Unspoken (26 page)

‘Did you hear anything from the CPS?’

‘Tomorrow, Julia. That will be tomorrow at the earliest.’

Part of me relaxes and part of me wants to claw at Murray, to beg him to find out now, even though it’s nine o’clock in the evening and everywhere will be closed. Don’t drink any more, I beg him in my head. Be alert for David’s case. I slip from entrapment and smell diesel and alcohol. It’s Murray’s personal cologne.

After I leave, I don’t mean to stand on the towpath for so long, but when Murray shunts the hatch closed, the glowing rectangle of window in the side of
Alcatraz
gives me a glimpse into his life after me. It shows that his life is moving on – behaving in a way he hasn’t done in years; teaching another woman about himself. Posturing, grinning, astonishing, leaving out the bad bits, bigging up the parts I probably ignored.

Not knowing I’m still on the towpath, Murray snaps closed the ghastly orange curtains. As I turn and walk away, sadness forces a sigh from my chest. I admit, it suits my needs for David to be innocent. Am I simply believing what I want to believe? Like I did with Murray for so many years, am I turning David into someone he’s not? Walking down the towpath, I am left with an image of Murray and his lady friend burned on the inside of my eyes. As I blink, it morphs into David until my eyes are flashing open and shut so fast that they all become one.

 

Murray once had a girlfriend called Cynthia. She was taller than him and her knees and elbows, bursting with growth, were knotted like the joints of a young tree. Cynthia knew all the latest fashions, had hundreds of records, wore her hair big, flicked and backcombed. She was pretty much the coolest girl in school.

While Murray was dating her, I dissolved into the flat landscape of Witherly. I became a child again, especially when Cynthia was around. Them aged seventeen and me just turned a paltry twelve, I didn’t stand a chance against Cynthia’s long painted nails and shimmering court shoes.

I watched and waited, virtually held my breath for the entire eight weeks they dated, in case one day Murray should be back with his mates, back on the sports field, back hanging out with his younger sister’s friend.

Then it happened. Cynthia was expelled from school and no one ever heard from her again. It was as if she vanished clean off the face of the earth. The only trail she left behind was a two-column-inch report in the local paper with a sullen mug shot balanced above.
Juvenile Thief Found Guilty
.

It took a while, but gradually Murray filtered back into his circle of friends, ripped around the villages on his bike, and teased Nadine and me when he baby-sat in the holidays.

‘Cynthia wouldn’t do anything like that,’ he insisted. ‘Someone got it wrong. She never nicked anything in her life.’ Murray was certain, wanted the entire world to know how certain he was, that the girl he loved was as clean as could be.

We all thought he was sticking up for her because he didn’t want to look stupid for going out with her. He couldn’t bear it that the love of his life had nicked all her trendy clothes, her chunky jewellery, her make-up and twelve-inch records. It made their true love fake as well. Defending Cynthia even after her court case was Murray’s futile attempt at self-preservation. No one liked to look silly.

Truth was, he plain didn’t see it. Love, devotion, need – the sheer size of his affection – simply got in the way of the truth.

 

The car is wedged on to the verge where river and road meet. I get in and turn the key. My mind is still on the towpath, stirring thoughts of Cynthia, wine, David and Murray. I drive home but don’t recall any of the short journey.

When I step inside the house and everything is calm – Brenna and Flora are playing a lopsided game of snap – the notion that I have got it all so completely wrong, that my belief in David’s innocence is foolish and blind, makes me feel ill. It doesn’t take much for me to crack.

‘You think keeping Flora up this late is responsible behaviour?’ I glare at Brenna. The girl’s cheeks colour and her eyes widen.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’

‘No, you damn well didn’t, did you?’ Whatever I’m saying, it’s harsher than I intended. The laziest kid in my class wouldn’t get this treatment. ‘She’s eight years old, Brenna. For heaven’s sake, she needs to go to bed and you’re playing cards with her. You and your brother are a liability.’ She doesn’t deserve my attack.

Flora slams her hand down on the pile of cards and makes a barking noise. Grinning, alert as a rabbit, she waits for Brenna’s response. But Brenna simply stands up, the crescents of tears held back only by the tilt of her head. She runs out of the room.

‘Damn,’ I say. And as Flora scowls at me for ruining the nice time she was having with Brenna, it’s all the proof I need to know that my judgement has gone awry for sure.

