Unspoken

by Sam Hayes

  ‘Then go get her,’ Nadine says before leaving. The look on her face tells me that she can’t stand to watch me fall apart. She scuttles off to her car and I watch her drive away, feeling more alone than I’ve ever been in my life.

  I receive the news that the CPS have bailed Carlyle at exactly the same moment I hear Dick Porsche pop the cork from a bottle of champagne. I can’t decide if this is an omen. Another promotion for Dick, no doubt, and it draws quite a crowd in reception.

  ‘Thanks for your call,’ I say and hang up, dazed by the news.

  I step out of my poky office and join the happy throng at reception. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ I say to Dick as he passes out the flutes of champagne. ‘What’s the occasion?’ Drinking this stuff doesn’t seem wrong, especially if there is good cause.

  Sheila sidles up to me before Dick can reply. ‘Any news on the bad doctor?’ she asks. ‘We can really work the publicity on this one, Murray. Don’t screw up.’

  ‘I got bail,’ I say in a fake American accent, trying to hide the smile. Truth is, it wasn’t me who got the bail; rather that the CPS has chucked out the case anyway. But Sheila doesn’t need to know that yet. I tip up the champagne flute. It’s just what I need and the only time I’ve ever been grateful to Dick.

  ‘Who’s a clever boy then?’ she says, playfully swiping her finger under my chin. ‘Conditions?’

  ‘The usual,’ I reply. ‘He’s not to leave Cambridgeshire and has to report to the nick every three days.’ I don’t tell Sheila about the third condition. She seems satisfied and wanders off to chat with Gerry. The pair glance at me occasionally, no doubt discussing my future.

  ‘We’ve just got engaged,’ Dick says from a few feet away. He’s grinning inanely, snuggled up to Olivia, the girl who answers the phone. I give up trying to lip-read what Sheila’s saying and walk over to the happy couple.

  ‘So that’s why the bubbly’s out, huh?’ I stand over him, suddenly feeling powerful because Carlyle got bail. When I’ve cleared his name, this whole wretched business will be over. I’ll still have a job, and a chance of getting Julia back. ‘Well congratulations, Dick.’ I say ‘Dick’ very slowly. I stare at the tie he’s wearing. It’s horrible. ‘And to you too, Olivia.’ She squirms on the leather sofa.

  Dick may well have a better job than me, an office with city views and a car that’s more like a penthouse apartment than a vehicle. And now he has a pretty young thing with a fake tan, straightened hair and the whitest nails ever, suckered to his side. I don’t care. Things are looking up.

  ‘I bet your dick’s bigger than mine too, isn’t it . . .’ A dramatic pause. ‘. . . Dick?’

  The room falls silent – three senior partners glaring my way and everyone with their glasses halted halfway to their open mouths. It didn’t come out right.

  Shrugging, I knock back the champagne, which turns out to be cava, and fight the bubbles brewing in my nose – perhaps from the drink, perhaps from a dizzy sense that things are coming to a head. I leave the building. The thought of Carlyle walking free, right back to Julia, has done nothing for my mood.

  I pay a visit to Whitegate Prison before returning to my sinking boat, before I allow myself to disintegrate completely. There are matters to take care of, and as his representative, I have a duty to brief Carlyle on developments.

  ‘Looks like you’re out of here,’ I tell him flatly, once I’m through security and we are seated in the interview room.

  Carlyle’s face relaxes, slowly absorbing the implications. ‘That’s good,’ he says in a measured way. No thanks for me, no pat on the back. He doesn’t know that I didn’t really do much.

  ‘The CPS isn’t convinced by the police evidence.’ In my mind, I see Ed beating his fist against the wall, red-faced, yelling at his officers. ‘Of course, the inquiry will continue and the charges against you could be reinstated at any time should more . . . convincing evidence come to light. So don’t go booking any holidays.’

  ‘I have complete faith in the justice system,’ Carlyle states blankly, as if he knows something I don’t.

  ‘So do I,’ I say, meaning quite the opposite. ‘For now, we need to build a case around what we know. Be prepared for the worst.’ It doesn’t occur to me until much later that I’m acting exactly like his lawyer.

