‘Well, that was useful,’ said Irene, putting on her sunglasses and taking off her jacket.
She had strong, square shoulders, like a tennis player, and Daniel admired them. He pulled off his tie and put it into his pocket. ‘Let me buy the Queen’s Counsel a drink, then?’
They were early enough to get tables on the street. They sat opposite each other, sipping ale as the shadows lengthened and tired summer wasps floated lazily around empty glasses.
‘To you,’ Daniel said, chinking glasses with her.
‘So,’ Irene said, leaning back, observing him. ‘Do you think Sebastian did it?’
Daniel shrugged. He could feel the sun on his brow. ‘He’s adamant that he didn’t do it. He’s a weird little kid but I think he’s telling the truth. He’s just messed up.’
‘I found him unsettling, but I … barely spoke to him.’
‘He’s bright. Only child. I think … probably quite isolated. He’s said some stuff to me about his father attacking his mother. They’re wealthy, but I don’t think it’s a happy home.’
‘I could believe that. The father seems like a misogynist – he didn’t want us on the case because I’m a woman.’
‘No!’ said Daniel. ‘It was me. He thought I was too young and inexperienced.’
Irene sighed and shrugged, and then looked more serious: ‘With what we heard from Gault, there could easily have been another attacker, you know. Sebastian has an alibi from—’
‘Three o’clock … and the statement from the man who said he saw Sebastian fighting after that time sounds like he was led on by the police or just confused. There’s nothing distinctive about his description of Sebastian … and what with the distance and the foliage –I’ve been to the park – I’m sure we can undermine it. If only we could get something useful on tape.’
‘I even watched the tape myself in case we missed something. Typical, of course, that the police only requested the council tapes …’
‘You found others?’
‘Well, two pubs in the area have CCTV. We’re still going through those tapes, looking for the boys, but also this second sighting supposedly of Sebastian …’
‘I know, if only we had something on tape that put someone else, not Sebastian, in the adventure playground at the time …’
She rested her chin on her hand and looked into the distance, across the street at the buses and cyclists. Daniel liked her face, which was shaped like a melon seed. He watched as she pushed strands of hair behind her ears.
‘I’m still bruised from the last time,’ she said finally. ‘Do you ever think of it?’
Daniel sighed and nodded, running a hand through his hair. They had both been stung by a guilty verdict that saw the teenager returned to the system that had raised him. They had each warmed to the tall boy, who had skin taut and brown as a chestnut, and a smile bright and quick as innocence. He had been born in prison to a crack-addicted mother and brought up in foster care. They had fought hard for him, but he was guilty and he had been found guilty.
‘If I’m honest, one of the reasons I wanted this was because of losing for Tyrel,’ she said.
‘I went to see him a month or so ago. He’s waiting for an appeal … I went to tell him there wasn’t going to be one. He’s really thin.’ Daniel looked away.
‘And this one,’ Irene continued. ‘I know he’s supposed to be eleven, but he’s tiny … or is that what eleven-year-olds look like? I’m out of touch … I mean at least Tyrel looked like a young man.’
Daniel took a long drink.
‘You need to let it go,’ he said. ‘I’m sure QCs aren’t supposed to worry about all this stuff.’ He winked at her and smiled, but she did not return his smile. She was looking away again, remembering. ‘God, we got so drunk that night.’
Towards the end of it, Irene had put beer caps into her eyes to impersonate the judge who sentenced Tyrel.
‘My sister couldn’t understand why I was so down afterwards,’ Irene continued. ‘She kept saying to me, but he was guilty – as if that mattered, as if that negated what we were trying to do. I remember that terrible look of fear he had when he was sent down. He just looked so young. I felt strongly then, and I still do, that he needed help, not punishment.’
Daniel ran both hands through his hair. ‘Maybe we’re in the wrong job.’ He laughed lightly. ‘Maybe we should go into social work.’
‘Or politics and just sort it all out.’ Irene smiled and shook her head.
