Unforgotten (36 page)

‘No, ma’am.’

When the court rose, Tom stood to attention, shoulders back, arms stiff as arrows at his sides, until the door closed behind the judge, when he fisted his hands and gave a small whoop of triumph before hurrying from the room to find his sons, who were waiting outside with Isabel.

‘Lucky with the judge,’ Ainsley commented.

Lucky was not usually a word Hugh associated with Tom, but for once he agreed.

‘Let’s hope Tom doesn’t blow it,’ Ainsley murmured as they watched Linda Deacon leaving the room.

‘You think there’s a risk?’

‘As we both know, compromise isn’t his strong point.’

‘The judge has laid down some pretty clear rules.’

‘But you know Tom – he’ll bend the rules, and the ones he can’t bend he’ll challenge. He’s a fighter. He needs a battle.’

‘So long as he doesn’t embark on any more legal battles.’

‘I’ll second that. Oh, and congratulations on negotiating a settlement. You must be relieved.’

‘Tom feels he’s been cheated, of course, because we had to take a drop of over two hundred thousand pounds on our claim.’

‘He was never going to be happy, whatever happened.’

‘Needless to say, I’m the villain of the piece. But it was settle or have the whole thing drag on for another year or more while everyone appealed and counter-claimed. It was the best deal in the circumstances, but nothing Desmond Riley or I could say was ever going to convince Tom of that.’

They went out into the hall where Tom was sitting in a tight huddle with his boys, talking earnestly, while the heavily pregnant Linda Deacon sat a few feet away, looking tired and dull-eyed.

‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ Hugh said, ‘could I ask you to send
your account to me personally?’ He reached into his pocket for a card and a pen, and wrote the Meadowcroft address on the back. ‘It’s the old house, but it’ll find me all right.’

Ainsley took the card. ‘It’ll just be a few expenses.’

‘If you’re sure? That’s very kind.’ Embarrassed, Hugh went on, ‘That therapy Tom’s trying – what was it called?’

‘NLP. Neuro-linguistic programming.’

‘Do you think it might work for agoraphobia?’

‘They say it has quite a lot of success, yes.’

‘Where would I find a local practitioner?’

‘Tom mentioned the name of the man he’s going to. I can’t remember it off-hand, but I made a note, I can let you know.’

‘There’s this boy we need to get out and about again. He was a client – well, more of a young friend – of my wife’s. But whoever takes him on, it’ll have to be someone who likes a real challenge. The boy hasn’t been outside for years. And he’s needed as a key witness in a trial where the defence will do their best to tear him to shreds.’

‘I’d like to say I could take him on myself, but . . .’

‘You couldn’t get down here often enough,’ Hugh said, helping him out. ‘And the funding’s very limited.’

They looked towards Tom, waiting for their opportunity to say goodbye, but he was still talking to the children.

‘And you, Hugh?’ Ainsley asked. ‘How are you managing?’

‘Me? Oh, you know . . .’

Ainsley, trained in the art of listening, said nothing.

‘As good as anyone who’s useless at being on his own.’

‘Your children not with you?’

‘Charlie’s back at college. Lou’s in Sri Lanka on her gap year.’

‘Must be hard for you.’

‘No point in them hanging around. They’ve got to get on with their lives. And my son . . . he phones every day. He does the worrying about me, asks if I’m getting out of the house, tries to get me to go for bereavement counselling.’

‘But you’re not persuaded?’

‘Call me old-fashioned, Doc, but therapy’s not really my thing. Work’s the nearest I get to therapy.’

‘You’re busy then?’

‘I hope to be. I’m setting up on my own. High-street law. Everything and anything that comes through the door. Well, almost.’

And the work wouldn’t come a moment too soon. In the immediate aftermath of Lizzie’s death Hugh could see now that he’d been like Tom, carried along by a grand obsession for truth and justice. Then, once the funeral was over and the police investigation complete, he’d thrown himself into activities with the children. To avoid a traditional Christmas with all its associations he’d taken them skiing for two weeks. He’d involved them in decisions about wall colours and curtain fabrics as the restoration of Meadowcroft got under way. He’d helped them pack, and driven them to college and airport. Only when he came back to the empty house did he feel the full force of Lizzie’s absence. He missed her all the time, but it was the loneliness that took him by surprise, how gruelling it was, how quickly it reduced him to self-pity. To keep himself occupied he’d set up a fund in Lizzie’s memory to provide sports equipment for the kids on the Carstairs Estate, he’d gone to the fire station and thanked the firemen who’d tried to save her, he’d twice visited Charlie at college, he’d started taking long walks and fewer bottles of wine. He told himself it was getting easier all the time, and perhaps it was.

Ainsley said, ‘Have you long to wait till this man comes to trial?’

Hugh resented the reflexive tension that pulled at his stomach when the trial was mentioned; it was like the jerk of a string, a reminder of Steadman’s hold over his past. ‘They think it could be May, but they’re not sure.’

‘He’ll get life presumably?’

‘In theory. But he could be out in ten years.’

Ainsley looked shocked. ‘Why so soon?’

‘They’re not sure they can prove murder, only manslaughter. He could get more for the arson than the killing.’

‘Well, I hope it’s a lot longer than ten years.’

‘I’m trying to reach the point where I no longer care.’

‘Nothing wrong with wanting justice, though.’

‘But look what happens when you can’t let go. Look at Tom. No winners there.’

As they watched, Tom urged the boys towards their mother. As she embraced them Joe, the youngest, butted his head against her shoulder and began to cry in short, breathless sobs. Tom said something to his ex-wife. She nodded and, letting go of the children, stood up. Joe clung to her leg, while Matt, face contorted, rubbed tears from his eyes. Tom dropped a hand on Matt’s head and drew Joe gently away from his mother.

‘No winners,’ Ainsley echoed. ‘But a fresh starting point.’ He held out his hand. ‘Well, I’ll say goodbye, Hugh, and wish you the best of luck.’ On his way out he paused by Tom to touch his arm in farewell.

Isabel came up and said, ‘Poor kids.’

‘They’ll be all right. They know he loves them.’

‘But they want their mum as well.’

They watched as Tom said something to the children which seemed to cheer them up. Matt gave a small, brave nod while Joe stopped crying and attached himself to Tom’s hand. Linda spoke to Tom, and they both nodded as if settling on an arrangement.

‘When’s your train?’ Hugh asked Isabel.

‘There’s one in about half an hour, I think.’

‘I’ll drop you at the station.’

‘Thanks, because there’s something I need to ask you,’ she said determinedly.

‘And the answer’s going to be the same, Isabel.’

‘But I promise I’ve never wanted to work in a large firm. Never. I’ve always wanted to work in a small one.’

‘You’ve got to finish your training, and you can’t do that
with a one-man band. Besides, there won’t be enough work for you.’

Her look of disappointment was also an acknowledgement of defeat. ‘In a couple of years when you’re overwhelmed with work, then.’

They were distracted by the sound of a child shouting excitedly and looked round to see Tom and his boys making for the door. Joe, holding tight to his father’s hand, gave a little skip, then as Tom held the door open for them Matt flung his father a bright grin.

Outside, the day was overcast with spitting rain, but it seemed to Hugh that the path ahead was brightening. He would drive up to see Charlie at the weekend, he would go with him to a group therapy session, they would have a quick meal. Then he would return to the rented house and work on his second case as an independent solicitor, a complex conveyance for one of his old clients. And in the moments when his mind wandered he would remember love and kindness, he would disallow the rest.