
‘Well, she’d have to be a registered children’s nurse,’ Tim says. ‘Which involves a lot of extra training, so you don’t normally go through
that unless you’re making it a career choice. So if she’s still in the country, it means she would probably be in a neonatal or paediatric ward somewhere else now. It’s actually a fairly small world, especially somewhere like PICU.’
‘Do you know her? Have you ever worked as a children’s nurse?’
Tim shakes his head. ‘No, but my friend Shelley has, and she’s worked at St Bart’s PICU too. I could speak to her.’
‘Why do you want to find this nurse?’ asks Alex.
‘She’s given a statement to the police, and it’s going to be read in court under the hearsay provisions. It’s fairly damning, and yet there are gaps in her account, which we can no longer test because she won’t be there to give live evidence. If I can find her, then she’ll have to come to court. It’s the only way to stop her statement going in as it is.’
‘Can you do that?’ Alex asks. ‘Are you allowed to talk to a prosecution witness?’
‘We don’t usually, for very good reasons. But there’s no property in a witness,’ I explain. ‘Which means that no one can “own” her. So technically there’s nothing to stop me talking to her and taking my own statement. And in these circumstances I think it’s worth the risk.’
‘I’ll speak to Shelley,’ Tim says. ‘See if she knows her, or anyone else who might. I’ll get you the names of the main nursing agencies, too. If she hasn’t left the country, she might be on someone’s books somewhere. They might tell you something.’
‘Thanks, Tim,’ I tell him. ‘I appreciate that.’
*
Alex drives into the West End and finds a parking space in a backstreet somewhere behind the British Museum. We stroll through Bloomsbury Square Gardens and down to Covent Garden, where we eat dinner at a lovely fish restaurant. I also drink two glasses of prosecco while Alex sips at a Beck’s Blue. It’s been so long since I’ve been out anywhere really nice for dinner that I can’t help but feel a little like an impostor as the waiter pulls back my chair and tucks me under the table, the starched white tablecloth brushing my bare knees. For some reason, Ellie slips into my mind as I unfold the thick, soft linen napkin in front of me and pick up the heavy cutlery. I wonder what it’s like to eat dinner with someone, knowing that in an hour or two you’ll be the dessert. Did she go to the same hotel restaurant each time, I wonder? Did the waiters know her by sight? Was it a ritual for them, to greet her and run down the specials board for her? And is there a particular meal choice that’s lighter on the stomach, one that’s less likely to tug at her suspender belt or produce acid reflux when bouncing around or bending over? You wouldn’t want to eat beans, that’s for sure.