A Form of Justice

by Dawn Marsanne

  He peered out into the garden but it was already dark, the trees silhouetted by the moonlight. The pasta bake was ready, and he tested a small amount on his fork to ensure it was hot enough. Tom looked at the empty kitchen and couldn’t face eating alone in there, so he took a tray and headed off into the lounge. As he flicked the switch, there was a brief flash, and the light went out.

  ‘Shit and double shit!’ he shouted. Wasn’t that just typical after a long day? He was now standing in darkness holding a tray and a glass of wine. Carefully, he set his meal down and felt his way along the sofa to find the table lamp, eventually finding the switch along the wire. How was it that something you switched on every day could completely stump you when you needed to operate it in an emergency, he thought.

  ‘Right, finally,’ he muttered as he sat in the semi-darkness and switched on the television for company.

  **

  There was no doubt that the new building work at Stourford School, which had cost seven million pounds was impressive, both in terms of design and the quality of the build. Pleasingly, it had been designed by a local architect and built by a Canterbury construction firm. Gone were the old-fashioned laboratories with the wooden benches, stained and etched by errant experiments. Also absent were the antiquated glass cabinets holding equipment which would have looked at home in a museum. The whole science suite was clean, light, airy and welcoming instead of austere and intimidating. Rectangular work benches encouraged group working, rather than a traditional arrangement of rows facing the front. White was the predominant theme with flashes of colour to break up the clinical feel. Perhaps the funkiest design element was in the chemistry laboratory, which had floor tiles representing the periodic table.

  New advances in technology and computing were apparent throughout the new laboratories, each having an interactive whiteboard and large wall-mounted computer screens. The biology laboratory was benefiting from three-dimensional computer technology to give pupils immersive demonstrations on everything from white blood cells to the structure and function of the heart.

  ‘Please put on the special glasses,’ said a sixth-former. ‘You can see when I rotate the heart how you get a sense of the overall structure.’

  Exclamations from the visitors could be heard as they watched the demonstrations.

  ‘Gosh, I wish we could have enjoyed this sort of thing!’ said one Old Girl.

  ‘Yes, it’s worlds away from copying out diagrams and taking down dictated notes!’ replied another.

  Equally impressive was the IT suite equipped by new computers and monitors arranged around the perimeter of the room. At a central table, a few pupils were directing robots to perform simple tasks

  ‘We didn’t even have one computer,’ said Judy, to Susan, ‘or did we? Can you remember?’

  ‘I think there was one in my last year, some of us volunteered to do a short course. I remember we had to write a program to add two numbers together, that sort of thing.’

  ‘It’s amazing that in only thirty years we can’t now manage without them. It’s total panic in our house when the Internet goes off for some reason.’

  ‘True, I’m addicted to my mobile phone, I have to admit,’ replied Susan.

  The party of ex-pupils filtered through the new classrooms reminiscing about amusing incidents from their schooldays.

  As they made their way back towards the lobby, a member of the Old Girls’ Association ushered them towards the refreshment table, where this time there was tea, coffee, and soft drinks in addition to sherry, along with some biscuits. The programme for the evening was running to time, and there was now about a twenty-minute break to allow the visitors to mingle and catch up with old acquaintances.

  For Gina, the atmosphere within the school was becoming oppressive and claustrophobic. Due to her time in the spotlight at the Benton inquiry, many of the ex-pupils had made a beeline for her, questioning her about it in great detail. She was still feeling unsettled after the delivery of the cakes to her chambers, which had occurred two days after the press release about her invitation to sit on the parliamentary committee. Doubtless, the publicity had stirred whoever had sent the previous cryptic messages to restart their campaign. A phone call to the shop had elicited nothing useful, apart from the revelation that someone whom they could remember little about had made the order and paid in cash. After a break of a couple of months, which had given her a chance to forget about the incidents, she had been catapulted back to those uncomfortable weeks when the inquiry had begun.

