It Ends At Midnight, page 21
‘What about the party? I was going to help you plan . . .’
Marcus butts in. ‘I know how much you’ve got on your plate,’ he says. ‘The situation’s very serious. The Bar Council are concerned. There’s never been anything like it.’
I look over at him, trying to stop my eyebrows from shooting up. ‘That’s not strictly true, is it? There have been lots of cases like it, lots of male barristers harassing their pupils. Sending unsolicited photos of their cocks to the girls too, I’ll bet. They don’t get suspended, though. They get sympathy and understanding and he’s been under a lot of pressure lately. God forbid they actually lose anything. Don’t you know that it’s different for girls?’ The words are exploding out of me like bullets.
Marcus looks taken aback. Tess too. I don’t dare look at Gareth. He hasn’t made eye contact with me since the moment I walked in. I look at my friends, my boyfriend, and the disappointment I feel almost crushes me. I’d been so happy thinking of their support. But I got it completely wrong. There’s nothing here for me.
‘I should go,’ I say. I stand up, ready to walk out, ready never to return. But I can’t. It’s been too long. So long. The friendship is deep in my bones. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts.
Tess sighs. ‘I think you need an early night, but I don’t want you leaving in this mood,’ she says. ‘I can’t bear it to see you so unhappy. Stay, have some food. Then we’ll get you home. Try Gareth’s food. He’s gone to all this trouble.’
Gareth nods. He shuffles through some notes. ‘I was thinking this,’ he starts, and lists canapés, bowl food. A buffet as an alternative. ‘Twenty people, didn’t you say?’
‘I think it’ll be about that. Perhaps even fewer. We’re really just doing this for us. As long as we’re there, my brother, Sylvie, that’ll be enough,’ Marcus says.
‘That’s right,’ Tess says, smiling. ‘Just a few family members. My mother – she’s maybe going to be able to come. A couple of cousins. Marcus’s right, though – this is something we’re doing for us. In my situation, it feels like an important thing to do.’
Gareth nods his head, his expression thoughtful. I can feel the concern radiating off him. He’s a nice man. Very nice. He deserves better than me.
‘I’m all set to whip up the food that we discussed,’ he says, ‘if you’ve got in all the ingredients. Would you like me to get on with that?’
‘Definitely,’ Marcus says. ‘We’re starving.’
I stay at the table, looking at the lists and photographs of floral arrangements in front of Tess, while Marcus shows Gareth where everything is. There’s a clattering from the stove behind me, pots and pans, the scrape of a wooden spoon on a frying pan. The oven’s humming, the smells of onion, chicken, beef permeating around me.
‘Here you go,’ Gareth says, putting the plates down on the table. I gasp in pleasure. I’ve seen his food before, but nothing as nice as this: little jewels of food laid out in concentric circles, garnished to perfection, piles of salmon ceviche tumbling from curved silver spoons that he must have brought with him to demonstrate. It all tastes as good as it looks, too. I pick one up to try it, a small square of brioche topped with pâté and madeira jelly, but the intensity of its flavour, sweet, savoury, little flecks of salt tangy on my tongue, sets me off and I eat another and another, practically batting Marcus’s hand out of the way to get to the next.
Tess turns to Gareth and smiles, the sauce dripping from the side of her mouth.
‘This is amazing, Gareth. All of it. Thanks so much – it’s going to be great.’
‘It is,’ I say in agreement, but he doesn’t look up at me. He’s still arranging food, pushing miniature Yorkshire puddings around a serving platter delicately as if it’s brain surgery. He looks up briefly, looks away again.
I know that look. He’s backing away.
‘Are you coming home with me later?’ I say. I can’t help myself.
‘I can’t, Sylvie,’ he says. ‘I need to finish up here and then I’m getting the train back tonight.’
It’s like a kick to the stomach. The pain billows off me in cold waves.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll go home then. Will you be down before New Year?’
He won’t look at me. ‘I don’t think I can, no. I’m sorry.’
‘That’s fine. I understand.’
