Don’t Say a Word

RS sitting hunched, mood bad. Try to do intros – no response. Explain here to help. Ask usual questions – how treated, remember police caution etc. No response. Thought might be crying. No sign of mistreatment.

Ask how she wants to plead.

Says: I didn’t do it.

Explain there isn’t an ‘it’, a string of offences.

Yeah, well how the shit am I to make the money without using this? Gestures to her body.

Tell her she seems bright and can do better. She snorts.

Says: Anyway, you know there’s an it. It’s the wraps, innit? I don’t do that crap.

Ask: So why did the police find it at your address?

Says: What ‘my address’? You think I’m like lady of the manor now, is it, with my own house and a big driveway? Shares with four other people.

Ask her about them, what they do.

She asks me what I think they do.

Ask her if they all work for the same person. She shrugs.

Ask her if one of her customers could have left something there. Says she doesn’t bring men back there. Uses cars, car parks etc.

Try different approach. Move on to her background. Why did you turn to this work?

Tells me it was the careers adviser at the children’s home. He gave her some practice an’ all.

I blink away tears.

Poor Rhea.

She could be so many of the girls I met along the way. I heard stories of hands where they shouldn’t be and yes, the worst. Rape. Don’t call it ‘serious sexual abuse’. It’s rape. It’s vulnerable young people torn and confused because the people they were told to trust have just helped themselves and yet they still have to pretend to trust them. Because there’s that whisper in the ear afterwards – if you tell anyone about this, you can forget about having a warm bed, you can forget about a future, because no one will believe a screwed-up kid from a shitty family over a man with a job like mine.

Or so I’ve heard.

And now there’s some lawyer guy, interrogating her. Tim hasn’t even explained, unless it was in the intros, that he was trying to help her. Why should she trust him, any more than anyone else who has fucked her up over the years?

I read on.

Ask: Have you ever seen any of your flatmates with drugs?

Says: They wouldn’t fucking dare.

Ask: Why’s that?

Says: Because I’d shove it right up them, probably where it came from, because I’m not having my daughter growing up like that.

Christ. She has a daughter.

Ask: But you’re willing for her to grow up knowing you’re a prostitute.

Fucking hell, Tim. Don’t say that. Say ‘How old is she?’ Or ‘What’s her name?’

Don’t preach hellfire.

RS doesn’t respond.

No shit.

***

‘Knock knock.’

Someone is banging on my desk. I look up. It’s Tim.

Tim, for whom I have a whole lot less respect than I did five minutes ago.

‘Hi, Tim. Just looking through the Rhea Stevens file.’

Tim looks around and puts a quick finger to his lips.

‘Best come into my office, Jen,’ he says, his voice low.

Grudgingly, I get up from my desk and follow him into his office. All these secrecy games don’t make up for how he’s treating Rhea.

Once we’re in his office, and he’s shut the door, he talks to me in his normal voice.

‘So. Bit of a fix we’re in, isn’t it?’ he says.

‘She says she didn’t do it.’

‘Yes, well she would, wouldn’t she?’

‘But what if she didn’t, Tim? Maybe she’s telling the truth – why would she put her kid in danger like that? Maybe we just need to treat her a bit more … respectfully.’

Tim looks at me thoughtfully. There’s a pause. It grows uncomfortable. Is it me that’s showing a lack of respect, now?

‘Sorry, Tim, I just thought …’

‘No, no – don’t apologize. That’s exactly the sort of fresh insight I was looking for. Listen, I’ve got a conference with Daniel set up for two. I’ve got lunch with another of the barristers over there, so I’ll see you at chambers. OK?’

‘Sure thing.’ I nod. How can you be worried about your lunch, when Rhea is perishing in a jail somewhere? I want to ask him. How can you be so cold? Or maybe he doesn’t get it. Maybe he doesn’t know how to listen between the words, hear the sounds of a chaotic world. A victim, not a culpable culprit.

‘If you wouldn’t mind bringing the files too, that would be great. Thanks, Jen.’

He ushers me out of his office, and away he goes.

***

I arrive early to Daniel’s chambers. In the mirror in the lift up to his floor I see how pale I am. I quickly slide on some lipstick. Too pink for my thoughts, but maybe that’s the point of make-up. I remember that delicious plum colour that Chloe used to wear. Made her look more inviting than she really was.

