‘It will be all right,’ I say.
Carla lifts up her downcast face. For a second, I see the distraught look of the little girl I found outside her mother’s flat with the big bruise on her face. ‘It is so kind of you to give me a home. Thank you.’
A sudden shiver goes through me.
It’s only temporary, I want to say. But that would sound churlish.
And I tell myself that this strange beat of premonition is nothing. Nothing at all. Haven’t I just told myself that she will be good for us?
Besides, it is Joe Thomas I need to worry about.
‘Don’t take it so badly,’ says one of my partners when I return from court a few weeks later.
But I do, I think. If I had used that photograph which Joe Thomas had sent me, I might have been able to prove that there hadn’t been any road marks on the day that my client had failed to stop at the T-junction. There were road marks there now, of course, but that’s the name of the game. He’d have been done on the drink-driving, but his sentence might not have been so heavy if I could have proved that those ‘Give Way’ lines hadn’t been there at the time.
But road marks are allowed to fade. Accidents happen. And then miraculously the council lorry turns up and paints those lines in. Ask any lawyer. The problem is that you can’t always get photographic evidence to prove it.
So much for me being able to sort out cases on my own. Maybe that’s why I’m not surprised when a two-line note arrives the following day.
You could have won if you’d used my photograph. How is Tom?
I sit and stare at it for some time before picking up the phone.
‘Do you have time for a drink?’
Ross sounds both pleased and surprised at the same time. ‘Love to.’
We meet at one of my favourite Italian bistros off Covent Garden. I say ‘favourite’, but in truth my life doesn’t include much time for fun. I’m one of those people who, when asked to write down hobbies, struggles a bit. When you are a lawyer, there’s little time to do anything else. I do go for a run most mornings, before work. But I see that as part of getting dressed.
‘What’s up?’ Ross asks.
I look at our old friend across the table in his tweed jacket and jeans. A man of opposites, that’s Ross. He’d started out as Ed’s friend but soon became just as much mine – especially when it came to giving guidance about my husband, who, as Ross often said, was a complete idiot at times. An idiot whom we both loved.
Sometimes I wonder if Ross is gay. After all, he’s never been married. Never had a girlfriend as far as I know. I try not to pry.
‘I’ve got a problem,’ I say. My hands twist with anxiety under the table. For longer than I can remember, I’ve been wanting to confide in someone about Joe and the ‘helpful information’ he keeps sending me. But now the time has come when if I don’t share it with someone else, I’m going to burst. Naturally, there are certain bits I need to omit.
‘Wow,’ says Ross when I finish telling the story. ‘You poor thing. What an impossible position to be in.’
I want him to tell me that it will be all right. That there’s something I can do to stop all of this.
‘For what it’s worth,’ he adds, ‘I think you did the right thing, tearing up that photo.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’ He sounds firmer now. ‘You can do this on your own, Lily. You’ve been doing it on your own for years. Yes, this man might have helped you now and then. But don’t let that suck away your confidence. You’re a good lawyer.’
I want to tell him about the other thing. But I can’t. Instead, my mind goes back to the pub in Highgate. The time when Joe took my hand. That charge of electricity. That attraction which should never have been there. The guilt afterwards because I had drunk just a bit too much to be responsible for my actions.
The real reason for my vow not to drink again.
‘You won’t tell Ed? Or anyone else?’
I’m panicking now. Terrified in case Ross’s allegiances are divided. Of course I’m talking about the anonymous tip-offs. I can’t tell anyone about the Heath.
‘Promise.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Afraid I’ve got to go back now.’
That’s the other thing about Ross. When I first met him, he was an actuary. It had been his knowledge of figures, remember, that had helped me to crack Joe Thomas’s code games. But after Tom was born and we asked Ross to be godfather, he changed jobs. Said that our experience had made him see life differently. Now he heads a big fundraising company that helps charities. He’s a good man, is Ross.
By the time I get home after another late night in the office, Ed and Carla have eaten. They’re sitting at the table, Ed’s sketchbook in front of him.
‘I am sorry,’ says Carla apologetically. ‘I wanted to wait but …’
‘It’s my fault.’ Ed is smiling at me. Grinning in a way I haven’t seen him do for years. And I know why.
‘Your meal is in the oven, darling.’
He hasn’t called me ‘darling’ for a long time.
‘It should still be edible. Now, Carla, I want you to put your head slightly to one side. Chin down a bit. Eyes to the left. Perfect.’
Ed is happy because he is painting Carla again. Her idea, he keeps reminding me, as if he is flattered.
Frankly, I’m relieved. It will give me space to figure out what to do about Joe.
40
Carla
February 2014
Carla woke, as she had done now every morning for the last month, in her pretty, cosy bedroom overlooking the back garden. It was so much nicer here than in the hostel! Despite what Lily had said about being overdrawn, she must be earning a lot of money for them to afford a place like this. And it wasn’t even rented. They actually owned it – although Ed was always referring to the ‘outrageous mortgage payments’.
That was one of the main topics of the arguments she would hear between Ed and Lily through the wall that divided her bedroom from theirs. ‘You’re just pissed off because I don’t earn as much as you’ was one of his favourite phrases.
‘When are you going to get rid of that chip on your shoulder, Ed?’ That was Lily’s.
When she’d simply been a dinner guest, Carla had noticed the odd tense remark and jibe. But now she was living here, it was like picking her way across enemy lines. The smallest thing would make either of them tetchy – especially Lily at the moment. ‘Please put the milk back in the fridge,’ she had snapped at Carla the other evening. ‘Otherwise it will go off like it did last week.’
Ed had rolled his eyes to make her feel better. ‘Don’t worry – she’s working on a big case,’ he’d explained after Lily had stomped back to her study. He took off his glasses as if they were suddenly annoying him. ‘She lost the last one, so it’s essential for her to win this one.’
He had said the word ‘essential’ in a slightly mocking tone. Then he put his glasses back on and picked up his brush again. ‘Can you put your hands round that cup of coffee and stare into the distance? As though you’re thinking hard about something. Perfect!’
That wasn’t difficult. The inquiry into the hostel fire was about to take place. Everyone who had been staying there had been sent an official form asking if they had been smoking in their bedrooms on that night.
Of course, she’d ticked the box that said ‘No’.
‘Would you like a coffee after lectures?’
It was the boy with the floppy hair who kept asking her out to dinner. His auburn eyelashes were unnaturally long for a boy, and his manner of holding himself was uncertain for one so tall and good-looking. It was as though he didn’t realize how attractive he was; not just in terms of looks, but in his exquisite manners and the way he listened. Really listened.
Most boys here were loud and arrogant, fond of the sound of their own voice. Rupert was different.
Perhaps it was time to make an exception.
‘I’d love one,’ she replied, looking up from her book. ‘Thanks.’