  Alcatraz has several inches of water in her hull. I have a bucket that’s effectively the size of an eggcup because there’s a split just above the base. I start to bail out; hip flask in one hand, green water in the other. I’m chucking it all around – Carlyle’s involvement with Grace, my feelings for Julia, the kids, Mary’s health, Chrissie’s findings. None of it makes sense, least of all that my home will soon be on the river bed.

  Someone’s come aboard.

  ‘Hello?’ The boat tips from one side to the other, mini waves slapping at her arthritic hull. I straighten up and stick my head out of the engine hatch. ‘Julia.’ Instantly, I see she’s been crying. ‘Where are the kids?’ She gestures to the towpath and I see them giggling and sword-fighting with twigs. I haul myself up out of the hull and call them on board. ‘Not like I’ve got hot chocolate and biscuits or anything.’ I grin past Julia, putting her sadness on hold while I round up the children.

  Alex leaps aboard and Julia gasps when she thinks he’s going to plummet over the other side of the deck. Flora looks at me and grins when I sign to her about the treats.

  ‘Alex, can you take Flora into the cabin and find the cookies?’ They disappear down the hatch steps. ‘Julia, what’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ she says, far too quickly for me to believe her. ‘Just that my life’s crashed over the edge of a precipice.’

  ‘Funny, that,’ I reply. ‘Mine recently did the same.’ And we both laugh for a moment but only long enough to remember one millionth of the good times we’ve had together. Something stops me mentioning Carlyle’s imminent release just in case now is the time she’s come to say she wants me back.

  Julia sighs. ‘The kids were missing you and I said they could visit before we went home for supper. Brenna and Gradin will be back soon and I don’t like to leave them alone.’ She sighs out the remainder of her breath and smiles bravely.

  ‘Anything else happened between them? Did you call the council about finding them a new foster home?’ I want her to know I’m here for her. ‘And when are you moving back home? How’s work? And how, of course, is Mary?’

  Julia holds up her hands in a stop sign.With a pretty grin through mascara streaks, she answers my questions in order. I study the softness of her – her fragile cheeks, her once-shiny hair, her shapely body hidden beneath a thick layer of coat and poloneck sweater. Her voice. Her need.

  ‘Come,’ I say. ‘It’s warm inside.’ We both duck through the hatch – her first, then me with my hands a breath away from her back, guiding her from behind.

  I fill the kettle and hand a pack of cards to Alex. ‘Solitaire, mate. Hours of endless fun.’ I keep Flora amused by tipping out a pot of coloured pens and rustling up a notepad from my briefcase. She adores drawing and sets to work immediately.

  ‘Trouble?’ I ask, to get things started.

  ‘Nadine came to see me on my first day back at school.’ Julia slips off her shoes and flops into the beanbag. I like this. I feign ignorance about having already spoken to Nadine.

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘She was only trying to help but we had a bit of a falling-out. It all started when she told me that there were no MRI scan results on Mum’s file at The Lawns.’ Julia pauses for me to digest this, assuming I don’t know. ‘She was implying something more sinister than clerical error, as if Mum had been put there by David against her will or . . . well, I don’t know.’

  I pass Julia a mug of tea. Her face relaxes gratefully and she continues. ‘Then Nadine told me that whoever was paying the bill wasn’t David. I mean, who else would be paying it? She was intent on causing upset, hoping I would think the worst of David.’ She studies my reaction
closely. ‘Then Nadine was going to tell me something else but I couldn’t stand to hear. I told her I couldn’t see her again, not with Ed working on the case. Not until David is released and everything is back to normal.’

  We both flinch when she says normal.

  I close my eyes for a beat. ‘You’re right, you know. Nadine was only trying to help.’

  ‘Did you put her up to it?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Heavens, Julia. I’m David’s solicitor. It’s in my interest to get him off.’ I imagine Sheila firing me. Scarlet lips sending me packing; my career in tatters.

  ‘And I’ve been thinking about that too.’ Her voice is curious, winding like the tail of a lost kite.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s not really in your interest at all, is it, if David is freed? I thought you were going to hand the case over to someone else as soon as you could.’

  I sigh. ‘I want you to be happy, Julia. I never wanted the case, but . . .’ How can I tell her the truth, that as long as Sheila’s on my back, I can’t shake the case?

