Confessions Page 9

  Nat didn’t reply. Last year she had joked with Gavin about his ‘baggage’ of four children, but there was nothing remotely funny about this poor woman’s clear devastation.

  Issa didn’t speak for a time, so Nat waited. Finally, she took a shuddery breath. ‘My question is: what if someone says something terrible, something you know without a doubt isn’t true?’

  Surprised at the change of tack, Nat sat back. ‘Do you mean a defamatory statement?’

  Issa nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

  Nat put on her lawyer’s hat and gave herself a moment to think. ‘Well, it has to be false and made to someone other than that person. If it’s published it’s libel, if it’s spoken, it’s slander. If it’s so bad that it would make ordinary people think less of them, then the person to whom it’s addressed can sue for damages, apply for an injunction and so on.’ She searched Issa’s pale face. ‘Why are you asking, Issa? Has someone said something about JP? You have to know that libel proceedings are only for the super rich; there isn’t any legal aid and it’s particularly costly litigation.’ She paused for a moment, not wanting to suggest anything bad about a man she knew nothing about, but needing to make the legal position clear. ‘Truth is a complete defence, Issa, so you’d have to be sure it’s absolutely a lie before considering anything legally–’

  Issa stood, accidentally knocking the car seat as she stumbled away from the table. ‘I am sure,’ she said loudly. Woken from his slumber, the baby started flailing and whimpering, but she didn’t appear to notice. ‘I’m absolutely sure, Natalie; I’ve known him all my life.’

  As though in reply, the baby spluttered, then mewled, so Nat found herself kneeling and scooping the little man from his seat. Rocking him gently, she stared at Issa’s wet face.

  ‘Who, do you–’ she began.

  ‘JP says Harrow is a paedophile,’ Issa blurted. ‘He says he was abused by my father when he was just eight.’

  13

  Scars

  Needing to scrub away the uncomfortable tale Issa had told, Nat spent several minutes in the shower once she’d left.

  For moments Issa had stared into space before her baby’s cries broke through. If it was possible, her expression had fallen even further. ‘Oh, Carlos, I’m so sorry,’ she’d said, taking him from Nat’s arms and bringing his downy hair to her face.

  She’d passed Nat a changing bag. ‘There’s a box of formula in there. Would you mind decanting it into the bottle, then heating it? I’m all fingers and thumbs today.’

  The milk duly warmed and the teat in Carlos’s mouth, Issa had finished her story. There wasn’t that much more to tell. She had always known something was troubling JP: he was on antidepressants and saw a therapist every month. She’d encouraged him to talk about his issues, persuading him it was far better to get things out in the open. Ironically, she’d argued that he couldn’t heal inside until he’d faced his demons, that he owed it to his new baby son to try and beat them. And when he did, it was devastating: he alleged Harrow had sexually assaulted him when he was an infant; he had attended the school retirement party to ‘out’ his abuser, but had met his daughter and fallen for her instead.

  Her mind still whirring, Nat dried herself briskly. What a horrendous situation for Issa; she clearly loved both men and had no idea how to resolve such a tangled set of circumstances. What would Nat do in that position? Lover versus father. What would anyone do?

  The sound of the front door opening interrupted her thoughts. Anna was home, her lovely, straightforward mum. She had met Harrow over the years and liked him as much as anyone. Would Nat breathe a word of what she’d just heard to her? Quite apart from breaching client confidentiality, of course she wouldn’t. It would devastate Anna, so God knows how Issa was coping.

  Slipping on jogging bottoms, a T-shirt and slippers, Nat padded downstairs.

  ‘Hi, Mum. How’s Barbara?’ she asked.

  ‘Making lots of friends,’ Anna replied. ‘She’s such a character; she knows everything about everyone in that ward, including the nurses. She’ll be sad to leave.’

  Her mum’s expression seemed uncertain. ‘But it was fun to catch-up with her?’

  ‘Oh yes, I wheeled her to the café.’

  ‘Sounds nice. Did you buy cake? Don’t tell me, lemon drizzle?’

  Her mum didn’t answer. Instead she frowned. ‘And I might be mistaken, but I think I saw Ruthie’s dad.’

