She looked at me; hard to tell if she was intrigued or appalled.
‘I’m not having much luck with interviews,’ I said, ‘and I need to work. You’d have to pay me the going rate.’
She nodded her head. ‘I think it could work,’ she said slowly. ‘We’d have to agree some standards, and you’d have to pay your own National Insurance, have a contract and everything.’
Only Suzanne. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry, Jonty must be off his head, everything he’s throwing away. The bastard.’
I didn’t intend to build bridges with Suzanne; a stepping stone or two was more than enough. But I didn’t want to miss out on being an auntie, and minding Ollie would be a way of seeing him, and earning some money, without having to spend much time with her. Keeping a reasonable distance is the only way I know to protect myself from the unhealthy pattern of our relationship.
And I wanted to keep getting better. That week the therapist had asked me if I’d been thinking about the future at all. And I had. For the first time without total dread or fear, wondering what I might do next. Little things like arrange a break away or look for some new clothes.
And I’ve been minding Ollie ever since.
Now, waiting with the other witnesses, I can feel the pressure building up inside and the echoes of the worst times when I was falling apart. I try to breathe slowly and deeply, and distract myself. I try to connect, chat to Alice and Larry; again we mustn’t discuss the trial, so we end up talking about who we like on X Factor or The Voice and Alice talks about the sheep she has on the farm.
We’re all nervous, it’s not just me. Alice keeps messing with her hair and she laughs a lot even at things that aren’t the least bit funny, and Larry goes out for a cigarette every five minutes.
I’ve been warned that I could get some pretty rough treatment under cross-questioning, but I think it’s the first sight of people that’s going to be the hardest. Lily’s parents and her brothers, and Alex and Monica. Alex in the dock.
Where he would have put me.
Carmel
We were all sitting together, Phil and Suzanne and I immediately behind the Vaseys, who arrived just after us. Everyone in their best, sombre clothes. I caught Tina Vasey’s eye as the family made their way along the row of seats and tried to express my sympathy without words, and she gave a tiny nod of understanding. She wore a grey suit jacket and skirt, on the jacket a brooch, enamelled white and green. A lily.
The two boys, Robin and his brother, look so alike, I’m not even sure which is the one who came to the house.
The solicitor hadn’t been able to tell us how long it would be until Naomi was called. Might even be the next day. Before her there would be evidence from Alice and Larry and then from the police who were first on the scene and the paramedics. After them the hospital doctor and the police officer who interviewed Alex and later Naomi. Sometimes they play the 999 call in court. I was dreading that. Imagining Alex’s voice, torn and frantic, stumbling to explain, high with panic: We hit a little girl. Oh God, I think she’s dead, and my girlfriend’s not breathing. My stomach hurt. My mouth was dry. I had some mints; I took one and offered the packet to Phil and Suzanne.
Suzanne was still reeling. I’d hoped that Jonty would see sense, crawl back with his tail between his legs, but apparently not. Though whether Suzanne would have given him a second chance was highly debatable. She’d thrown herself back into work, even done a couple of trips abroad, Milan and Paris, for the fashion shows, and Ollie’d stayed with us. Suzanne had put the house on the market. She was looking at renting somewhere until the divorce was sorted out and the financial situation was clear.
She and Jonty were trying to work out what contact he’d have with Ollie. It was hard for Suzanne, especially as it would mean that Ollie was going to spend time with the production assistant, who Jonty was living with. We did offer Suzanne a room with us, though I’m glad she said no. It wouldn’t really have helped Naomi: too much bad blood, too big a sense of betrayal. I don’t think Naomi and Suzanne will ever be really close. Oh, they cleared the air, as much as was possible. And Suzanne came to court for her sister, but I think she blew it really and Naomi’s drawn a line; she’s not going to put herself in the position of being hurt by Suzanne again.
There was a hushed anticipation in the room as the court officers went about their work and more people arrived. The barristers with their wigs and gowns chatted to each other. The clerk instructed us all to turn off our mobile phones and reminded people that taking photographs was not allowed. Then we were asked to stand and the judge came in, a tall woman in her robe and wig, wearing very large glasses. Once she was seated, we all sat down again.
We had speculated endlessly about what Alex’s defence would be, and could only assume that he’d continue to insist that Naomi was driving and try to undermine Alice’s and more importantly Larry’s testimony. Even though Larry had identified Alex to the satisfaction of the police, the defence would probably try and compromise his account – question his eyesight and memory and so on.
