The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting

by Angela Marsons

  ‘What the hell is your problem?’ she exploded, angered by his attitude.

  ‘Oh nothing much. It’s silly really. It’s just that poor woman who now has to live in fear of him finding them. Of course you realise he’s done it many times but she never pressed charges because she knew if he got off he’d find her and it would be worse. The police convinced her that there was enough evidence to put him away this time. It took months for me to gain her trust.’ He turned away in disgust.

  ‘Someone has to be defender, Keith. I have a job to do and if you’re pissed off because I do it well, then I’m sorry but I’m not prepared to fail just to please you.’

  She grabbed her briefcase roughly and turned to storm out of the courtroom. Keith’s huge bulk stopped her. She looked up into the knowing face of her sometime adversary and stubbornly refused to back away. Without realising it, he’d tapped into that secret stock of guilt that she kept hidden but fed regularly.

  ‘You have all the answers, don’t you? It’s cut and dried, black and white. Be careful, Fran, or you’ll make the same mistake as the African tortoise.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘It’s a myth about an arrogant tortoise who decided to gather up all the wisdom in the world to hang from a tree so that everyone would respect him. He tied his bag of wisdom around his stomach and climbed the tree but the bag kept getting in the way, causing him to fall. The arrogance in him forced him to keep trying until a little, foolish snail suggested that he attach the bag to his back.’

  ‘And did the big tortoise climb the tree after the little snail helped him?’ asked Fran scathingly.

  ‘No, he abandoned the whole project when he realised that all the wisdom in the world was not in his bag.’

  ‘Interesting story.’

  ‘All I’m saying, Fran, is don’t assume you have all the answers. You don’t.’

  She strode from the courtroom without a backward glance.

  Less than two minutes after reaching her office, her secretary Dawn entered with a cup of black coffee, a notebook and pen.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  Fran merely nodded without pride as the door opened without the usual knock first. Geoffrey Windsor, one of the senior partners, moved towards her with his hand outstretched. ‘Well done, my girl,’ he said, smiling. ‘I think you’re on your way back.’

  ‘Thank you, Geoffrey,’ she said, trying to muster some feeling.

  ‘A rather interesting case came in this morning. Thought you might like to take a look. Another GBH. Police officer used a little too much force with a hoodlum. The internal inquiry produced nothing so the boy’s mother is bringing a civil case. I’ve arranged a meeting with the police officer for tomorrow morning. Dawn will brief you on the details.’ Once again he congratulated her and left.

  ‘Is it something about me? Why all the GBH cases?’

  Dawn looked uncomfortable. Fran tried to raise a smile. ‘I was only joking.’

  She’d never quite sussed Dawn out. She’d inherited her when she joined the firm. In her early fifties Dawn had been with the company since it began. She knew more about the place than anyone.

  There was a quiet dignity about Dawn that gave the impression she knew more than she was letting on. Fran never had cause for complaint about her work but they’d never really talked to one another. She’d worked with this woman for almost two years and didn’t even know if she had children. It wasn’t necessary information as far as Fran was concerned but her typing speed was.

  She sat back in her chair. ‘So, what have we got?’

  ‘Another tough one. They’re not being too co-operative about the photographs of the boy’s injuries.’

  ‘I’m the defence, for Christ’s sake!’

  ‘It’s a civil case now. The force couldn’t care less. That officer is on his own.’

  ‘How old is the boy?’

  ‘Eighteen. He was being brought in on a shoplifting charge, tried to get away. The officer used what he termed “acceptable force”, which resulted in a dislocated shoulder, cuts and bruises and two missing teeth. And the kid is black.’

  ‘Shit! How the hell am I supposed to do anything with this? It’s a bloody minefield.’

  ‘Yes, just like the last one,’ Dawn said quietly.

