Bold Counsel (The Trials of Sarah Newby) Page 9

  Terry thought about this now, as he’d often done before. He couldn’t help it; with all her faults, the woman fascinated him. And she had faults in plenty. When he’d first met her, her children had been in open rebellion, the daughter running away from home, the son wanted by the police. Part of this, probably, was because she’d been a poor mother. She was never home, she was always working; her career came first. Terry understood, since Mary’s death, how difficult it was to get that balance right. But when things went wrong, really wrong, Sarah was there for her children. She’d fought for her son like a tigress. It was terrifying, and admirable. Terry had never seen a woman fight like it.

  When the news broadcast ended, Trude yawned and went to bed. Terry sat for a while longer with his whisky. The house was quiet, the children sleeping. Jessica’s homework lay on the table, ready for the morning. She’d worked hard on it, two full pages of drawings and descriptions, carefully written and coloured in. If she gets a poor grade this time, he told himself, I’ll see the teacher. Or better still, send Sarah Newby.

  He smiled at the thought. That would put a bomb under the old dragon, all right! He sipped his whisky, feeling the warmth spread in his chest. An image came into his mind, of Sarah Newby in full barrister’s gear, chasing Jessica’s geography teacher down the long corridors of some gothic girls’ boarding school. They took to the air suddenly, like witches in Harry Potter. In midair Sarah whisked the broomstick from under the geography teacher, who fell screaming to earth. Terry grinned to himself. Jessica’d like that, he thought. If only.

  Then another image came, of Sarah in this house, sitting opposite him, having fought the good fight for his child. She smiled at him, as Mary had once smiled. Then she got to her feet, stretched out a hand, and said, ‘Come to bed?’

  You sad old bastard, Terry muttered, shaking his head ruefully. Snowballs will freeze in hell, before that happens.

  Still, the chance would be a fine thing.

  13. Mother and Daughter

  ARRIVING IN Cambridge, Sarah caught a taxi to her daughter’s college, Sidney Sussex. Emily met her at the porter’s lodge. Sarah hugged her, then stood back to examine this new phenomenon, her undergraduate daughter. She looked blooming, Sarah thought, her cheeks healthy, a sparkle in her eyes, her hair - well, perhaps the hair could do with a little more attention. But then she was a student, not a fashion model. Torn jeans, desert boots, combat jacket. Oddly, she seemed more of a child than Sarah remembered, as if she had shrunk somehow.

  Emily led the way around a quadrangle towards her room, Sarah pulling her wheeled suitcase behind. Her heels echoed smartly on the ancient paving stones.

  ‘Mum, what have you got on your feet?’

  ‘What, these?’ Sarah extended a leg, proudly displaying her new suede spike heeled boots. ‘Do you like them? I bought them yesterday in Harrods.’

  ‘They’re ... very ostentatious.’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I bought them.’ Sarah beamed, suddenly realising why Emily had shrunk. ‘They make me taller for one thing. More impressive in court.’

  ‘Great. Now I have a mother on stilts.’ Emily ducked through a passageway, shaking her head at the perverse ways of adults. Sarah followed, noting with a grin how everyone they passed - students, dons, even the porters - lived with a dress code far scruffier than in the world of her work.

  In Emily’s room she strolled to the window and looked out over the walled college gardens. Last time she had been here - with Bob - the trees had been beautiful and green. Now the leaves were falling. Emily lit the gas fire.

  ‘You’ve made yourself comfortable, I see.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not too bad. Coffee?’

  ‘Please. Just black.’ Sarah looked into the small kitchen area and winced. ‘I could take you out for dinner, if you like.’

  ‘Yes, okay. Unless you want to eat in college. Meet my friends.’ Emily brought two mugs of coffee and they settled either side of the fire in two ancient battered armchairs.

  ‘You’re making friends, then?’

  ‘Yeah, quite a few.’ Emily peered at her mother through the steam from her coffee. ‘Mum, you look tired. Is everything all right?’

  Sarah bit her lip. She’d intended to save this till later. But ...

  ‘I stayed in a hotel for the last two nights. I didn’t sleep so well.’

