'You're imputing a very disreputable motive to us, verging on the paranoid.'

  'Well, tell me I'm wrong.'

  'In the light of Mrs Turner's statement I can see that we might be sympathetic to your application, but you'll understand that we're concerned that any inquest conforms to the highest standards. You'll be under a good deal of scrutiny from the Ministry of Justice.'

  'Their time might be better spent scrutinizing their prisons.'

  'You're really quite angry about this, aren't you?'

  'Danny Wills was a sick child. Who wouldn't be?'

  Crossley gave an uncomfortable smile. 'If you really are intent on hearing this inquest again you can at least conduct it in dignified surroundings. Call the Ministry - they'll find you a proper courtroom. We can't have the public thinking we're running a third-world system.' He rose from his chair. 'I hope we understand each other.'

  Alison showed Crossley and his young companion out and recommended an Italian restaurant where they'd be sure to get a table for lunch. Through the partially open door to reception Jenny could hear her, calling him Mr Crossley, and wishing him a pleasant journey back to London, doing everything she could to repair the damage.

  Alison appeared a few minutes later with a handful of printed emails. She gave her a look that Jenny now recognized, the one that said she was concerned when what she actually wanted was to give her opinion. 'I do hope they let you go ahead, Mrs Cooper.'

  'They've got no choice. If they refuse, I'll go straight to the High Court, seeking judicial review.'

  That look again. 'You seem tired.'

  'If you've got something to say, just say it.'

  'You did sound rather aggressive.'

  'He was the aggressive one. I was honest.'

  'This will be the only chance they give you, you know that.'

  'I can't think of a better case to take it on, can you?'

  The call came as two delivery men were manoeuvring a desk through her office door. She was jammed up against the bookshelves, pleading with them to be careful as they trod files underfoot and knocked lumps out of the paintwork. She snatched the phone before one of them tripped over the wire. 'Jenny Cooper.'

  'Mrs Cooper, it's Isabel Thomas, Ross's Head of Year.'

  'Oh, hello.'

  'I'm afraid we've had a situation. Ross is all right, but he's rather the worse for wear.'

  'Oh . . .' Her heart was bouncing off the back of her throat. 'What's happened?'

  'We're not sure exactly. A member of staff found him at lunchtime. He's intoxicated.'

  'Drunk?'

  'No. I think it's some kind of drugs. As you know, school policy is to inform the police — '

  'Please don't do that. It's completely out of character.'

  'I'll hold off this time, but my feeling is that this has been going on for a while.'

  'No one's said anything.'

  'It's just an impression, that's all . . . Look, I've got him here in my office. I tried to contact your husband—'

  'Don't. I'll be right there.'

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The irony wasn't lost on her as she swallowed another pill before venturing into the building. Schools filled her with dread at the best of times: the sense of judgement which suffused them. Her footsteps reverberated around the scruffy corridors. The air was stale, heavy and smelt vaguely of bleach and the lasagne that had evidently been served for lunch. She passed classrooms, some orderly, others bordering on riotous, in which teachers pleaded with unruly children to be quiet. It brought back memories of her own schooldays in a precious girls' grammar: always on edge, waiting for the sharp reproach or hurtful jibe. It had felt like a prison. She had hoped Ross's experience would be less pressured, but she could feel the tension in the air. Different, but no less intimidating.

  Isabel Thomas, a brisk, impersonal woman in her early thirties, was hovering in the corridor outside her office, talking into her phone. When Jenny approached she rang off and glanced at her watch as if to say, what took you?

  'Mrs Thomas?'

  'He's in here, but I just wanted a quick word.' She ushered her several yards along the corridor out of earshot. 'Ross won't say anything, but I'm pretty sure he's been smoking cannabis. Another member of staff found some roaches and he had papers and tobacco in his pockets.'

  Jenny felt a wave of relief. 'At least it wasn't anything worse.'

  'Some of his teachers have noticed that he's been a bit vague in lessons recently. I see from the register that he's had a large number of absences this year.'

