by Julie Corbin
When he joins us at the table, he starts to talk about repairing the summerhouse – a grand name for the dilapidated shed that sits at the bottom of our garden. ‘The roof is collapsing inwards,’ he says. ‘We need to think about fixing it up.’
We all look out of the window. The garden is about forty metres long. Most of it is laid over to grass, apart from the wild-flower borders and Bea’s vegetable patch. There are three elderflower trees at the bottom of the garden next to the summerhouse, which desperately needs a facelift.
‘What do you think, Mum?’ Jack is saying.
‘Well . . . I’ll mention it to Jem.’
Jem, who twenty-four hours ago, was a good and trusted friend. The idea that she could be anything other than honest was ludicrous. She was the epitome of what you see is what you get. But now I don’t know what to think.
The front door slams. ‘That’s Lara,’ Bea says, her eyes lighting up as she pushes her chair back from the table and runs out of the room.
I’m about to follow, but Julian, already on his feet, beats me to it. I hear him chatting to Sezen and they both come into the kitchen. Her cheeks are glowing; her eyes are sparkling. She looks like she’s been lit up from the inside. There’s no doubt in my mind that she spent last night making love. And I would bet my life it was with the man she met at the roundabout. Whether she’s willing to admit it or not, she has feelings for him, and how far will people go for those they love?
The rest of the family drift off to their rooms and Julian urges Sezen to share the last of the breakfast with us. She says yes to coffee but no to food and goes to the sink to wash her hands. I give Julian what I think is a questioning look. Does he want to talk to her, or is he leaving it to me? Should I call Mac now? What?
His face is non-committal.
Sezen dries her hands, then goes to the fridge and brings some ingredients back with her to the table. ‘This evening I will make a special dish with tofu,’ she says to me. ‘It should be marinated for a few hours first.’ She begins shredding ginger into a bowl. I stop her hand with mine.
‘We need to talk.’
She stares at me, puzzled by my tone.
‘I can make something different if you like.’
‘It’s not about that,’ I say. ‘Please sit down.’
‘OK.’ She pulls out a chair.
‘I have some concerns.’
‘About my work?’
‘No, no, no.’ I shake my head. ‘Your work is faultless.’
‘Good.’ She smiles again, open, clear. I feel like I’m about to break her in two, but I can’t let this go on any longer. Julian sits down beside her and passes her a mug of coffee. She smiles her thanks.
‘Sezen, we need to know more about you.’
She’s frowning, trying to work out what I’m getting at.
‘We need to be able to trust you.’
She tips back. ‘You feel you cannot trust me?’ Her surprise seems absolutely genuine. ‘I do not understand.’
‘I’m not saying that you can’t have your own life and your own interests, but yes, at the moment I . . .’ I look at Julian. ‘We don’t feel like we can trust you.’
She turns to Julian for help.
‘Tell me again why you came to live in Brighton,’ he says.
‘Because London is busy and crowded.’ She shrugs. ‘For Lara and for myself. I have this job here with you, and another one starting in July. I love to be beside the sea.’
‘You were brought up in Turkey. The Dardanelles?’
‘Yes, that is right. My father was a fisherman. My brothers are still there, but I came to northern Europe for work and . . . to live.’ She falters. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘No.’ He shakes his head and smiles. He has a way of smiling that seems to be non-threatening. He does it when he’s cross-examining a witness. He encourages them with a nudge here and a gentle prod there to paint themselves into a corner. ‘I’m interested,’ he says. ‘In where you come from and where you’ve settled. I know what it feels like to have feet in two cultures. My father was a diplomat. I was brought up in West Africa. Sent back to boarding school when I was nine.’
She makes a sympathetic face.
‘It wasn’t so bad. It did make me feel like I wasn’t quite sure where I belonged, though.’ He looks regretful. ‘I was English, but when I was in England many of the customs were strange: wearing shoes, eating tasteless food, endless rules about the right way to behave. Africa felt more like home.’
‘And yet at the same time?’
