by Jane Corry
You’ve got it all wrong, I want to scream out.
‘So why have you been so horrid to me?’
‘Because … because I was hurt when you clearly didn’t want me. You know. Physically. It made me feel rejected. And then Davina made it clear she was still interested and I was … well, tempted. Nothing happened. I swear it. Then there’s the case. It seems to be all you think about and …’
There’s a dullness in my chest. The number of divorced solicitors in my practice alone bears testament to the fact that law takes its toll on family life.
He runs his hands through his hair. ‘The thing is, Lily, maybe we did get together fast. But I’ve got to know you better now and … well, I want to be with you. I really do.’
Does he? Or is it the money that’s talking? Five years of marriage to get the inheritance.
‘Tell me,’ he says, pulling me towards him, ‘that you love me too?’
Love? What is love? Surely I’m the last person to answer that one.
‘We could try again,’ he says slowly. Gently he tilts my chin so I have to look straight at him. It feels important not to look away. ‘What do you think?’
We’ve said this to each other before. Each time we’ve ended up fighting again. But right now, a pair of brown-black eyes comes into my head. Go away, I want to scream.
‘I don’t know,’ I say miserably to Ed now. ‘I can’t think properly. Not with this case going on.’
It’s true. If anything, seeing my parents this Christmas, revisiting the empty stable, has made me more determined than ever to go ahead with this. To win. To play my part in delivering justice. It’s more important than my own personal life. After Daniel, it has to be.
Then I look down at my husband’s hands, which are now holding mine. And I drop them.
‘I’ll give you an answer when it’s over. Sorry.’
20
Carla
Carla watched Mamma cry all through Christmas Day. She cried when she unwrapped Larry’s present and she cried when her fingers couldn’t put it on.
At first, Carla tried to comfort her. ‘Let me help you with the clasp.’
But then, when Mamma looked in the mirror at the silver locket around her slim brown neck, she cried even more.
Carla gave up. I wonder if the Queen cries, she asked herself as she sat cross-legged in front of the television, watching this really old woman with grey hair and a nice smile talking about ‘the importance of family values’.
Carla wouldn’t have bothered changing channels for the Queen’s speech if it wasn’t for her new friend at school. ‘We always watch it,’ Maria had told Carla when they were tucking into the toffees which one of the gappy-toothed nuns had handed out after the end-of-term carol service.
Sometimes Carla guiltily found herself wishing that she belonged to Maria’s family. But at least, thanks to her friend, she now had a Kitty. She had the right television programme on. Now all she needed was a mother who didn’t have a red, blotchy face from weeping.
If Larry didn’t make Mamma so unhappy, everything would be all right, Carla told herself as she watched pictures of the Queen’s reassuring face.
She was sure something would happen soon. She just had to be patient.
‘Do you think Ed and Lily will be back now?’ she asked Mamma through the sobs.
Her mother shook her head. If Larry saw Mamma now, he wouldn’t think she was very pretty with all those black smudges under her eyes.
‘They are still with their families,’ Mamma said. ‘Just as we should be with ours.’
Carla thought of the sparkly Christmas card of baby Jesus that they had sent to Italy and the much hoped-for card that had not been sent back in return.
Mamma burst out into fresh tears. ‘It is all my fault …’
‘Why, Mamma?’
‘It just is.’ Then her mother’s eye fell on the second package under the tree. ‘Are you not going to open Larry’s present to you? I took it out of the bin, just in case.’
Most of her didn’t want to. But another part was curious …
‘Go on,’ urged Mamma. Her eyes grew brighter. Carla knew what she was thinking. If it was a good present, it meant Larry loved her mother more than his wife and the girl they had seen through the window.
The paper was hard to undo. Someone had tied it up tightly with sticky tape as though the giver had not wanted her to get in. Eventually, she wiggled out the thing inside. It was a box. A long slim box. And inside that was …
‘A watch,’ gasped Mamma. ‘How kind of Larry!’ Now there was laughter through the tears. ‘It is expensive, yes? What does the card say?’
