Confessions Read online

  He laughed. ‘Leave me alone, woman, I’m engrossed. I wouldn’t be seen dead reading this rag in public. My eyes are literally boggling at the crap written. Listen to this headline…’

  ‘Mr Hirsch says…’ Nat started, drawling her words.

  He threw down the newspaper. ‘Oh yeah? What does Mr Hirsch say?’

  ‘Apart from the need for constant adoration–’

  ‘That’s a given.’

  ‘That tender breasts are a positive sign of pregnancy.’

  He rubbed his hands and pulled a mock serious face. ‘And you’d like me to check?’

  The moment was interrupted by a call from Anna downstairs. ‘Lunch is on the table.’

  ‘My mother is psychic; she can read my flipping mind. Did I tell you that?’

  Wes laughed. ‘Just a few times. Look on the bright side. You’ve made progress with nurse Bach; lunch is downstairs today.’

  Wes had left by the time Gavin arrived. It was only nine days since Nat had last seen him, but he appeared different again; he seemed to have filled out a touch and the beginning of a gingery moustache had made a comeback. The initial ‘lip warmer’ and his reconciliation with Heather had coincided last year. Was it a sign that relations between them had improved again? Nat didn’t like to ask; the question seemed too intrusive, and anyway she and Gav needed to clear the air about Michal and Robbie.

  He greeted Anna with an OAP bear hug. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever officially met, but I feel as though I know you,’ he said. ‘From my reliable seven-year-old source, I was anticipating someone who looked more like Natalie’s sister than her mum and she’s right.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘And if I’m lucky, I might be offered something that tastes like a doughnut?’

  Nat rolled her eyes, but Anna disappeared, returning with a huge beam and a Tupperware box. ‘Pączki,’ she said, handing it over. ‘Made this morning for Ruthie, but do help yourself. How is she?’

  ‘Bossing the staff around in the rehabilitation unit. Showing everyone her scar. Collecting football cards for Cameron. I’ve no idea how she’s amassed so many.’ He stroked his burgeoning fluff. ‘Insisting on this wee fella.’

  ‘I hadn’t got you down as a major fawner,’ Nat said dryly when her mum left them to their drinks. She sat opposite him at the kitchen table. ‘Sisters indeed! And how did you know to ask about the pączki?’

  Gavin tapped his nose. ‘I’m not just a pretty face. You should know that by now.’

  Nat took a breath. ‘I’m over twelve weeks now, you can shout at me.’

  ‘When have I ever shouted?’ he asked, sitting back and folding his arms.

  ‘You don’t. Or you do, but you do it quietly. Anyway, it’s no more than I deserve. Poor Michal. I feel terrible; I should have known what would happen; my God, being beaten up on your own doorstep.’

  Gavin lifted his eyebrows. ‘Every cloud – he’ll have a nice claim to the Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority. A victim of a violent crime – he’ll be entitled to compo for his physical injuries and loss of earnings. He could get a fair sum.’

  Ignoring his comment, Nat continued doggedly. ‘I also should have thought his case through without involving Robbie. I should’ve asked you, but you were…’

  He put his large hands on the table. ‘I know. Tell me now.’

  Oh God. She’d been worrying all morning how to explain the complicated Goldman saga. Gavin didn’t know about the illicit deal struck between Jack and the Levenshulme Mafia, so she had to tread carefully. ‘Well… In a nutshell: Goldman Law client confidentiality, Chinese walls and Jack Goldman’s personal affairs.’ She looked at Gavin meaningfully. ‘The Julian Goldman attempted murder case and more specifically Coma Man.’

  She was referring to Gavin’s own case. It was he who’d dubbed the debt collector-cum-enforcer ‘Coma Man’.

  ‘I’m not saying it was Coma Man himself,’ Nat continued. ‘If he ever came out of his coma. But–’

  ‘The same lender?’

  ‘Precisely. In Julian’s case the loan company was DFL Financial Services; Michal’s was DFL Debt Advisers. DFL both times. Pretty coincidental, eh?’

  His expression thoughtful, Gavin tapped a finger on the table. Nat gazed as he narrowed his eyes. How much could he remember? For him the Julian Goldman case was one of many, but for her it was more than just memorable.

