by Jules Wake
‘Won’t say no to that, something smells gorgeous.’
She took the steaming glass of red wine and she took a deep sniff.
‘Mmm, lovely. And here was I worrying that you’d be brooding on your own today.’
‘I did plenty of that, I promise you but … well, you’ve been so brilliant, I wanted to say thank you.’
‘You didn’t need to do that. It’s lovely to have you here.’ She winced. ‘Even under the circumstances.’
‘Ah, I have news on that.’
I explained about Jeanie’s text and my meeting with Marcus.
‘I hope it’s OK, I suggested he came round this evening. At eight.’
I’d decided on the tube journey on the way back, that with Christelle at my side, I could cope with seeing Marcus. She would know what to do with his information.
‘No, way! That’s fantastic. He’s the IT guy.’ She paused. ‘Hang on, the guy I sat next to at the opera.’
‘Yes,’ I said, wondering whether I ought to say any more about him. Oh and by the way, also the guy I fell for big time, slept with and then he sold me down the river.
Christelle did a little happy dance, making me pleased I hadn’t said that out loud.
‘That is seriously good news.’ She did another hip shimmy around the kitchen table. ‘I can’t believe our luck. A witness that turns. Brilliant. This will weaken their case.’
‘At the moment Chris, I thought you said there isn’t a case, it’s just a hearing.’
‘And if you believe that, you’ll be hung out to dry. And don’t call me Chris.’
‘How about Elle?’ I said, feeling a tightening in my stomach at her words. I had so much to lose, I needed any information Marcus could give us.
‘Now that I could live with. Like Elle from Legally Blonde. Chris sounds too masculine. I like being a girl.’ She tossed her hair over her shoulders with an exaggerated pout, making me smile. There were sides to my sister I was discovering all the time.
My hands shook as I lifted them to open the front door. From the moment Marcus’s deep voice had echoed over the tinny intercom, butterflies had been dancing erratically in my stomach.
‘Come in,’ I said, determined to keep things strictly formal. He’d ambushed me earlier, but now I felt composed and calm. Did I hell! But I was determined to appear impassive and indifferent to him. Without offering to take his coat, I led him into the open plan lounge to where Christelle sat at the dining table with a foolscap notepad. I wanted to smile; in a pool of light deliberately staged she appeared terrifyingly efficient.
‘Marcus, my sister Christelle. You met at the opera.’
She rose and offered her hand, inclining her head with a regal nod. I bit back a smile, which faded quickly when Marcus completely unfazed, shook her hand and said, ‘Nice to see you again. I think you might still have my handkerchief.’
Christelle pursed her lips. ‘Thank you for coming this evening. I understand from Tilly you might have some information for us.’
Marcus looked at her and then me, a quizzical expression on his face.
‘Look, I’m here because I want to help Tilly. Can we cut the power play? We’re all on the same side.’
Christelle’s face broke into a rueful grin. ‘Busted. OK. Let’s start again. Thanks for coming. Do you want a drink?’
Starting afresh, with a round of coffees at the breakfast bar, Marcus opened his laptop and sat next to me at the kitchen table, pulling his chair up close to mine so that we could both see the computer screen. I tried to keep my distance but his familiar scent had my stomach in knots. He seemed oblivious but I did wonder when he took in a deep breath before opening a spreadsheet on the screen. He’d clearly been busy, although the odd figures in the series of columns meant nothing to me.
He pointed to the screen. ‘I’ve transcribed all the dates and times of each email sent from Tilly’s account to the paper here. I thought we could go through each one and try and match them to where Tilly was at the time.’ He turned to me, a ghost of a smile on his face. ‘Got your diary?’
‘Yes,’ I muttered, opening it up.
‘Here we go, first one this year. November 22nd.’
I flicked through the pages of my diary. ‘What time?’
‘6.30pm.’
‘Bugger. I was at a training workshop on prosthetics in the morning but at the theatre for a late shift.’
‘OK, how about November 24th in the afternoon?’
‘Normal day at work. Could have been any of us.’