‘It didn’t,’ he admits, and she nods at their shared experience. ‘I was never quite one of the boys.’
‘I have a similar feeling,’ she says. ‘I am here and I know I am a foreigner, but when I go home, I also feel like I am foreign.’ She gives a wry laugh. ‘I have changed and now I do not belong here or there.’
‘Your family must miss you?’
‘Yes, but I am keeping the language alive with Lara and I hope to take her home soon for a visit.’
‘To Bulgaria?’
‘Yes, I have—’ She realises her mistake and stops. Apprehension ruptures her steady gaze.
‘Not Turkey,’ Julian says. He is smiling, a perfectly relaxed and interested host. Sezen, on the other hand, is neither relaxed nor smiling. Her jaw is tight and she is staring fixedly down into her coffee, as if the answers are in there.
‘Turkey and Bulgaria share a border,’ she says at last.
It’s a poor defence, but Julian lets it go, coming back instead with further evidence. ‘Your name is Sylvia Cyrilova,’ he says.
She lifts her cup to her mouth and tries to drink, but her hand is trembling. She puts it back down on the table and looks at me. Her eyes are pleading.
‘It’s a Bulgarian name, isn’t it?’ I say.
Moments pass and finally she turns her eyes to Julian’s. ‘Serbest,’ she says. ‘My name is Sezen Serbest.’
‘And yet you have a passport that says your name is Sylvia Cyrilova.’
‘It is not who I am.’
He brings the two passports out of his pocket and places them on the table. Then he stands up and leaves the kitchen. As he does, I see him press buttons on his BlackBerry.
‘You went into my room?’ she says to me.
The hurt in her eyes seems real and for a second my resolve wavers. I break eye contact, and when I look back at her, I say firmly, ‘The man who came here on Friday night. You told me you didn’t know him.’
‘That is . . .’ She shrugs. ‘I . . .’
‘I saw you with him,’ I say. ‘At the roundabout. I watched you embrace.’
She lets out a cry. ‘You are following me?’
‘No. Lisa’s flat is there and I was looking out for traffic wardens. But I saw you, Sezen. I saw you. It was the same man.’
Her hand is over her mouth.
‘I need an explanation. You told me you are an honest person.’
‘With respect, Claire’ – she takes an audible breath – ‘this does not concern you.’
She shows all the signs of being genuinely shocked, but I won’t be swayed. ‘We have a situation here,’ I say. ‘The case Julian is working on, there are complications. We need to be absolutely sure that our children are safe.’
‘You think I will make your children unsafe?’
‘Because you haven’t told me the truth, I don’t know what to think.’
‘You asked me to come here and now you are accusing me of wanting to harm your children?’
‘You live in my home. This man you said was nothing to you came to our front door.’ I lean towards her. ‘You have two passports, one of them Bulgarian. You know that Julian is prosecuting a Bulgarian criminal.’
She bites her lip.
‘I don’t mind you having a relationship. What I mind is the fact that you have lied to me. That makes me suspicious and it makes me afraid.’
She is looking down at her feet.
‘Are you in trou
ble, Sezen? Is someone asking you to do something dishonest?’
Her eyes flash towards me.
‘Sezen.’ I lean across the table some more. ‘I saw him give you money.’
Her cheeks flush and the muscles in her jaw tighten. She looks down at the floor again. Her hair swings across to cover her face. I wait. Her fingers pick at the hem of her cardigan. A minute passes and then she looks back at me. ‘I will leave.’ She is composed again, her expression blank. She stands up. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Before you go’ – I stand up too and fold my arms – ‘the police want to speak with you.’
She gives a small gasp, the fear in her eyes so acute that I flinch.
‘You would be wise to tell them the truth.’
‘I am not your enemy.’ She shakes her head emphatically. ‘I am not.’
‘I hope not,’ I say.
‘The police are coming here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will wait.’
She sits back down again, crosses her ankles and settles her hands on her lap, perfectly serene and composed. I join Julian in the hallway.
