‘You should dry your hair,’ Leo said. ‘You’ll catch a chill.’ He made to herd his daughter towards her bedroom but Ellie held her ground.
‘Ellie? Please, I really need to . . . ’ Leo looked behind him at his bedside drawer. He looked through the doorway towards the stairs.
‘It’s not fair,’ Ellie said.
Leo’s attention settled on his daughter. The colour on her cheeks had intensified and there was an unmistakable sheen now across her eyes. ‘What’s not fair?’
Ellie swiped at a tear. ‘Just . . . Everything. School; Sophie; you and Mum. Everything.’
‘Sophie?’ Leo said, consciously sidestepping the you-and-Mum part. ‘What’s happened with Sophie?’ More than his daughter’s closest friend, Sophie seemed Ellie’s only friend. Since they had moved to the estate – since Ellie had switched schools – even her childhood friendships seemed to have withered and she had struggled, in the bigger school, to fill the void. ‘Did you argue? Look, darling. It’s natural, at your age, to have disagreements.’
‘It wasn’t just a disagreement! And stop treating me like a little kid! I’m not a fucking five-year-old!’
Leo recoiled. ‘Ellie! Mind your manners! I won’t have you using language like—’
Ellie did not wait for the rest of the rebuke. She rolled her eyes and turned away.
‘Ellie. Wait. Ellie!’
She stopped. She angled her shoulders towards her father but not her face. She dragged a baggy sleeve across each eye.
‘Look at me. Ellie. Please. I’m sorry. Okay? You’re not a kid. You’re grown up enough to decide for yourself what language is appropriate. Okay?’
But when she looked at him, finally, she did not seem grown up. She seemed the child he always imagined her: confused, anxious, unsure of herself and the world.
Until she took a breath and seemed to inflate. ‘You’re the one behaving like a child,’ she said. ‘Hiding things from Mum. Hiding things from me.’
‘Hiding things?’ Leo thought of the notes. ‘I don’t know what you’re . . .’ But: the article; the
Gazette
. ‘I wasn’t hiding things. I was just . . . I forgot to mention it, that’s all. It didn’t seem important.’
His daughter looked doubtful.
‘You were telling me about Sophie,’ Leo said.
Ellie dropped her chin. ‘There’s nothing to tell. She hates me, just like everyone else.’
‘Ellie. Really. Why would she hate you? You’re best friends. Aren’t you? I thought you two were inseparable.’
‘Not any more. Just this week, it’s . . . Something’s changed. It’s like she doesn’t want to talk to me, not if anyone else is around.’
‘Maybe she’s . . . I don’t know. Maybe there’s some simple reason . . .’
‘It’s not just her, Dad. It’s everyone. Even the teachers treat me like an outcast.’
‘The teachers? Come on now, Ellie, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous!’
‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘You don’t know! How could you know? You’re not there! You’re always at work. With
him
.’
Leo felt his jaw tighten. ‘You’ve been talking to your mother,’ he said. ‘If you have questions about my work, Ellie, you should really come and speak to me.’
‘Why?’ she countered. ‘What would you say? What could I say that would make things any different? Ever since Grandad died you never seem to notice what any of the rest of us are feeling. You don’t seem to care!’
She had. She had been talking to Megan. It was the only explanation as to why they kept accusing him of the same failings.
‘I’ll go to your school again. I’ll talk to the head. If you feel like you’re being victimised then it’s important that someone—’
‘No! Don’t! Please, Dad, don’t!’
Leo sensed his exasperation showing. ‘Look, Ellie. If you feel like the teachers are being unfair somehow, I don’t see what other option—’
‘Dad! Don’t! I mean it! Please!’
‘What then?’ Leo spread his arms. ‘What else do you want me to do? I can’t just . . . It’s not like I don’t have other things to . . .’ He shook his head and gripped his forehead.
‘I want it to be over.’
Leo looked up. There were no tears now in his daughter’s eyes, though the burn on her cheeks endured.
‘The case. You and Mum. Sophie ignoring me, people hating me. That man taking pictures of me at the beach. I just want it all to be over.’