  'Really? I'd no idea.'

  'So he's not been staying at home?'

  'I don't think so . . . Actually, he lives with his father most of the time.'

  'You separated earlier this year, didn't you? It's often a crisis point for teenagers.'

  'We will deal with it. I'm sure it's just a phase.'

  'I'd recommend you get him some professional help if you can. Normally this sort of thing would result in immediate expulsion.'

  'You can't. We don't even know what happened.'

  'I've had to tell the Head. It's her decision, but in Ross's case I think she might be persuadable.'

  'So what's his status?'

  'She'll call you, but you can presume he's suspended until further notice.'

  'He's still got exams to sit.'

  'He'll be allowed to sit them, just not to remain on school premises.'

  'This is such an overreaction.'

  'I'm sorry it was your son, Mrs Cooper, but it can happen to anyone.' She gave her a look of faux sympathy. 'You'd better take him now.'

  Ross lay back in the passenger seat, his eyes half closed, as Jenny climbed into the driver's seat. He looked peaceful, not at all rattled by the events of the afternoon. She looked at him: he was profoundly stoned, probably feeling on cloud nine.

  'Where do you want to go - home or my place?'

  'Wherever. You decide.' The words drifted out of him.

  She considered the alternatives. Whichever she chose, the day would end in an ugly confrontation with David blaming her for ruining their only son. It made sense to take Ross back to his own house, where he could sleep off the dope, but it would send a message to his father that she couldn't cope. And if there was to be a showdown she would prefer to be on her turf and not have Deborah as an audience.

  Ross dozed as she drove away from the city and headed out on the motorway towards the Severn Bridge. She called Alison and told her he had been taken ill and she wouldn't be back in the office until the morning. More than happy to be proved indispensable, Alison promised to hold the fort and fax any vital paperwork to her at home. By the time they reached Chepstow, Ross was in a deep sleep. When they pulled up outside Melin Bach Jenny tried to shake him awake, but he wouldn't stir. So she pulled further up the cart track and left him in the car.

  It was nearly six o'clock when he woke from his torpor and staggered out on to the cart track. Jenny came out of the kitchen with her second pot of coffee and saw him leaning against the bonnet, light-headed and trying to figure out where he was.

  'How are you feeling?'

  He scratched his head. 'Rough.'

  'Come and sit down. I'll get you a cup.'

  He sloped over to the table rubbing his eyes, avoiding her gaze. She went back into the kitchen to fetch a mug and some biscuits. Coming down from that big a high, he'd be ravenous.

  She let him sit in peace while she pulled weeds out from around the herbs and nipped the dead heads off the semi-wild roses. She wanted to let him know he wasn't being judged, that she wasn't an ogre like his father. Neither said a word for more than ten minutes, but she could feel him gradually lift out of the deep trough he'd woken in. She would never have said it, but she felt she understood his mood, better than he did. Like her, he was sensitive and self-conscious. If he felt under attack he'd retaliate and say things he didn't mean. If he felt accepted he'd open up and let her in.

  He broke the silence first with a muttered, 'Sorry.'

  Jenny straightened up from her weeding and turned with a smile. 'It's OK.' She came over to the table, wiping her muddy hands on the jeans she had changed into while he was sleeping. 'Feeling any better?'

  He nodded, his face set in a tired frown.

  'What do you think of the place?'

  He looked up from the table and glanced around, screwing his eyes up against the bright, early-evening light. 'Different.'

  'Like it?'

  'Yeah. It's cool.'

  They sat in silence for another moment, then Jenny reached out and touched his hand. 'You're not feeling ill?'

  'I'm fine.' He pulled his hand away. 'Have you spoken to Dad?'

  'I left a message for him.'

  'Does he know?'

  'Mrs Thomas got to his secretary first. I told him you were with me and we'd call him later.'

  'Shit. . . Am I suspended?'

