by Louisa Scarr
But Freya holds up her hands. ‘Look, if you don’t tell anyone, I won’t.’
‘Thank you,’ Sophie says, then she starts to cry, bent forward, hands over her face.
Freya takes the joint out of her hand before she sets her hair on fire and lays it delicately on a corner of the bench. Then she reaches over and puts an arm round Sophie. She knows what it’s like to have your life tipped upside down in a matter of seconds. Sophie may not have lost Finn, but right now he’s not the man she loves, and might not be again.
After a while, Sophie’s tears abate and she sniffs, wiping her eyes. ‘I didn’t think this could get any worse,’ she says. ‘I assumed it was all repressed memories. Like you see on TV. One day he’d remember what happened in a big flash, and I’d have my Finn back.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Freya replies, although she knows her words are pathetic. Nothing will make things better.
‘What do I do now?’ Sophie says, looking at Freya with wide eyes. ‘What if he’s like this forever? What if this’ – she points angrily back to the hospital – ‘is it?’
‘Give it time, Sophie. You don’t need to make any decisions now. See what the doctors say once they’ve run their latest tests.’
Sophie nods, sniffing again, as Freya’s phone starts to ring. She pulls it out of her pocket with a final squeeze of Sophie’s shoulder, and watches as Sophie reaches for her joint, putting it back between her lips.
‘And don’t let Robin see that,’ Freya says with a smile, as she moves away. ‘Josh? How’s it going?’
‘Ugh.’ An exasperated sigh comes from the other end. ‘Solicitors everywhere. All three have lawyered up. But they’re not wriggling out of this one. Vardy’s made a formal statement, CCTV confirms the time the boys went home, and the fingerprints have all come back as a match on the freezer and on the bottles and cans in the bus shelter.’
‘Anything on the DNA on the fag butts?’ Freya asks. She realises how much she likes speaking to Josh, his Geordie accent soft and lilting.
‘Not yet. And we’re waiting for fibres taken from their clothing to match to the ones found on the victim’s body. But even without that, CPS have given us the green light to charge.’ He pauses. ‘Where are you? I can hear traffic.’
‘Outside the Royal Berkshire Hospital.’
‘Reading? What are you doing there?’
‘I’m with Butler. Helping out with his friend.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Another pause. ‘Do you want us to hold off so you can be the one to charge them? It was your insight, Freya, that got us where we are now.’
She smiles. ‘Don’t be daft, you did the hard work. You take the glory. Just let me know how it goes.’
Josh laughs at the other end of the phone. ‘I will. Are you back tomorrow?’
‘I should think so.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. See you, Freya.’
She ends the call and looks at her phone for a second. Despite the stories round the station, he seems like a nice guy. Maybe, just maybe…
She sighs, then heads back into the hospital. She thinks about Jonathan – what would he say? Go for it, probably. And a relationship with Josh, what would that be like? They’d have to follow the proper procedure, since they work together. Notify Baker, or whoever needed to know, and—
Christ, why is she thinking about this now?
She’s reached the corridor outside Finn’s room. The door is open, and inside she can see Robin talking to his friend, while Josie is sitting watching them, her mouth downturned. What a terrible situation for her, Freya thinks, not knowing whether her son is going to get better. Another victim of that awful night.
Robin gives Finn an awkward hug, then turns to Josie. But she shakes her head at Robin and he walks away, towards where Freya is waiting.
‘Here you are,’ Robin says. He’s trying to keep his tone light, but she recognises the usual signs. His forehead is furrowed, head tilted slightly down, jaw tight. There’s no doubt Robin’s upset. ‘Shall we go?’
He starts walking towards the exit and, without a word, she follows.
62
Robin can feel Freya watching him closely, as they get in his car and start the journey home. But he knows that if he starts to talk, he’ll crumple, and he can’t do that now. He can’t.
He’s still struggling to process what they found on the video and what Steph told them from her post-mortem. Robin knows Craig’s gone away to discuss the case with her superiors, and he wonders what conclusion they’ll come to.
