Unspoken (29 page)

‘Really, Julia, I didn’t do very much.’

I remember Murray as he once was – in control, assured, motivated – and at a push, I could even believe he is that exact same person now, sitting behind his office desk in his suit. ‘I don’t care a jot how it happened. I’m still going to believe it was all down to you. I need to thank
someone
.’ I’m so happy.

Murray watches the inane grin that overcomes me, transcending all the trouble between us. ‘When can we expect him out?’ The words flutter around like party streamers decorating his dull office. ‘You should get Alex and Flora to do some paintings for the walls in here. How’s it all going with you, anyway? And work? Any more juicy cases? Is Sheila still badgering you? How’s your girlfriend?’ I know I’m babbling but I can’t help myself.

Murray raises his hands. ‘Slow it down, girl. There’s a long way to go before David can sleep soundly.’ The way he dips his eyes, I know he’s thinking of David and me slotted alongside each other in bed. ‘I need to know the conditions of bail and if all the charges are being dropped. I have a meeting tomorrow, so let’s get that out of the way before you get too excited. You can’t rush these things.’ Murray sounds vague, as if he’s not telling me everything. He leans forward, and if I hadn’t pulled my hands off the desk, I reckon he’d have taken hold of them. He clears his throat. ‘And Rose is fine, thank you. I will introduce her to the kids soon.’

Again, he doesn’t sound genuine; as if Rose – I’m assuming she’s the girl I saw on the boat – is make-believe.

‘As long as it’s serious, you know, between you and . . . Rose.’ I say her name with bitterness although I still can’t help thinking of pink petals. ‘I don’t want the kids getting fond of someone only for you to dump her a minute later.’

‘Oh, that’s great coming from you!’ I duck as he slings harsh words. ‘You’ve mentally married Carlyle, virtually committed to him for life, and then he goes and ends up in prison – perhaps for the rest of
his
life. What has
your
haphazard devotion done to Alex and Flora?’

‘They’re fine about it,’ I say calmly. ‘They really like David.’ He’s there for them, sober, I want to say but don’t. ‘As for the arrest, I’ve already explained to them that the police probably made a mistake. Now, when I tell them he’s being let off, they’ll see I was right. It’s all about trust, Murray.’ This is where we have always differed. I see reality. He believes in fairies.

‘
Probably
, you see, Julia. What if probably comes true? What, indeed, if the police
have
made a mistake . . .
are
making a mistake? What if they are releasing a violent criminal?’

As well as seeing the shudder in Murray’s shoulders, I feel it through the air. He’s always been dramatic. ‘David said to have faith in the legal system. And look, he was right.’ I won’t allow Murray this last-ditch attempt at slating David. Or is it a valiant attempt at saving us?

‘Think about what we truly know about him, Julia. The facts. Just consider them.’

‘I would if I had hard evidence, but all I have is secondhand gossip.’ I stand up. I’ve had enough of this. ‘
Chrissie
said,
Nadine
said,
you
said, psychiatric hospital this, missing files that. Why you think David is linked in some sinister way to my mother is beyond me. He’s trying to help her, can’t you see? You’re living in a kids’ adventure book, Murray.’

After a long pause, as if he’s really considering something, mentally weighing up whether he should tell me or not, Murray finally hits me as hard as he can. He speaks slowly, calmly, which in itself frightens me. ‘Julia, now David is being released, however temporary that may or may not be, there’s something else I want you to know.’ I shift from one foot to the other. I’ll be late fetching the kids if he doesn’t hurry up. He continues. ‘If this goes to court, it’ll come out anyway.’

I take hold of the chair. I feel dizzy.

‘Grace Covatta was pregnant. Perhaps still is pregnant,’ he adds.

It only takes a second for me to realise he’s lying. ‘Oh. Right. And who said that? Santa Claus?’ I’m not listening to any of this rubbish.

‘No, Julia,’ he says softly. ‘David said.’

It was juvenile, I know, allowing Julia to believe that I am romantically involved with Rose. It was all Nadine’s work, setting me up on a blind date in a rash attempt to get my life back on track. It didn’t work. A part of me panicked when Julia found us together and I couldn’t resist throwing in the bait to see if she bit. She didn’t. It hurts that she doesn’t care.

‘God damn, Nadine, this is all so wrong. Can you name one part of my life that’s right?’ She looks confused, exhausted. A long shift at work has extracted the life from her. I stopped off at the hospital for a bit of sisterly comfort.