  'While the Head decides what to do, but you can take your exams. Mrs Thomas thinks we can persuade him to let you stay, if you want to.'

  'Don't know what I want.'

  Jenny said, 'I'm not going to lecture you about drugs, after all the legal sort I've taken over the years, but if you could tell me what was going on ... '

  She waited for him while he stared into his empty coffee cup. 'Had some weed, that's all.'

  'Where d'you get it?'

  He shrugged. 'A mate. What's it matter?'

  'Any particular reason?'

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head.

  'Was it anything to do with the weekend? You know I'm sorry about all that.'

  'I don't know . . . Don't know why I did it. Just felt like it.'

  She believed him. But she also believed he wanted to escape the hell of having his father pressuring him into becoming something he wasn't.

  'You don't have to do what your dad says. It was easy for him, he always wanted to be a doctor. It takes longer for some people to decide.'

  Ross, silent, picked at the biscuit crumbs on the plate.

  'As far as I'm concerned, you can decide to be what you like, when you like.'

  'A dropout?'

  'Within limits.' She attempted a smile but didn't get one back. 'Look, I meant what I said about coming to stay here. I think it would be fun if you came here this summer. You could think things through without any pressure.'

  'You don't like Deborah much, do you?'

  'It's nothing to do with her. I haven't had a proper place till now.'

  'Dad didn't rate that bloke you brought either.'

  'Steve's just a friend. He does the garden.'

  Ross glanced at the ankle-high grass. 'Right.'

  'It's true.'

  'I don't care. At least he's not half your age.'

  'If I was in a relationship with anyone, believe me, you'd be the first to know.'

  'Well, if you do, try and keep the physical stuff out of sight - it's pretty gross watching a fifty-year-old bloke groping—'

  'OK, I get the picture.' She tried to wipe it from her mind. 'I know it's tough with your dad and me, but you understand I always wanted to be with you, don't you?'

  Ross looked down at the table. She sensed the wave of emotion that came over him. 'Yeah.'

  They lapsed into silence, Jenny suddenly feeling very guilty, furious at herself for cracking up when she did. Two more years and he would have been off to university, ready to strike out on his own. After a while, she said, 'So will you come at the end of term?'

  'If you want.'

  'And you'll promise me you won't smoke any more of this stuff?'

  'I thought you weren't going to give me a lecture.'

  'I wouldn't be much of a mother if I wasn't worried.'

  'It's a bit late for that now. Damaged goods, aren't I?'

  She looked at him, hurt, trying to decide if this was genuine or bravado and wondering what she could ever do to make things better.

  They both turned at the sound of a powerful engine roaring up the lane. David's BMW 7 Series pulled up behind Jenny's Golf. Ross flinched as he jumped out and slammed the door.

  Jenny said, 'I'll deal with him.'

  David strode across the grass, still in his suit trousers, shirt and tie. Jenny got up to face him, the moment she had been dreading all day. She'd prepared half a dozen good lines to head him off, but couldn't recall a single one. 'Don't be angry, David, we're working it out.'

  He stopped next to the table, his face travelling through several different emotions before settling on a strangulated reasonableness. 'I'd no intention of getting angry. If things need talking about I always believe in doing it rationally.' He looked Ross over, appraising him like a patient. 'Feeling a bit lousy, I expect?'

  'He's not too bad.'

  He motioned to a chair. 'May I?'

  'Go ahead.'

  David took a seat next to Ross and opposite Jenny. The avuncular smile he affected was unnerving. 'Quite a place you've got here. Certainly peaceful.'

  Jenny regretted all the coffee she had drunk. Her nerves felt suddenly raw. 'I was saying to Ross he might like to spend some time here in the summer.'

  'Why not? Might do you some good to get out of town.'

  Ross stared at the table.

  David looked at him, recognizing familiar signs. 'We're not going to get to the bottom of this unless you talk to us, matey.'

  Jenny said, 'I think maybe we should give him a bit of time.'