  ‘Right, get on to the hospital and get the photographs, it’ll be quicker. Find out if anyone was with him. Find out the last person to see the lad before the incident. I want names, places and exact times. Also, speak to whichever school he went to. I want to know about any fights he had or any trouble he got into,’ stormed Fran, her mind working with the speed and efficiency of a Grand Prix pit stop.

  ‘What was he trying to pinch?’ she asked, hoping it was a sawn-off shotgun.

  ‘A box of condoms.’

  ‘Bloody hell, this gets better! Not exactly one of the Kray brothers, is he? I’m not sure I’m going to be able to put him on trial for trying to practise safe sex.’

  ‘Winner or not?’ asked Dawn.

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ll see what they’ve got, so the photographs are urgent. Then I’ll see about plea-bargaining. If not, then I’ll try to provide reasonable doubt as to how he got the injuries.’

  ‘But how can you do that?’ queried Dawn. She often acted as a thinking board for Fran, not least because she was interested.

  ‘Depends on who was with him before the incident. I’ll try to prove that he could have got into a fight before the police officer apprehended him.’

  ‘Tricky though.’

  ‘Any better ideas? With this political nightmare I’d love to hear them.’

  ‘Yes, don’t take the case. Have some time off. Call in sick so they have to pass it to someone else.’

  Fran stopped scribbling. For Dawn that was an outburst. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Again Dawn looked uncomfortable. ‘I just think you could do with a rest.’

  Fran’s suspicions were aroused. ‘Is there something going on that I don’t know about?’

  The pencil rested alongside the notepad in her lap. Dawn wrung her hands nervously. ‘Well, don’t you find it strange that you’ve been on desk duty for weeks and then instead of breaking you in gently you get lumbered with these two difficult cases one after another?’

  Fran leaned forward. She could see what was coming. ‘And…’

  ‘I’ve seen them do this before.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Fran, feeling an anger build inside her. She remained outwardly calm.

  ‘Well, they’re hoping you’ll slip up. Make an awful mistake that will then give them reason for letting you go.’

  Fran shook her head, bewildered. ‘So they’re setting me up. I’ve never lost a case, yet the first one I do, they’re going to sack me.’ She couldn’t believe it. ‘But why?’

  Dawn’s embarrassment grew. ‘Well, I think…’

  Fran saved her any further unease. ‘It’s because of the alcohol, isn’t it? My record has a black mark on it. Not quite the image they would like to promote. I see. But if that’s the case why didn’t they fire me earlier?’

  ‘I overheard snippets of conversations while you were, umm… away. I think your mother…’

  ‘What?’ she cried. ‘What has my mother… Oh my God… she called in a few favours, didn’t she? Jesus!’ Fran buried her head in her hands. The humiliation was too much to bear. She could just imagine what was being said about her behind closed doors.

  She needed a moment alone. ‘Thanks, Dawn. I really appreciate what you’ve told me. I know it must have been hard.’

  Dawn jumped to her feet and ran out of the door as though being chased by a tornado.

  Fran wasn’t sure which betrayal she was having more trouble with. She had always seen this as a place of safety; where she was taken on her own merits, that she kept her job based on her performance. She had the highest rate of wins in the company, yet that counted for nothing if your face didn’t fit.

  This company, whose reputation was based on trus
t and loyalty, had betrayed her. This makeshift family that had protected and nurtured her had now, like a pack of dogs, turned on her and waited only until they found her weakness before they’d pounced. She was no more than a tiny cog in a well-oiled machine. An efficient, unforgiving machine that would rip your hands off if you didn’t follow the safety instructions.

  It would take some time to digest the information and once she had she would need to decide where to go from there.

  She checked her watch; she was late. Kit would be wondering where she was and she had yet to find the flat. She left the office earlier than usual creating a few raised eyebrows as she went.

  She found the flat easily enough from Kit’s directions. They’d decided to skip AA tonight and conduct their own counselling session: admitting her own shortcomings and weaknesses to Kit was easier than to a room full of strangers.