‘I’ll see you then, though,’ he says, reaching for a jaunty tone. Failing.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, and with that I get up and walk out of the door. No one calls me back.
31
The weeks pass. I’m suspended from practice the week after I’m charged. Chambers suspends me too – removed overnight from the website. Erased. From the register of deputy district judges too.
It’s as if I never existed. I can imagine what they’re saying about me. How sad. How much potential. How I could have been a judge. The thought of it exhausts me. I was so full of energy, so full of plans. Marcus was going to write a reference, David Lamb, too, if the trial had gone well.
All these years. Wasted.
I have my first appearance in the magistrates’ court. I keep my head down, whisper Not Guilty into my hair so quietly the judge asks me to repeat myself. One more humiliation.
No one calls. I imagine Gareth talking to Tess about table settings, menus. I bet they don’t mention my name. Strangely, the only person who’ll talk to me is Linda. Not that they are conversations I want to have. If I could turn back time, I would. I bitterly regret doing what Tess asked. We should have left it all alone.
I want to know why you covered up for her. Why did you let Tess lie?
I do my best to calm her down.
It was all such a long time ago, Linda. So much has happened in all our lives. I tried to put it all out of my mind as much as possible. I think we all needed to get on with our lives.
Maybe not the best response.
Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a criminal record. Not easy to leave that behind, now, is it?
This floors me. Do I tell her about the situation I’m facing or not? Will it make things better? Or will she argue that I’m getting my just deserts? I leave it alone.
That’s true, Linda. It must have been very difficult. I’m sorry for any part I might have played in that. I did what I thought was right, though. We were all such children.
After this Linda doesn’t respond for a few more days. I hope I’ve choked her off. But no.
I wouldn’t have chased you up, either of you. You and Tess are the last people I ever wanted to see again, or speak to. But once you got in touch with me . . . well, let’s just say I’m curious. What do you both want from me?
I take a day to reply.
Tess has been under a lot of pressure. I told you she’s ill. I’m sorry that you’ve been reminded about all this again.
Linda doesn’t respond to that message. She still hasn’t. It’s two weeks and counting to New Year, and I’m hoping she’s gone away now. Tess is finally in touch, to confirm that I’m still invited, still her bridesmaid. She lists her arrangements: the food, the venue. The guests. Her parents, Marcus’s parents. Around twenty friends from recent years. It’s funny – she tells me she’s gone over the guest list from her actual wedding. She hasn’t kept up with anyone from those days, no one at all.
Only me.
I know why. It’s not about me, really. It matters to her, this link to her past. Sometimes it feels as if Tess is the last piece of mooring to my past, too. Without her, I’d be rootless, rudderless, floating off into the ether with no sense of time or place. However angry we are, we both need the other to keep us grounded.
She needs Marcus, too. We prop her up, her left and right hands. She can’t operate without us. And much as I try to keep my distance, I can’t operate without them, either.
‘You need your friends,’ Tess says, handing me the mashed potatoes. ‘You know that we’re here to support you, come what may.’
I shoot a look at her across the table. My eyes are sore, bloodshot. I’m not really fit for company, but Tess insisted. ‘I guess,’ I say. ‘There’s not much that you can do, though.’
‘Well, Marcus can write you a letter of support. Can’t you, darling? That might help.’
‘If I get convicted,’ I say. ‘I suppose. He could be a character reference. But it might look as if we were trying to influence the jury, calling another judge to give evidence on my behalf.’
Marcus shakes his head. ‘You know I’ll do it if you need me to. I’m sure it’s going to get kicked out before it gets to that point, though. It sounds completely ludicrous.’
I shrug. I feel completely helpless. ‘It’s an email address and an Instagram account in my name. Photographs of me. They’re fake and I didn’t set the accounts up, but the damage is done. You know how mud sticks. My reputation’s fucked now. I mean, Philip’s father is adamant about what he saw. The only thing is, I didn’t do it.’
Tess leans forward. ‘I didn’t know you had Instagram, Sylvie. You said it was all bullshit.’