‘Mac is sending a couple of officers over,’ he says. ‘They’ll take her to the station for questioning.’
I know at once that she’ll be worried about Lara. While Sezen is clearly involved in something illegal, that doesn’t detract from the fact that she’s a good mother.
I go back into the kitchen. ‘Sezen, the police officers will want you to return to the station with them. We are happy to look after Lara.’
She says nothing. She is staring straight ahead at the wall, her lips moving slowly as if she’s reading something.
‘I’m sure that if you’re able to give the police an explanation, you’ll be back in no time.’
Still nothing. I glance over my shoulder at the sound of the doorbell.
‘Sezen?’ I say.
She turns her face up. She looks hurt and puzzled, but mostly she just looks resigned. ‘I thought you were different.’
‘And I thought you were truthful,’ I say, angry now. ‘I believed you when you told me you were an honest person. I believed you when you said you felt nothing for that man. I believed you when you said you were Turkish.’ I take a breath. ‘It cuts both ways, Sezen.’
‘Thank you for looking after Lara.’ Her expression is blank again. It’s a look she summons up at will. It makes me want to shake her. ‘I will come for her as soon as I can.’
There are two officers: one male, one female. They come into the kitchen with Julian. While they talk Sezen through what happens next, I go upstairs to Bea’s room and ask Lara to come and say goodbye to her mum.
‘Why?’ Bea says.
‘Sezen has to go out for a bit,’ I say.
Both girls come to the front hall with me. Sezen bends down and speaks to Lara in what I always presumed to be Turkish but now I’m wondering whether it could be Bulgarian. Lara nods. As ever tranquil and self-possessed, she doesn’t make a fuss. She stands on the front step and waves to Sezen, who goes with the officers to the car.
‘That was awful,’ I say to Julian when the door is closed and the girls have gone back to their game.
‘Mm.’ He stands with his hands in his pockets and leans against the wall. ‘She’s not a practised liar. I expect that what she’s hiding has nothing to do with this.’
I think it’s far too early to make such a statement, but I don’t tell him that. Instead I put my arms round him and rest my head on his shoulder. ‘I’ll be so glad when this is all over.’
He pulls me in to him and comforts me with words and with his hands, stroking my hair and my back. It feels good, but my intention is not so much to be comforted as to make this a prelude for later, because if Sezen isn’t the blackmailer, then I need to get the witness’s name and whereabouts out of Julian and I’m not going to get it through argument. The best chance is through closeness. I need us to make love, let him see that we’re both on the same side. And then I think he’ll tell me. And when I know the details, I can finish this. Bea will be safe. That’s all I care about.
‘How’s Lisa this morning?’ he asks me.
‘Not great,’ I say. ‘It’s the tiredness. Hopefully she’ll be able to get up later this afternoon.’
‘I’m sorry, Claire. You know that, don’t you?’
I lift my head off his shoulder to look at him.
‘I’m sorry about Lisa and I’m sorry about all this. It’s bad enough that both events are happening at all, but happening together . . .’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I say. I kiss his cheek. ‘It’s no one’s fault. We just have to get on with it as best we can.’
His phone rings. ‘Megan.’ He looks apologetic. ‘She wants to come round. Is that OK?’
Normally I might grumble – On a Sunday? – but I’m working hard to strengthen the good feeling between us and I won’t jeopardise that. ‘No problem. I know you need to be prepared for tomorrow. Although because you’ve officially resigned, I would have thought it’s Gordon Lightman she should be meeting.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You’re still pulling the strings?’
‘No one knows this case better than me. It’s taken fifteen years to get to this moment. I don’t want anything to go wrong.’
‘I understand.’ I kiss him, on the lips this time. ‘I think I might go for a jog. Work off some of the tension.’