So, Simon Sharp was allergic to nuts. Steph said they can run further tests to confirm that, as well as the resulting anaphylactic shock. But Robin’s finding it hard to come to terms with the idea that he might have slit his own throat. And that Finn saw it all? What a horrific thought.
Robin can’t imagine how terrifying that would have been: to be trapped in the middle of that raging storm, watching as your friend bled out in front of you. No mobile phone signal, no way of getting help, as Simon Sharp collapsed and died.
It all makes sense now: Finn’s words in the hospital. It was my fault. They know from the video that Finn handed Sharp the sandwich that killed him. And the allergic reaction must have stirred something up in Finn’s disturbed consciousness, remembering Jacob Fraser all those years ago.
‘Did Steph say any more about Finn’s prognosis?’ Freya asks. Her voice is hesitant and gentle.
Robin shakes his head. ‘They won’t know any more until the morning.’
‘Oh. And how are things with Josie?’
‘You saw her, Freya,’ he replies, sharper than he intended. ‘She hates me. And I don’t blame her.’
‘She needs time.’
Robin clenches his jaw. He’s fucked up so many times this week, but his relationship with Josie is probably the worst. He feels the familiar tightening of his throat and he stares, determinedly, at the road. He will not cry. He won’t.
‘I should have known Finn was drinking,’ Robin mutters.
He hears Freya turn in the seat next to him. ‘Sophie didn’t even know, Robin. Or Josie.’
‘But I should have noticed he was struggling. I should have been a better friend.’
‘Robin,’ Freya says softly. ‘If even his girlfriend and his mother hadn’t realised what was going on, why should you?’
‘I hadn’t seen him since February. What sort of a friend was I?’
‘Rob, I have friends I haven’t seen for years—’
‘But your supposed best friend?’ he interrupts.
‘I’ve only seen Mina’s new baby once,’ Freya says. ‘Sometimes that’s just the way life is. You’ve had a lot going on. You have a busy job.’ She pauses. ‘You can’t be blamed for Finn being sick.’
‘But brain damage, Freya? Fucking permanent brain damage?’ He stops, forcing himself to take a long breath in. He clears his throat before he speaks again. ‘What a mess.’
‘I know,’ Freya murmurs in reply.
They don’t say anything else for the rest of the journey. Freya puts the radio on and Robin’s glad of the music filling the deathly silence. And he’s grateful to Freya, too, for just being there.
They stop outside the multistorey car park, where Freya left her car earlier that afternoon, and she undoes her seat belt. Sitting in the cathedral grounds seems like a long time ago to Robin; so much has come to pass since then.
Freya opens the car door.
‘Sure you don’t want to come back to mine?’ she asks.
‘No, no. I’ll be fine.’ He forces a smile, and she gets out of his car. He doesn’t particularly want to be alone, but he also doesn’t want to inflict his company on Freya. She must have had enough of him over the past few days.
And as he drives to his house, he realises he hasn’t asked about her, or her case. Have those kids been charged with murder? He knows it was because of her unique slant that they’ve got that kid to confess. She is an incredible detective, and he never acknowledges that fact.
He gets home, parks up and lets himself into his house. The living room is still a state, denuded walls looking back at him accusingly. He will finish it himself, he decides anew. Even if it takes months.
He places his bag on the table and reaches inside, pulling out a memory stick. DC Grey gave it to him as he left the hospital.
‘It’s not relevant to the case,’ he said. ‘But I thought you’d want to see it.’
Robin had looked at it, confused, but before he could ask any more, Grey had been called away.
He makes a cup of tea now and fires up his laptop, putting the memory stick in the side. The computer loads a single video file, and Robin clicks it open.
The inside of the van comes into view. The timestamp in the corner reads 00:54; before the storm. Only Finn is in shot, sitting next to the table. Sharp is holding the camera close to his face; Finn looks embarrassed.
‘So, tell me about Sophie,’ Sharp asks.
‘What’s there to say?’ Finn replies, trying to push the camera away.
‘How did a nerdy old scientist like you get someone as lovely as her?’
Finn laughs. ‘No idea. But I’m a lucky man.’ He pauses. ‘I’m going to ask her to marry me.’