  ‘Gavin? But…’ Ah, of course. Anna had never met him. Though she’d met Wes several times and clearly approved of him; playing cards while Nat slept had been evidence of that.

  ‘Very tall and broad with sandy-coloured hair. Well, I know that could be anyone, but the lovely knitted toy you bought Ruthie – he was holding it, sitting alone in the café, holding that dolly. He looked dreadful, Skarbie. Both Barbara and I… well, our hearts went out to him.’

  Gavin, her pal; the one guy who’d seemed oblivious to the usual buffets of life. But Nat knew that wasn’t true. He just used dry humour as a shield. Heather had clearly been worried about him too. She peered at her watch. Would it be appropriate just to turn up at the hospital without an invitation? But her mind was already made up. She wouldn’t even text; better to give him a fait accompli.

  Within ten minutes, she’d changed joggers for jeans, combed her wet hair, dragged on her boots and jumped in the car. The motorway route she had suggested to her mum? No, it was a Sunday; it was just as easy to take the Parkway and the shortcut past the retail parks.

  Regent Road was chocka, the traffic crawling past the pub which, she realised with a jolt, was famous for a fatal shooting incident. Hoping she was not tempting fate, Nat tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and tried not to picture Issa’s wrecked face.

  Her favourite author was right: when would there be good news?

  The congestion finally clearing, she put down her foot and followed signs to the infirmary. It had been called Hope Hospital back in the day. God, she prayed so.

  Similar to the police station she had visited with Robbie, the huge angular building looked fairly new. She took a plastic coin at the barrier, searching for a space in the busy car park. Pulling up next to a walkway, she was on the point of climbing out when a tall figure caught her eye at the pay station: Wesley Hughes. The start of a dark beard had grown since last she saw him. It emphasised his sharp cheekbones, but made him a stranger. Willing him to turn, she watched him walk towards his Mercedes. What was he thinking? What was going on behind his impassive facade? If only she’d been two minutes earlier she might have bumped into him on the ramp. It still wasn’t too late if she just… But Wes was lifting his arm to unlock his car; he was climbing in and reversing smoothly away.

  Trying to ignore the heavy disappointment in her chest, Nat pulled out her mobile and sent Gavin a text.

  I’m here and on my way to the Hope building. See you in the café in ten? Then to lighten it. I might even dig deep in my pockets and treat you to a slice of Dundee!

  She made her way to the ground floor Café and sat at a table. The ten minutes became twenty-five, but that was fine. The hospital was huge. Who knew where they secreted a very poorly child who’d been shot? Who’d had a heart attack. The shocking words still winded her.

  She glanced at her phone again. Gavin hadn’t replied. Oh God, had she messed up? Was she interfering again by appearing without being asked?

  ‘Seems I’m popular today.’ The Scottish burr made her jump. Gavin. Thank heavens. He pulled out a chair. ‘Wes left not long ago.’

  She nodded but didn’t comment. ‘How’s Ruthie?’ she asked. She had intended to let him talk about her at his own pace, but she suddenly needed to know.

  ‘A fighter,’ he replied.

  She put her hand on his and grasped it tightly. He’d visibly lost weight. Pale purple grooves beneath his eyes emphasised his tired gaze and his facial hair had spread erratically from his moustache to his chin.

  ‘She’s like her dad. I knew she wou
ld be,’ she said, covering the need to cry with a wobbly smile.

  ‘A fighter who sleeps most of the time.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Thanks for taking the boys out yesterday.’

  ‘Any time. Really, any time. They’re such fun.’

  His lips faintly twitched. ‘Thought you had a job to go to.’

  ‘Oh, that. Piece of piss.’ She took a breath. ‘What can I get you? Bun, cake, slice, scone?’

  ‘Just a coffee would be good, thanks.’

  ‘Yes, boss. One of your girly lattes coming up.’

  It was a relief to breathe deeply as she stood at the counter. She doubted Gavin had consumed anything but caffeine for the last week.

  When she returned with a tray, he cleared his throat. ‘Was Cameron upset yesterday?’ He peered at her intently before looking away. ‘It’s fine – I already know. The old man came down from Glasgow yesterday. There’s only your dad who’ll tell you straight.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That Cameron cries constantly. That the shooting was my fault. That I shouldn’t have taken Ruthie with me to Salford. That I shouldn’t have left her alone in the car.’