‘It’s not that simple, Ellie.’
‘You asked me. You said, what else could you do? I’m telling you.’
‘Yes. I know. But . . .’ The plea. The trial. Leo had avoided telling his family about Daniel’s decision but it was getting to the point where he would have to.
‘So? When will it be over?’
‘It depends.’
‘On whether there’s a trial.’
‘Right. Exactly. On whether there’s a trial.’
‘Do you think there will be?’
‘That’s not up to me. That’s up to Dan . . .’ Leo, for some reason, stopped himself saying Daniel’s name. ‘That’s up to my client. As a solicitor, I can only do as I’m instructed. It would be unprofessional of me to try to influence his decision either way.’ Which seemed an odd thing for him to say – now, here, in the circumstances. But at least it was out there. He would not, he hoped, have to say it again.
‘But you must know. You must have an idea.’
‘Ellie. Really. It’s not my—’
She stopped him with a look.
‘Probably,’ he said, exhaling. ‘At the moment, the way things are looking, it seems likely that there will be a trial.’ He flinched at the sight of Ellie’s despair. ‘But until the plea is entered . . . I mean, technically, at this point in time, at least until the arraignment . . .’
‘But . . . How long? How long will a trial take?’
‘I . . . It’s difficult to say.’
‘What does that mean? Days? Weeks, even?’
Leo hesitated. Weeks, certainly. Months – years, probably – counting the appeals. ‘It might take a while, yes. But really, Ellie, there’s no need for you to worry.’
‘That’s what you said before. At the start. That’s exactly what you told me then!’
Which was not fair. He had warned her. That day in the car. He had said, things might get uncomfortable. He had used those very words. He would not remind her of that now, of course, because heaven knew how she would respond.
‘Now you’re angry.’
‘What?’ Leo said. ‘No I’m not.’
‘You are. I can tell.’
‘Ellie. Don’t. Don’t cry, please.’
‘I’m not crying,’ she said with a sniff. ‘I’m just . . .’
‘What? Ellie, tell me.’
‘I’m scared, Dad.’ The tears ran now and she did not try to stop them.
‘It’s all right. Ellie, darling. There’s nothing to be scared of.’ He attempted a reassuring laugh but heard, from somewhere, a voice.
How would you like it? How would your daughter?
Leo held out an arm and Ellie allowed herself to be enfolded. Through the heavy cotton of the dressing gown, her body seemed barely to have substance at all.
A knock.
Two beats of a knuckle. As though knocking, in this house, were the way things had always been done.
Leo waited for the door to open. It did not, right away, so he ventured a come in – just as his wife slid her face into the room.
‘This was on the mat with the junk mail,’ she said, waving an envelope and then depositing it on the nearest surface. ‘And I’m ready when you are.’
Leo rolled his chair back from his desk. ‘Oh. Right.’ He checked his wrist.
‘Whenever you are,’ Megan said again. ‘There’s no great rush. School’s not out for another half an hour.’ She pressed her lips together – as close to a smile, in the past few days, as she had managed. She turned to leave.
‘Meg. Wait.’ Leo used his heels to drag himself closer to the door.
Megan stopped, turned. The smile, her expression said, had been a blip.
‘How . . . um. How much are you taking? I mean, my golf clubs. Should I take them out of the boot?’ Were they even in the boot?
‘There’s a case each. And Ellie will have her school things when we pick her up.’
A case. A case was a holiday, a week away.
Megan seemed to sense his optimism. ‘Mum has spares if we run out of anything. And I’ll be able to borrow her car when I work out what else we need.’
Leo’s focus fell to the floor.
‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘That it’s necessary, I mean?’
Megan swallowed. ‘There’s a casserole in the freezer.’ She faced the kitchen and spoke as though Leo was looking where she was. ‘I’ve split it in two. Give it half an hour in the oven once it’s defrosted, or blast it for a few minutes in the microwave. If you stick it in the oven, don’t forget to put it in an oven-proof dish.’
‘Meg.’