‘Can you remember it, anyone acting strangely? Secretively? Using the computer?’
I consulted my diary in the vain hope that it might spark some small memory. ‘That was after the virus.’
‘Don’t mention the virus in the hearing, whatever you do,’ Christelle butted in. ‘That’s probably another sackable offence.’ She shot a warning look Marcus’s way.
As far as she was concerned, hanky-lending withstanding, the jury was still out.
The harder I thought the more evasive the memories became. I shook my head, trying to remember anyone being on the computer. Often, all I’d written in my diary was the time of my shift and the name of the production.
‘Don’t worry.’ He laid a hand on my forearm which I tried to ignore but I noticed quick curiosity in Christelle’s eyes. I shook his hand off.
Christelle bristled beside me. ‘Can we stick to the facts?’ Marcus ignored her and picked up my diary again.
‘Plenty more. We’ll find something. We only need one. November 30th, 9.00pm.’
‘Home. Alone.’
As we worked through the list, my spirits began to sink. On every single occasion that an email had been sent, it could have feasibly been me.
‘I don’t believe it. Seriously?’ Every single time I was without an alibi. At home on my own. Not even Felix was at home.
After a while I laid my head down on the table.
‘This is hopeless. Not one single date.’
‘Can we double check?’ Christelle pulled the laptop towards her. She clearly didn’t trust Marcus to read and cross reference the information thoroughly enough.
‘I’d be glad if you did, a second look would be most welcome. I would hate to miss anything.’ Although he’d tried to rein in the sarcasm, I could tell my sister was irritating the hell out of him.
‘Marcus …’ I wanted to appreciate his persistence but we had gone through every date. ‘This is hopeless.’
‘Don’t give up,’ his voice had softened.
‘We’re not,’ snapped Christelle. ‘But this isn’t helping. You’re making Tilly feel worse. Are you sure there isn’t another way of proving her innocence?’
Tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t want to be always crying.
‘Look you guys, can we call a truce for the moment? Christelle, I know you want to leave no stone unturned but Marcus does genuinely want to help.’
Christelle’s mouth firmed in a mutinous line before softening.
‘Sorry, suspicious minds. A hazard of the job. Witnesses usually have a hidden agenda, or a motive for helping.’
‘Come on let’s take a break and clear our heads for a while.’
Christelle pulled a half full bottle of Rioja from the side. ‘Want any?’
Marcus and I both nodded and she poured us a glass each.
‘Is there anything in the fact that Tilly was always alone when the emails were sent?’
Marcus frowned taking an appreciative glug of wine. ‘What – you think someone was deliberately framing her knowing she didn’t have an alibi?’
‘No! You’ve been watching too much CSI. I meant if Tilly was alone at home, where was Felix? With Vince? Did Felix know your passwords?’
‘Unfortunately, he did,’ I answered Christelle, keeping an eye on Marcus who tipped his head sideways as if lost in thought. ‘You know how rubbish I am with computers. He set his laptop up so that I could check my emails at home.’
Marcus s
tood up and started to pace up and down around the table. ‘If Felix wasn’t at home, he’d have his laptop with him, presumably?’
Christelle straightened. ‘So, you couldn’t email anyone.’
Marcus pulled a face. ‘It’s not the strongest argument and how do you prove it?’
They were both barking up the wrong tree. ‘Sorry guys, I could still email because I use my tablet when Felix’s not around.’
Christelle chewed the end of her pen and scrunched up her face. ‘Damn.’
‘CSI Southampton!’ Marcus threw himself back in the stool in front of his laptop.
‘What?’ Christelle exchanged a quick look with me.
‘It’s an in joke,’ I said stiffly.
Marcus had opened his emails and was scrolling through.
‘Bingo!’ He turned the laptop screen to face me and Christelle came to stand behind my shoulder.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: High Fidelity
I’m glad you’re enjoying it. One of my favourites. And also a great film.