  ‘The thing is, I can’t tell you the whole story, Gav. I know it’s a big ask, but you have to take it on trust that the D, the F and the L are very bad people and deserve to be brought down. But for a whole host of reasons, it can’t be me who does it.’

  He folded his arms again. ‘So what was your plan?’

  ‘God, I don’t know. Find out exactly who and where they are for starters?’

  Aware her cheeks were as red and hot as a pepper, she dropped her head. Her and Robbie’s plan to flush the villains out had gone horribly wrong. But at least Michal was back home, enjoying a constant supply of casseroles and home-baked delicacies from the silver surfers. He’d become quite famous in his community and had even made the national press.

  She rubbed the table. ‘Maybe do more digging, get more information. Trading name, company name, registered office, directors.’ She met Gavin’s steady gaze. ‘These villains are ripping people off, Gav, and they’re clever with it. My bet is that they do some of the debt management legitimately, but carefully target their victims. People like Michal who bury their heads in the sand, who don’t open demand letters when they fall on the mat, or worse, those people who can’t read or who don’t understand figures or interest rates. Don’t tell me Michal is the only one who has fallen for it. There’s probably a class action out there just waiting to be found.’

  Gavin’s ears had visibly pricked. His pencil had appeared. He pointed it. ‘Class action, eh, Bach? You know how to get my attention.’ He mulled for a moment. ‘If it’s a company, chances are it’ll go into voluntary liquidation. There won’t be any money.’

  ‘Oh, if I’m right about who’s behind this scam, they’ll wriggle out of it, I’m sure.’ Trying to shake off the image of Danielle Foster’s sweet and innocent façade, Nat breathed deeply. She was supposed to avoid excessive stress; she had to stop.

  As though reading her mind, Gavin stood. ‘I’ll have a think.’ He nodded to her stomach. ‘Congratulations, by the way. What are your plans work wise?’

  She’d thought about this over the last few days. On the one hand she was tearing her hair out with boredom here – she’d bugged most people in her contacts for a chinwag already, and there were only so many rounds of Words With Friends one could play – but on the other, Jed’s aggression still brought on a breathless feeling of vulnerability; suppose he’d had a knife? A new little life was growing inside her; she wasn’t afraid just for herself any more. ‘A bit of freelance, maybe? Working from home. Charging rate negotiable?’

  Gavin smiled, but his eyes didn’t match. ‘Have I paid you yet?’

  Sure he was also thinking about the Jed incident, Nat shook her head. It felt like a subject best avoided, but he cleared his throat. ‘I think you might be right about Robbie’s damages. I checked the file; Jed was his litigation friend and the trustee of the money. I should’ve thought of it before–’

  ‘It’s hardly your fault, Gav. You weren’t acting for either of them.’

  ‘True, but I took Robbie on. In loco parentis in a way. It’s something I should have twigged before now and it’s difficult…’

  ‘I know. Sorry.’ It was a tricky situation. Jed was Gavin’s client; Gavin clearly felt sorry for the man; he’d looked out for him for years. And if Gavin confronted him, there was the potential of a seriously violent episode. She tried for humour. ‘No wonder you don’t pay me, I only make things worse.’ She reached for his arm. ‘Look, I may well be wrong; the damages could be stashed safely in a trust account earning interest. Maybe Jed thought Robbie wasn’t ready for the responsibility of it yet. A quiet word that Robbie is old enough
now might be all it takes.’

  ‘I’ll think about that too.’ Gavin snorted through his nose. ‘You’re nothing but bloody trouble, Bach. Anyone tell you that?’

  Nat followed him to the door. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ She squeezed him tightly. ‘I’m so glad to hear about Ruthie’s progress. We’ve been chatting on the iPad and I can’t wait to visit. And next week I hope to take the boys to the park, and then a cheeseburger as usual.’

  He opened the door and turned, his expression clearly torn. ‘The restorative conferencing, forgiveness, reconciliation…’

  ‘What’s right for Robbie isn’t necessarily right for you, Gav. It may not work; it might be a disaster. No one can tell you how you should feel.’

  He sighed and smiled thinly. ‘I know, but why do I spend so much time thinking about it?’ Stepping out, he lifted his hand. ‘Take care of that bump, Bach. Freelance sounds perfect. Pay packet is on its way.’