Carla looked at it and then put it in her pocket.
‘What was on it?’ persisted Mamma.
‘Nothing. Just Happy Christmas.’
But Carla’s insides were hot. The words had been carefully written in black pen so there was no mistake.
Be a good girl.
Larry was warning her to behave. But it was he who needed to be careful.
‘The phone!’ gasped Mamma. ‘Quick! Before it stops. It will be Larry. You go. Please. I need to calm myself. Talk to him first. Thank him for your watch. Then I will speak.’
Reluctantly, Carla moved towards it. Slowly, slowly, she picked up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Is your mother there?’ Larry’s voice was quiet, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear.
‘Don’t ring again,’ she whispered so Mamma would not hear. Then she slammed down the receiver.
‘It was not him?’ Mamma’s voice rose in a mournful crescendo.
‘I think it was the same person who has rung before,’ said Carla, looking down at the carpet. If she stared closely enough, she could make a lion face out of the maroon pattern.
Mamma shivered. ‘The one who says nothing?’
‘Yes.’
The face in the carpet stared up at her. Liar! Liar! it mouthed.
Then Mamma stopped crying and put her arm around her. ‘You must not be worried, little one. This is my fault. Next time, I will pick up the phone.’
But it didn’t ring again. Not for another two whole days. Two days when Carla and Kitty and the lion face on the carpet thought they might have got away with it.
And then it happened.
‘Why did you lie to your mother?’
Larry’s eyes were shiny and hard. They reminded her of the knife that Mamma used to slice bread. Usually Mamma made her own bread because the ‘shop stuff’ was ‘not fit for a dog’. Carla loved the smell. She tried to recall it now to make herself feel better. But it wouldn’t come.
Not now that Larry was standing right in front of her, next to Mamma. The two of them against her.
Carla’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I told you. I thought it was that strange person. The one who makes calls and says nothing.’
‘It is true,’ burst in Mamma. Her face was anxious. Scared in the way that it was when a brown envelope arrived in the post with the words ‘Overdue’ in red on the inside. ‘I have had these calls myself. They scare us.’
Larry’s eyes flickered. ‘Then you must tell the police.’
Mamma let out a shrill laugh. ‘What do they care? They cannot even stop the kids from breaking windows. This place, it is not good. Even Ed says so.’
Larry’s face jerked as if someone had attached a line to the end of his long thin nose and pulled it up tightly. ‘Who is Ed?’
‘You know.’ Carla’s voice was cut through with scorn. ‘He is the neighbour who looks after me with his wife while Mamma works.’ She stressed the word ‘works’ so there was no doubt about her meaning. Mamma does not really work on Sundays. She spends time with you instead of with me.
But Larry’s gaze was sliding to her wrist. ‘Are you not wearing your watch?’
‘It doesn’t work.’
‘Is that so?’
Why did he sound amused and not cross?
Anger made her reckless. ‘Did you buy your
daughter one too?’
Perhaps it was just as well that Mamma had now gone into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Larry’s face came very close to hers. She could smell the whisky.
‘You think you are very clever, don’t you, Carla?’
No, she wanted to say. No. I am stupid at maths although my new friend helps me now. But instead of replying, she focused on a mark on his neck which looked like ketchup. If she did that, it might stop her from speaking again.
‘No comment, eh?’ Larry stood back as if appraising her. ‘I approve of that. You think you are clever because you are clever, Carla. Believe me. You might not think it, but it’s true. One day you’ll go far.’
Then his eyes narrowed. ‘I just don’t know which way. Up or down. It’s up to you.’
Two weeks later, Carla came back from school beside herself with excitement. ‘My friend Maria has asked me to her house for tea,’ she sang.
Mamma was at the door. They had agreed that now Carla was ten, she should be allowed to come home from school on her own providing that she never, ever talked to strangers. And this school was much closer, so Carla never got lost.