‘Your beautiful children?’ Of course she was going to say that. I feel a clench of guilt.

‘That’s why I can’t bear the thought of Carlyle anywhere near them. Julia has to promise me that she won’t see him when the kids are present.’ I doubt she will ever agree to that. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘Then do it,’ Nadine says as if it’s easy. ‘As far as I can see, you have a limited number of options, Murray. First, you can win Julia back somehow and skip off into the sunset with your family. Secondly, you can dig the dirt on the doctor – if there is any – expose him, and hope that Julia sees sense. Or thirdly, you can close your briefcase, get on with your life, see your kids every Sunday and forget all about Julia Marshall once and for all.’ Nadine’s voice gets progressively snappier so that when she mentions Julia’s name, she’s spitting her words on to the floor.

‘An exit into happy-ever-after land with my family is very hard to imagine. Forgetting that Julia exists is . . .’ I think, glancing at the ceiling, ‘. . . impossible.’

‘Then that just leaves option two. Expose the creep for what he clearly is.’ Nadine peels back the wrapper on a bar of chocolate that she has just bought from a machine. ‘Lunch,’ she confesses. ‘Or maybe it’s breakfast.’

We walk along the corridors of the hospital. Nadine blends into the walls, the very fabric of the building, with her white tunic, white trousers and soft-soled shoes. She belongs here. ‘Want some?’ she asks. I take a square of chocolate.

‘And how’s Julia going to react to that? If what I suspect about Carlyle is true, even in the vaguest sense, Julia’s never going to buy it. Not from me. She’ll accuse me of ruining her happiness. And if it’s not true, if he’s clean, then how can I sit back and watch their happy ending?’

Nadine stops, turns and faces me squarely. ‘You don’t. You hide your eyes. But for now, Murray, you need them wide open.’ It’s what our mother used to say to us when we were kids.

‘So I quit being his solicitor and become a detective. Is that what you’re saying?’ We’re standing near the main entrance where all corridors converge.

‘I didn’t say that, did I, bro?’ Nadine gives me one of her false innocent looks. ‘Just don’t forget who I’m married to.’

Nadine stands at the hospital entrance, teased by the daylight outside. The sky is blue, the frost shimmering across the tarmac. ‘Chrissie’s findings were worrying, Murray, but perhaps only in the light of Carlyle’s arrest.’

I take over her thread. ‘But considering that he’s been charged with assault, any slips he makes are magnified with suspicion. He couldn’t sneeze without me thinking he had the plague.’

‘Exactly. I’m not siding with him, but you need to study the facts clearly. I’m sure there are times when you’ve done things so out of character that if a stranger saw, they’d get the wrong impression of you entirely. Perhaps even label you a criminal.’ There’s a pause as we share a moment’s recollection – the
same
recollection – that seems to take us a decade to wade through.

Julia didn’t know who else to call. Nadine had to leave her work. The kids were tucked up in bed at our house and Flora was still so little, she couldn’t possibly be left even for a moment. My memories of that night are largely patchworked together from Julia’s outpourings, Nadine’s calm telling of the tale, and a doctor’s follow-up consultation to convince him I hadn’t lost hold of my senses.

‘Really, it was a one-off binge. Stress at work. That kind of thing.’

‘But you threw a chair at your wife.’

‘No,’ I say, laughing, trying to blow the whole mess back into insignificance where it belonged. Sadly, no one else saw it like that, least of all my wife. ‘The chair wasn’t meant to go anywhere near Julia.’

‘But you threw a chair.’

‘I was drunk.’

‘Then you hurt yourself and knocked over two nurses.’

‘Not on purpose. I didn’t mean to break the bottle.’

‘But you ended up in hospital having your arm stitched up.’

‘Yes, you already know that.’ Covering old ground seems pointless, except to me it isn’t old ground. I couldn’t remember a damn thing about my psycho-binge. I was desperate to know if I’d hurt Julia but she refused to answer my calls and barricaded the front door. She told Nadine she never wanted to see me again. If I’m honest, it was the beginning of the bad times. Before that, we’d never given much thought to my drinking. It was as integral to our lives as changing Flora’s nappy or walking Alex to school.

They gave me antidepressants for a while; marked up my file so no doctor would ever treat me as a normal person again.