Have you seen it? Not often you can say that, when they abandon a perfectly good English setting. Can’t understand that? Why didn’t they leave the record shop in England? In fact, why do film and TV companies have to fiddle with settings? The Office? Life on Mars? Have we made an English Friends? Mates? CSI - Southampton? Thankfully High Fidelity survived. I’d recommend it if you haven’t seen it. One of those rare films that translates well from a book.
R
I turned to him. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Look at the date. Look at the time.’
‘Who’s Redsman?’ asked Christelle, peering at the email.
Marcus and I ignored her.
‘I get that,’ I said, pointing to the day and date. ‘The same day and around the same time as the email to the paper. How does that help? It just shows I was online.’
‘Yes but,’ he scrolled through the spreadsheet and pointed to a series of numbers and dots, which could have been the Enigma code for all I knew, ‘these are IP addresses.’
‘What addresses?’
‘Internet Protocol,’ he looked at me and smiled. ‘When you connect a device to the internet, it pinpoints your location using an IP address. If the emails were being sent from different devices in different places, they’d be using different IP addresses. So, if someone was using your email account at the same time, the IP address would be different. Which means if you were at home sending this, you couldn’t be in two places at once.’
‘Excuse me,’ Christelle interrupted again. ‘But who is Redsman?’
I turned to Marcus, bouncing in my seat.
Christelle insinuated herself between us. ‘Will one of you tell me who the hell Redsman is?’
‘It’s–’
‘I am.’
Christelle stepped back, veiled amusement dancing about her mouth.
‘You are.’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said quickly avoiding looking at both of them and craning towards the screen. ‘You mean … this proves I didn’t send them.’
Christelle smiled and I understood the Barracuda references.
Marcus vacillated for a second. ‘It doesn’t prove it categorically. You could have been using either of the devices.’
‘It’s enough,’ said Christelle, with authority, looking rather smug suddenly.
‘It is?’ I asked still not daring to believe that this might be it.
‘It’s about the balance of probability. The chances of your own device against the probability that someone else was using your log in on another device, would be enough.’ She picked up her notepad and scribbled furiously before she gave a slow calculating smile. ‘It gives us a very strong case.’
‘But I still have to do the whole disciplinary panel thing.’
Christelle nodded. ‘However, you are allowed to call witnesses and provide your own evidence.’ She gave Marcus a telling look. ‘And if one of their witnesses stands up for you, it will help no end.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Marcus picking up his wine glass and giving me a searching look over the rim.
‘What about in my letter?’ She tapped her notepad with her pen. ‘Can I say that you have provided this evidence?’
‘I think it will be sufficient, if you ask them leading questions about the IP addresses which were used, rather than say I came to you.’ Marcus’s tone was firm. ‘They’ll have to come to me to verify the information and I can confirm it.’
I lifted my chin, fighting against the lump settling in my throat. He was hardly going to jeopardise his own position. Not for me. Any stupid thoughts that he’d come to my rescue were cast aside in a swift, brutal guillotine slice of a reality check. It left a hollow, bleak sensation swirling in my chest.
‘Right, I’m going to work up my notes.’ Oblivious to my leaden pain, she scribbled a couple of lines on her pad. ‘Marcus, can I have your phone number, in case I have any technical questions? I need to do some work. I’m going to type all this up and put it in a letter, telling them that new evidence suggests that someone else sent those emails and ask them to check the IP addresses. I’ll have it couriered over first thing in the morning. I’ll leave you two to it.’ With a stern frown my way, which suggested I might have some explaining to do, she picked up her papers. She rubbed at her eyes which were slightly shadowed. It was late and she’d already had a full day in court. ‘This is going to help but …’ she and Marcus exchanged a guarded look.
‘What?’ I asked, fighting hard against threatening tears. ‘Tell me. I’m not a five-year-old.’
‘They could still hold out. Say you didn’t observe proper security measures, leaving yourself open to this sort of thing.’
Marcus winced.