  Memories of those incidents were starting to overwhelm her, jumbling her thought processes and increasing her anxiety levels. In addition, there seemed to be an unhealthy inquisitiveness from some attendees about the more distressing details which had emerged from the inquiry. She could simply stand it no longer, and tactfully excusing herself from the latest small posse of women surrounding her, she headed outside in search of some solitude to calm her nerves before her talk. It was unfathomable as to why she was so nervous, but suddenly her confidence had deserted her.

  Chapter 44

  Tom finished his pasta meal and headed to the kitchen to get some fruit. He frowned as he noticed the kitchen was in darkness, yet he was sure he had left the light on. He flicked the light switch, but nothing happened.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ he cursed. When the bulb had blown, it must have tripped the whole circuit of lights downstairs. The table lamp from the lounge cast a faint glow into the hallway, enabling him to retrieve his mobile from his jacket and he activated the torch function. The consumer unit for the electricity supply was in the garage, so he slipped his shoes on and went outside, double-checking he had his door keys. He switched the tripped circuit back on and returned to the house, relieved to find that the hall light worked. Jubilantly, he exclaimed, ‘Success!’

  Now all he had to do was find a spare bulb to replace the one in the living room. At that moment, he realised how few domestic tasks he undertook around the house. Where did Trish keep the spare bulbs? He checked all the cupboards in the kitchen but could find none. Unwilling to appear completely useless upon his wife’s return, he racked his brains, where oh where would they be?

  ‘Hall cupboard,’ he muttered, as that was somewhere close to hand. As he peered upwards, he could see a stack of bulbs on the top shelf. He went to find the small folding stepladder and his reading glasses and carefully selected a bulb with the correct type of fitting and appropriate wattage. As Tom descended the ladder, his foot slipped off the second rung causing him to grab hold of the shelf, his hand subsequently catching a box which tipped over, spilling its contents all over the shelf.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ he said. Everything that evening seemed to be going wrong. He was tired, and that was making him clumsy.

  He collected up the contents and stared at them. What were they? The box contained some instructions written in minute writing. There was also another bottle which looked like olive oil. Tom’s interest was piqued, and he took down the box to examine it in greater detail.

  **

  Gina inhaled deeply on her e-cigarette as she paced around the school grounds just outside the main door. It was a coolish evening but not particularly cold, and it was dry, unlike some of the other days that week. Despite only wearing her suit and no top coat, she didn’t feel cold. Perhaps her increased heart rate was keeping her body warm? The car park was almost full, and some vehicles were haphazardly parked which would cause some tricky manoeuvring later.

  As she vaped, she questioned herself. Why on earth had she accepted the invitation to give a talk here? She could easily have declined, feigning pressure of work and personal pressures. It would hardly reflect badly on her. The more she thought about it, the more she felt it was a mistake to return. Her school years were a closed chapter of her life and should remain in the past. She would never have believed it but tonight had stirred some demons which were making their presence felt.

  ‘Hello?’ said a voice from the darkness. ‘Mind if I join
you?’

  ‘Oh, no, of course,’ replied Gina to the woman who had emerged holding a glass of sherry. She had answered automatically, politeness dominating her reluctance to have company.

  ‘I felt I needed a bit of air, it’s so stuffy in there.’

  ‘Me too, I was feeling a bit claustrophobic, and it’s a pleasant evening out here.’

  ‘Yes, it’s quite mild.’

  ‘I hope that the headmistress doesn’t come looking for me out here, I need a few minutes to compose my thoughts.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I noticed you receiving a lot of attention, I recognised you from the local paper.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Fame at last,’ she joked.

  ‘Oh, no, I feel a bit dizzy, I need to sit down!’ cried Susan, reaching out.

  ‘Take my arm, give me the glass,’ said Gina, looking around for somewhere to sit. ‘Look, there’s a tree stump here, just perch here for a moment.’

  ‘Thanks, oh, that’s better, it’s passed now.’ She exhaled with relief.

  ‘It’s Susan, by the way, Susan Barnes, as in the London borough.’