  Ross jumped up and flung down his chair. 'Why do you always talk about me like that? I'm not a fucking child.' He stamped off across the grass, got into the back of David's car and slammed the door.

  David said, 'Just what I need. Six straight hours in theatre and I get a phone call saying my son's a drug addict.'

  'He smoked some dope. It's not the end of the world.'

  'It could be the end of his education.'

  'Don't be so melodramatic.'

  'What do you suggest we do - nothing? He's not the only kid in the world to have divorced parents.'

  'He's sensitive.'

  'Tell me about it.'

  'Why doesn't he stay here for a few days?'

  'While you're off at work.'

  'You're at work, too.'

  'Deborah can take some time off.' He got to his feet. 'She's got a sensible head on her shoulders.'

  Jenny, stung, said, 'I hope so. If our son's anything like his father—'

  'Don't be so bloody childish.'

  Jenny stood by the stream and listened to David's car going down the hill, feeling his fury in every rise and fall of the engine, imagining Ross in the back, numb, staring out of the window. Feeling trapped but too scared to stand up to his father, preferring oblivion to taking him on. It was exactly how she had felt when it had started to come unstuck. David had treated her like one of his more neurotic patients. When she would break down or try to describe the frightening sensations that seemed to come from nowhere, he would see her as a set of symptoms to be suppressed. He never once asked about her deeper thoughts or whether she was troubled by the past. He seemed only able to perceive life as a series of straight lines. Any deviation had to be hammered out.

  There was an unseasonal chill in the breeze, the air smelt of wet earth. It added to her feeling of hopelessness. She was a failure as a mother and as an individual; so caught up in her own tangle of problems she couldn't care for her own son. When she dared look into the black heart of what lay inside her, it felt as if something truly evil, an entity she could only describe as a cancer, had taken hold. She felt it acutely this evening. Even the trees seemed malignant. Her mind kept replaying images from a recurring nightmare: she stood in the corner of a familiar, yet strangely off-kilter room in her childhood home, a crack opened in the wall in the corner revealing a pitch-black, terrifying secret space beyond that threatened to suck her in . . .

  She walked back inside the house, trying to shake herself back to normality and shed the feeling of impending doom.

  She reached for the wine bottle but, still hung-over, set it down again. She tried to cook but felt as if someone was watching her from outside the curtainless window. A sound from upstairs was a ghost, the old woman who'd lived here resenting her presence, moving her things. She picked up her pills but then worried that she'd pass out and wake in the dead of night with the old woman standing over her, smelling her fusty clothes and feeling her fury.

  Gripping the kitchen counter, her heartbeat became footsteps on the boards in the bedroom above her. They shuffled towards the stairs and started to descend, both feet landing on a single tread before moving to the next. She turned to the door, her eyes on the latch, waiting for it to rise. There was a creak in the sitting room. She grabbed her car keys and fled out of the back door.

  Although it was still June it was too cold for anyone to be sitting at the tables on the veranda in front of the Apple Tree. Jenny came to the door of the public bar and looked through the glass. The crowd was thinner than on her previous visit, a handful of men standing, a few couples at tables. Steve was sitting up on a stool, Annie coming to talk to him between serving customers. Jenny waited there, too scared to go in or to go home alone. She kept checking through the window, waiting for Annie to get distracted. It took an age. When eventually she ducked into the kitchen, Jenny stepped inside the door, caught Steve's eye, then stepped back out again. Hovering in the porch, waiting to see if he'd come, she felt like a schoolgirl. Stupid.

  He came out, fishing tobacco and papers from his denim jacket, most of his attention on rolling a cigarette. She was sitting side on at one of the picnic-style tables and, now he was here, she didn't know what to say.

  He said, 'How are you doing?'

  'Sorry to disturb your evening.'

  'I needed a fix anyway.' He spread tobacco across the paper, rolled it with one hand and licked it. 'They call it a free country. You try acting like it is - they'll put you in jail so fast, your feet won't touch the ground.' He cupped his hands and lit a match.

 

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