‘Did you notice if Naomi was drinking?’
Gordy shook his head. ‘Sorry, no. You think she . . .’
‘I don’t think so, but Suzanne does. Did she seem tipsy?’
‘Not especially, no. I might have been, though,’ he said. ‘Kids – you think once they’re adults it might get easier, and then something like this happens. My eldest, Jordan, passed his driving test first time, twenty he was. Two months later he was sent on one of those courses for speeding drivers. Sometimes they seem to think they’re invincible, that nothing can touch them, that it won’t happen to them.’
I nodded. ‘If you think of anything else . . .’
‘I’ll call you, I’ve got your number.’
Gordy hadn’t seen her drinking, I thought, as I walked to the car. That was good. And there were several little moments in what he’d told me that were worth passing on. Given that she’d begun to remember other fragments, I was hopeful that her amnesia would lift.
We asked the staff if there was anywhere private we could meet with Don on the Monday. They let us use a small side room near the ward and confirmed that Naomi was fit enough to be taken there in a wheelchair.
Don is a lovely man, his softly spoken manner at odds with a dirty, raucous, infectious laugh which turns his eyes to tiny lines in his plump face. He’s virtually bald and keeps any remaining hair shaved close to his scalp.
I don’t remember seeing him in a suit before, but when he arrived at the hospital he was in the full kit, shirt and tie and shiny shoes with long pointy toes. Italian at a guess. He certainly took more care with his wardrobe than Phil ever did. Or me, come to that.
Don shook hands with Naomi before sitting down and asking her to tell him about the accident. He had a tablet with him, prepared to type in notes.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t really remember any of it. Just a noise and a flash of red.’ Her voice dipped. ‘Alex says she was wearing a red dress. So, I only know what Mum and Dad told me, and Alex.’
‘Okay.’ Don glanced at Phil.
Phil went over what we’d learnt from the police and what Alex had said. Don didn’t talk very much, just stopping Phil when he needed to clarify points. ‘Were there any eyewitnesses?’ he said.
‘Monica, Alex’s mum; she passed them on Lees Hall Road, a few minutes before.’
‘What about at the actual crash?’ Don said.
‘I don’t know,’ Phil said.
I thought about it. ‘Alex didn’t mention anyone, but you’d have to ask him.’
‘He rang the ambulance himself,’ Naomi added, ‘so I don’t think so.’
‘What about CCTV?’ Don said.
Phil and I looked at each other and both shrugged. I couldn’t recall any cameras at the scene, but then I hadn’t been looking for them.
‘Is Alex likely to give a statement to the police and appear in court if charges are brought?’ he asked Naomi directly. ‘He’d cooperate?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ she said.
‘He’s training to be a lawyer,’ I said.
Don thought for a moment, then scrolled over his notes, rubbing the palm of one hand over the top of his head.
‘I can tell you what is likely to happen,’ he said, ‘but until the police bring charges – if they bring charges, and in a case this serious that is highly probable –there’s nothing I can actually do yet. Without knowing what their case is, we can’t usefully look at a defence. You understand?’
Naomi nodded.
‘So, it all rests on what evidence they have. They are likely to be using a road traffic investigation unit and they’ll examine the car, the scene, the forensic and medical evidence before considering charges.’
The charred chassis of the car, the bent gatepost, the child – her injuries.
‘They won’t make an arrest while you’re in hospital; you have to be medically fit for questioning. They’ll need time anyway for the various tests to be done and the results assessed.’
‘Will it be causing death by dangerous driving?’ I asked.
Don placed his hands on the table. ‘The CPS will always go for the most serious charge that has a realistic prospect of conviction. For that offence they would need to prove that the driving was dangerous rather than careless and that is something we would seek to challenge. If we cast doubt on the driving being dangerous, they might then seek a lesser charge of careless driving, which carries lower penalties. It’s reasonable to argue that temporarily losing control on a bend is careless rather than dangerous. Then there may be aggravating factors. Had you been drinking or taking drugs?’
‘I can’t remember,’ Naomi said.
‘She did have some champagne,’ Phil said.
‘Earlier in the afternoon,’ I added. ‘We don’t know about later. Suzanne says she was drinking, but Alex says the opposite.’
‘They’ll have taken a blood sample, won’t they?’ Phil said.
‘Yes,’ Don replied. ‘The police will have to furnish proof if they wish to introduce it as evidence. The thing to bear in mind is that the prosecution have to be able to prove every single point of their case in order to take it to court. So to successfully prosecute causing death by careless driving, for example, they have to prove (a) that you were driving the car that evening, (b) that your driving was careless and (c) that the death was as a direct result of that careless driving. Our job is to undermine their case by challenging the evidence and raising doubts. If there are any reasonable doubts, there can’t be a conviction.’
‘So what happens next?’ Phil said.
‘If Naomi is arrested for questioning, I will then be given a summary of the case against her.’
Just the word arrested made my stomach turn over.
‘I would then talk to Naomi before she was questioned and we’d agree how to proceed, what she would be saying to them.’