‘That is such an honour!’ Mamma was flushed, and for a moment Carla wondered if Larry was here. Mamma always got redder when he was here.
But no. The flat was empty.
‘Next Wednesday!’ The words fell out of Carla’s mouth in no particular order. ‘Her mother, she will pick me up from school. Then she will bring me home again. We’re going to play with her Barbies.’
‘Her mother drives?’ Mamma’s eyes grew envious.
Carla nodded. ‘All the mothers do. Please, Mamma. Please say I can go.’
‘But of course.’ Her mother was all smiles again. ‘It is good that you have new friends. Nice friends at this new school. A mother who drives herself must have a lot of money, don’t you think?’
It was true. Maria lived in a house which was big enough to take in both number 3 and number 7, and maybe one more in their apartment block too.
The food was delicious. It wasn’t pasta.
‘Steak,’ said her friend’s mother, noticing how she was tucking in. ‘You like it?’
Carla nodded again, not wanting to speak with her mouth full. She also took care to hold the knife and fork in the same way that her friend and mother did. Afterwards, she offered to dry up.
Maria’s mother beamed. ‘I can see you have been well brought up! Actually we have a dishwasher, but you girls can help me load it.’
What a clever machine!
‘The plates slot in sideways. That’s right!’ She handed Carla another plate while continuing to chat as if she was a proper grown-up. It made Carla feel good about herself. ‘Maria tells me that your mother comes from Italy like my husband. Whereabouts is she from?’
Carla hesitated, not wanting to seem stupid. Mamma always got so upset when she asked questions about her family that she didn’t like to ask too much. ‘I am not sure, but I know there is a valley surrounded by hills and mountains. I’ve heard her say it’s about an hour’s drive from Florence up a very steep, twisty road.’
‘Really? I must ask my husband if he knows where that is. He comes from the centre of Florence, you know. It’s where we met.’ Her eyes went dreamy. ‘Have you ever been?’
‘No.’ Carla shook her black curls. ‘But Mamma says that we will visit one day.’
This wasn’t strictly true, but it seemed to be the right thing to say, because her friend’s mother then invited them to help themselves to an ice cream out of the freezer. One day, Carla told herself, she would have a freezer and a dishwasher and a pretty dressing table like the one in her friend’s bedroom. Then she and Mamma would finally be happy.
Later, Maria’s mother dropped her off outside the flats where the usual group of boys were standing, doing nothing, kicking their shoes against the wall.
‘I would come in, my dear, but I don’t like to leave the car here.’
Carla felt her spirits dip as they drove away. Home seemed so much smaller!
‘You had a good time?’ Mamma called out from the kitchen.
Carla nodded. ‘Can we ask Larry if he will buy us a dishwasher? Maria’s mother has one.’
‘But that is because she has a husband, piccola mia. ‘Maybe …’
She stopped as the phone began to ring. ‘I will go,’ said Mamma.
But Carla was there first. She would ask Larry about the dishwasher for Mamma and the dressing table for her.
‘Hello?’
This time, there really was someone breathing but saying nothing.
Quickly, she slammed down the receiver.
21
Lily
Late January 2001
Everything that’s been going on since September last year has been heading towards this. Only a few weeks to go now. The tension is mounting. Not just in my chest, but in the office too.
Even if I’d wanted to see more of Ed after the Christmas break, it wouldn’t have been possible. From the second I returned to my desk, it was full-on. Phone calls. Letters. Visits to the prison. Joe Thomas apparently kicked up a fuss when Tony visited without me, and refused to see him. ‘I want to see Mrs Macdonald too,’ he’d said.
So I went, my insides a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I barely even noticed the crisps, sugar, Sellotape and sharp implements routine.
Telling myself that I must be mad, I handed Joe a pile of legal papers to sign. Under the second folder was one of the other sticker albums from my brother’s collection.
‘Thanks.’ Joe’s eyes drilled into mine like one piece of metal clicking into another.
So easy! Yet the buzz was instantly followed by a crashing sense of terror and self-recrimination. Why did I keep doing this?