‘Also, there’s a frozen pizza. Ham and pineapple. And there’s a pork chop in the fridge. You need to eat it by—’
‘Meg. Please.’
Megan raised a hand to her brow. ‘We’ve been over this, Leo.’
‘We have.’ They had. ‘But . . .’ But what?
‘I need a break. From the house as much as anything. And it’s clear you need to focus. If you really feel you need to do this, it would be better, for your sake, if you did it without any more . . . distractions.’
Leo nodded – not conceding the point, just bobbing past it. ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘I was looking at some recent cases. At the coverage in the press once things actually got under way. And what happens is, when a trial begins, there’s actually less attention in a way because of all the restric . . .’
Leo stopped himself. From the look on Megan’s face, the coverage was not the point.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘Let me know when you’re ready.’
‘Meg. Megan!’
He checked the kitchen. She was not in the kitchen. He checked the living room.
‘Megan!’
Jesus Christ. Jesus H Christ.
‘Megan! Meg! M—’
‘Leo.’ Megan emerged from the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong? I was just in the . . .’ She hitched a thumb towards her shoulder but Leo crossed the hall and grabbed her arm.
‘Leo!’
‘Where are the car keys? Have you got the car keys?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Leo, what’s got—’
‘The car keys! Where are they!’
‘On the hook! The same place they always are!’
Leo dragged his wife towards the rack by the door. Halfway there he checked himself, pulled up short.
‘We should ring. Have you got the number?’ He released his wife and reached the telephone table in three long strides. He picked up the receiver. ‘The number. For the school. What’s the number?’
‘The school?’ Megan’s eyes broadened. ‘Why? What’s happened? Did they call? I didn’t hear the—’
‘They haven’t called! We need to call them! What’s the number!’
Again Megan pointed towards the kitchen. ‘It’s in my address book. In my bag. Shall I—’
‘Never mind.’ Leo made to replace the receiver but missed the cradle. He let it lie. ‘We’ll just go. Let’s just go.’
‘Leo! Will you please tell me what’s going on!’
Leo had hold of Megan’s wrist again but this time she planted her feet.
‘What are you doing! Let’s go!’ He pulled but Megan sidled.
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on!’
‘I will.’ Leo dragged a finger along the key rack and plucked the fob with the Volkswagen logo. ‘In the car. I promise. I’ll explain when we get into the car.’
‘What about my suitcase? And Ellie’s? I need shoes at least, Leo!’
‘Here!’ Leo grabbed a pair from the jumble on the mat. ‘Now come on!’
Megan was in the passenger seat beside him, her finger at her heel and her cheek pressed against the dashboard. She was cringing, muttering, struggling to squeeze her feet into her daughter’s trainers.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Are you going to explain?’
But Leo was focused on the traffic. Even on a weekday, in the middle of the afternoon, the dual carriageway was a procession.
‘Leo!’
He thrust at the brakes and Megan caught her weight on her outstretched hands.
‘Slow down, will you!’
Leo cursed. He flashed his lights. The driver of the bus in front responded with a gesture from his side window and seemed, deliberately, to slow. Once again Leo swore. He craned to see. There was nothing up ahead, no reason for the bus to be plodding at . . . Jesus Christ. Twenty miles an hour, when the speed limit here was, what? Sixty? They passed a sign. Forty, then. Leo made to undertake but there was a camper van mirror to mirror, with a kid driving who must have been drunk or stoned or something because he was beating the steering wheel as though it were a kettledrum.
‘Leo! Please! Whatever you’re rushing for, this isn’t going to get us there any quicker!’
The bus, finally, gathered speed. The needle on Leo’s dial nudged forty, forty-five. They were making ground now but less quickly than they needed to. An ambulance passed the opposite way – on a clear carriageway, naturally – and Leo thought of sirens, of the police, of how maybe he should have called the police. But the police would have asked him whether he had spoken to the school, told him to ring the school and then ring back, and by the time he did, by the time he explained – to the police, to the school, to the police again – they could have driven to the school themselves. If it weren’t for the traffic, that is.