by Sam Hayes
‘Josh Ellis, this is not appropriate behaviour. If you don’t settle down and get on with the tasks on the whiteboard, then I’ll have no option but to send you to the deputy head.’
‘Or beat me up.’
I should have turfed him out there and then along with the other pupils whose sniggers rippled through the class. But Grace wouldn’t want that. She was tolerant and thoughtful, and I’d always seen her differently to the other kids. She was more mature, more able to relate to adults, perhaps therefore attractive to David. I swat the thought from my head.
The bell rings. ‘Remember, complete the English question sheet by Monday, because we’ll need it for class-work next week. And if you have any completed homework set by Mr Hargraves then let me have it now.’ It’s hard to compete against the scraping chairs and chatter as the class evacuates for mid-morning break, but suddenly there are twenty or so pieces of work slapped on to my desk as students leave.
The last to depart is Amy, a shy girl who is flipping through the leaves of a binder. ‘I did do it, honestly.’ Her fair cheeks flush crimson as I approach.
‘The dog didn’t get it then?’ I smile.
She laughs without looking up. ‘Perhaps.’ Then, after rummaging in her pack, ‘Ah, here it is. Sorry it’s creased.’
‘Thanks, Amy.’ She turns to leave, still not looking at me. ‘Amy,’ I say, halting her. ‘You’re friends with Grace, aren’t you?’
She nods. Hangs her head as if not talking about Grace will make it all go away.
‘Was there anything unusual going on in her life before she was . . . before this happened? Was she upset about anything?’ I see the girl swallow; too big a lump for someone who has no food in her mouth.
‘Not really.’
‘Was she happy? Did she tell you any secrets? It’s important, Amy.’
She stares up at me through wisps of long hair. ‘I already told the police everything I know. Which is nothing.’ Her voice is fractured.
‘OK, Amy. It’s OK.’ The hand on her shoulder does it.
‘She made me promise, all right, so just leave me alone.’ Amy charges out of the classroom, knocking over a chair on her way.
‘Find me after school,’ I call after her, but with all the trouble banging about in her head, I doubt she hears me.
‘Nadine, I can’t possibly come to police headquarters with you. If I miss any more work, I’ll get the sack.’ We are standing in the street outside Denby High School, having dodged the single remaining reporter who holds vigil at the gate. Now he knows I’m the one who made the discovery, he’s not going to let up. He fires a couple of questions at me as we pass but I ignore him. It makes me wonder if he knows about my relationship with David. That would get the presses rolling. Teacher and doctor involved in schoolgirl attack.
Nadine is unimpressed. She has driven from Cambridge before her shift. ‘Can’t you just tell me whatever it is here?’ I continue, jamming a chunk of loose hair back inside my clip.
‘I’m sorry, Julia. I understand.’ She stares hard at the journalist and turns her back on him, shielding me from the camera that’s slung around his neck. Nadine’s face stiffens and my heart kicks up a gear.
‘What, Nadine? What is it?’
She takes my arm and we walk away from school, getting caught up in the tide of pupils heading down to the row of shops for sweets and crisps and cans of drink. For a second, I imagine everything feels normal.
‘Chrissie Weaver called me. She looked into your mother’s file at The Lawns.’ Nadine talks slowly, pacing the news in time with our slow steps. ‘It all seems a bit . . . unusual. Especially concerning her admission.’ Nadine’s grip on my arm tightens. ‘For a start, there’s no written report of any kind about the MRI scan that Mary had. Those results were what warranted her hospital stay in the first place.’
‘Well that’s easy to explain.’ Nadine is way off the mark here. ‘It’s bound to be a mix-up between NHS and private systems. The scan was done by the NHS and The Lawns is a private hospital.’ I consider other possibilities. ‘Or perhaps one of the doctors was reviewing the results and forgot to put them back in the file.’
‘I’m afraid not, Julia. Chrissie’s checked out all these possibilities and she’s talked to the nurses too. There’s simply no reference anywhere to her MRI scan or the results.’ Nadine slows our pace virtually to a halt. It gives me time to think.