I lifted my shoulders and stuck my chin up, determined not to let either of them see how close I was to losing it. ‘Then, there’s not a lot I can do about that but at least I can prove that I didn’t send those emails. I didn’t go to the paper. I didn’t do what they accused me of. I know I was an idiot. And if they sack me for it, that would be fair enough. But I couldn’t bear it if they still believe that I would sell stories to a newspaper. There’s every chance they decide to make an example of me.’ I turned towards Marcus, keeping my face blank. ‘You did try to tell me. All that computer security stuff.’
‘Yes, but there could be a case to argue, you weren’t expected to be computer literate in your role. That–’
‘That’s an excuse and you know it. At the end of the day, I have to take responsibility.’ I let out a half-laugh. ‘Exactly like Alison Kreufeld said.’
And now I completely understood what she meant. In this mess, I only had one person to blame. Myself. And I would have to live with the consequences. My sister could help me sort the practicalities out such as ensuring I received any references I needed but I realised in a moment of clarity that there was every chance I wouldn’t get my job back. If I could at least clear my name, I stood a chance. There’d be other jobs, not as wonderful perhaps, but I had skill and experience, I would get another job.
I got up and moved around to Christelle’s bar stool and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Christelle. I really appreciate this. I … I love you.’ I was not going to break down. Not now. I’d held it together all evening. I could manage a bit longer.
In the dim light, I caught the tell-tale sheen of tears and she paused for a moment and then hugged me back.
‘It’s my absolute pleasure. I’m looking forward to it. We’re going to nail them. I’ll see you in the morning.’
Christelle touched my face. ‘I love you too.’ We’d never ever said it to each other before.
‘Goodnight. Night Marcus.’
She headed to the small study room where she often worked at home.
‘You OK?’
I nodded. He looked tired too.
‘I will be. I just wish it was all over.’ I picked up my wine.
/>
‘It will be soon. Your sister’s rather fearsome. I can imagine her letter will stir things up.’
‘I hope so.’ I sighed heavily but inside I wasn’t so sure. Picking up my wine glass I walked over to the window. Outside the lights of the city twinkled like crystals dancing in the wind. Giant holly leaves lighting up a sky-scraper in Canary Wharf and a six-pointed star adorning another building.
Marcus came to stand behind me and I ached to lean back into him. I wished I could turn the clock back but I knew that too much had changed. He was all business. It was his job to unearth the facts. I guessed he was keen to get to the bottom of things.
‘Everyone knows it wasn’t you. Philippe was threatening to set up a picket line today. Jeanie has already told them they’re being ridiculous. And whatever your sister put in her letter certainly put the wind up them. You didn’t do it.’ He put down his wine glass on the wooden coffee table. The tea lights had long since flickered out.
I moved away from him, putting distance between us so that I didn’t cave in and reach for him and make a complete tit of myself.
‘Let’s hope they believe you. After all it would mean you got it wrong the first time.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Don’t worry. I will make it clear, that technically, it was virtually impossible for you to have sent those emails.’
‘Thank you,’ I said stiffly. ‘I appreciate it.’
With a quick twist of his wrist, he glanced at his watch. ‘No problem. I’d better be off. If you … need anything. You’ve got my mobile.’ He might as well have offered me his business card at the end of a meeting.
‘Thanks. I’ll be OK.’ I gave a cool smile. ‘I’ve got Christelle on my side.’
It hurt when he gave an indifferent shrug. My instincts had been right. Whatever I’d felt for him was one-sided. Maybe there hadn’t been an ulterior motive for taking me out that Saturday but he’d clearly realised the same as me; that it wasn’t meant to be. We were two very different people. I would always be one of the creative, prone to flights of fancy types of people while he would always be the professional, corporate man who dealt in facts and reality.
Chapter 39
The radio tuned to Heart FM filled the silence, with every other song a Christmas one. I sang along to Wizard, George Michael, Mariah Carey and Bing Crosby as I washed up the breakfast cups. For once I didn’t mind being on my own. Before I’d always had the theatre to go to. Now it was just quiet all the time. I missed the camaraderie of my theatre friends. The teasing. The colour. The thunderous applause. The melodic soaring of voices. But after a night of soul-searching, pre-empted by a good old cry, I’d realised while I was unlikely to keep my job, there would be others.