‘Yes, it is. I don’t have time for any of that crap. You know why I joined Facebook – that was my limit. But somehow someone has managed to clone me and set one up in my name.’ I drain my glass of wine and pour myself another one. Tess glances at my glass – I can tell she wants to lean over and take the glass away from me. I bet she thinks I’m getting too worked up. She’s not wrong. Emotion is leaking off me, anger building up inside.
I’m trying to keep it under control but it’s too strong for me. Words burst out before I can stop them. ‘It’s your fault,’ I say. ‘This has all happened since you made me set up that Facebook account.’
‘I didn’t make you set up any Facebook account,’ Tess says. ‘I had nothing to do with that.’
‘If you hadn’t wanted me to speak to Linda, none of this would have happened. Ever since then, it’s all gone wrong.’
Tess shakes her head. ‘You can’t force a connection where there is none,’ she says. ‘The two things have nothing to do with each other.’
I push out my lip, mutinous as a child. ‘It feels like they’re connected.’
‘Well, they’re not. It’s a ghastly set of circumstances, that’s all. A perfect storm. But like all storms, it’ll pass. I promise.’
I pour myself another glass of wine. I’m on a mission now. The way I always drink when I’m stressed. ‘I hope to fuck you’re right,’ I say. ‘Right now it feels like I’m about to lose everything. This prosecution. The way Linda is talking to me. She’s really angry. It’s as if it all only happened yesterday. She’s saying she wants to meet up so that we can talk about it.’
‘What did you say to that?’
‘I said no. She was really insistent. She says she’ll tell the police that I lied, otherwise.’
Marcus leans over the table. ‘There’s a statute of limitation on perjury, you know.’
I practically spit I’m so cross. ‘Of course I know that,’ I say. ‘But even if they establish that this all happened twenty-five years ago, it’ll still leave another black mark on my record. It won’t help with anything.’
‘What are you going to tell her?’ Tess asks.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to say,’ I say. ‘I mean, we were all so sure that it was an unprovoked attack. You. Me. Campbell, even. No one saw anything.’
‘No one wanted to see anything,’ Tess says, her voice calm. ‘It doesn’t mean we didn’t, though.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve got any idea at all what happened that night,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I thought I was sure but the more that Linda questions me, the more I don’t know.’
There’s pressure building in my head. I know this is important to Tess. It was important to me, too, but not any more. It’s been superseded by everything else that has happened.
‘I don’t want to deal with this, Tess,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I can. Not right now. I’m starting to feel a bit . . . I think I’d best go home.’
‘We can’t run away forever,’ Tess says.
I don’t want to look at her. I don’t want to look at Marcus, either. I want to crawl under the table and never get out again.
Tess picks up her phone and checks something before she says, ‘Right, we’re getting the train up to Edinburgh on the thirtieth. I’ve booked seats on the 10.30 from King’s Cross. And we’re going for drinks that night, like a mini hen do. Just you and me. Not a big one, obviously, but time to visit the old haunts. Marcus can go out with his parents, maybe. Then on Hogmanay itself, the celebrant is coming to the house in Regent Terrace at five. We’ll have the ceremony in the drawing room – Gareth and I have talked it all through and he can source some chairs and flower displays for us. That’ll only take half an hour, max, and then we’ll crack into the champagne and have a proper shindig.’
Marcus looks at Tess, his face full of admiration. ‘I can’t believe you’ve managed to sort all of this out,’ he says. ‘Between all those appointments, too. It’s brilliant.’
‘It wasn’t that big a deal. It’s only a couple of days up north. Gareth helped me with a lot of it, like tracking down a celebrant.’
Marcus nods. ‘He seems like a nice guy. Better than Sylvie’s usual.’
It’s as if I’m not in the room.
‘I get it right occasionally,’ I say, and he colours, a dull pink moving up from his neck to his cheeks. I freeze. I don’t want to watch Marcus’s awkwardness, the suspicious expression I sometimes see on Tess’s face when the three of us are together. It’s misplaced, of course – I’d never betray my best friend – but sometimes the memory of Marcus’s hands on me on the night of their wedding reaches out of the past and clutches at me.