‘No!’ The camera shakes, as Simon leans forward and gives Finn a hug. ‘Good for you, mate.’
‘I’ve no idea if she’ll say yes.’
‘Course she will. So, tell me about her. How did you meet?’
Robin listens, mug of tea in hand, as Finn talks about Sophie, a shy smile on his face. It’s clear how much he loves her; Robin had no idea things were this serious between them.
‘Robin doesn’t like her, though,’ Finn finishes, and Robin feels the familiar flash of guilt.
‘Robin?’
‘My best mate,’ Finn replies. ‘And I can’t blame him. Both Sophie and I behaved like wankers when we saw him last.’
‘So call him. If he’s your best mate, he won’t care. Buy him a beer and all will be forgiven. Anyway,’ Sharp says from out of shot. ‘I thought I was your best mate. I’m offended.’
‘Piss off,’ Finn says, laughing. ‘I’ve known Robin my entire life. We grew up together.’
‘That must be nice. To have someone who knows you that well.’
‘It is.’ Finn’s expression is thoughtful. ‘I know that whatever happens, Robin will have my back. Plus he’s a cop, so, you know. He can arrest people and stuff.’
Sharp laughs. ‘Always handy in an emergency.’
‘Yeah. I haven’t been there for him as much as I should have, though. His…’ Finn pauses, and Robin knows he’s thinking about Georgia and the twins. ‘He’s been through a hard time these past few years. I’ve been a shitty friend.’
‘So call him,’ Sharp says. ‘It’s never too late.’
Finn nods, then glances up as a loud crack of thunder echoes round the van. ‘Shit, that was a big one,’ he laughs. ‘Turn this shit off, we need to get sorted.’
The camera jerks for a second, then the video goes black.
Robin stares at the screen. He feels his vision blur, his breathing halt in his chest. Hearing those thoughts, from Finn’s own mouth, was almost too much to bear. His best friend – the person who knew him better than anyone else – knew he’d have done anything for him.
But Sharp had been wrong. It was too late.
Robin can’t hold back any longer. The events of the past week – the murder, going home, Finn’s diagnosis, even Freya’s struggle – all come back in a rush; the facade he’s worked so hard to maintain crashes down in an instant.
He’s alone. It doesn’t matter now. His face crumples and the tears come. He puts his head in his hands and his shoulders shake, as he starts to cry.
It’s too much. It’s all been too much.
63
Wednesday
Robin arrives in the doorway of Finn’s room at the same time as Dr Blackstone, and from the expression on the doctor’s face, Robin knows what he’s going to say. Although he didn’t think it possible, the doctor looks greyer today: all colour gone from his face, his lips leached of blood. Josie’s waiting already, thin and pale. To Robin’s surprise, she reaches out to take his hand as Dr Blackstone starts to speak.
‘I’m afraid there’s been no change in Finn’s condition overnight,’ he says. Robin feels Josie’s grip tighten. ‘The thiamine has restored Finn’s vitamin B levels to normal, but unfortunately it looks like the damage has already been done. The MRI shows considerable lesions on Finn’s brain, destruction to regions of the cerebellum – the area that coordinates muscular activity, hence his trouble walking – and some damage in the dorsal medial thalamus. I’m sorry, but his amnesia isn’t going to significantly improve.’
‘What about his short-term memory?’ Robin asks.
The doctor shakes his head, grimly. ‘It’s unlikely Finn will be able to form new memories. I’m sorry.’
‘And if you’d caught this earlier?’
There’s a pause that says it all. ‘It’s possible,’ Blackstone replies, ‘that with early treatment of thiamine the Wernicke’s might not have progressed to Korsakoff’s; or the severity of Finn’s symptoms might have been reduced. But nothing would have been guaranteed. The outcome might have been the same as we see today.’
‘But it could have helped,’ Robin challenges.
‘Yes,’ the doctor admits. ‘It could have.’
There’s a long silence. In the gap, Robin’s vaguely aware of the background noise of the hospital: people going about their usual business, carrying on with their lives, while in this stifling, overheated room Finn’s future has been destroyed.