  ‘Hi, oh, yes, I remember,’ said Gina, struggling to recall an image of the person before her in a previous existence. The name Susan was familiar, but she couldn’t recall an image of that person as a schoolgirl. As her mind shuffled and sorted the memories, her mouth began to utter a platitude, ‘I didn’t recognise...’ Gina started to say then realised her faux-pas as the woman had clearly been receiving chemotherapy or had alopecia.

  ‘It’s OK, you wouldn’t recognise me, not with this scarf. I’ve got breast cancer, it runs in my family. My mother died from it but I’ve been lucky really, she wasn’t able to have the treatment I’ve had.’

  ‘Yes, it’s amazing how many medical advances there have been in the last twenty years. I’m reminded of that every day, my husband is a heart specialist.’

  ‘Exactly, which means the prognosis for me is good, and I just have to put up with the side-effects. So I can’t complain.’

  ‘Well, that’s true, but the side-effects can be serious. Are you feeling better now?’

  ‘Sort of but it’s left me very anxious, I think I’ve had a bit too much sherry, would you like to drink this one, I’ve not touched it?’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes, go ahead but pour it away if you don’t want it.’

  ‘I think I need something to take the edge off,’ said Gina, drinking it quickly.

  ‘God, it’s a bit harsh, like paint stripper!’

  ‘It is a bit, but I’ve lost some of my sense of taste actually. I think it’s my treatment.’

  ‘Sorry, it must be hard for you.’

  ‘It’s not too bad, I’m coping.’

  Gina drew deeply on her cigarette, producing a large plume of white vapour which contrasted with the dark night air.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, as the cloud of smoke engulfed Susan, and she tried to flap it away.

  ‘It’s OK, it’s not like cigarette smoke. I use one to help with the funny tastes I get with my chemo.’

  Gina began to cough. ‘God, that sherry has irritated my throat. I hope I’m not going to be coughing all through my talk.’

  ‘Water?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

  ‘It’s flavoured, peach I think, I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, I just need something to help my throat.’

  ‘Do you know, when I arrived, I was looking around the reception, and I felt a sort of creeping sensation over the back of my neck? I actually imagined myself charging down the main staircase, hurrying to my next lesson so I wouldn’t be late. It’s silly, I know but it was a sort of sixth sense.’

  ‘Well, now you mention it, I think I had the same sort of feeling whilst I was waiting for the evening to start,’ agreed Gina.

  ‘Really? Perhaps the building is haunted?’ joked Susan.

  ‘I hope not! Unless some staff were murdered and buried here in the past,’ replied Gina.

  ‘Well, you never know. I guess they didn’t find any bodies when they dug the foundations for the new building work.’

  ‘True.’ Gina seemed lost in thought. ‘I’m not sure I should have come back, I didn’t always enjoy my time here.’

  ‘No?’ said Susan, staring directly at Gina. ‘But you did very well didn’t you? Got good marks and didn’t you go to Oxford?’

  ‘Cambridge, actually. Yes, I did well but...,’ her voice trailed away.

  Susan waited.

  ‘Let’s just say that my school days weren’t exactly the happiest days of my life.’

  ‘No? I seem to remember you having quite a fun time. I always thought you might have been Head Girl.’

  ‘I don’t think I was popular enough with the teachers for that,’ said Gina. Her voice had become so quiet that Susan could barely hear her. Gina appeared to have become distant, caught up in her own thoughts. Her eyes looked into the distance as she uttered the last sentence. ‘Right, well, I had better go back in,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘You too, good luck with your talk.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll need it.’

  ‘Rubbish, you are used to speaking in public.’

  ‘I know, this just feels different.’

  The two women walked up the steps together to the main entrance.

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Gina.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I just feel a bit sick, my stomach is churning.’

  ‘Try to take some deep breaths,’ said Susan, holding on to Gina’s elbow. ‘That’s it. Better?’

  Gina closed her eyes. ‘Yes, it’s passing. I’m such a bag of nerves.’

  ‘Come on, you’ll be OK.’