  More different they could not be; Fran knew that. But one thing bound them together. They shared an addiction that had nothing to do with which side of the tracks you were born on. And she had to admit she’d never met anyone quite like Kit before. Such people didn’t exist in her world. With Kit what you saw was what you got; there were no hidden motives. You knew where you stood and you didn’t need to read between the lines. And she was the first genuine friend Fran had had since Kerry.

  ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ said Kit as she opened the door.

  ‘Forget you, what’s that delicious smell?’

  ‘That’s my dinner. Chicken roasted with garlic and mushrooms and a couple of jacket potatoes.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,’ insisted Fran, removing her jacket.

  ‘I didn’t. There’s a tuna sandwich in the fridge for you.’

  ‘Ha, ha! It smells wonderful.’

  ‘Well, you’re my first guest so I thought I’d better make an effort. Next time you can bring your own.’

  Fran surveyed her surroundings. It was small but cosy. Nothing matched, which she felt suited Kit perfectly. Two sofas faced each other across a rectangular wooden coffee table that had seen better days. The kitchen led off the lounge separated only by a round dining table that couldn’t decide where it wanted to be. There was little else in the way of furniture present. But more than anything Fran noticed that it was already like a home: it was lived in. She’d been in her flat for almost two years, yet it didn’t feel like this.

  ‘I like it,’ Fran stated honestly.

  ‘It’s a hole, but it’s my hole.’

  ‘Come on, Kit, for someone who’s never had her own place before it must feel pretty good.’

  ‘Christ, Fran, it’s only four small rooms but I just keep walking from one to the other to make sure I’m not dreaming! I’ve only ever lived in one room, and sometimes even then not alone and I keep wondering if I’m being greedy, having all this space. I find that I want to be in all four rooms at the same time. Stupid, huh?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she laughed. ‘Here’s another secret for you. My flat was undecorated when I moved in. With a huge black marker pen I defaced every wall with obscenities and then painted over them. That peach magnolia hides a few secrets.’

  ‘Fran, I’m shocked.’

  ‘I just wanted to make it mine.’

  ‘I think I’ll just buy a plant,’ laughed Kit. ‘Mind you, I bet it’s quieter here than your place.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, the Changing of the Guard all the time must get on your nerves.’

  ‘Shut up and feed me, will you?’

  ‘Yes, master, straight away, master,’ Kit chuckled, curtseying.

  The meal was consumed over chatter about books and music. ‘Jeez, what did you do to that chicken? It was gorgeous!’ complimented Fran before placing the last piece in her mouth. ‘God, I hate girlie nights like this!’ she commented as they left the dirty plates on the table and claimed a sofa each. ‘Food, non-alcoholic wine, music…Incidentally, Kit, what sort of crap is this?’

  Kit chuckled. ‘It’s a Gregorian chant, and if you don’t like it, piss off!’

  Fran sat back from the coffee table and pulled her legs up in front of her. ‘You know what I mean. It’s comfortable.’

  She rested her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. It was a new experience for her. This was something she’d never had before and she couldn’t understand why. It was like a pyjama party for adults. She’d chosen not to have friends at college. Even your best friend was permanently in competition. Who had the best jewellery, the best wardrobe and the latest smartphone? Within the circles that she moved friendships were not formed, only alliances made. Merely connections that could be used at a later date.

  She’d be more comfortable if she could rid herself of the alien sensations that refused to leave her alone. She could imagine Martine right now – her voice, her laugh. If Fran closed her eyes she was back in London, in the art gallery, the restaurant. It was so close she could almost smell the jasmine that surrounded Martine. She could even picture the tiny scar on Martine’s chin from a bike-riding accident when she was a child, which had shown Fran that the perfection had a slight flaw, making her more human somehow, even fallible.

  They had known each other a matter of hours but for that short time she’d experienced feelings she’d never known before. Like a quenched geyser lying dormant in the pit of her stomach it ached to be released and to surge upwards through her body.