‘You’re a great barrister, but you’d be a rubbish politician. They’d never shut you up. Can you imagine you on Newsnight? You’d be ranting. You’d never be asked back.’
She laughed, but then her smile fell. ‘God help Sebastian if he’s innocent. Three months in custody until trial is hard enough on an adult.’
‘Even if he’s guilty, it’s hard,’ said Daniel, finishing his pint.
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Irene. ‘Most of the time I appreciate the justice system. You have to, don’t you, in our line of work. But when it comes to kids – even kids as old and streetwise as Tyrel – you just think, God, there must be another way.’
‘But there is, England and Wales are out of step with much of Europe. In most other European countries children under the age of fourteen don’t even appear before a criminal court.’ Daniel laid his palms flat on the table as he spoke. ‘Kids are dealt with in civil proceedings by family courts, usually in private. I know the outcome can often be the same with violent crime – long-term detention in secure units – but it’s all done as part of a care order, not as … custodial punishment.’
‘Compared with Europe we seem medieval …’
‘I know, ten years old and you go to criminal court. I mean … ten years old! It seems ludicrous. Scotland was eight until earlier this year. God, I can remember being eight, ten years old … the confusion, the fact that you’re so small, and so … unformed as a person. How can you be held criminally responsible at that age?’
Irene sighed, nodding.
‘Do you know the age of criminal responsibility in Belgium?’
‘Fourteen?’
‘Eighteen years old. Eighteen years old. Scandinavian countries?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Exactly, fifteen years old. And we’re ten! But what really makes me angry is the fact that it’s not about money or resources or any of that crap. Roughly what per cent of the people you defend are from troubled backgrounds: drugs, domestic violence … ’
‘I don’t know. I would say eighty per cent, easily.’
‘Me too. Vast majority of clients have had really difficult upbringings … D’you know how much a damaged child in the care system will cost the state throughout the course of its life?’
Irene narrowed her eyes, considering, then shrugged.
‘Over a half a million pounds. A year of one-to-one therapy would cost a tenth of that at most. Incarceration’s old-fashioned but it’s bloody expensive too. The maths alone should persuade them.’
‘Now who’s ranting? I think I’d get on Newsnight before you would.’ Irene looked warmly at him and took a sip of beer. ‘You like defence, don’t you? It comes naturally to you.’
‘Yeah, I like being on this side of it,’ Daniel said, leaning on his elbows. ‘Even if I dislike the person I’m defending I force myself to see it from their side. There has to be a presumption of innocence. I like the fairness of that …’
‘I know; fairness is why we all got into this game. It’s a shame it doesn’t always seem fair.’
They watched the traffic and the scores of people rushing home from the day, and were silent for a few moments.
‘The press’re gonna go mad over this one, you know. It’ll be much worse than Tyrel. You know that, don’t you?’ said Irene.
Daniel nodded.
‘Have you had hassle already?’ she asked.
‘No, have you?’
Irene shrugged and waved her hand, as if there had been has
sle but she didn’t want to talk about it. ‘It’s him I worry about. The child’s being vilified in the press, unnamed or not … Where’s the fairness in that? He’s not even on trial yet.’
‘You’ll raise that though, won’t you?’
Irene sighed. ‘Yes, we can apply for a stay and say the jury have been influenced by the pre-trial publicity, but we both know it’s pointless. The publicity is prejudicial but it will always be so. And God knows what use a stay will be to us when the child’s inside anyway …’
She looked into the distance, as if imagining the arguments in live court. He watched her cool, blue stare.
‘You must be one of the youngest female QCs now, are you not?’
‘No, don’t be silly, Baroness Scotland was thirty-five.’
‘Will you be forty this year?’
‘No, I’ll be thirty-nine, you sod!’
Daniel coloured and looked away. She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘Irene,’ he said to the passing traffic. ‘Irene. It seems too old-fashioned for you.’
‘My father named me,’ she said, chin down. ‘After Irene of Rome, would you believe?’
‘I would believe.’