  **

  Tom was now sitting in the lounge, having replaced the blown light bulb. He was picking at his finger with a pair of tweezers, attempting to remove a splinter he had picked when he had slipped on the ladder. Eventually, he had to resort to a needle and magnifying glass to extract the offending article.

  Before he could finally relax, he needed to find some statistics to add to a document. He went to fetch his laptop from the hallway and stopped in his tracks. Where was it? Then he realised, he had left it in his office after the meeting as he had left straight from the patient group meeting.

  Wasn’t this evening just going from bad to worse? Had someone put a hex on him, it certainly felt like it? Hopefully, tomorrow would signal a better day, but he really needed to just check one website for some statistics to save him time in the morning. If he could find the data now, he could add in the relevant figures first thing.

  Their home laptop was on the side table, he opened the lid and found it was switched on but in sleep mode. When the screen woke up, he saw that a web page was still open. Tom hardly ever used this laptop as he had his work one with all his bookmarks and shortcuts readily available. He read the page with interest. Instead of searching for the data he needed, he looked at the browsing history and was intrigued further.

  As he sipped his whisky, he opened up some of the web pages. It was a completely new area for him, and he quickly scanned one page after another. The alcohol was helping his brain to relax, helping his discoveries from earlier in the evening to slot into place. Tom leaned back in his seat and drained the last of the whisky. It was clear what Trish had been doing, and now he was beginning to worry about her. Yes, he had worked out why the box had been hidden on the top shelf of the hall cupboard, but there were still more questions than answers, and when Trish returned home, he hoped that the mystery would be solved.

  **

  It was the final hour of the evening and Gina was sitting on the stage next to the other speaker, a neurosurgeon, Dr Anika Khatri from the Kent and Canterbury Hospital.

  The secretary of the Old Girls’ association tapped her pen against a water glass to bring the assembly to attention.

  ‘Thank you. Just before we start, if there is anyone who isn’t currently receiving emails from us, could they p
lease add their name and email to the sheet at the back before they leave? Also, we are on Twitter and Facebook so you can keep in touch with events and updates about the school. Well, now it’s time to hear from two of our Old Girls, and I’m sure it’s what we’ve all been waiting for,’ said Jill Makepiece, looking over towards the two speakers and smiling.

  Gina looked ashen and had her arms crossed in front of her stomach, looking very uncomfortable. Her face muscles were strained and tight, and she failed to return Jill’s gaze.

  ‘Our first speaker is Gina Overton, barrister at law who has recently moved back to our beautiful city and is now based at Barker & Hinds Law Chambers. We are so proud of Gina’s achievements, and without further ado, I would like to ask her to give her talk.’

  Gina stood and gingerly made her way to the lectern. One hand clutched her prompt cards for her speech, the other was still clasped across her stomach. In the audience, Susan looked on with interest at the woman who had now reached the lectern and was holding on to the edge of it, her white knuckles showing clearly through her clenched fist.

  Chapter 45

  ‘Well, thank you, Jill,’ said Gina, coughing to clear a frog from her throat. ‘Sorry,’ she croaked. Suddenly she felt her stomach heave and her throat gag. She bowed her head and held on to the lectern with both hands.

  ‘Er, Gina? Are you feeling alright?’ whispered Jill, having wandered over to the lectern. ‘Perhaps a glass of water?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she whispered.

  Jill passed the half-full glass to Gina who took it, sipped some and then spilt the remainder down her jacket.

  ‘Shit,’ she cursed, softly. She straightened and tidied her prompt cards on the lectern.

  Jill returned to her seat at the side of the stage and inclined her head towards the Headmistress who was trying to whisper something to her.

  ‘So, I’ll start again. Thank you, Jill and Headmistress, for inviting me here this evening. I am honoured to be back at this wonderful school which brings back so many happy memories.’ Gina had recovered her poise and was making an admirable effort to deliver her speech but her voice was strained and flat, there was no emotion to accompany the sentiment of the words. Her hand trembled as she found her next card, the first one slipping from her hand and fluttering to the floor.