  ‘And?’ Nat asked. Even a dour Scot had something kind to say, surely?

  ‘That it was done now and I should have the courage to move on.’

  Nat swallowed back the emotion. ‘It sounds like good advice to me. Do you have a mum too?’

  ‘Not since I was eight.’

  Bloody hell; the same age as JP when he was allegedly abused. She needed to think about that.

  ‘How awful for you; losing your mum so young. I’m sorry.’

  He picked up his mug and took a loud slurp of his drink. ‘Don’t be. She isn’t dead as far as I know.’

  Surprised, Nat sat back. So his mum must have left home when he was eight. Good God. Her dad hadn’t been the best in the world, but at least he was there. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Why would you? We only know the best bits about each other.’

  She grinned and punched him on the arm. ‘Hmm… let’s think. Calls his own clients derogatory names, sexist, homophobic, not to mention the loud aftershave. Bloody hell, Gavin, if those are the best bits…’

  He snorted. ‘See what Heather had to put up with.’

  Nat cocked her head. ‘Had? Things are good between you two, aren’t they? Well, were good before… You know what I mean. Dates out and the like.’ She gave him a small kick beneath the table. ‘I missed my big chance, of course. A curry and a shag was the undeniably attractive offer, as I recall.’

  That was Gavin’s proposition when they’d rekindled their law school friendship last year. It brought a small smile to his face and she was glad. She would’ve danced naked on the café tables if that’s what it took to lift the gloom from his whole bearing. But he dropped his head again, picking up a sachet of sugar and pouring it into his empty cup.

  She dipped her face to his. ‘Just keep talking, okay? To Heather, especially. Communication and all that malarkey. It really does help. And if it’s too difficult speak to her, chat to me.’ She squeezed his hand again before feigning a yawn. ‘You know how I love to be bored to death.’

  Folding his arms, he sat back, a hint of mischief in his eyes. ‘Communication, eh? Talking of which… What’s going on with you and Wes?’

  It was Nat’s turn to play with the sweetener.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing can come of nothing and all that.’

  ‘Don’t think you can quote Shakespeare at me and get away with it, Miss Bach.’ He waited for a moment, then tilted his head to the ceiling. ‘Guilt is complicated and corrosive, Nat. What happened with Andrea and Matty – the poisoning – happened on Wes’s watch.’ He puffed air through his nose. ‘More than anyone I know how that feels. But mix it with anger, regret, bitterness and God knows what else…’ He spread his hands. ‘Some baggage there, eh, Nat? But my guess is Wes needs you now as much as ever.’

  He stood and pulled her into a bear hug. ‘Time’s up.’ He lingered for a moment, his gaze evasive. ‘I would invite you up to see Ruthie, but… Maybe next time.’

  She watched him stride away, then remembered a question. ‘Why doesn’t Robbie like to travel in cars?’ she asked, catching him up.

  ‘His mum died in a car crash when he was eleven. He and his father survived.’ He lifted his eyebrows. ‘The laddie was left with multiple scars, and not just on the outside.’

  14

  No Smoke

  Another Monday morning. On her way into the office, Nat made a mental note to arrange a girls’ night out with Bo and Fran. She definitely needed some light relief. It turned out that everyone she had come into contact with over the past few weeks was fucked up. Except her mum and her friend Barbara. Since Nat was already at the hospital yesterday, she’d found her ward and popped into say hello.

  ‘Oh, this is my dear friend Anna’s lawyer daughter,’ Barbara told her bedfellows. ‘She’s such a clever girl. If anyone needs a little advice while she’s here, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind…’

  Nat had duly chatted about a range of the patients’ problems, most of which weren’t strictly either theirs or law-related, but they clearly enjoyed the debate. Judith described a personal injury claim she’d read about in the news; the woman, who had claimed to be bedridden after a road traffic accident, was caught out at a Zumba class; was it really true that the insurer’s solicitors had filmed her through the window on the quiet? Was that really fair play? Jolivia mentioned her neighbour’s lack of contact with her grandkids, and Melinda complained about the shocking cost of the new vet’s fees; her Maisie had placidly gone to the old veterinary year in and year out, but even she was upset. Was there anything Nat could do? It had reminded Nat about the ‘old dears’ silver surfer sessions. Would she still be at SS for the next one?