‘That’s just not possible. David should know about this. He’d be furious.’ Then I have a sick feeling as I remember where David is. My mother will not be on his list of priorities any more. ‘David’s paying good money for that place. I must tell him.’ I’m thinking out loud, wondering what will happen to Mum if the account doesn’t get paid.
‘Thanks for bringing up the second issue.’ Nadine stops and turns through ninety degrees to face me. A turbulent stream of schoolkids flows around us. ‘Chrissie also checked with the accounts centre at the hospital and couldn’t find out who’s paying the bill. Naturally they’re not allowed to release specific details, but they confirmed it wasn’t David’s name on the account. Chrissie said they implied a business or a trust.’
‘Nadine, I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. None of this really warrants a special trip to see me, let alone a crusade to police headquarters. Missing medical reports and mysterious hospital bills are hardly going to interest Ed and his team, even if the information does happen to come from his wife.’
‘Oh, Julia.’ Nadine takes hold of my hands and suddenly the swill of kids subsides and we are all alone, standing beneath an avenue of trees that looks like it’s been charcoaled on to the bleak winter townscape. ‘There’s more—’
‘Stop! Right now.’ I’ve had enough. I snap my hands from Nadine’s mercy grip. ‘Why is everyone out to nail David before he’s even stood trial? Murray says that the CPS is teetering about his case anyway . . .’
My hand comes up slowly to my face, my fingers spreading to cover my mouth. But it’s too late. I’ve just told the wife of the detective who’s charged David that the CPS don’t like the look of the evidence. ‘Nadine, I can’t see you again. Not until this is all over.’ And the hardest thing to do as I turn and run isn’t abandoning my sister-in-law but not finding out what else she was going to say.
I’ve seen Murray with other women before. He fanned through a variety of girlfriends before we got together, some suitable, some downright ridiculous. So when I see them tucked inside Alcatraz, laughing, impressing, overstating every move in an obvious mating ritual, it’s tempting to pass judgement like I once would have done, when I was just a kid and waiting to grow up for Murray.
I don’t mind interrupting their little get-together. She’s about my age, a whole lot less stressed than me, and isn’t wearing any make-up but still looks great. She holds a glass of red wine as if it’s Murray’s hand steadying her as the boat yaws from my arrival. The first thing he says is quite responsible.
‘Where are the children?’ This shows me that he’s not had very much to drink yet.
My reply, however, doesn’t sound much like it will win any parenting awards. ‘I left them with Brenna. She’s quite capable.’ I added that to at least show I’d considered the arrangement. ‘I won’t stay long.’ My mind races back. Alex had mentioned ‘Dad’s friend’. This must be her. If I’m honest, I don’t like it.
‘You’re right. You won’t stay long. In fact, not another minute. I want you to go right back and look after our children. Leaving them in Brenna’s care is madness, Julia. The girl is a liability to herself, let alone our kids.’ By now, Murray has me backed up against the stove to make this as much of a private moment as possible. His friend tries not to watch our exchange but I can see she’s sneaking a look. I don’t breathe, which makes my reply barely there.
‘Did you hear anything from the CPS?’
‘Tomorrow, Julia. That will be tomorrow at the earliest.’
Part of me relaxes and part of me wants to claw a
t Murray, to beg him to find out now, even though it’s nine o’clock in the evening and everywhere will be closed. Don’t drink any more, I beg him in my head. Be alert for David’s case. I slip from entrapment and smell diesel and alcohol. It’s Murray’s personal cologne.
After I leave, I don’t mean to stand on the towpath for so long, but when Murray shunts the hatch closed, the glowing rectangle of window in the side of Alcatraz gives me a glimpse into his life after me. It shows that his life is moving on – behaving in a way he hasn’t done in years; teaching another woman about himself. Posturing, grinning, astonishing, leaving out the bad bits, bigging up the parts I probably ignored.
Not knowing I’m still on the towpath, Murray snaps closed the ghastly orange curtains. As I turn and walk away, sadness forces a sigh from my chest. I admit, it suits my needs for David to be innocent. Am I simply believing what I want to believe? Like I did with Murray for so many years, am I turning David into someone he’s not? Walking down the towpath, I am left with an image of Murray and his lady friend burned on the inside of my eyes. As I blink, it morphs into David until my eyes are flashing open and shut so fast that they all become one.