‘It’s not such great weather out there.’ He looks out through the window. ‘There’s a cold wind blowing in off the sea.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Before I leave I have a word with Charlie and Jack and they agree to be in charge of the girls. I make a quick sweep of the kitchen, tidying the dishes into the dishwasher, then put on my running shoes and stand on the top step to do warm-up exercises. The cool air on my face makes me feel energised. I really do need to get out. The waiting is crippling. It’ll be some time before we hear whether Sezen has anything to say that sheds light on the blackmailer’s identity and another twenty-four hours before the judge will make his ruling at the pre-trial hearing. In the meantime I have to keep my head. My impulse is to demand that Julian gives me the witness’s name so that I can protect our daughter, but I know that he won’t respond to demands. The softly-softly approach will be far more effective, and while I’m not entirely comfortable with being this calculating, I don’t see any other way to get the witness information.
I stretch out my hamstrings on the front step, my eye automatically drawn to where the policemen are parked. They are both out on the pavement in conversation with a woman – Megan. Looks like she’s stopped to talk to them on the way to see Julian. She’s flirting with them both, flicking her hair, leaning in towards them and laughing at everything they say. I’m surprised to see her like this. It makes a change from her usual strictly professional manner. But then I remember what Julian told me – three months ago she made a play for him. She doesn’t look like she’s had any trouble moving on. The older, and probably married, policeman, Baker, is giving her a wary eye, but poor Faraway doesn’t stand a chance. When she sees me watching her, she waves like we’re best friends and I wave back.
I set off in the other direction, making my way down the hill until I reach the prom. With the sea on one side, and the wind behind me, I find my stride and start to enjoy the feeling: one foot after the other, a steady rhythm of feet and pavement and pulse. I meet the odd jogger or cyclist, but this end of the prom is quiet, the crowds tending to gather at the easterly end by the pier.
The sky is moody. Heavy grey clouds hover just above my head and feel almost close enough to touch. The sea is choppy, restless, a prelude to rain, but I might just make it home before the clouds break.
I run for over a mile before I have to start dodging people: a couple up ahead of me are eating chips from a paper bag; some boys are meandering along slowly, hands in pockets, five abreast on the pavement; dads are out in force with their children while
mums have a couple of hours off. I run as far as the pier and then stop, resting my hands on my knees for a minute or so.
And that’s when I see Amy. She’s standing close to the fast food stall, energetically snogging a young man in blue jeans and a hoodie. Initially I have a sinking feeling that it’s Charlie, having snuck out to meet her, but the boy in question has lighter hair and is shorter than Charlie. I walk towards them.
‘Amy?’
She turns round, slowly wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. She looks neither guilty nor apologetic. ‘It’s you,’ she says. ‘Everything running smoothly in the Miller household now that you’ve got rid of me?’
‘Well, you don’t seem to be suffering for it.’
‘I’m a survivor. I move on.’
I think about Charlie and the look in his eyes when he tackled me in the hallway. And at breakfast this morning – he thinks they’re still going out. He feels like he’s in love with this girl. ‘Does Charlie know you’ve moved on?’
She looks momentarily thoughtful. ‘He’ll get the message.’
‘Amy.’ I shake my head in disbelief, feeling hurt for Charlie. ‘You’ve been going out with him for nine months. Don’t you think he deserves better than this?’ I gesture towards the boy she’s been kissing. He’s looking off across the sea, bored. ‘How do you think he would feel if he knew you’d already hooked up with someone else?’
‘Well, he should have taken my side, shouldn’t he?’
‘Over what?’
‘Being thrown out!’ She pauses for effect. ‘There was a reason I was in Julian’s precious study.’
‘And the reason was?’
‘I lost an earring in there last week and I thought Julian might have tidied it into one of the drawers.’
‘Really?’ I fold my arms. ‘So you were standing in Julian’s study and suddenly your earring fell out?’
‘Are you dense or what?’ She gives me a withering look. ‘We had sex down there.’
I can’t help but step back.
‘Yes, your perfect boy shagged me on the rug.’
I look down at my feet while I collect myself, realise that I can’t, look back at her and say, with venom, ‘Go to hell, Amy.’ I turn and start making my way through the crowd.
