Come Back to Me (33 page)

Early on Friday morning, Mark was on his way to see Chloe with two things on his mind. He had to make sure he collected all her Abbott notes and picked her brains. And he was also going to tell her how he felt about her.

He'd been going over and over the family meeting in his head. A number of things had unnerved him.

First, of course, his dad had Parkinson's. He'd spent the past twenty-four hours swotting up on it when he could grab a spare moment, and none of it had made pleasant reading. He kept trying to imagine how his dad would cope when the symptoms became obvious. So far, Mark hadn't even noticed him have a tremor; he wasn't looking forward to the first time he did, sure that he wouldn't know how to react.

He was discomfited by the relationships in his family. He knew Henry had always had a soft spot for Di – different
things were expected and hoped for from a Jameson daughter. But he had been touched by the rough affection he had seen between his mother and father when they had thought no one was looking. And he was also surprised at how strong and unshakeable his mother was – while Henry was barking out commands, it was easy to believe he was the linchpin of the family, but, perhaps, all the time his mother had been stealthily doing that job herself.

So where did he, Mark, fit in to all this? He was an absent brother and a pretty crap son, with little idea what to say to any of them, and even less notion of how he could take charge. Out of everyone who had been involved in the family counselling session, he had been the limp lettuce. It made unpleasant thinking.

But here was one thing he could do something about. Chloe meant a lot to him, and he had to tell her before her husband came back. Alex had been gone for a while now – really, how would those two ever get back on track after this? Whereas he and Chloe might just be able to … The last time, they'd been young, inexperienced, ambitious. This time Mark felt more confident that he could settle down, and that his career wouldn't suffer unduly.

And if she'd lost the child, as Neil had implied, he could tell her now without there being anything in the way. There could be other children for Chloe. Mark had no objections to starting a family sooner rather than later. It might be better if Chloe left the firm, anyway; there could be problems if the two of them continued to work together.

Chloe's mother opened the door.

‘Mark, it's been a while,' she said, civilly holding out a hand.

‘Hello, Margaret,' he replied, shaking it. ‘Is Chloe up and about?'

‘She's in the sitting room.'

Mark went on ahead and rounded the doorway into the lounge. He stopped in shock. Chloe's face was pale, her eyes had dark circles underneath them, and she was nestled under a duvet surrounded by pillows.

‘Bloody hell!' he said.

Chloe smiled. ‘Did you just think I was skiving?' she asked. ‘Nope, I am actually not feeling so great.'

‘I can see.' Mark sat down opposite her. It wasn't quite how he'd imagined pouring out his heart – he'd have preferred her well and seated opposite him in a restaurant somewhere so that it felt more romantic – but she didn't look like she'd be going out any time soon, and this couldn't wait.

‘I've put all the Abbott papers over there.' She indicated a pile on the table nearby. ‘Do we need to go through anything?'

‘No, it's fine. I'll call you if I have any questions.' Mark paused. ‘I also came to find out how you are.' He moved closer and took her hand. ‘I've been really worried about you.'

‘I'm fine,' she said. ‘Just got to take it easy.'

‘So,' he began, nervous of the answer to the question he was about to pose. ‘Did you … are you …?'

Chloe looked puzzled.

‘I got the impression, from Neil, that you might have lost the baby,' Mark blurted.

Chloe looked surprised. ‘No! And thank god! I don't know where he got that from.'

As he watched her rubbing her belly, Mark tried to take in this information, and what it meant for them. What should he do now?

‘It gave me a scare, but I've just got to rest up a little and it should all be fine. I'm really sorry about the Abbott case, though, leaving you in the lurch,' she said.

Mark's mind had wandered. ‘What? … Oh, don't worry. I can handle it.'

‘I've no doubt about that,' Chloe laughed. She paused, and looked at Mark curiously as he sat awkwardly opposite her. ‘Is there something on your mind, Mark?'

Mark looked down. He still had hold of her hand. She was watching him, meekly, sweetly. She was waiting. Could it work with a baby that wasn't his? Should he speak? He had an innate feeling that this was his one opportunity, right here and now.