  ‘Oh well. Let’s hope the one here in Cambridge is better.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sarah sipped the coffee. It was bitter, sharp. ‘Emily, there is something, as a matter of fact.’ It was harder to say than she’d expected. ‘I’ve ... had an argument with your father.’

  ‘So? Is that news?’

  Emily looked puzzled. Sarah gazed at her, thinking, I don’t want to do this, but I have to. It’s already too late. An image came into her mind of a film she’d once seen where a developer blew up a beautiful old house to make way for a housing estate. There’d been a moment, like this, just before it happened. The camera lingered on the facade of the ancient, two hundred year old building, calm and peaceful in the sunlight, and then the plunger was pressed. There had been a pause - perhaps a quarter of a second, no more, when the building still stood as it had for centuries, warm red brick against a blue sky, and then it was gone, just a cloud of smoke and a heap of rubble.

  ‘He wants a divorce.’

  ‘What?’ The teenage self-confidence in Emily’s face suddenly crumpled. There was shock, disbelief, and somewhere behind it, welling up from the depths, anger and insecurity. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Slowly, carefully, trying to keep her voice and emotions as much under control as she could, Sarah tried to explain. How for months, things had been difficult between her and Bob. How he’d had an affair last year with his secretary, Stephanie, which Sarah had hidden from the children at the time. And how, since he’d moved to his new school in Harrogate, they had drifted apart again.

  ‘So it seems he’s met this supply teacher, Sonya’s her name. She’s a single mum with three small kids. Only it’s not just an affair, he says. He wants to ... move on, make a new start, whatever the correct phrase is.’

  She fumbled in her handbag for a tissue. To blow her nose; she had no intention of weeping. Emily’s response, in any case, contained more anger than sympathy.

  ‘But why? How could this happen?’

  ‘Well, it was a new situation, I suppose. We were both busy with our work, he had his new school, you weren’t at home any longer ...’

  ‘Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?’

  ‘What? No, of course not, darling, how could this be anything to do with you?’

  ‘Well, you said I wasn’t there any more. Mum, is this because you wouldn’t let us move to Harrogate? You know how Dad wanted us to.’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe that’s part of it, but ...’

  ‘We only stayed in York because of you, Mum, and you’re hardly ever home. Perhaps if you’d gone with him, he’d never have met this ... Sonya.’

  This wasn’t the way Sarah had imagined the conversation. ‘Darling, if you remember, you wanted to stay in York because of your friends, you know you did. You insisted.’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know this was going to happen, did I? Or about this Stephanie woman either. That was much more important and you and Dad kept it to yourselves.’

  ‘We didn’t want to bother you with it, darling. You were in the middle of your A levels, how would that have helped?’

  ‘And now I’m here at uni and you’re telling me my home has blown apart. How do you think that’s going to help me when I’m sitting writing essays? As if that matters anyway, compared to this.’

  ‘It does matter, Emily, of course it does. More than this, in fact. You’ve got your career to think of.’

  ‘Oh, that’s you all over isn’t it, Mum? Typical. Work, work, work. That’s probably why Dad wants to leave. He wants a woman who doesn’t work all the time.’

  ‘Emily, that’s not fair.’ Sarah could face most demons, but n
ot this one. She got up and turned away from Emily, staring out of the window. A young couple stood on the college lawns, their arms wrapped round each other for warmth, as they gazed indulgently at a child searching for conkers. ‘I was like that when your father married me. I’ve always been like that.’

  ‘Yes, well.’ Sarah could hear Emily behind her, but didn’t dare turn round. If her daughter rejected her too, what was there left? Only her son, Simon - God knows how he’ll take this. Only Simon, and her work.

  Work’s important, it rescued me from poverty and failure and disgrace, it gave me everything I wanted, it gave me freedom ...

  Only this isn’t quite the sort of freedom I need.

  ‘Mum, I’m sorry.’ Emily’s hand was on her shoulder. Tentative, insistent. ‘I shouldn’t have said that, I wasn’t thinking. After all Dad’s the one who’s cheated, isn’t he? You didn’t cheat on him.’

  ‘No.’ Sarah turned, grateful for the embrace. ‘Only with my work, as you say, and that’s just me.’

  The shock of the news put Emily off the idea of eating in hall with her new friends, so they went in search of a restaurant instead, and ended up in Garden Court Hotel, beside the river. Emily had brushed her hair and put on a skirt and make-up for the occasion. She seemed at once impressed and resentful of the opulent surroundings.