Murray once had a girlfriend called Cynthia. She was taller than him and her knees and elbows, bursting with growth, were knotted like the joints of a young tree. Cynthia knew all the latest fashions, had hundreds of records, wore her hair big, flicked and backcombed. She was pretty much the coolest girl in school.
While Murray was dating her, I dissolved into the flat landscape of Witherly. I became a child again, especially when Cynthia was around. Them aged seventeen and me just turned a paltry twelve, I didn’t stand a chance against Cynthia’s long painted nails and shimmering court shoes.
I watched and waited, virtually held my breath for the entire eight weeks they dated, in case one day Murray should be back with his mates, back on the sports field, back hanging out with his younger sister’s friend.
Then it happened. Cynthia was expelled from school and no one ever heard from her again. It was as if she vanished clean off the face of the earth. The only trail she left behind was a two-column-inch report in the local paper with a sullen mug shot balanced above. Juvenile Thief Found Guilty.
It took a while, but gradually Murray filtered back into his circle of friends, ripped around the villages on his bike, and teased Nadine and me when he baby-sat in the holidays.
‘Cynthia wouldn’t do anything like that,’ he insisted. ‘Someone got it wrong. She never nicked anything in her life.’ Murray was certain, wanted the entire world to know how certain he was, that the girl he loved was as clean as could be.
We all thought he was sticking up for her because he didn’t want to look stupid for going out with her. He couldn’t bear it that the love of his life had nicked all her trendy clothes, her chunky jewellery, her make-up and twelve-inch records. It made their true love fake as well. Defending Cynthia even after her court case was Murray’s futile attempt at self-preservation. No one liked to look silly.
Truth was, he plain didn’t see it. Love, devotion, need – the sheer size of his affection – simply got in the way of the truth.
The car is wedged on to the verge where river and road meet. I get in and turn the key. My mind is still on the towpath, stirring thoughts of Cynthia, wine, David and Murray. I drive home but don’t recall any of the short journey.
When I step inside the house and everything is calm – Brenna and Flora are playing a lopsided game of snap – the notion that I have got it all so completely wrong, that my belief in David’s innocence is foolish and blind, makes me feel ill. It doesn’t take much for me to crack.
‘You think keeping Flora up this late is responsible behaviour?’ I glare at Brenna. The girl’s cheeks colour and her eyes widen.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’
‘No, you damn well didn’t, did you?’ Whatever I’m saying, it’s harsher than I intended. The laziest kid in my class wouldn’t get this treatment. ‘She’s eight years old, Brenna. For heaven’s sake, she needs to go to bed and you’re playing cards with her. You and your brother are a liability.’ She doesn’t deserve my attack.
Flora slams her hand down on the pile of cards and makes a barking noise. Grinning, alert as a rabbit, she waits for Brenna’s response. But Brenna simply stands up, the crescents of tears held back only by the tilt of her head. She runs out of the room.
‘Damn,’ I say. And as Flora scowls at me for ruining the nice time she was having with Brenna, it’s all the proof I need to know that my judgement has gone awry for sure.
MURRAY
Nadine is close to tears. ‘She won’t answer her phone and doesn’t return my messages. She told me she won’t see me until this is all over. Whether we like it or not, Julia’s lost her heart to a criminal.’
I am stunned at what she’s just told me. Chrissie has done more than her fair share of digging into Mary’s case, making me wonder how much Nadine pushed her. Her dislike of the man, even though she has never met him, is almost equal to mine.
‘None of what Chrissie found out goes any way to convincing me that this mess will ever be over. Not cleanly, anyway. One wily reporter will soon sniff out that Julia is involved with Carlyle.’ Nadine wipes her nose, trying to look as if she’s not really upset. ‘Let’s face it, Murray, Julia was the one who found Grace, and she also happens to be a teacher at the victim’s school. It doesn’t look good. Not good at all.’