‘Chloe, I've been thinking …' he began. He cleared his throat. ‘About us.' He cleared his throat again and patted his chest.
Get a grip, man
.

Chloe was looking a little uncomfortable, he noticed, but it was too late to back out now. He ploughed on desperately. ‘These last few weeks I've come to realise –'

‘Mark, don't.' Chloe put a hand on his arm and shook her head as she looked at him. He fell silent, appalled at how this seemed to be unfolding.

‘I have really enjoyed spending time with you recently.
You have been such a good friend –' she paused, seemingly lost for words, while Mark stared down at the slick lines ironed into his trousers.

‘Mark,' she tried again, ‘I'm so –'

He knew for sure that he didn't want her pity. ‘Forget it,' he cut in, more abruptly than he intended, and waved his hand dismissively. Chloe reached across to touch his arm again, but he moved away. ‘No need to feel sorry for me, Chlo,' he said, a slight coldness to his tone. ‘It's not like anything has changed. Friends?'

He held out his hand formally, and ignored her amused expression.

‘Friends,' she smiled, taking his hand and giving it an agreeable shake.

‘And perhaps not so much criticism of my husband in future?' she added.

‘Actually, he really does deserve it at the moment,' Mark retorted.

Chloe opened her mouth and then closed it again. Because, unfortunately, Mark was right.

There seemed to be little else they could find to say. Mark was about to make his excuses when Margaret came in with tea, so he was forced to sit in excruciating awkwardness and try to sip it down quickly while it was still scalding hot. He was relieved to be finally given a reprieve from this torture by his ringing phone. ‘Excuse me,' he said, rummaging in his pocket. He flicked open the lid without even registering who was on the other end; he was just grateful to them for buying him some thinking time.

The voice that began speaking was frazzled with worry. Mark listened, his eyes widening.

‘Oh, Jesus,' he eventually spluttered.

Chloe's eyes were saucer-wide as she watched his expression change. ‘What?' she asked. ‘What is it, Mark?'

The flight home had taken Amy and Alex into a kind of limbo-land. They hadn't talked much during it. There was either too much or too little to say, and neither of them knew where to begin.

Amy had spent a lot of the time remembering the idyllic few days at the beach – just them, together again, something she'd had only in her dreams for ten years. They were still good together, she could tell. So right for each other. If only …

When they had cleared customs at Heathrow, neither of them knew what to do next.

‘Shall we go for a coffee?' Amy asked eventually.

Alex nodded, his face weary.

They collected watery coffee from a kiosk and found a table free of debris. Alex stared into his cup, brooding, as though looking for answers in the brown murk.

‘Al,' Amy tried, gently.

Alex just shook his head. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.

‘What am I meant to do now, Amy?' he asked. His voice was an entreaty, a plea for an answer she couldn't give him.

She reached over and grabbed his hand. ‘Al,' she took a deep breath, ‘I still love you. I can't change that. But I understand the situation you're in. And I won't hold your decisions against you.'

Alex shook his head, his eyes growing tearful. ‘Fuck,' he growled, banging his fist on the table and looking down at his steaming coffee as it slopped over the edge of his mug.

‘Look,' Amy said, wondering where she was summoning her words from. ‘Just listen to yourself. That's all you can do. You and I – we'll –' she had to fight through her own emotions to say it ‘– we'll never be history, it's not possible.'

Alex looked up, his face wretched, listening to her intently.

‘You and I,' she continued, ‘we share something, something that I don't think can be broken. But it's not just about us any more, and there's not a damn thing we can do about that.'

‘Amy, I don't know what you're saying.'

She tried out a quick laugh, but there was no merriment in it. ‘Neither do I, really. But, Al, if you can take your guilt out of the equation for just one moment, if you can bring yourself into the here and now, don't you know what you want, really – don't you know, deep down, what you're going to do next? Aren't you holding yourself back because of the pain you might cause, or experience, not because you don't know?'

She could see in his eyes that he knew exactly what she was saying. She held her breath, because this was it: she had pushed him to this point, and couldn't undo it, but she was also terrified of what would come next.