I know she’s often thought he was going to leave. She’s always thought he wanted me, even though I’ve reassured her so many times that there’s nothing in it. I can’t bear to look at her now, to see that same worry on her face. I have to, though. I’m braced to face his shame, her accusatory expression.
They’re not even looking at me. They’re staring at each other, emotion so raw between them that it leaves me flayed, skinless and twitching. Something’s changed between them, something at their core. For a moment I’m lost, before it comes to me.
Death. Of course. It’s Tess’s diagnosis. It’s changed everything. It’s a paradox; the worst news of her life has brought her everything she ever wanted. Centre stage at last, Marcus’s eyes only on her. It’ll be an added bonus that my life’s collapsed into the gutter. She’s won.
It’s almost as if she’s been working to a plan.
Part 3
32
Though I’m still exhausted, demoralised, the idea of going up north, seeing Gareth, has brought me back to life and I travel up to King’s Cross with a lighter heart than I’ve had in weeks, even if my suspicions of Tess haven’t died. We get on the train and I try to insist that we sit on the right-hand side of the train on the way up to Edinburgh. Tess asks why and I remind her of the view, but she shrugs. When I go to sit down in the direction of travel her face falls.
‘That’s the seat with the best view,’ I say. ‘Do you mind if I . . .?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, ‘but I get really sick if I don’t face in the right direction. It didn’t used to be the case, but over the last few months . . .’
She doesn’t need to finish. I move immediately. Even though we’re in a first-class carriage, the catering trolley is out of order, so Marcus and I run up and down to the buffet all the way, fetching coffees, teas, shortbread biscuits for Tess. Nothing is too much trouble. Every now and again I see her checking our luggage, the small cases in the rack by the door, the suit carrier containing her dress and mine. I wish someone would steal it. I’m tempted to throw it out of the window myself, letting it fly over the bridge into Newcastle. Despite having the best view, Tess spends most of the journey looking at her phone, her face pinched over the glow of the screen. I follow suit, reading through the file of papers I’ve been served by the prosecution in my case. I pore over and over Philip’s father’s statement, hoping I’ll find something there to show his lies. At least Linda hasn’t been in touch. I’d prefer not to be confronted with mine.
Tess drops the odd comment, telling me she’s finalising the menu for Gareth, reading the news. There’s some footage of a person apparently dropping down dead in a street in China from a virus – she holds her phone out to show me.
‘People will believe anything,’ she says. ‘What are you so engrossed by?’
Her comment makes my antennae twitch. Am I being too trusting? The seeds sown by Marcus’s revelation about the false pregnancy all those weeks ago have started to sprout, a tangle of bindweed twisting through my thoughts. ‘Just looking through the witness statements for my case again, seeing if there’s something I’ve missed,’ I say.
I put my phone back in my bag and watch Tess. She’s finally looking out of the window, gesturing at me to have a look too. It’s the sea. The joy’s gone, though, poisoned by my suspicion of her. How can she look so happy?
All the years of our friendship run through my mind, the agony of being a teenager, the ways we were learning how to be women, playing at being adults while we were still so firmly children. We always took everything so seriously, even then, reading so much into our relationships, so much more than was warranted.
We were a four back then, me going out with Stewart, her going out with his best friend Campbell. It was all so tidy, the way that we met up, went out. There was a symmetry in it. If only Linda hadn’t come along and spoilt it. If only we’d just been able to brush her off, ignore what was happening between her and Stewart. It’s not like it meant anything. If I could have laughed it off, it wouldn’t all have gone so terribly wrong.
I never thought we’d be friends again after I left that summer, after Stewart died. I saw Tess at the trial, but we didn’t speak. After I gave evidence, I sat in court and watched her tell the jury what I’d told them. So blurry, so confused. Didn’t know Linda, didn’t really know Stewart. Didn’t see anything happen between them until Linda hit him on the head with the driftwood. It was an unprovoked attack by her on him, out of the blue.