The clerk stood up and nodded to the barristers, then he said, ‘Call Alex Cottingley.’
Alex came up the steps and into the dock, every inch a promising young professional in a dark navy pinstripe suit, shirt and tie. He was accompanied by a court officer, who stood at the far side of the dock area. Alex glanced back, up to our left, towards a middle-aged man with a tan and a grey-haired woman, who I thought might be his father and grandmother. He looked ashen, terrified really. He was visibly trembling.
The clerk called for Monica next, and she came up the stairs followed by another court officer and stood beside Alex. She wore a black skirt suit and a white blouse. I felt a burn of resentment, hot in my chest, looking at them both.
The clerk spoke, asking Alex to confirm his name and address and date of birth, the day he shared with Naomi, only a year older. Then he did the same with Monica.
I looked away. I was finding it hard to watch. In front of me, Lily’s father’s shoulders moved up and down, like he was taking a long, slow breath.
The jury filed in. I wondered if they were apprehensive too – or looking forward to their role. Once they were seated, the judge began to explain to them what the charges were.
Alex suddenly made a noise, a sort of sob, and I saw him jerk, bending over as though someone had hurt him. ‘I can’t!’ he cried out.
‘Alex?’ Monica said, concern clear in her voice.
He straightened up. ‘Oh God,’ he said, and everyone stirred. ‘Naomi!’ he cried out, and my skin prickled at the sound of her name.
‘Alex!’ Monica said, steel in her tone. ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’
The judge started to admonish them but had got no further than ‘Mr Cottingley . . .’ when Alex said, his voice cracking, ‘I can’t do it, Mum, I can’t.’
‘Alex!’ Her voice cracked like a whip.
He was shaking his head, his breathing loud and uneven, in terrible distress. ‘I’m guilty,’ he blurted out. ‘Guilty.’
The word rolled around the room and the place exploded.
Monica yelled at him, ‘No! Alex, no!’ and his father and grandmother were calling out. One of Lily’s brothers shouted, ‘Yes! Yes!’ and the Vaseys fell on each other and Mrs Vasey started crying.
Alex was muttering, ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over again. His barrister had gone white in the face. He hadn’t been expecting this.
Suzanne stared at me, her eyes wide. Phil said, ‘Oh my God.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘Oh God.’
The clerk called for silence and the room settled, but the air was thick with tension. Monica’s head was bowed and she no longer tried to communicate with Alex.
The judge asked the jury to leave while a legal point was discussed. Once they’d gone, she instructed Alex’s barrister to meet with Alex.
Alex was taken down. As he passed Monica, she grabbed at him, close to hysterical, gasping, ‘Alex, Alex, please, Alex.’ He twisted away. Then she howl
ed, a guttural noise that made my flesh crawl. ‘Please,’ she called to her barrister, ‘I need to talk to you. God, please!’
Another wave of reaction washed around the public gallery and the press benches. There was some discussion between her barrister and the judge, and Monica too was taken down the steps from the dock. Then we all rose as the judge disappeared too.
Over the next twenty minutes the room buzzed with speculation and hummed with tension. I felt nauseous, despite chain-sucking mints. I thought it must be intolerable for the Vaseys, restless in the front row, talking to each other in sporadic bursts.
Finally we were instructed to stand again. The judge re-emerged from the door at the back of the court, and once we’d settled, the clerk called Alex and Monica. The jury didn’t come back in and I guessed then that the guilty pleas were going to be entered.
Alex’s barrister stood up. ‘Your Honour, would you please put the charge again?’
The judge nodded, and the clerk rose and said, ‘Alex Cottingley, you are charged that on the twentieth of May last you drove a motor vehicle on a road, namely Mottram Lane, Sale, Greater Manchester, causing death by dangerous driving, contrary to section 1 of the Road Traffic Act 1988. Are you guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty,’ he said brokenly. Tina and Simon Vasey were huddled close together, his arm around her, and she gasped aloud as Alex spoke. I felt a bloom of relief inside. I longed to tell Naomi.
‘Alex Cottingley, you are further charged with conspiring to pervert the course of justice in relation to the first charge. Are you guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty,’ he said again.
Phil looked at me, nodding his head, close to tears.