Nadine is close to tears. ‘She won’t answer her phone and doesn’t return my messages. She told me she won’t see me until this is all over. Whether we like it or not, Julia’s lost her heart to a criminal.’

I am stunned at what she’s just told me. Chrissie has done more than her fair share of digging into Mary’s case, making me wonder how much Nadine pushed her. Her dislike of the man, even though she has never met him, is almost equal to mine.

‘None of what Chrissie found out goes any way to convincing me that this mess will ever be over. Not cleanly, anyway. One wily reporter will soon sniff out that Julia is involved with Carlyle.’ Nadine wipes her nose, trying to look as if she’s not really upset. ‘Let’s face it, Murray, Julia was the one who found Grace, and she also happens to be a teacher at the victim’s school. It doesn’t look good. Not good at all.’

I’m trying to understand what she’s implying, not to mention what Chrissie found out about Mary.

‘You think that Julia will become a suspect by association?’ I sigh. I’m hot; we’re sitting too close to the log fire. I feel sick.

‘It’s a possibility. Your ex-wife might be forced to give evidence in return for relocation and a new identity. What’s that going to do to your kids?’

‘Not quite ex,’ I say, and for a second that hurts me more than everything Nadine is telling me. ‘Just how reliable is your friend Chrissie?’ And I am slammed with a barrage of Chrissie’s qualifications and dedication to psychiatric research, not to mention the societies and professional bodies she belongs to and just how deep the level of information that she has access to runs. ‘So she’s reliable?’ My pint does nothing for my churning stomach.

‘Solid.’

I run through what all this means. ‘And she was absolutely sure that Mary’s admission had nothing to do with the MRI scan results?’

‘Positive.’

‘And the treatment Carlyle requested for Mary isn’t suitable for the problems he claimed Mary had anyway?’

‘Yep.’

I stare at my sister. She wouldn’t lie to me. All the years I’ve known her tumble through my mind. She’s always been there for me, hauling me home from the pub, giving me a place to stay, mopping up my spilt life. She’s also married to the detective who arrested Carlyle. I happen to be the defendant’s lawyer. The conflict rears up and slaps me in the face.

‘Look, I might as well be honest.’ I know I’ll regret this. ‘The CPS is currently reviewing the case and there’s a rumour that the charges may be dropped altogether. Although I can’t see Ed ever giving up on it.’

‘But . . . ?’

‘It’s complicated. In simple terms, if they don’t think Ed’s got enough on Carlyle to secure a conviction, then they’ll let it drop and he walks.’

‘Yes, that’s what Julia told me about the lack of evidence. That’s when she got angry with herself and refused to speak to me.’ Nadine drops a half-eaten bag of crisps on to the small round table. ‘Why on earth did you take this case, Murray? What in God’s name did you think you were doing?’

It doesn’t take me long to answer. ‘Loving Julia,’ I reply simply, when in truth none of it is simple at all. I resist the urge to down my pint in one go. ‘We had this game, Julia and I, when we were kids. Do you remember?’ I don’t think I played it with Nadine. ‘It was pretty stupid really, but it made her giggle and I liked that. I liked seeing Julia happy.’

Nadine shakes her head. ‘What, Murray?’

‘She would tell me to do things or say things to strangers, and if I didn’t comply, I had to do a forfeit.’ We both step back in time, each remembering a slightly different view of a similar past. ‘Once she told me to half frighten an old man to death when he walked round the corner.’

‘And did you?’

‘Of course,’ I say, sipping, remembering. ‘I nearly gave him a heart attack. He marched me right home to Mum but I didn’t care. I did anything for Julia.’

‘
Do
anything for Julia,’ Nadine corrects, and we both know she’s right.

 

‘So,’ I say as we step out into the sunlight. It’s cold but bright. ‘Where does that leave us?’ Chrissie’s findings don’t make sense. Why would Carlyle lie about scan results and prescribe the wrong treatment for Mary?

‘Us?’ She knows she is in this too.

‘Are you going to tell Ed?’ I shiver and button up my coat. There are things I can’t tell her about Carlyle however much I want to. I remind myself I have to win this case for Julia. For us.

‘Of course I am.’ Nadine fishes in her bag for her keys. ‘Why would I want Carlyle to walk?’