‘Most of my family call me Rene. It’s only work people that call me Irene.’
‘Is that what I am, then? Work people?’
She laughed, and finished her beer. ‘No,’ she said, eyes sparkling but coy, ‘you’re the lovely Geordie solicitor.’
He hoped that she had blushed, but it could have been the beer.
‘How is your Geordie these days?’ he asked.
‘Alreet, like,’ she managed, smiling.
He laughed at her Home Counties voice struggling with the consonants. She sounded Scouse.
‘I’m glad to be working with you again,’ he said quietly, no longer smiling.
‘Me too,’ she said.
14
‘My, aren’t you a proper charmer. All right, I’ll take a dozen.’
Daniel sensed Minnie smiling at him as he counted out the change for Jean Wilkes, who worked in the sweetshop. Mrs Wilkes had told Daniel off a few weeks ago for swearing in her shop. She took her eggs and walked off while Daniel counted the takings in the ice-cream tub. Thirty-three pounds fifty.
Minnie smiled at him again and he felt rarefied by it. He was still collecting her forgiveness.
‘You’re good on this stall, so you are,’ said Minnie. ‘You have the patter. Only three hours in and we’re making a killing. Tell you what, if we’re up at the end of the day, I’ll give you some commission.’
‘What d’ya mean?’
‘Well, if we’ve made more than say a hundred and twenty-five, I’ll give you a share.’
Daniel took a breath and smiled.
‘The customers seem to like you, so you’re worth it. It’s ’cause you’re handsome. Just look at Jean. She was all over you. I can hardly crack a smile out of her normally.’
The wind blew over the sign that read Flynn Farm – Fresh Produce. Daniel straightened it, then turned to Minnie, pulling his cuffs down over his hands.
‘I don’t like her.’
‘Whyever not?’ said Minnie. She was busy recording transactions in her notebook. ‘Old Jean wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘She says bad things about you,’ said Daniel, one hand in his pocket, looking up at Minnie. ‘You should hear her. She talks to people in the shop about you.’
‘Ach, let her talk if she wants to.’
‘They all do. All the people in the shops and the kids at school. They all say you’re a witch and that you killed your husband and daughter …’
Daniel watched as Minnie’s face went soft, relaxed and doughy, as if she was dead. Her cheeks hung heavier than they usually did. She looked older.
‘Jean says you have a broomstick and stuff and that Blitz is your familiar.’
Minnie laughed then, a big belly laugh that made her stand back on her heels. She put a hand on her gut and the other on the table to steady herself.
‘They’re just teasing you. Don’t you know that?’
Daniel shrugged and wiped his nose with his sleeve. ‘Dunno. So you didn’t murder your husband then, with a poker from the fire?’
‘No, love, I didn’t. Some people like drama so much that they have to start inventing things because real life isn’t interesting enough for them.’
Daniel looked up at Minnie. She was blowing on her hands and stamping her feet. The smell of her was soothing to him now although he didn’t know why. Spores of himself trusted her, but then the wind would blow again, carry them away, and he would doubt it.
The social worker had confirmed there would be no more contact with his mother. He ran back to Newcastle twice after he killed the chicken, to try to find her anyway, but new people were living in his mother’s old house. He asked the neighbours but no one knew where she had gone. The man he had spoken to after the fire told him that his mother was probably dead.
Tricia the social worker had told Minnie that Daniel was on the adoption register and that he could ‘go any time’. Now, with the threat of another new home upon him, Daniel was beginning to like the farm and was trying to behave. Tricia had confirmed that he would be able to contact his mother when he was eighteen, if he wanted to, but until then he wasn’t allowed any information about her.
‘So how did your husband and your daughter die?’ he asked, looking up at her, licking his lips which had dried in the cold. She wouldn’t look at him at first, too busy straightening up the stall and pulling her coat tighter around her body. But then she met his eye. Her eyes were the hardest thing about her, Daniel thought. The watery blue of them was so different from his own dark eyes. Sometimes it hurt to look at her.
‘An accident.’
