Bold Counsel (The Trials of Sarah Newby) (12 page)

‘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

‘H
ERE, 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?’

Whereas if he could spare the time to help the York police - quite voluntarily, of course, his public duty as a citizen - then the search of the car could be postponed to a later date. Before which he might have found time to tax and insure it, possibly even wash and valet it as well.

Put like that, Gary found himself convinced. So now he stood on this dreary slip road outside York, looking for the place where Sean and Declan had discovered the hand. The two detectives assigned to this task were, in Gary’s view, distinctly unfriendly and not very bright. Nonetheless, a good report from them, it seemed, was his best chance of continuing as a permanent occupant of Sharon’s bed. So he did his best.

After half an hour they found the fox. Or at least
a
fox - it was impossible to be sure it was the right one. But there it was, on the hard shoulder where, he remembered, Sharon had flung it a second after Sean had wrapped it round her neck, saying it was a fur scarf - there were even skid marks where a truck had braked to avoid the Orion as it swerved erratically during their hysterical argument.

But if it was the right fox it was a lot worse for wear. Cars had flattened it, crows had pecked out its guts and eyes, and dust and insects were ruining the rest. Only the teeth still snarled, bitterly defying death. A detective snapped on latex gloves and gingerly lifted the thing by the gritty remains of its once glorious brush into an evidence bag.

‘Make some pathologist’s day, that will,’ he said morosely.

‘At least they get to work indoors,’ muttered his companion. He nodded at an ominous dark cloud looming in the west. ‘Let’s get this finished while we can.’

Gary led them back along the slip road to the point where he thought the boys had originally found the animal. He wished they hadn’t, now, but who could foresee the future? If little Wayne’s bladder hadn’t been about to burst he’d be safe in Leeds now, instead of trudging towards the mother and father of all rainstorms with two miserable coppers ...

‘It was here,’ he said, picking a spot at random. ‘They hid behind that bush and sprang out at me. With the fox, and the hand.’

A wagon roared past, the wind rocking the three men on their feet. ‘You let your kids play
here?
’ The detective gazed at him in disgust.

‘Not mine. Sharon’s,’ Gary said, as if that explained everything. Which it did, in a way. Even to the detectives, who shrugged and began a desultory search around the bush and the grass near the road.

When that yielded nothing, except a few cigarette packets and coke cans, they glanced at the approaching storm and decided to retreat to the car until it had passed. They sat and ate sandwiches while rain lashed the windscreen and wind rocked the car. Gary, who had brought nothing, was given a crust and a packet of crisps. When the sky finally cleared the detectives put on rubber boots and squelched around in the long grass while Gary stood on the hard shoulder, shivering and bored. An hour’s search yielded nothing more significant than some windblown supermarket bags and a few rabbit holes.

‘What did you expect?’ Gary asked as they drove him back to the railway station. ‘A skeleton, hopping about? A bagful of bones?’

‘It’s not funny, son,’ one answered, leaning towards Gary with a face as blank as a killer whale. ‘That hand belonged to a person, a human like you and me. It didn’t just fall from the sky, as you and your kids - oh, sorry,
Sharon’s
kids, are they? - seem to think. It’s evidence, so we need to know where the rest of that evidence is -
i.e.
the body that hand came from. That person may be dead, a victim of an accident, or even murdered for all we know. Did that thought never occur to you, when you were letting your - I mean Sharon’s - kids use it like a toy? Never think of taking it to the police, did you?’

He stared at Gary for a moment, waiting for an answer. Then he shook his head.

‘No, of course not. Never crossed your mind, did it, Gary old son? Well, not to worry. We know where to find you. So if that body turns up, and it turns out to be someone you knew, well, we may just invite you back to answer a few more questions. That ok with you, Gary, is it?’

15. Michael Parker

S
ARAH SPENT the following day with Emily, meeting some of her friends, and taking her shopping in town. They seldom agreed on style - Emily despised her mother’s weakness for designer labels as a sell-out to capitalism - but they did agree that Cambridge, with an icy east wind blasting across the fens from the North Sea, was one of the coldest places in the world. Sarah bought Emily some fingerless woolly mittens like those the market traders wore, and an Afghan sheepskin coat which the Irish salesman swore he had imported directly from a village in Tora Bora flattened by US marines. Neither of them totally believed him, but the warmth of the fleece around her neck, and the attractive ethnic embroidery, persuaded Emily to give him the benefit of the doubt. It really suited her, too.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said, hands thrust deep into the luxurious pockets as they battled the wind. ‘At least we were supporting small traders against monopoly superstores, even if he has kissed the Blarney stone too often.’

‘Take it as an early Christmas present,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll know you’re warm now, not dying of some romantic chill as you crouch over your books in the library.’

The mention of study made Emily frown. She had an essay due on Tuesday which she had scarcely begun. So on Sunday morning Sarah worked in her hotel room until midday. Then she met Emily for lunch and caught a train in mid afternoon.