Swimming Pool Sunday (20 page)

Almost immediately, inevitably, her thoughts switched self-reproachfully to little Katie, lying in hospital, and a noisy, fuzzy guilt began to fill her mind. But over the guilt, above its relentless castigating clamour, her thoughts rang out, loud and defiant. So what? So what if they’ve suffered. Being a victim doesn’t give you the right to trample over everybody else. If Katie’s life has been ruined, why should Hugh’s automatically be ruined too? Why look for blame? Why …

Her thoughts were interrupted by Hugh speaking again.

‘The best thing we can all do is to listen to what Alexis has to say and help him as much as we can,’ he said.
‘And, Ursula, if that means you writing down the comment you made to Louise, then I suggest you do it.’ Hugh looked hard at Ursula and she nodded meekly. Then he turned to Alexis with worried eyes. ‘I spoke to Barnaby myself that day,’ he said heavily, ‘we were sitting together. But I honestly can’t think of anything that either of us said which might be relevant to our defence.’ He shrugged hopelessly. ‘Sorry not to be more help.’

Alexis smiled warmly at him.

‘Don’t worry, Hugh. You’ll be a help, all right. This case is only just beginning. There’s a long way to go yet. You’ll see.’

Cassian stared at Louise. He looked at the pale mauve-coloured letter fluttering in his hand, and again scanned a couple of sentences. Then he looked down at the basket of toys sitting on the table. His expression was incredulous.

‘Are these people
trying
to lose, or what?’

Louise shrugged uncomfortably.

‘First the girl comes and threatens you, and now this!’ Cassian picked up the pale mauve matching envelope, pulled out the wad of notes and began to count them.

‘The woman’s a moron,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She’s a complete fucking moron!’ He looked up at Louise and grinned. ‘You know, if I were her lawyer, and I saw what’s in this letter, I’d be throwing in the towel right now.’

Louise had not told Barnaby about Meredith’s visit. Her instinct had been to telephone him straight away, but Cassian had forcefully persuaded her to keep quiet.

‘There’s really no point in stirring things up,’ he said. ‘You know what Barnaby’s like, he’ll completely overreact.’

But news of the scene had already travelled round the village, and when Barnaby arrived at Larch Tree Cottage the following night to discuss the case, he was full of alarmed rage.

‘What did she say to you?’ he said, as soon as Louise opened the door. ‘That girl, Meredith. Did she threaten you? Someone told me she attacked you in the street!’

Louise stared up at his huge angry face, outraged on her behalf, and felt suddenly touched.

‘Yes, well, it was quite frightening,’ she said in the gently teasing tones which she hadn’t used for months. ‘She came at me with … with five hand grenades and a machete!’ Barnaby gave a small astonished start, then his expression changed to an unwilling grin. Louise giggled.

‘I was worried!’ he said accusingly.

‘Of course you were.’ Cassian’s smooth tones travelled from the back of the hall. Barnaby looked up and scowled. ‘But there’s no need for alarm,’ continued Cassian, gliding swiftly towards the front door and taking Louise’s hand, ‘I was present when the girl made her attack.’ He smiled complacently at Barnaby. ‘I was able to get rid of her and note down some of the wilder
comments she made. Really,’ he added, leading the way to the kitchen, ‘these people seem determined to hinder their chances of success.’

Barnaby looked at Louise.

‘Why does he say that?’

‘Oh.’ Louise sighed. ‘Ursula wrote me a letter which apparently we’ll be able to use in the case. It was a very sweet letter, but she practically admitted liability in it. And she enclosed some money, too.’

‘Money? How much?’

‘A thousand quid. For a holiday, she said.’ Louise looked away uncomfortably. ‘Ursula’s so stupid. Cassian says her lawyer couldn’t possibly have known what she was doing.’

They had reached the kitchen and Louise sat down. In the middle of the table, like an exhibit, sat the mauve letter. Louise glanced down at Ursula’s careful loopy writing. Somehow the sight of it made her feel both unbearably touched and horribly guilty at the same time.

She rubbed a hand wearily over her eyes and felt her face droop with fatigue. The past few weeks seemed, in her mind, to have consisted of nothing but the hospital. Driving to and from the hospital, walking up and down the corridors, drinking coffee in the cafeteria, and the endless hours seated by Katie’s bed.