‘Both of them?’
Minnie nodded.
‘What happened?’
‘How old are you, Danny?’
‘Twelve.’
‘I know you’ve had a tough twelve years. I don’t want to presume what terrible things you’ve seen or done or had done to you. I want you to know you can talk to me about anything that’s happened to you. I won’t judge you. You can tell me whatever you want. But when you get older maybe you’ll realise there are some things people can’t talk about easily. Maybe it’s good to talk about them, but good doesn’t make it easy. Maybe there are some things you don’t want to talk about right now … things that happened with your mum or other people. You can talk to me about it, but if you don’t want to, then I want you to know that I respect that.
‘I know you’re just a boy, but already you know what it is to lose people. You know more than most, I’m sure. I know you miss your mum. Loss is part of life, but it’s not always easy to bear. Just know that whenever you miss your mum most, or you feel the saddest, know that I know that pain. Sometimes when we lose people that are precious to us, it makes the world a dark place. It’s like that person you loved was a little light and now that they’re gone it’s dark. Just remember that we all have that light, that goodness in us, and just because we’re sad doesn’t mean that we can’t bring happiness, and bringing happiness is being happy … ’
She took a breath so deep that her breasts heaved.
‘In any case, that’s what I learned after Norman and Delia died, but I still can’t talk about them. I hope you understand that, love, and know it’s nothing against you, it’s just the way I feel.’
Norman and Delia. Daniel repeated the names silently. Suddenly, like the chicken he had murdered, the lives rose real and rare before him. Delia was pale as the porcelain butterfly; Norman dark as the poker which they said ended him.
Daniel nodded at Minnie and began to restack the eggs.
‘Was he mean to you?’ said Daniel. His nose was running and his tongue sought it out, salty and clear. He curled his tongue up his lip, but she caught him and wiped his nose roughly with a used tissue that she kept up her cardigan sleeve.
‘Norman, do you mean?’
<
br /> ‘Aye.’
‘Good God, no. He was the best man in the world. A proper gentleman. He was the love of my life.’
Daniel frowned and wiped his nose again with his sleeve.
‘Enough now. Talking about the past does nobody any good.’
At the end of the day, Daniel helped Minnie to load the little produce that was left over into the car, along with the signs and the takings tin. He sat up front as she huffed into the driver’s seat and started the car. She was breathing heavily, her cardigan-ensconced bosom pressing against the steering wheel. The car started on the third attempt, and Daniel began to twiddle the radio dial until he found a song. The signal was poor and fading.
‘Put your seatbelt on,’ said Minnie.
‘OK,’ said Daniel. ‘Can you fix the aerial again like last time, so we can listen to the radio on the way back?’
He liked being in the car with Minnie, but he was not sure why. She was a nervous, jerky driver and the car seemed older than she was. It was exciting when she tightened her fingers on the steering wheel and dared to go fast. There was an element of vague danger. She got out of the car and reshaped the aerial, which had been fashioned from a wire coat-hanger. Daniel gave her the thumbs-up when the signal was clear.
They set off driving through town. There was a hole in the exhaust and Daniel watched as pedestrians stared at their noisy car as it passed. Thinking about the commission that would be his when they counted the money this evening, he started to sing along to the song on the radio. It was Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Daniel leaned forward to tap the beat with his forefingers on the glove box.
Minnie glanced at him then swerved suddenly.
‘What are you doing? What are you … What did I tell you?’ she screamed, and Daniel jumped back in his seat.
She was driving along Main Street towards the Carlisle Road, past rows of parked cars. She swerved again as a delivery van pulled out from Bertie’s Fish and Chips, and was admonished by a loud horn. Minnie jumped at the noise and the car veered across to the other side of the road, near the junction for Longtown Road. Daniel put a hand on the dashboard as Minnie turned the wheel sharply and the car skidded to avoid the delivery van, then banged into the metal railings at the far side of the crossing. Daniel was thrown forward, hitting his head on the dashboard.
Guilty One Page 14