‘I’m not the one in custody,’ I say before Nadine can chip me with her thoughts. The clatter of the hospital brings me back to the present.

‘Assaulting NHS staff is taken extremely seriously. Essentially, your medical file may not look that different to Carlyle’s police file.’ Nadine has her work voice on. Soothing yet firm, tolerant yet persuading.

‘Thanks,’ I mutter, shocked she’s comparing me to a suspected criminal. ‘It was all an accident. All because of the drink.’

‘Perhaps Carlyle has a similar excuse.’

‘Unlikely,’ I say. ‘He just says he didn’t do it. Calmly and consistently. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re siding with him. Surely you want him locked up as much as I do.’

‘Of course. I’m playing devil’s advocate, Murray. Besides, I don’t think anyone wants him put away more than you because no one wants their family back more than you do.’ She stuffs the foil wrapper into her pocket and glances at her upside-down watch. ‘Look, all I’m saying is be careful. You’re treading a thin line between being a lawyer and a vigilante. Don’t confuse the two. And whatever you do, don’t act desperate with Julia.’

I agree, nodding, pausing as we wind things up.

‘Julia has a theory,’ I say before we part. ‘That I suspect David is somehow connected to Mary in a bad way.
Sinister
is the word she used to describe it.’ I wait to see if Nadine agrees, if she thinks the same. It’s just a hunch, after all, but she says nothing. ‘If I’m honest, Nadine, Julia’s right. I do think that.’ When she stares at me blankly, her eyes dissolving from tiredness, I say, ‘Go home, sis.’ I give her a kiss on the cheek. She’s done enough for me.

Nadine reanimates and fishes a pen from her pocket. She jots a number on my hand. ‘Chrissie Weaver,’ she says. ‘And remember, eyes open.’ Then she turns and walks off to her car.

 

Chrissie Weaver is younger than I expected, but as she rattles through her qualifications, along with all the prestigious places where she’s worked, I become seriously impressed. I’m buying her lunch. An expensive lunch. It’s her day off and it’s the least I can do seeing as she has given half of it up for me.

‘I shouldn’t have this,’ she says, tapping the file. ‘Least of all be showing it to a stranger. But,’ she sighs, ‘Nadine’s been a friend for ever, and when she told me her brother needed a favour, well, I couldn’t resist.’ She shrugs her shoulders and her eyes sparkle. This is obviously exciting for her. I wonder just how much Nadine has revealed.

Chrissie is attractive and no doubt incredibly smart because she then tells me about a list of awards she’s won for her psychiatric research work. ‘I just adore it,’ she says as if she’s talking about a boyfriend. ‘When I get home at night I just want to be back at work. I take my laptop to bed with me. Most girls would be shopping on their day off. Me, I’m working on a research paper this afternoon.’ No wonder she refused the wine I ordered. In solidarity, I only pour myself a small measure.

Over the next half-hour, I hear all about her dedicated lifestyle and commendable work ethic and how another promotion is just around the corner, all the while pretending to appear interested when what I really want is to get my hands on the file marked
Mary Marshall
. It’s tucked neatly inside a stripy canvas bag that rests beside Chrissie’s feet. I salivate, and it’s not because of the forty quid’s worth of food that’s just been placed between us. ‘What are you researching?’

She smiles, helping herself to a langoustine. She cracks its back. ‘Communication in dementia patients. Everything from Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s to CJD.’

‘Fascinating,’ I reply with a good dose of pretend enthusiasm. It doesn’t occur to me immediately. The wine is good and I study her over the rim of my glass. I don’t like doing this, I really don’t, but I have to. Flirting doesn’t come naturally, not unless it’s with Julia. ‘Such a serious subject for a beautiful young woman.’

‘Not that young.’ She laughs, and pops the pink flesh between her teeth. ‘I just look after myself.’ She’s enjoying herself and that’s exactly what I want.

‘But still too young for an old bloke like me.’ Thank God I found this shirt; the one that vaguely suggests I have a sense of taste. ‘Just kidding,’ I add so she doesn’t think I’m a total creep.

‘Nonsense.’ Her pupils flicker large, then small, sizing me up, and for a moment I think she means it. Briefly I feel like Carlyle. Powerful, respected, dominant, and it gives me a bit of a rush. Then it strikes me. ‘Does your research work include . . .’ What was it? I think. What did David call it when he brought Julia and Mary back to Northmire? ‘. . . whatever illness Mary Marshall has?’