‘What could I say?’ Naomi protested. ‘All I can say is I can’t remember.’
‘That’s true,’ Don said. ‘If the amnesia persists, we’ll decide whether to sit through the questions or whether to give a prepared written statement instead.’ He went on, ‘If the police then decided to charge you, they’d do that and release you on bail to appear in the magistrates’ court in a few days’ time. Because of the gravity of the incident, the magistrates would automatically set a committal date, usually a month or two ahead, and that’s when they’d refer the case to the Crown Court. About six or eight weeks on from that, we’d have plea and case management hearing. That’s when you enter a plea of guilty or not guilty, if you’ve not already done so, and the arrangements are agreed to schedule a case.’
Something struck me forcefully, ‘She can’t plead guilty if she can’t remember anything about it, can she?’
‘That’s right. Not that I’d advise a guilty plea anyway, but it would be nonsensical. At the committal stage, once I receive the complete bundle of case notes from the prosecution, I apply for legal aid on Naomi’s behalf and start looking for our own evidence to contest the prosecution case. That’s when the real work begins.
‘The defendant’s character is of great significance in this sort of case,’ he went on. ‘Any previous convictions?’
‘No,’ we all said in unison.
‘I didn’t think so,’ he said. ‘Any history of careless driving, driving under the influence, anything of that nature?’
‘No,’ Naomi said. ‘We share the car but it belongs to Alex. I’ve always been careful with it.’
‘What about speeding? Any penalty points?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Good. And what about Alex?’
‘The same,’ Phil said. ‘He’s a responsible lad.’
Naomi nodded.
‘You mentioned he was going into the law?’ Don said.
‘Yes, he’s just got a training contract with a firm here. Hasn’t started yet.’
‘Do you know who?’
‘Vincent and Kaplan.’
Don smiled
. ‘Good firm.’
‘What if there was a problem with the car that meant Naomi couldn’t correct her speed?’ I said.
‘We’ll certainly be looking for anything like that, as will the road traffic investigation unit.’
‘The car was completely burnt out,’ Phil said.
‘Makes it harder. All we can do is wait and see what they put in their report. It’s a lot to take on board. Is there anything you want to ask me?’ Don asked Naomi.
‘Yes, can I write to them – Lily’s family? Say how sorry I am.’
Don pulled a face. ‘I really wouldn’t advise it. You’re pleading not guilty. Any communication like that, no matter how neutral, could be used against you – the prosecution could argue it signifies an admission of guilt.’
She looked crestfallen.
‘Could I write instead?’ I asked. ‘Send a card or something?’
He shook his head. ‘It would be very unwise.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘I’ll take you back through,’ Phil said to Naomi.
‘See you in a minute,’ I promised her.
‘Is there anything else?’ Don asked when they’d gone.
I hesitated. The trouble we had with Naomi during sixth-form college. Should I mention that? It was years ago, but . . . I dithered and then told Don all about it.
The first we knew about Naomi’s trouble was a visit from a pair of community support officers to inform us that Naomi and another girl had been apprehended drinking in the local park. The other girl was Georgia. Naomi stood with a sullen look on her face while they spoke to us, and when they’d gone and I tried to talk to her about it, she told me to mind my own business and flounced off upstairs. She was slightly more amenable by teatime, told us not to have a fit about it, it wasn’t like she’d killed anybody or anything. She promised that she wouldn’t play truant again. I was more worried about her drinking in the middle of the day.
Next thing, we got a letter from her tutor. Naomi had been found with alcohol in college. It was a disciplinary matter, this was a final warning, and if it happened again she would be expelled.
I went numb, my head cloudy and muddled. I waited until Phil got back to talk to him about how to tackle it. He read the letter, raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Well, she has to take it seriously or they’ll kick her out,’ he said. ‘Don’t know that anything we say will make a difference.’
‘That’s it, think positive,’ I complained.
‘Talk to her after tea?’
By then Suzanne was at Bournemouth, emailing us every Sunday and enjoying the course. Just the three of us at home.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said to Naomi later as she got up to leave the dinner table. ‘We have a letter from college. See?’ I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it, set it down for her to read.
She flushed and a mutinous glare rolled through her eyes.
‘What’s going on? What were you thinking of?’ I said.
She shrugged.
‘How often have you been drinking? If you’ve got a problem with it, you need to—’
‘It’s not like that,’ she said.
‘It’s not healthy,’ I said. ‘You’re seventeen, you shouldn’t be drinking at all, let alone at college.’
‘Get real,’ she sneered.
‘No! You don’t get to have that attitude. This is serious, it’s dangerous.’
She sighed.
I changed tack, I knew shouting at her wasn’t going to be productive. ‘Aren’t you happy at college?’
‘No.’
‘You want to leave?’ Phil said.
‘Maybe,’ she said, sounding utterly miserable.
‘Why?’ he said.
‘It’s boring and they treat us like little kids.’
‘What would you do instead?’ he said.
‘I don’t know.’
‘C’mon,’ Phil chided, ‘you must have some idea.’ At her age he was already planning the shop, already playing in the band.
