Hardened (27 page)

Rachel is beside me, and together we edge our way into an alcove by a window.

“It’ll be all right,” asserts Rachel. “It has to be.”

I nod, silently praying that she’s right. “The judge said a custodial sentence though. That means Jared’s going to jail. It’s so unfair.”

“He’ll survive. He did before.” Despite her seemingly callous words, I catch the quiver of her lip. We both know that a return to prison is a fate Jared was determined to avoid, and he so nearly made it. But for that bastard Stevie…

My thoughts return to the man who, at least in my opinion, got exactly what he deserved out of all of this. Stevie Horrocks would have killed me in a heartbeat, and probably Jared too. Whatever the judge might think, I doubt the world is any worse off for no longer having that particular individual taking up oxygen.

Mikey too got his just deserts. He’s starting a life sentence for murder with a recommendation that he serve no less than twenty-two years. Brad was sentenced to fifteen years’ imprisonment for his part in the two robberies, though he was found not guilty of murder. Rachel and the children appear unmoved by the prospect of his prolonged absence; he hadn’t been a part of their lives for years in any case.

Rachel peers around the corner into the milling throng. “It’s rammed in here. Shall we go out and find a coffee shop, maybe grab a sandwich or something?”

“Might as well.” I’m not hungry, but some fresh air would be welcome.

We shoulder our way back through the crowd and out the main doors into the pedestrian area at the front. Rachel leads the way to a small bistro-style eatery around the corner where we order coffees and paninis and settle in for the wait.

At twenty past three we are back in the public gallery, seated in the front row. Charles and our barrister sit huddled together, conversing in low tones down in the main court. I wonder if they are already plotting the appeal but I say nothing, fearing I might jinx Jared’s chances. The prosecution team sip coffee from paper cups, looking smug. They have the verdict they wanted.

Just before half past there’s a clattering of feet and Jared appears back in the dock, his two guards bringing up the rear. At once he seeks out Rachel and me, and lifts his hand again in silent acknowledgement before taking his seat. The two legal teams take up their positions on the rows of tables and seating facing the raised-up bench, and we all await the reappearance of the Honourable Mister Justice Withers-Benson.

He is right on time, emerging through his private entrance at the front of the court. The court bailiff shouts “All rise,” and everyone stands. We remain on our feet as the judge takes his time getting settled and arranges his papers to his satisfaction, then at a nod from his honour we all sink back into our seats.

“The defendant will rise.” Again the court bailiff’s censorious tone rings out. Jared stands up to face the bench.

His honour places his rimless glasses on his nose and peers at Jared over the top of them. He consults his notes once more, then folds his hands in his lap. The court sits in silence as he delivers his final remarks.

The judge’s summing up amounts to a damning indictment of Jared’s nefarious past and the company he has elected to keep in the weeks leading up to the offences. His comments are fair enough, I suppose, but my heart sinks. This is not going well. It seems Jared is not to be allowed to move on, he will always be seen as the criminal he once was. And judged accordingly.

The Honourable Mister Justice Withers-Benson is not finished, however. He goes on to praise once more Jared’s efforts to forge a new and exemplary life for himself, and to reiterate his gallant actions in coming between me and almost certain death. In moments it seems Jared is transformed in the judge’s estimation from a menace to society to become an upright pillar of the community, and a hero to boot. Things are looking up.

“Notwithstanding the factors in your favour, North, there can be no escaping the severity of the offences of which you have been convicted, and I have no alternative but to impose a custodial penalty. The verdict of this court therefore is that you will serve a period of two years’ imprisonment…”

A gasp flitters around the court. Rachel lets out a sob. I am stunned, silent. Jared bows his head, resigned to what’s to come.

Two years? Two fucking years!

The judge clears his throat again, then, “…the sentence to be suspended for the period of five years. You are free to go.”

My jaw drops. Did I hear correctly? I lean forward over the rail at the front of the gallery, looking for clues from our team. Charles is down there, grinning from ear to ear and pumping the hand of our barrister. Beside me Rachel gets to her feet. Tears are streaming down her features as she waves to Jared. I watch, disbelieving, as one of the guards unlocks the gate at the side of the dock and gestures for him to pass. Jared steps down into the body of the court. He stops to speak briefly to Charles and shakes hands with the barrister, then makes for the exit.

“Come on, we’ll meet him outside.” Rachel grabs my arm and drags me from my seat. I stumble after her, my knees weak with relief.

At last, it’s over. We can go home.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the barn with us?” Rachel has phoned for a taxi and we are all three now standing on the steps outside the Combined Courts building in Leeds city centre. She shakes her head and checks her watch.

“It’s after four already. I need to get back. The kids will be back from school and they’ll want to know how it went. Plus, I have a pub to run.”

A cab pulls up alongside us. Rachel kisses first Jared, then me and she hops inside. She opens the window and leans out. “We’ll see you at the weekend, for Katie’s party. Don’t be late.”

“We’ll be there,” confirms Jared as the taxi pulls away. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

I link arms with him as we stroll across the city centre in the direction of the multi-storey car park. “For a while back there I didn’t think you’d be coming home today. Christ, when the judge went on and on about your criminal record…”

Jared chuckles. “Yeah, he laid it on a bit thick. Still, a suspended sentence, that’s not too bad. It means I have to stay on the straight and narrow for the next few years though.”

I purse my lips. “Mmm, maybe I need to impose a curfew, make sure you don’t drift back into bad company.”

A sharp slap to my bum is Jared’s response. “And maybe I need to apply a paddle to your arse to remind you of the proper and respectful way to talk to your dom.”

My pussy creams, the familiar clenching a promise of delights yet to come. In the months leading up to the trial I never let myself contemplate how much I’d miss this part of our lives, if Jared wasn’t around.

“Just a paddle, sir?”

“To start with. I need to teach you some manners.”

“I’m glad you’re still here. Cote House Barn wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

“You’d have stayed, though?”

I moved in with Jared as soon as he was released from the hospital, at first because he needed someone to fetch and carry for him. Then, after he was back on his feet, I stayed because I wanted to. I gave up my flat in London after a few weeks, and colonised one of his spare bedrooms for my jewellery business. Apart from worrying about the pending trial, I’ve never been happier. And now that black cloud has lifted, we can look forward to the future. Together.

“Yes, sir. I’d have waited for you. Apart from anything else, someone has to feed that dog of yours.”

He gives a derisive snort. “I seem to remember it was you who came home with a rescue puppy, and let it crap all over my kitchen.”

“Marlow was a present for you.”

Jared makes another sound in his throat, then announces, not for the first time, that he hates dogs. I know this not to be true; he adores the three-month-old German Shepherd/Labrador cross though the pup does still make a mess from time to time. Despite his grumbling, he allowed me to keep him, just in case I did end up on my own at Cote House Barn. I’m convinced there’s every chance Marlow will make a fine guard dog, eventually, if he ever grows into his oversized paws and can manage to summon up some semblance of aggression. Until then, I suppose I’ll make do with my ex-jailbird dom.

I tighten my grip on his elbow. Life could be worse. A whole lot worse.

“Let’s go home,” suggests Jared. “I have paddle with your name on it.”

The End

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