  Fran thought about the nights when she couldn’t sleep, forced awake by shadows that danced across the ceiling that eventually came together to form Martine’s face on the ceiling. But why was it, when she tried to tell her active mind that it was over, finished, it refused to believe her?

  ‘Keith Milton is here to see you,’ Dawn said into the intercom sharply, obviously to impart to Keith that unscheduled appointments were not appropriate. Fran wondered if Dawn might have been a bull terrier in a previous life.

  The impromptu visit surprised her. He’d never been to her office before. Her expert eye quickly scanned the neat, separate piles of folders on the desk before her, methodically labelled and arranged for ease of use. No photographs or other frivolous trinkets littered her desk. No, there was nothing there that he could not see.

  ‘Send him in,’ said Fran, assuming he was there to apologise for his conduct the previous day.

  She stood up to greet him and pointed to a chair, watching as he sat and pretended not to notice that the two chairs on his side of the desk were much lower than hers, giving her the position of power. He glanced at the certificates adorning the wall behind her. Another imposing gesture. He sat easily and Fran noted that outside of the courtroom his huge bulk looked better suited to a javelin thrower.

  ‘If we keep meeting like this, there’ll be gossip,’ he warned with a smile.

  Fran had never seen him smile before. It suited him. She decided to make it easy for him. ‘I see you’ve left your mean face in the courtroom, and you come to offer peace.’

  A slow smile spread across his pleasant features. ‘So you think I’m here to apologise? No chance! I meant every word. I’m prosecuting for Edwin Smith.’ He let the information register. ‘I just found out you were defending and thought it might be useful if we had a chat.’

  Fran moved slightly backwards, away from him. ‘I was given the case yesterday. I’ve only just read the file.’

  ‘Charming man, your police officer,’ he said with derision.

  ‘Give me a chance, Keith. I haven’t even met him yet.’

  He threw a package from his briefcase on to her desk. ‘Take a look.’

  She guessed it would be the photographs. Slowly she looked at the glossies one by one. Close up and full face, taken from different angles. Even behind the swelling Edwin Smith looked like a child. That did her case no good. The jury would take one look at him and it would be over. And if that didn’t do it these photos would. Fran kept any emotion hidden while she surveyed the mess his face had been made into. He looked li
ke the Elephant Man. His top lip was swollen like an over-inflated beach ball and one particular cut, precariously close to his right eye, stretched two inches towards his ear. She looked closely at the bruising to his forehead and cringed. She could just make out, on his coffee-coloured skin, a footprint that ran almost the entire length of his brow. That one injury sickened her above the rest. It was the deliberation with which that blow must have been dealt that gave her the chills. She put her personal feelings aside and made a mental note to begin work on any motions to delay. There was no way they could go to court if any of these marks were still visible. Photographs were one thing, ‘in your face’ injuries quite another. She returned the photos to the envelope and pushed them back towards Keith.

  ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?’ Keith quoted.

  ‘I know, who guards the guards?’ she replied with a smile.

  The telecom light lit up. Fran answered and assured Dawn she didn’t need to stay. A quick look at the clock told her it was nearly six.

  ‘Acceptable force, huh?’

  ‘You can’t prove he didn’t have any of these injuries before his incident with the police officer.’

  ‘My God, you’ll try anything, won’t you?’

  ‘Let’s not get into that again, Keith, we won’t agree.’

  ‘Okay, say you took that defence, you know the balance of probabilities. I’ll get it hands down.’

  Fran was well aware that the balance of probabilities would not go her way. In civil cases the burden of proof was less about ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ and more about ‘less or more likely’ to have occurred. ‘Yes, but if not, the burden is on you to prove your case, not me.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll have much trouble doing that, do you? And I have a witness.’

  ‘It doesn’t say anything about that in here,’ said Fran, beginning to get frustrated as she watched the odds stack against her. This case was turning into a bloody nightmare. ‘Come on, Keith. What are they after? How many channels did they try before this?’