She knew every inch of that ward by now; every square of linoleum and every crack in the paintwork. She could have described, from memory, each of the cheery childish paintings which decorated the corridor; could even have listed the names of their creators – Ben, Sam, Lucy M., Lucy B. – written on the paintings in a rounded teacher’s handwriting. If she closed her eyes she could hear, over and over in her head, the distinctive tinkling laugh of one of the nurses and the sound of the squeaking trolley which came round every morning. And all the time she could smell that
antiseptic hospital smell which lingered on her hands and in her clothes and hair.

Louise’s mind felt blurred; her hair felt lank; her face felt robbed of resilience. Her muscles seemed to have forgotten how to smile, and yet there were things to smile about. Katie was improving, everybody said so, and, of course, Louise could see herself that it was true. Katie was opening her eyes now, for quite long periods of time. And each time she seemed to know, just about, who she was and what her name was. But every time she woke, she seemed to have forgotten about the accident and why she was in hospital, and had to be told all over again. Louise’s explanations were beginning to sound stale to her own ears; sometimes she could feel a note of unforgivable impatience creeping into her voice. She would break off, abruptly, staring into Katie’s confused face, willing her to remember. And then she would silently, uselessly berate herself, as Katie’s eyes dulled and she fell back into her heavy unnatural sleep. And Louise would sit back in her chair and begin her waiting again. Waiting either for Katie to wake up, or for it to be time to leave the hospital, drive home, pick up Amelia from whoever was baby-sitting, put Amelia to bed, microwave a quick supper and fall, exhausted, into bed.

Barnaby had offered, a couple of weeks ago, to move back in and give her a hand; since changing his mind on the court case, he’d become enthusiastically, irritatingly helpful. Louise had immediately refused his offer, but now she felt so fatigued that she wouldn’t have minded who helped her. And yet, what on earth was she doing all day that made her so tired? Sitting still, pacing about, talking to the nurses, reading magazines. Hardly strenuous stuff. It didn’t make any sense, she thought blearily.

Barnaby watched Louise covertly from the other side of the table, and miserably thought how pale and drawn
she looked. She needed him, he thought fiercely. She said she didn’t, but she did. And a familiar pain began to gnaw at his chest.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said impulsively. Louise looked up and gave him a weak smile. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,’ he continued earnestly. ‘I’m sure we’re doing the right thing, and I’m sure we’re going to win this case. And then we’ll be able to give Katie the best treatment there is.’

Louise met Barnaby’s honest gaze and wished she could feel so certain. Meredith’s furious tirade in the street had affected her more than she had admitted, and Ursula’s foolish letter only made her feel more guilty. How on earth would the Delaneys find half a million pounds if they weren’t insured? she found herself thinking all the time. What would they do? How would they manage?

The initial thrill she’d had at the thought of going to court had subsided, and hardened into a grim resignation. The more she understood about the case, the less she liked it. And somehow it seemed irrelevant to the real, everyday consequences of the accident. She couldn’t make the connection between an abstract half a million pounds’ worth of damages, floating uncertainly somewhere in the future, and Katie.

Cassian had uncorked a bottle of wine and now poured out three glasses. Louise relaxed slightly at the reassuring glug-glug sound. She knew she was drinking more now than she had before the accident, but still, she told herself, only a reasonable amount. And if she was always desperate for a drink when she got home from the hospital, well, that was only the same as lots of people with stressful jobs, she reasoned. Nothing to worry about.

‘Lu-Lu,’ Cassian said caressingly, as he put a glass in front of her. He sat down, then casually took Louise’s hand and began to play with her fingers.

Barnaby looked away and clenched his fists. A rising anger started to burn inside his chest. Bastard. For a frightening moment, he thought his temper might take over. Desperately, he conjured up in his mind a vision of Katie; of the way she had smiled at him vaguely that afternoon; of her eyes, dulled by the accident but still his Katkin, underneath all the confusion and pain and drugs. I’m doing all this for Katie, he said to himself. For Katie.

‘I’ve been reading up a bit,’ he said abruptly, ‘in the papers. There was a case just recently about a brain-damaged child who was given six hundred and thirty thousand pounds. Did you see that?’ Cassian looked at Barnaby in mild surprise.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I believe I did, but that was a rather different case. It was a medical negligence case, rather than occupiers’ liability.’

‘Oh,’ said Barnaby in a chastened voice.

‘But there were certainly some relevant similarities there,’ added Cassian, kindly. ‘And I must say, Barnaby, it’s good that you’re becoming up to date with recent developments.’ Barnaby flushed a dark red.