  31

  Priorities

  Nat sipped her forest fruit smoothie. It was nice – and had all those vitamins she was now alert to – but when would her love of Yorkshire Tea return? She had never thought of it having a smell before now, but of course it did, Earl Grey more so.

  She sniffed the coffee-infused air and swallowed. Perhaps adopting the Roasted Coffee Lounge as her new ‘office’ wasn’t such a good idea. She’d had a call yesterday, out of the blue, from an unknown number. Yup, another heart flutter. But on this occasion it had been welcome, an excuse to have a break from Dorothea, Casaubon and Will Ladislaw (if her bedroom banishment wasn’t the opportunity to finally read Middlemarch, when was?) and the caller was someone she had warmed to.

  ‘Hi Natalie. It’s Cassandra. Peter Woodcock’s daughter? I’m in the area tomorrow. Would it be okay to pop in and have a quick chat? You’re in Heald Green aren’t you?’

  ‘Sure…’ The conversation had been tricky; Nat still didn’t feel comfortable about returning to SS’s offices, but she could hardly invite a stranger, albeit a likeable one, to her home. So she’d suggested meeting at the café before going on to her ante natal appointment.

  After the two weeks of house arrest, the plan had been to walk from Cheadle to Gatley so Nat could take in her dose of fresh air and rub shoulders with the human race. Unfortunately it had turned into a battle with both the elements and the traffic on Kingsway. Each time she had thought it safe to cross the quadruple parkway, it wasn’t. Still she’d set off with plenty of time, so she’d arrived before her date, spread herself out on the leather sofa, opened her laptop and taken advantage of the free wifi.

  After spurning social media during the missing Mallorca years, she’d been making up for lost time since, and today was no exception. She posted pics of anything that moved (two pugs looking forlorn through the café windows) and anything that didn’t (her Eccles cake and the quirky books surrounding her) on Instagram; she scrolled through Twitter, making arch or controversial comments, before deleting them; then she had a spurt of silly WhatsApp exchanges with Fran and Bo about a ‘lost gin weekend’ they’d had years ago.

  Finally bored with liking Facebook pet and baby photos, she snapped the lid closed and stroked her small mound. Would that be her one day? Putting up snaps of her foetus from pea to prawn to… well, probably pork pie? God, she prayed so. Fran and Bo were her closest girlfriends, but she hadn’t told even them her news yet. The hope and worry of today’s appointment with Mr Hirsch made her breathless, but the tender boobs, the perfumed taste of tea and acrid smell of coffee made her hopeful that little he or she was holding on.

  She looked at her watch. There was another ten minutes before Cassandra was due. It was a bit odd, really, her randomly calling Nat like that. What exactly did she want to talk about? Concerning her dad, was all she’d said. The usual speculation prodded, so Nat picked up her phone and scrolled through the news to stave off her mild anxiety.

  ‘Cinema reinstates showing of gang film after brawl’; ‘Man admits to stabbing two commuters’; ‘EuroMillions winner convicted of child porn offences’; ‘Met Police superintendent sentenced over indecent video.’ Bloody hell; all a bit close to the bone, or what? It brought back thoughts of Issa, so she reverted to her laptop and spent a few moments searching for local newspapers in the Merseyside area, eventually finding reports by Kenneth Chen in the Southport Reporter archives.

  She read for a while. There was no doubt Chen liked to make a headline splash; a number of cowboy builders, a ‘double cheat’ local councillor who had fiddled with both his expenses and his neighbour’s wife, a ‘butcher’ dentist who had faked his qualifications. If they were true, they were good exposés. The need to make his name in a tough journalistic world was understandable, but not, surely, without checking his facts?

  Sitting back, she gazed at a small photograph of the man. He had a striking face. What was really going on? Was he taking JP’s version of events on trust like the police had with the fantasist ‘Nick’? She thrummed her belly with gentle fingers. Maybe that was the way forward, a frank discussion between Issa and Chen, keeping JP out of the loop. It seemed that Chen was a massive influence on him; if Issa could put him straight about the addresses and dates, then maybe he could convince JP he was wrong. After all, the journalist wouldn’t want to get in trouble with his editor – or the law – for libel. It was certainly a plan, but Nat shelved it for now; she was seeing Issa the week after next; it was best broached in person.