‘Why would
I
?’ None of this is fair. ‘Either way, I get to fall on my sword. If Carlyle gets off, then he steps into the sunset with Julia. If he doesn’t, then I’m bust anyway because I’ll be the loser she suspects I always have been.’

At that, Nadine looks sad. ‘You’re no loser, Murray. But you’ve got to follow your instincts. Is Carlyle guilty of attacking that girl? If he is and he gets off, what about your wife and children then?’

‘Oh God, Nadine. I love her. I want her back. I love her so desperately that I’m even defending her criminal lover.’ No sister should see her brother break down, so I cover my face with big gloved hands. It goes some way to hiding my pain. The few tears I manage soak into my palms.

‘Then go get her,’ Nadine says before leaving. The look on her face tells me that she can’t stand to watch me fall apart. She scuttles off to her car and I watch her drive away, feeling more alone than I’ve ever been in my life.

I receive the news that the CPS have bailed Carlyle at exactly the same moment I hear Dick Porsche pop the cork from a bottle of champagne. I can’t decide if this is an omen. Another promotion for Dick, no doubt, and it draws quite a crowd in reception.

‘Thanks for your call,’ I say and hang up, dazed by the news.

I step out of my poky office and join the happy throng at reception. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ I say to Dick as he passes out the flutes of champagne. ‘What’s the occasion?’ Drinking this stuff doesn’t seem wrong, especially if there is good cause.

Sheila sidles up to me before Dick can reply. ‘Any news on the bad doctor?’ she asks. ‘We can really work the publicity on this one, Murray. Don’t screw up.’

‘I got bail,’ I say in a fake American accent, trying to hide the smile. Truth is, it wasn’t
me
who got the bail; rather that the CPS has chucked out the case anyway. But Sheila doesn’t need to know that yet. I tip up the champagne flute. It’s just what I need and the only time I’ve ever been grateful to Dick.

‘Who’s a clever boy then?’ she says, playfully swiping her finger under my chin. ‘Conditions?’

‘The usual,’ I reply. ‘He’s not to leave Cambridgeshire and has to report to the nick every three days.’ I don’t tell Sheila about the third condition. She seems satisfied and wanders off to chat with Gerry. The pair glance at me occasionally, no doubt discussing my future.

‘We’ve just got engaged,’ Dick says from a few feet away. He’s grinning inanely, snuggled up to Olivia, the girl who answers the phone. I give up trying to lip-read what Sheila’s saying and walk over to the happy couple.

‘So that’s why the bubbly’s out, huh?’ I stand over him, suddenly feeling powerful because Carlyle got bail. When I’ve cleared his name, this whole wretched business will be over. I’ll still have a job, and a chance of getting Julia back. ‘Well congratulations, Dick.’ I say ‘Dick’ very slowly. I stare at the tie he’s wearing. It’s horrible. ‘And to you too, Olivia.’ She squirms on the leather sofa.

Dick may well have a better job than me, an office with city views and a car that’s more like a penthouse apartment than a vehicle. And now he has a pretty young thing with a fake tan, straightened hair and the whitest nails ever, suckered to his side. I don’t care. Things are looking up.

‘I bet your dick’s bigger than mine too, isn’t it . . .’ A dramatic pause. ‘. . . Dick?’

The room falls silent – three senior partners glaring my way and everyone with their glasses halted halfway to their open mouths. It didn’t come out right.

Shrugging, I knock back the champagne, which turns out to be cava, and fight the bubbles brewing in my nose – perhaps from the drink, perhaps from a dizzy sense that things are coming to a head. I leave the building. The thought of Carlyle walking free, right back to Julia, has done nothing for my mood.

 

I pay a visit to Whitegate Prison before returning to my sinking boat, before I allow myself to disintegrate completely. There are matters to take care of, and as his representative, I have a duty to brief Carlyle on developments.

‘Looks like you’re out of here,’ I tell him flatly, once I’m through security and we are seated in the interview room.

Carlyle’s face relaxes, slowly absorbing the implications. ‘That’s good,’ he says in a measured way. No thanks for me, no pat on the back. He doesn’t know that I didn’t really do much.

‘The CPS isn’t convinced by the police evidence.’ In my mind, I see Ed beating his fist against the wall, red-faced, yelling at his officers. ‘Of course, the inquiry will continue and the charges against you could be reinstated at any time should more . . . convincing evidence come to light. So don’t go booking any holidays.’