‘So there’s nothing you can do?’ Josie asks, her voice little more than a whisper.
‘We’ve referred him to the clinical psychology team – they’ve been doing amazing things in rehabilitation. And we’ll make sure Finn’s transferred to a long-term therapy unit as soon as possible. He’ll be more comfortable there.’
‘And why didn’t you spot this before?’ Robin asks, unable to help the edge of anger creeping into his voice.
The doctor stares at him. ‘We should have,’ he begins. He clears his throat loudly. ‘But with Finn’s alcohol withdrawal and the benzodiazepines he was prescribed masking the symptoms, it got missed. It’s a tricky one to diagnose.’ The pager on his waist beeps, and Robin notices a look of relief cross his face. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go,’ he says, and leaves.
Robin stands in the corridor with Josie. He feels stunned. Josie looks into the room at her son, asleep in his bed.
‘What do I do now?’ she says, then starts to cry. Robin pulls her close in a hug and holds her tight.
‘One day at a time,’ he says, as she sobs into his chest.
After a while, her crying abates, and she pulls away from him, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
Robin gives her a sympathetic look. ‘You hungry?’ he asks. ‘You look like you haven’t eaten in days.’
She nods.
‘Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.’
* * *
They walk in silence towards the hospital canteen, the two of them at a ceasefire – a necessity, given the circumstances. Robin’s afraid to talk or to mention their argument. Slowly, they make their way down the queue, Josie picking up toast and butter and marmalade, Robin grabbing coffee for them both.
He pays and they take a seat on the far side of the room.
It’s busy, just past ten a.m., people needing sustenance to get on with their day. Robin looks around while Josie eats: nurses, doctors, some patients in dressing gowns sitting at the tables.
‘You want any of this?’ Josie asks, pushing a slice of toast across to him. ‘I don’t seem to have much appetite nowadays.’
Robin takes it. No point letting food go to waste.
‘Do you remember when you were teenagers? Can’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen,’ Josie says. ‘And you’d both appear on a Sunday morning, completely hung-ov
er but trying desperately to pretend you weren’t.’
Robin smiles. ‘We thought we hid it so well.’
‘And you’d have slept in Finn’s room on the floor, for some reason, rather than walking two doors down to your own house.’
‘Georgia always gave me hell for getting pissed. You were more understanding.’
‘So that was it.’ Josie smiles at him. ‘I owe you an explanation, Robin. About what happened with Finn that summer at Scout camp.’
‘No, no, not at all. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry I searched your loft.’
She manages a laugh. ‘I never thought that would happen. A police detective breaking into my house.’ Josie takes a sip of her coffee, then places it down on the table, staring into it. ‘Honestly? I thought that if you knew what happened, it would make the situation worse.’ She shrugs. ‘Guess it doesn’t matter now. He’s no longer under arrest, did you know?’
‘I wondered. I noticed the room guard had gone.’
‘Yes, this morning. DI Craig came by. She said that in light of the new evidence they were going to recommend a verdict of accidental death. That Simon had done it to himself.’
‘That’s something,’ Robin replies.
‘Hmm.’ Josie thinks for a second. ‘Finn was there, you know. When Jacob Fraser died. He saw it all.’
‘What happened, Josie?’ Robin asks quietly.
‘I don’t think they ever knew. Jacob was allergic to bee stings, but he carried an EpiPen and all the Scout leaders knew how to use it. But they were in the middle of nowhere, and the EpiPen didn’t work. That poor kid was done for even before the ambulance arrived.’
Robin’s coffee has gone cold, but he drinks the last dregs anyway, waiting for her to continue.
‘There was no love lost between Finn and Jacob. Jake was one of the popular kids, even though he was a few years younger than Finn, and he made Finn’s life a misery at that camp.’
Robin frowns. ‘He did?’
‘Yeah, without you there, Finn was fair game. He was always a target for bullies, but they didn’t dare if you were around. I know you punched a few for him over the years,’ she says, with a smile. ‘Finn and Jake got in a fight the day before, and Finn said he wished him dead. So, when Jake died…’