I’m trying to understand what she’s implying, not to mention what Chrissie found out about Mary.
‘You think that Julia will become a suspect by association?’ I sigh. I’m hot; we’re sitting too close to the log fire. I feel sick.
‘It’s a possibility. Your ex-wife might be forced to give evidence in return for relocation and a new identity. What’s that going to do to your kids?’
‘Not quite ex,’ I say, and for a second that hurts me more than everything Nadine is telling me. ‘Just how reliable is your friend Chrissie?’ And I am slammed with a barrage of Chrissie’s qualifications and dedication to psychiatric research, not to mention the societies and professional bodies she belongs to and just how deep the level of information that she has access to runs. ‘So she’s reliable?’ My pint does nothing for my churning stomach.
‘Solid.’
I run through what all this means. ‘And she was absolutely sure that Mary’s admission had nothing to do with the MRI scan results?’
‘Positive.’
‘And the treatment Carlyle requested for Mary isn’t suitable for the problems he claimed Mary had anyway?’
‘Yep.’
I stare at my sister. She wouldn’t lie to me. All the years I’ve known her tumble through my mind. She’s always been there for me, hauling me home from the pub, giving me a place to stay, mopping up my spilt life. She’s also married to the detective who arrested Carlyle. I happen to be the defendant’s lawyer. The conflict rears up and slaps me in the face.
‘Look, I might as well be honest.’ I know I’ll regret this. ‘The CPS is currently reviewing the case and there’s a rumour that the charges may be dropped altogether. Although I can’t see Ed ever giving up on it.’
‘But . . . ?’
‘It’s complicated. In simple terms, if they don’t think Ed’s got enough on Carlyle to secure a conviction, then they’ll let it drop and he walks.’
‘Yes, that’s what Julia told me about the lack of evidence. That’s when she got angry with herself and refused to speak to me.’ Nadine drops a half-eaten bag of crisps on to the small round table. ‘Why on earth did you take this case, Murray? What in God’s name did you think you were doing?’
It doesn’t take me long to answer. ‘Loving Julia,’ I reply simply, when in truth none of it is simple at all. I resist the urge to down my pint in one go. ‘We had this game, Julia and I, when we were kids. Do you remember?’ I don’t think I played it with Nadine. ‘It was pretty stupid really, but it made her giggle and I liked
that. I liked seeing Julia happy.’
Nadine shakes her head. ‘What, Murray?’
‘She would tell me to do things or say things to strangers, and if I didn’t comply, I had to do a forfeit.’ We both step back in time, each remembering a slightly different view of a similar past. ‘Once she told me to half frighten an old man to death when he walked round the corner.’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course,’ I say, sipping, remembering. ‘I nearly gave him a heart attack. He marched me right home to Mum but I didn’t care. I did anything for Julia.’
‘Do anything for Julia,’ Nadine corrects, and we both know she’s right.
‘So,’ I say as we step out into the sunlight. It’s cold but bright. ‘Where does that leave us?’ Chrissie’s findings don’t make sense. Why would Carlyle lie about scan results and prescribe the wrong treatment for Mary?
‘Us?’ She knows she is in this too.
‘Are you going to tell Ed?’ I shiver and button up my coat. There are things I can’t tell her about Carlyle however much I want to. I remind myself I have to win this case for Julia. For us.
‘Of course I am.’ Nadine fishes in her bag for her keys. ‘Why would I want Carlyle to walk?’
‘Why would I?’ None of this is fair. ‘Either way, I get to fall on my sword. If Carlyle gets off, then he steps into the sunset with Julia. If he doesn’t, then I’m bust anyway because I’ll be the loser she suspects I always have been.’
At that, Nadine looks sad. ‘You’re no loser, Murray. But you’ve got to follow your instincts. Is Carlyle guilty of attacking that girl? If he is and he gets off, what about your wife and children then?’
‘Oh God, Nadine. I love her. I want her back. I love her so desperately that I’m even defending her criminal lover.’ No sister should see her brother break down, so I cover my face with big gloved hands. It goes some way to hiding my pain. The few tears I manage soak into my palms.