Suddenly he got up, came around, pulled her out of her chair and cupped her face in his hands, and his mouth met hers in a passionate kiss that she melted into, heart and soul.

‘We stand before you today on behalf of a young girl who was unable to defend herself. A young girl whose life ended just when she should have been reaching her prime, because of the cruel, callous, unendurable acts of a few, and because of the wilful negligence of the school to provide crucial, fundamental support to her – support which, as one of the bastions of our education system, this institution was morally and socially and legally obliged to provide
…'

Mark ran through the victory speech in his head, the one he would give to the press outside court on behalf of his client when the case was over. He wouldn't be delivering it for a while, but he was confident that, in the end, he'd get a chance to do so. He could already see himself standing on the steps, surrounded by cameras and tape recorders, all eyes on him as they devoured his every word. His time
had come – the legal world wouldn't be able to stop talking about him when this case was finished.

They couldn't lose – they had Carl Blaine, the best barrister in the business, on their side; it was only day one and already the defence looked rattled. Mark had watched in admiration as Blaine railed at poor Kara's fate and the blocked avenues of support that had led her to such drastic action – vowing that such a tragedy should never happen again, and so it was critical to make those responsible accountable for their role in events. Now, walking alongside Mark as they faced the media ruckus, Kip Abbott was holding his head high, looking far less nervous than when he'd arrived at court.

‘I should never have asked Neil to do this,' Kip had said when they'd shaken hands earlier in the day. ‘He's been so hyped up about it. It's been far too personal for him.'

Yes, it had been, Mark had thought grimly. But a good lawyer, a Jameson lawyer, could put aside emotions, knew that doing so was critical, in fact. Not that they didn't ever emote, sometimes it was called for – but it was all scripted to perfection.

Mark still couldn't believe that Neil, so strong and fit on the squash court, had had a heart attack, and he did feel a little guilty that it was his boss's illness that had provided him with such a huge opportunity.

Henry had been sticking to Mark closer than his own shadow in recent days, going through the papers, supporting him, moulding him, encouraging him. Mark had had a thrill running through him the whole time. This was what he'd been waiting for – his big chance. There was no way this
one was slipping away from him; he would grab it with both hands, make his father proud, people would pay thousands to have him working on their cases.

Neil was still critically ill in hospital, wired up to machines. He'd had to have a triple bypass over the weekend, and the recovery time was predicted to be months. David was already in the middle of another important case; and while there were other partners and senior solicitors at Lewis & Marchant, no one knew the Abbott case like Mark did. Henry had lobbied for his son to take charge even before Mark had found out about Neil, and so, by the time he'd picked up the phone at Chloe's, he was on the biggest fast-track ever heard of in Lewis & Marchant, or probably any other London firm. This case would see his name well and truly made.

As Mark neared the car, he remembered that he'd seen Henry today, standing at the back of the public gallery, his legs casually crossed as he leaned on a wall. After the close of the afternoon session, Mark had looked at him and Henry had given him a brief nod. Mark's chest swelled at the memory of his father's acknowledgement; of his respect.

They had reached their vehicle. He opened a passenger door for Kip, then went around to the other side, ignoring the shouted questions from the media, shut the door and felt the adrenalin buzz still coursing through his veins in the sudden silence of the car's interior. As they pulled away, he rested his hands across his stomach, a studied pose of concentration, but in the lull his mind didn't hesitate to drift back to Chloe's small, vulnerable face. Instantly, he simply felt tired. He sighed. This case could be a welcome distraction, if only
he could stop thinking about her. He was trying to tell himself that it would never have worked, but he could only hope that his career was about to go stratospheric, and the whole thing would be some kind of blessing in disguise. He studied his short fingernails and tried not to think of Chloe and Alex together – the way Chloe's face softened and brightened as she looked at Alex – a look Mark had only witnessed, never received. Surely Alex couldn't be so stupid as to give that up?

He leaned back in his seat and stared sombrely out at the traffic as they edged their way forward. He knew it was nothing to do with him now. Finally, after all these years, it was time to let her go.