  ‘This is what you get, is it, for all your hard work?’ she said, as the waiter lit the candles, and left them with the menu. ‘Creepy waiters and high prices.’

  ‘Sssssh,’ Sarah said. ‘He might hear you.’

  ‘Well, I suppose he knows he’s oppressed, without me telling him. All these rich capitalists eating here.’

  ‘Emily! For heaven’s sake! You have servants in college, don’t you? Bedders or gyps or whatever you call them?’

  ‘Yes, I know, Mum. It’s one of the things I don’t like about this place. I mean, it’s as if we’re all being encouraged to think we’re better than everyone else.’

  ‘You’re not better than everyone else, but you’re just as good, that’s the point,’ Sarah said firmly. ‘Think of how I was when I was your age, and how far we’ve all come ...’

  ‘Oh Mum, not again!’

  Sarah drew a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’m sorry, you’ve heard it all before. But look, you’re here, and you should make the best of this opportunity. That’s all I meant. You haven’t ... had any more thoughts about moving to Birmingham, have you?’

  ‘I’ve thought about it,’ Emily said. ‘But I haven’t decided yet. Larry and I are going to talk about it next weekend.’

  ‘I think you should stay,’ Sarah insisted. ‘Why doesn’t Larry transfer to Cambridge instead?’

  ‘It isn’t that easy,’ Emily said, pulling a face. ‘Anyway he’s not that keen, he likes it there. The trouble is, it means three years apart, and that’s hard. The people here are okay, but - he matters a lot, you know. Especially now, if I haven’t got a home to come back to any more.’

  The remark hurt, like a child turning its back on her. ‘But of course you’ve got a home to come back to, darling. Don’t be silly, you always will have.’

  ‘Yes, but where?’ Emily asks. ‘It won’t be our lovely house by the river, will it? You’ll have to sell that, won’t you, if you divorce?’

  The waiter returned to take their order. Sarah chose blindly, shocked by Emily’s practicality. When he’d gone she leaned across the table, taking Emily’s hand in her own.

  ‘Look, darling, all this is new. Your father and I - we haven’t even discussed what to do with the house yet. I like living there, just as you do. But if I do have to move somewhere else, you’ll have a room just the same. You can choose the wallpaper, the furnishings, make it just how you want it. You’ll be welcome home any time.’

  ‘But it won’t be my home any more Mum, will it? That’s just the point.’ Emily shook her head sadly. ‘It’ll just be a flat or a little semi where my Mum happens to live, that’s all. I won’t have any friends or memories there. I’ll just come for a few days for a polite visit and then I suppose I’ll have to go off and see Dad and that Sonya woman and her wretched kids. I mean, this is the end, Mum, isn’t it? Our home’s all gone.’

  ‘I may try to keep the house,’ Sarah said grimly. ‘I could try to buy your father out. After all, he’s the one who walked out, not me.’

  ‘Well, that would be better,’ Emily said, softening slightly. ‘Mum, it’s only been a few days. Maybe Dad’ll come back. I mean, who is this Sonya person anyway?’

  Sarah sighed. This wasn’t the sort of conversation she wanted to be having at all. All this is Bob’s fault, the bastard, she thought bitterly. ‘I’ve never met her,’ she said. ‘But she’s got three kids and no husband or proper job. Your father - I think he feels he’s going to rescue her somehow, just as he did with me all those years ago. Only I ...’

  Only I did things for myself, she was about to say, but thought better of it. Emily hated to hear of her struggle for success - she’d suffered too much from its effects.

  ‘Or maybe it’s just his mid-life crisis,’ she continued ruefully. ‘She’s younger than me. Perhaps it’s just her figure he’s interested in.’

  Emily smiled. ‘Oh come on, Mum, that’s crazy. I mean you, for your age, that is - what are you, not fifty yet?’

  ‘Forty, Emily,’ Sarah said, appalled. ‘It’s my fortieth birthday next summer.’

  Emily looked abashed. ‘Well, whatever - look, Mum, I’m sorry, I mean I wasn’t counting exactly. What I meant was, you look great, you’ve kept your figure, much better than most mums, you ride that motorbike ...’