  ‘No, Murray.You don’t want the case.You just want me.’

  A sigh does for my reply. It could be taken either way, although we both know what I’m thinking.

  ‘Anyway, that’s not the worst news,’ she says. ‘Falling out with Nadine is nothing in comparison with what else I’ve discovered.’ She flushes and pretends it’s because of the hot tea.

  ‘I’ve been talking to one of Grace Covatta’s friends at school. Her name’s Amy. She’s in my English class.’

  She sighs for about the hundredth time since she stepped aboard. I swear I see her eyes watering. A hug would do no good now. She’d accuse me of taking advantage, of levering my way back in through her sadness. She continues.

  ‘It would appear that Grace Covatta had quite a crush on David. It had got to the point that she was becoming a real nuisance to him. And she wasn’t the only teenage girl to feel that way, apparently. They all swooned over their new doctor.’

  Now this is news, although it fits perfectly with David’s revelation about his relationship with the girl. But why is the story on its head? Why is she making Grace the bad girl when Carlyle is clearly the predator?

  Suddenly, lack of sugar in my tea becomes insignificant. A shot of Scotch sloshed in would do nicely, but how can I do that without Julia noticing? ‘Carry on,’ I say, remembering the bottle in the cupboard. I could pretend to be looking for something else, more biscuits for the kids. ‘I’m listening.’ I take my tea to the cupboard and hold it in the cover of the open door while Julia continues.

  ‘Well, can’t you see? Poor David’s been completely set up. To the police, it appears that he’s been harassing Grace when it’s the other way around. It’s not going to look good.’ She pauses. ‘Is it?’

  Oh Julia.

  I slosh a generous measure of whisky into my tea.

  ‘They’re bound to think that poor David preys on young girls,’ she says. ‘It’s hardly his fault he’s the victim of a teenage crush.’

  ‘Unless he was the one who . . .’ I bang my head as I stand up, lunging for the half-bottle of Scotch as it falls to the floor. It lands on my foot. ‘Ow!’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Murray. I’m telling you something important and you’re sneaking booze.’ She smacks her hand into the beanbag, probably pretending it’s me. Before we were separated, she would have gently taken the bottle and tipped its contents down the sink. Now, because all is lost between us, she doesn’t stir.

  ‘OK, so David’s got a thing for young girls. Reason number ten why you having anything to do with him is a bloody bad idea.’ I sit down again, regretting snapping at Julia. My head hurts but my tea tastes a thousand times better now, helping me think. ‘Grace was clearly involved with David, Julia, regardless of who started it all off.’

  How can I tell her what David said about their secret meetings and phone calls? ‘The fact is, David was arrested and charged with Grace’s assault.’ It’s like jumping off a cliff. I lean forward. ‘Julia, I should also tell you that . . .’ I stop. I can’t do it. I can’t tell Julia that Grace is pregnant. She won’t believe that David is the father. She’ll think I’m trying to stitch him up; make her hate him. ‘I should also tell you that . . . you look beautiful, despite all this mess.’

  Julia frowns. ‘No, Murray. I know you better than that.’ Her brow folds together suspiciously. ‘What were you really going to say?’

  I’ve blown it. She won’t let up until she knows. I shock her with something else entirely. ‘Will you have dinner with me?’

  She shies her head, trying not to smile, even through all this. She’s fighting it as if someone’s pulling up a string attached to the corner of her mouth. It makes me do the same. ‘Bloody hell, Murray.’ She sounds like we did as kids. Incredulous but pleased when I did something that both thrilled and repulsed her. ‘What a stupid question. No. Of course not. We’re about to get divorced.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Maybe. With the kids. All of us. On Alex’s birthday.’

  A furnace inside me ignites. Blood begins to flow.

  ‘Can we go to that pizza place again, Dad?’ Alex pipes up. He has clearly been listening to everything. I stand up and take a look at what Flora’s been drawing. As soon as I am beside her, she whips the paper from my sight and shields it with her arms.

  Can’t I see your picture?

  She shakes her head while her eyebrows tug together. It’s a secret, she signs.

  Oh, right. I understand. I won’t look then.