‘I want to do everything I can,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

‘Of course you do,’ said Cassian smoothly. He opened his briefcase and took out a folder.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m about to start putting together draft witness statements. We need as many as possible, and to get them as quickly as possible, before people start to forget what happened.’ He passed a list to Louise. ‘These are the people who are being contacted by my assistant. Can you think of any others?’

Louise glanced down the list. Suddenly her gaze stopped.

‘Amelia?’ she exclaimed. ‘She can’t possibly be a witness!’

‘What do you mean?’ said Cassian, frowning. ‘She’ll
be one of the most important witnesses we’ve got.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘the courts are very understanding to child witnesses, and she won’t have to do very much.’

‘But she’ll have to remember the whole thing!’ Louise’s voice was loud and shrill. ‘That’s bad enough! She’ll have to go through it all over again! It’ll be terrible for her.’

‘Oh, really, Louise!’ Cassian was smoothly dismissive. ‘She’ll be absolutely fine.’

‘How do you know?’ retorted Louise. ‘Barnaby, we can’t let Amelia go through all that, can we?’

There was silence. Barnaby said nothing.

‘Barnaby!’ said Louise sharply. ‘You do agree with me, don’t you?’

Barnaby slowly raised his head.

‘Well,’ he said heavily. He took a slug of wine. ‘Actually, no. I don’t think I do.’

‘What?’ Louise’s voice rang, outraged, round the kitchen.

‘I think Cassian’s right,’ said Barnaby. ‘Amelia should give evidence. I mean, she was playing with Katie just before it happened.’

‘But think what it’ll do to her!’

‘She’ll be all right,’ said Barnaby stolidly. ‘She’s a sensible girl. And if it helps Katie …’

‘Well, what if it doesn’t!’ shrieked Louise angrily. ‘What if we put Amelia through all that misery and then lose the case! Or what if we win the money and Katie still doesn’t get better? What then?’

‘Lu-Lu,’ began Cassian smoothly, but Barnaby interrupted him.

‘What are you saying, Lou?’ he said loudly. ‘That you don’t want to go to court, after all?’ There was a short tense silence.

‘No!’ exclaimed Louise. ‘Oh, I don’t know! It’s just …’ Suddenly tears sprang into her eyes and she gave a sob.
‘I’m just so tired,’ she cried, her voice rising sharply in distress, ‘and Katie just doesn’t get better, and sometimes I think …’ she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, ‘… I think, well, what good would all that money be to us, anyway?’

Her voice echoed round the kitchen; Cassian and Barnaby said nothing.

‘And it’ll all take for ever,’ continued Louise tearfully, ‘and we might not win, and even if we do, the Delaneys aren’t insured, so they’ll have to sell their house or something, and we all used to be such good f-friends …’ She gave another heaving sob and buried her head in her hands.

Barnaby looked at Cassian. His expression was sombre.

‘I didn’t know that,’ he said, ‘about the insurance.’ Cassian took a sip of wine. He didn’t look pleased.

‘What you must understand,’ he said curtly, ‘is that the issue of insurance has no bearing on the merits of this case. If you are due damages, then you are due damages. This is justice we’re talking about here. Justice! You can’t just ignore it!’

‘Even if you ruin your friends?’ cried Louise.

‘Yes!’ snapped Cassian, suddenly losing his patience. ‘Look, Louise, these people might be your friends, but you owe more to your daughter than you do to them. Don’t you?’

Louise didn’t answer.

‘You can’t have it both ways!’ continued Cassian. ‘Either you sacrifice your friendship – a rather dubious friendship, I might add – or you sacrifice Katie. Which is it to be?’ He turned and looked at Barnaby. ‘Which is it to be, Barnaby? Which is more important?’ There was a pause, then Barnaby exhaled sharply.

‘Katie,’ he said. ‘It’s got to be Katie.’

‘Exactly,’ said Cassian, closing his folder, ‘and let me tell you both …’

He paused, until Louise unwillingly looked up at him.

‘Let me tell you,’ repeated Cassian, ‘that the worst thing you can do for your little girl is prepare this case half-heartedly. If we’re going to win some money for her, we need to give it one hundred per cent. Which means using all the evidence and all the witnesses we can muster, whether or not we like it. And if you’re not prepared to do that, Louise, then I’m afraid we might as well forget the whole thing.’