Luckily, Tony was too busy scribbling down notes at the time to notice the handover. He’d been distracted since the holidays, I’d noticed. Every now and then he asked Joe the same question twice. ‘I’m not going to push our man any more about how he got those boiler stats,’ he had told me before the meeting, in what seemed to be a complete U-turn. ‘I think we’ll get more out of him by being less confrontational. Besides, I’ve had the stats checked out again and they definitely stand up. We really could be on to something really big here, you know.’
I let him get on with it. He’s the expert.
As he spoke, he ran his hands through his hair – a frequent habit of his. I couldn’t help noticing, too, that there was a bluey-mauve bruise on the side of his neck. Did couples who’d been married for thirty years (one of the few personal facts I’d gleaned from Tony) still give each other love bites?
After the case, I told myself, I’d address my own marital issues.
But right now I have the perfect excuse to be working late; coming home just as Ed goes to bed. No doubt leaving yet another empty wine bottle on the side.
The pressure from the media is increasing too. ‘Another call from the Daily Telegraph,’ says one of the secretaries, with a more respectful manner than a few months ago. She’s also burning the midnight oil. ‘Do you want to take it?’
No. As always. For a start, it’s sub judice. We can’t discuss an ongoing case. And even if it’s one of those features about prisoners who win their appeals and then get on with their lives, I’m not having any of it.
We aren’t quite at that stage yet.
My fingers tingle with excitement as I go over and over the arguments and the figures and the witness statements.
‘You do realize what a key case this is, don’t you?’ said my boss the other day. Like the secretaries, he has finally begun to treat me with more courtesy. ‘If we win this, everyone is going to want to come to us. No pressure, Lily. But this might not just be the making of the firm. It could be the making of you too.’
The press and my boss aren’t the only ones who are getting excited. So, too, is Joe Thomas, however hard he tries to disguise his emotions. ‘Do you think we have a chance?’ he asked on our l
ast visit – in fact, our final one before the court hearing.
Tony nodded tightly. ‘As long as you do what we’ve rehearsed. Look the jury in the eye. Remember that one of our key arguments is that you’ve been officially diagnosed as having Asperger’s, as well as a need to check things and stick to certain rituals and patterns. It’s also why you came across as cold and unemotional when the police arrived. One in four people in the UK has some kind of mental health issue at some point. It’s likely at least some of the jury will be sympathetic. And the rest we win over with the boiler facts, pure and simple.’
But Joe is frowning. ‘I don’t see my checking as a problem. And I wasn’t cold or unemotional. I just told them what happened. You make me sound like some kind of freak.’
‘He doesn’t mean to,’ I butt in quickly. ‘Tony just wants you to tell the truth. Explain that Sarah was late for dinner, which you always had ready on time. That she vomited because she’d had too much to drink. You hate mess. So you suggested she had a bath. But she wouldn’t let you run it for her like you normally did, as part of your rituals. It made you upset, so you went and did the washing-up, to get control. After half an hour, you got worried when you couldn’t hear her splashing. You went into the bathroom to make sure she was all right. You saw her in the water. She was all blistered … It was a terrible accident.’
I stop. Both men are watching me.
‘It’s almost as if you were there,’ says Tony slowly.
A picture of the stables comes into my head. The smell of hay. The frost on the rafters. Merlin’s hot breath on my cold neck. Mum’s agonized cry: No! This can’t be true. There’s got to be a mistake.
‘Let’s move on, shall we?’ I say sharply.
If only it was that easy.
March 2001
‘This case, as Your Lordship knows, is of some importance and sensitivity: not only for the defendant, who has always remained consistent in maintaining his innocence, and of course for the family of the deceased, and for the wider public; but also for a member of my defence team, who has been subjected to a campaign of serious harassment. The Crown Prosecution Service, and of course my learned friend, has been made aware of this; and should anyone present in this courtroom have any contact with the culprits, they should know that any repetition will have grave consequences.’