  ‘So.’ Julia presses on. ‘What were you going to tell me?’

  ‘It was just the dinner. Really.’ I have to stick to my guns. She might even respect me for it. I knock back the rest of my tea. ‘Shall I make some more?’ I hold out my empty cup.

  ‘No, Murray. No more tea.’ She stands. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘That everyone automatically thinks David is a sleaze, just because he was the victim of a schoolgirl crush.’

  ‘Julia . . .’

  ‘Nah. Forget it, Murray. You’re just the same as the rest of them.’ She signs to Flora that it’s time to go. Our daughter isn’t even looking; she’s still drawing.

  As I watch my beautiful Julia preparing to leave, in my head I tell her everything I know.

  You see, my love, David and Grace had been meeting secretly, clandestine liaisons; the lust of a willing young girl easily soaked up by an older man. Grace went to see David to tell him she was pregnant. Witnesses saw them fight, have a disagreement. David knew his career would be over if it got out that he’d been sleeping with a schoolgirl, a teenage patient. Listen to me, Julia. The police have a victim, there is evidence, and above all there is a motive. For you, I will defend him, but I believe there is no doubt that David attacked Grace Covatta with the intention to kill her or at least scare her off talking about the baby.

  In my mind, I hug her close; hold her tight until it doesn’t hurt so much. It’s now that I should tell her about the bail. I don’t.

  ‘We’re sinking,’ I tell her instead.

  ‘But,’ she says – and her smile is our life raft – ‘I’ve got you to save me.’

  MARY

  If I replay the words, relive that night, listen to the whispers inside my head, I can see that it was David’s idea. I’ll never stop wondering: had he planned it all along?

  It was a tempting diversion at the time, I admit, and Jonathon didn’t protest. We were all drunk; all looking for escape. We gathered up the champagne and glasses, clinking in our shaking hands, and Jonathon held the rowing boat steady as I climbed into its barrel-like hull. There were two bench seats and a pair of oars sitting in a puddle of water running along the boat’s spine. I took the forward seat so I didn’t have to row.

  ‘Ahoy there,’ Jonathon roared as he leapt from the small jetty into the hull. The boat rocked precariously. He tossed the
length of rope into the bows and lifted the oars into place. ‘I’ll row,’ he insisted, and David didn’t seem to mind. He sat next to me, staring with eyes hot enough to set me alight.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I was certain I was melting. My skin was tacky. It was a humid night; the air expectant and heavy with moisture. ‘But I wish the rain would come.’ I shifted the flimsy material of my dress a little higher up my calves so it wouldn’t drag in the water swilling in the bottom of the boat.

  We were all thinking it. The rain, getting soaked, shirts sticking, dress peeling, flashes of teeth and shattered laughter. It was the storm building, I swear, that lit the touch paper, started it all off. The electricity zipped over our skin.

  Jonathon rowed hard and soon we were in the middle of the lake. Even though we were together, I felt alone – totally alone in the middle of the black water. Jonathon ceased pulling on the oars and we floated aimlessly, just the sound of water slapping the hull. The pulse of the storm hadn’t quite reached us.

  ‘I say we go over there, check out what’s in that cabin. We can have another drink and watch the lightning.’ Jonathon’s face glowed in the eerie light. I looked to where he was pointing and saw the outline of a small building. Suddenly, everything was daylight-clear as a strap of lightning split the dull sky.

  I agreed. This was infinitely preferable to being mocked by a bunch of pompous students.

  David also nodded his approval. He’d been quiet since we’d set out on the lake. I touched his hand to let him know I was there for him. However much his mother upset him, I was still his friend; his true, trusted friend. I squeezed his fingers, flashed a grin of excitement, briefly laid my head on his shoulder. I should have realised that by then, it wasn’t my friendship he wanted.

  ‘I’m worried about Mother,’ David said finally. ‘She’d drunk too much—’

  ‘And you haven’t?’ I laughed. ‘Relax, David. Watching the storm will be fun.’ I pointed at the roll of thick green-grey cloud that grumbled across the sky. It felt as if the tip of my finger was connected directly to the heavens. A shard of electricity zig-zagged between me and God. David finally admitted the sky was impressive.