  Plucking her vibrating mobile from her ‘desk’, she peered at the name. Oh God, it was Max. The thought of his police interview had bobbed in and out of her mind since his angry phone call. Would she forever associate heavy bleeding with it? Wes certainly did, the boyfriend Wes, at least. How was he handling it at work? Max was his assistant after all, so they had to communicate day in and day out. Wes had faithfully promised not to say anything, but could he hide the tension which always showed in his jaw? She doubted it.

  She stared a beat longer. Should she answer it or not? Wes was adamant she wasn’t to get involved any further, that the stress wasn’t good for her. But to be fair, Max didn’t know she was pregnant; he wasn’t going to disappear and she was supposed to be his friend.

  ‘Max, hi. How’s it going?’ she asked, automatically holding her breath.

  ‘Okay, considering.’ He paused. ‘Look, I’m sorry about the other week. My parents were giving me a hard time; I was really stressed.’

  ‘It’s fine, I understood.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You didn’t call me about the police interview, though.’

  ‘It hasn’t happened. I hope it won’t, but if it does, you’ll support me, won’t you?’

  She released the trapped air. ‘Of course; I still feel really bad about it. It must’ve been a nightmare. How come they dropped it? What happened?’

  ‘Dad’s solicitor wrote a letter to her about malicious complaints, pointing out he had a duty to report a breach of ethics to the General Medical Council. I know it sounds harsh, but making completely false accusations does put her fitness to practise as a doctor into question. I couldn’t believe it, Nat. Saying I hit her–’

  Nat shifted in her seat; she’d joked to Wes about mad women in attics, but this was like Andrea all over again. It was too easy to make allegations; they were so difficult to refute. ‘God, that’s what she said?’

  ‘Yes. Can you imagine how upset my mum was, thinking I go around slapping women? It’s a joke that the police took it seriously. Dad’s solicitor got some police officer he knows to look at the file or whatever they have. When she made the complaint, they asked for corroborative evidence and because she had zilch, she made up some bullshit about it happening weeks ago.’

  ‘What about the…’ Nat lowered her voice. ‘The ammo?’

  ‘The letter dealt with that too. It mentioned theft, copyright, the Criminal Justice and Courts Act. Belt and braces stuff. He’s confident everything’s contained, so you should see yours truly’s name on the Goldman Law notepaper in a few weeks
.’

  The pleasure and relief in his voice was patent. Nat was pleased for him; she didn’t care about partnership or fighting for the conference room any more. A tiny ultrasound beat had put that into perspective.

  Max was still speaking. ‘So, a drink or ten to celebrate, now I’m as free as a bird. How about Saturday? Same time, same place?’

  She looked to the opening door. ‘Yeah, sounds great. I’ll call you.’ She ended the call and stood. Appearing windswept and weary, Cassandra Woodcock was flopping down on the opposite sofa.

  ‘Hi, how are you?’ Nat asked. ‘Can I get you a drink? Something to eat? I can recommend the Eccles cakes.’ She laughed. ‘Nah, you come from Worsley; you were probably weaned on them.’

  The quip clearly didn’t land. ‘No, it’s fine, thanks,’ she replied distractedly. ‘I’m on my way somewhere, so I can’t be long.’

  The young woman put her hands on her face and almost imperceptibly shook her head. ‘Sorry, it’s been a rubbish week. So, the reason I wanted a private word.’ She leaned forward. ‘About Dad. I think you’ll have already gathered he’s a very well-respected magistrate as well as a doctor, but he’s due to retire next year to spend some hard-earned relaxation time with my mum. His medical career has been his life, his voluntary work the icing on the cake. His reputation means everything. If there was any suggestion of impropriety or negligence, it would kill him. Literally.’

  Thinking of Harrow, Nat inwardly sighed. Another parallel; it seemed that life was full of them. ‘I can’t pretend to know all the ins and out, Cassandra; I was only assisting Gavin Savage while he was away, but I’m not aware of any suggestion–’

  ‘There have been calls, Natalie, from lawyers, maybe from your office. Asking about Melanie’s pain management plan, her prescriptions, her medical records, how often Dad visited her. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s worried. I know there are protocols for this kind of thing and it’s asking a lot of you, but you seemed such a lovely person, I felt I could ask.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Off the record, is there something we should know or be concerned about?’