  Gavin had said nothing about returning to work. It hadn’t felt appropriate to ask him, so she intended to carry on driving to Heald Green every day, then sit in his chair until somebody stopped her. She liked Robbie and Chantelle, Larry Lamb too, and although she’d discovered that some of Gavin’s Neds weren’t misunderstood victims of society, but were actually very bad people, she did like the helping aspect of the work. Being away from Goldman Law also prevented any accidental contact with Wes. She’d mused and mulled on Gavin’s words of wisdom last night. While they had prompted her to see matters from Wes’s point of view, she’d decided she couldn’t ‘help’ him unless she was asked. There was also the question of Max’s offer of partnership. Wes must have known about it for weeks, but he hadn’t seen fit to mention it. That was festering.

  Still getting used to driving a car which cut out in neutral gear, Nat waited at the temporary traffic lights and tried to fill the silence with a positive thought. She was scraping the barrel, but the fact that Issa hadn’t mentioned Mallorca once yesterday was a bonus. On the other hand, the Harrow allegations brought on frequent surges of heat. She hadn’t thought it through properly yet, but each time her mind touched on it, she felt a slap of shock that he of all people was accused of child abuse.

  She pictured Issa’s teary face. She had conceded she was naturally biased as Harrow’s daughter, but she’d pointed out her dad had been in education, surrounded by children, parents and staff, his whole adult life. There had never been a whiff of any scandal; he hadn’t had one complaint about anything throughout his illustrious career. Even that aside, Harrow had met JP a year ago; there hadn’t been a flicker of recognition; he’d been as friendly and fatherly to JP as he was with everyone else.

  Before leaving, she’d eyed Nat solidly. ‘I know people say there’s no smoke without fire and that all these dreadful abusers have been forced out of the woodwork since Jimmy Savile, but you know Harrow, Nat. Hand on heart, can you believe, even for a moment, he would do such a thing?’

  Now parked outside the butchers, Nat rested her palm on her chest. Her heart was racing, pumping with anxiety for Issa. It was true; she couldn’t believe Harrow was an
abuser. The trouble was that JP apparently did and, more to the point, so did his survivor’s group pal who just happened to be a journalist for a local newspaper.

  Climbing out of the car, Nat headed for SS’s grimy windows. She shook her head. What a nightmare for poor Issa. Stuck in the middle, her loyalties were split. At the moment there was stalemate, Issa begging JP to do nothing for the sake of their son; the journalist pal goading him to publish an exposé. Harrow and his wife didn’t know anything yet; Issa had held off telling her parents, hoping the whole thing would go away.

  ‘Why do you think JP is making these allegations?’ Nat had asked, knowing no other way than just to ask.

  Issa’s eyes had become glassy. ‘JP isn’t well. We’ve never even lived together properly. He’s not a bad man, but he’s needy and easily pliable. He wasn’t even at Harrow’s school, Nat. I think there’s definitely something troubling from his past, but not this.’

  ‘Good morning, dear lady!’

  Still mentally with Issa and on autopilot, Nat jumped at the sound of Larry’s eloquent voice. A silver ink pen in his chubby hand, he was perched at Gavin’s desk.

  She sat in the chair opposite and mirrored his stance. ‘What would you do if a small local newspaper had a defamatory exposé rumbling about a client, but hadn’t done anything about it yet? A rogue journalist with his own personal agenda?’

  Larry took a deep, thoughtful breath. There was definitely a whiff of hops, but no other hint he’d been drinking. ‘A swift formal letter to the editor threatening fire and brimstone, with a mention of the journo’s personal vendetta not being in the public interest. That’ll alert the editor to the 2013 statute.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Has to be in the public interest, balanced, neutral. Facts have to be verified.’

  ‘And true?’

  ‘Of course. Truth is a complete defence, but the onus is on the defendant.’ His gaze became beady and sharp. ‘Consider these things: Who is the source? What do you know about them? Do they have facts and figures? Same for the journalist. Why is it a personal agenda? What does he have to gain from publication?’ His eyes resumed their usual twinkle. ‘A bit of digging goes a long way.’