‘You plead guilty,’ said the judge. ‘You will be removed from court and remanded on bail. You will return here for sentencing once a probation report has been completed. Take him down.’
Alex turned, shaking uncontrollably, weeping, his face blurred with emotion. He made to touch his mother as he passed her, but she reared away. I felt my eyes sting.
Then it was Monica’s turn.
‘Monica Cottingley, you are charged with conspiring to pervert the course of justice in the weeks after the twentieth of May last year. Are you guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty,’ she said, a stammer at the start of the word betraying her nerves.
‘You will be removed from court and return here for sentencing. Take her down.’
And like that, it was done.
EPILOGUE
Naomi
Alex got seven years, five for causing death by dangerous driving and two for perverting the course of justice. Monica got eighteen months for perverting the course of justice.
It helps that he finally told the truth. He must have just decided that day, that minute. Up till then he’d pleaded not guilty at every stage. But it was the right thing to do. He finally did the right thing.
I’ve agreed with the GP to reduce the antidepressants. I don’t want to depend on them for ever. I’m still seeing a therapist.
One of the hardest things is the anxiety, worrying that I’ll relapse, that I’ll go mad again, not be able to cope with my feelings. But I am getting better at living with that fear, trying to ignore it, accept it even, and then get on with things. Posts I’ve read online from other people in the same situation make me hopeful.
I’ve signed up to do a counselling course. Ironic maybe. But Evie says most therapists become therapists because they had their own demons to deal with.
Sometimes I wonder about writing to Alex, or even visiting him, though I’m not sure yet what my motives are. Forgiveness or vengeance? Or is there some sad part of me that wants to make up with him?
Anyway, I’m not acting on it any time soon. One thing I have learned from all this and the sessions is that I need to look after myself before anyone else. That is selfish, but in a good way. Be kind to myself, that’s what I’m trying to do. Be kind, be true, be gentle. That and acceptance.
The nightmare happened.
Lily died.
Alex lied.
I am damaged.
I accept these truths and I carry them with me.
That’s the way it is.
Carmel
She’s still wounded; I don’t know how far she’ll come back to us, whether that irreverence, that spark, is still kindled inside. Or whether that’s gone for good. She’s better than she was. Looking after Ollie has given her enough money to live on while she stays with us. And for the first time she’s begun talking about the future, about what she might do.
I should have trusted my instincts. That undertow of denial that I’d felt all along. I couldn’t believe Naomi had been drink-driving and I was right. But when the chorus of voices, from Suzanne, from Alex, from Monica, sang in unison, the proof seemed overwhelming. I lost faith in my child. But deep down I was still resistant to what they said, and I dug my heels in. All that struggling to collect memories for Naomi, interviewing party guests, wanting to work out why no one stopped her driving off – subconsciously I was seeking vindication for my gut feelings, I’m sure.
And Alex? I’d trusted him, seen the best in him, not fully understood the depth of his ambition, his instinct for self-preservation. His hunger. Fuelled in great part by Monica, I am sure. Piecing together what Naomi said and the way they took it right up to the wire, I think Monica was equally to blame for the cover-up. Alex had lied at the scene of the crash and then confided in his mother. He probably wanted to confess once he knew Naomi was not dead (after all, she might wake up like Sleeping Beauty and spill the beans). But Monica had heard from us that Naomi’s memory had failed and so she pushed Alex to maintain the fiction. The power behind the throne. Her ambition exceeding his. Naomi dispensable.
And Lily Vasey’s family? Presumably Monica had no compunction in lying to the people who mattered most in all this. The people whose lives had been shattered beyond repair.
They say girls are attracted to people like their father, so I’m not sure what went wrong for ours. Because neither Alex nor Jonty behaved like Phil would. Phil is fine, by the way, having regular blood tests and advised to exercise more. It’s his birthday soon. He doesn’t know yet, but I’m taking him to New Orleans. Not exactly our world tour, but it’s a start.
Perhaps if Alex hadn’t continued to lie, Naomi would have stuck with him. We all make mistakes and some can be fatal. He’s young; he might have deserved some compassion if he’d come clean once he knew she’d survived. Instead he’s behind bars, all his dreams ruined.
A moment’s madness, a child dead, and all those lives changed for ever.
Before.
Seems like a mirage shimmering in the heat. Elusive. Distorted.
And I would go back there in a heartbeat.
Blink of an Eye (2013) Page 23