‘Well I don’t,’ she said.
‘Is there anything you do like there?’ I was searching for a positive morsel to focus on, to build a strategy with. ‘Dance,’ I said, ‘you love dance.’
‘Not with Miss Gaffney, she’s crap.’
I sighed. ‘If you leave, it won’t be easy to get work; you’re not eighteen so lots of places won’t consider you. You’ve hardly any experience.’
‘I’ll sign on, then.’
Oh great. ‘Look, you need to think about what you want. I know it’s not that easy, but it’s no fun being on the dole. You get fifty quid a week and you’ll be filling in great long forms and having compulsory interviews with the jobseekers people to see if you are trying hard enough. Do you want to go to university? Because if you do, then you have to have A levels.’
She shrugged, bit at her thumbnail.
I had a sudden thought. ‘Is Georgia doing all right there? Does she like it?’
‘She left.’
Ah. ‘What’s she doing?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That going well for her, is it?’ Phil said.
‘Don’t be mean, Dad,’ Naomi said.
‘Just because she’s jacked it in—’ I began.
‘It’s nothing to do with that. I told you, it’s boring.’
We didn’t get much further. I told her we’d discuss it again the following evening, by which time she should come to a decision about whether to make a renewed effort or to give up her place.
‘I’m not going back,’ she said the next morning.
It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was a pretty dreary place to be. The next few months were not happy times. Phil and I tried to keep positive; we didn’t want to put her under any more pressure and add to her sense of failure. She claimed jobseeker’s allowance for several months. Georgia’s brush with alcohol-related illness and their combined lack of funds didn’t seem to have had much impact on their socializing (though Georgia had never set foot in our house again after the fire), and they continued to party with the best of them and sleep the day away. Any attempts to discuss Naomi’s behaviour met with a wall of indifference punctuated by outbursts of anger. She was demonstrably unhappy, but we were the last people on earth she wanted any support from. Or so it seemed.
I remember comparing it to my own adolescence. It had helped that I knew what I wanted to do with my life, starting with becoming independent. University was the route to that and so it made sense to work for it. As for under-age drinking and the like, that all went on but I never got caught and I spared my mum and dad any confrontations. In my last two years at home, I’d often wait until they were in bed and then sneak out to meet up with people, or I’d pretend to be going to bed and actually leave the house. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Early summer things seemed to change. Naomi began seeing more of her other friends, and Georgia was in a heavy relationship with some lad and apparently besotted. Then Naomi got a part-time job in a restaurant, washing up and running errands. Like someone emerging from sleep she seemed brighter and had more energy, she regained her equilibrium and her confidence grew. She no longer had to pout and bluster to disguise her faltering self-esteem. And she raised the prospect of going back to college.
She altered the mix of courses to avoid the dreaded Miss Gaffney, who she really did dislike, and she had to have a meeting with the staff, who did not want a repeat performance and needed convincing of her commitment.
We never looked back – well, only with a grateful laugh and a shudder when Phil and I recalled that time and related it to friends having traumas with their own teenagers. Naomi got an A and two Bs in her exams. Surprised us all. Miffed Suzanne, who always considered herself to be the brightest child.
Naomi had tested us significantly as a teenager, but in the intervening years, in the recent months, I’d seen no sign of her reverting to that risky, out-of-control behaviour, though she knew how to have fun still. She got tipsy
sometimes when she and Alex went partying, but she’d not given us any cause for concern.
Don heard me out. He believed it had very little bearing on the case or any potential prosecution. What was more significant was that Naomi had a clean licence and no record of any drink-related offences, antisocial behaviour and so on. And as yet we had no way of knowing whether alcohol was even a factor in the accident.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Naomi
Today they got me out of bed and made me stand on my good leg, holding on to a frame, for a few seconds. My leg was shaking, weak as a kitten. Like in dreams where you can only run in slow motion, or when you can’t run at all even though there’s some bear or wolf or a psycho serial killer hurtling after you.
The physio will come back and in between I have to do these stretching exercises. It’ll be another couple of weeks before I can put weight on my broken ankle. The other women in the ward are so cheery and chatty and they’re always sharing their symptoms, but I feel awkward joining in. I don’t want them to know what I’ve done. When the rest of them talk, I pretend to read, or to sleep. They know I was in a road accident, but that’s all, I think.
They’ve moved me to a bed near the window because I don’t need any attention in the night. I can look out on to a service road with double yellow lines all along it. I see the vehicles going up and down and sometimes a smoker will walk by, puffing away. There is a building on the other side, a vast brick wall without any windows. It is impossible to count the bricks but I try, hoping it’ll lull me to sleep. There is a corner of sky at the far side of that roof. A little patch, just enough to see whether it’s cloudy or blue or night.
Mum paid for a TV for a few days but I told her I wasn’t fussed. It’s hard to explain: stuff that used to be a laugh even because it was so dire, like Come Dine With Me or Jeremy Kyle, well, I know it’s trivia, always did; I could poke fun at it, chat about it later. But now I glaze over. I can’t connect any more.
Blink of an Eye (2013) Page 12