  ‘Which your father hates ...’

  ‘Yeah, well, forget about him. I mean if he’s really left now you can do what you want. You might even find someone else, you know - I mean, people do!’

  ‘Even old ladies like me, you mean?’

  ‘Yes, why not? I mean, the papers are full of these adverts, we used to laugh at them at school, but I guess they’re serious, really. And then you’d need the house, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What, to keep my lover in?’ Sarah smiled, indulging Emily’s fantasy. ‘He’s going to need a lot of space, is he, to keep all the gear for his hobbies? What are you talking about - motorbike gear, gym equipment, a sailing boat in the garage?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum, it depends. But seriously, it could happen.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best, darling, I promise. But however well preserved I may look, there isn’t anyone on the horizon just at the moment. It was your father who ran off with a bimbo, not me.’

  ‘I know that, Mum, but now things are different. You’ve got to make things happen, give them a chance.’

  The waiter poured the wine. Sarah tasted it and nodded her approval.

  ‘There was that policeman, wasn’t there?’ Emily continued eagerly. ‘That tall detective fellow - Bailey - no, Bateson. You fancied him didn’t you?’

  ‘Who told you that, young lady?’ Sarah looked at her over the wineglass, surprised. Am I as transparent as all that? In fact there had been a moment last year when ... but never mind, it came to nothing. So how did Emily know?

  ‘Oh Mum, it was obvious. I mean of course nothing happened between you - or did it?’ She looked anxious. ‘That’s not why Dad ...’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’ But only because I was sick at the wrong moment, Sarah thought, blushing at the memory.

  ‘Well, good then.’ Emily sipped her wine, reassured. ‘But now ... I mean, if you really are getting divorced, you’re still young. I mean, only forty anyway...’

  ‘Not quite dead yet, yes, I see your point. I get the Zimmer frame next year. But darling, I haven’t spoken to the man for ages. Anyway he’s got two young kids and I’m always at work. I’d be rubbish as anyone’s mum.’

  ‘You’re my mum, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Well, so they told me at the hospital. And I know I was always busy when you were young and I’m sorry about that. But you’ve turned out okay
all the same, thank God. Better than okay, in fact.’

  ‘Careful, Mum, don’t overdo it.’

  ‘All right, moderately okay, then, let’s say. So far, at least. And I’m proud of Simon, too, in his way. But as a stepmother, well ... I’m too old. Emily, it’s a crazy idea. Forget it.’

  ‘Hm. How does this policeman manage?’ Emily persisted, thoughtfully. ‘It must be difficult in a job like that. He’s a widower, isn’t he?’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Mum, I’m not blind. I do notice things.’

  ‘So it seems.’ Sarah sighed. Why not indulge in an agreeable fantasy for a while? It was a sort of therapy, in a way. ‘Okay, how does a single detective inspector manage his job and two little girls? I don’t know. But I’ve heard, Emily, that he lives with a stunning Norwegian au pair. So what chance does that leave an old lady like me? None at all, I wouldn’t know where to start. Even if I was interested, which, as I told you, I’m not.’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’ Emily took another draught of wine and leaned forward across the table thoughtfully, her eyes shining in the candlelight. ‘This is what you do ...’

  14. Slip Road

  ‘HERE, IS it?’

  ‘Yeah, well, somewhere like this. I can’t tell to the exact yard, can I?’

  ‘But this is the right slip road? You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Sure as I can be. They all look the fucking same, don’t they? Don’t know how you lads can stand the country, all this grass and weeds and shit. Screws yer ‘ead.’ Gary caught the grim gaze of the York detective, and decided against taking the thought further. His day was already ruined - dragged out of his bed in Leeds at seven, for a start, before it was even light, and presented with the choice of either going to York right now, this minute, Gary, get it? or spending the day down the local nick while the police examined every square inch of his untaxed, uninsured, and probably unroadworthy car to see how many traces of illegal substances they could find in it. ‘And we will find them, Gary,’ DS Wilson had assured him. ‘Whatever you say, we’ll find some, I can assure you of that. Quite large amounts, I wouldn’t wonder. Enough to keep you away from the lovely Sharon for a long time, which could make her lonely - know what I’m saying?’