‘Jen!’ Daniel cries on seeing me, interrupting my reminiscing. He shakes my hand. I feel a frisson as our fingers meet. How lovely it is that there is an acceptable social way to touch each other immediately. He goes for a kiss on one cheek, and I feel his stubble impress itself on my skin. I pull away as he goes for the other cheek. Embarrassed, I lean in again, but I missed the moment. Things my mother never taught me #347.

‘Hey,’ I say. I search for small talk but can’t find any. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since that non-date and I’m struck by how much sexier he is in the flesh than in his photo. I’d forgotten that his thick brown hair is so wavy, that his cheekbones are so high. His eyes so piercing and alive. I’d like to take his hand again. Wouldn’t let him slip through my fingers another time.

I clear my throat, like he can hear my thoughts, and tap the case file. ‘Did you read the interview notes?’

‘From the first interview?’ Dan asks.

I nod.

He nods too.

‘Tough stuff,’ he says.

‘You didn’t think Tim was a bit …’ I trail off. There are many words I could use.

Dan finishes for me. ‘Blunt?’

I smile a little. ‘Yes, blunt. That’ll do.’

Dan nods. ‘Yep, I have a confession. I think that’s my fault.’

‘Your fault? How?’

‘I told him about how one of our QCs always talks to witnesses or defendants the first time proper bad-cop style, to see what they’ll be like under cross-examination. I suspect Tim was playing QCs but got it a bit wrong.’

‘You reckon?’

‘I do. And when I meet the poor girl, I’ll tell her so myself.’

‘You feel sorry for her, then?’ I ask Dan.

‘Don’t you?’ he counters.

I relax a little. The human race has come in first again – Dan has restored my confidence in it. I shrug a little and take a seat. He doesn’t need to know quite how sorry I feel for our Rhea.

When Tim appears a few moments later, he no longer seems like an ogre with no emotional intelligence. Just a wannabe who’s over-reached himself. Haven’t we all been there (maybe I still am)?

Dan and Tim greet each other. Not quite like old friends – it’s very cordial, but professional. I suppose Dan was just offered as the guy the firm always uses, perhaps not Tim’s first choice.

We get onto the meat of the conference.

‘What are her prospects, Dan?’ Tim asks.

Dan must have been expecting this question but he wriggles a bit. ‘Not great, I think. I can see why the CPS have chosen this case. It seems a bit mean, and you can’t help feeling sorry for her, with all that background of being in care but –’

‘Yes, but if the CPS didn’t prosecute then, they wouldn’t in half of all cases!’ says Tim.

I flinch. Dan looks at me quizzically. I pretend to be taking notes.

Dan resumes his point. ‘Sure. But what I mean is, there’s this string of circumstantial stuff – all one plus one plus one plus one, which they’re fervently hoping adds up to four, but we have to show it doesn’t. Our best chance is to ignore all the prostitution stuff and focus on disproving the drugs element.’

‘She swears blind she wasn’t a mule,’ Tim says.

‘Exactly.’

‘But how do we prove that?’ Tim asks.

‘Again, exactly.’ Dan runs one hand through his lovely hair. ‘Look – she was there when the stuff was there. That plus the incident years ago when they think she probably was there. Plus her kid’s dad with links to the ring – it’s slam-dunk to a jury.’

‘So what do we do?’ I ask. Or rather, whine. My voice is high, caught in my throat.

Tim and Dan look at me in surprise. Yes, I may be a junior woman, there to take notes, but I do have a voice.

‘Well, I guess the main thing apart from my job of telling the CPS guy they haven’t proved what they think they’ve proved is to get something human from her that will show us why she couldn’t possibly have done it,’ Dan says. ‘Something the jury will go for.’

Tim muses for a while. ‘What, like she would never be involved in drugs because her kid sister died from them you mean?’

My pen freezes. My brain freezes. I want to ask Tim to repeat the phrase. But I don’t have to. I’ve heard it before.

A decade ago. About Emma. Mick’s sister.

I look at Tim for any sign he knows the significance of what he’s said. There’s nothing. He’s talking freely to Dan. Dan is nodding soberly at something. I don’t know what. My ears have frozen over too.

Is this one of those situations they warn you about? That if you say or do the wrong thing, everything comes out? That I must be very careful how I act?

‘She did say she has a daughter who she wouldn’t let people do drugs in front of,’ I venture.

Tim looks at me kindly. ‘You’ll come to learn, Jen, that people saying drugs are banned in their home doesn’t mean they ban themselves from selling them on the street.’

Just as I thought I was defrosting, I refreeze again. Two lines from my past life. This is too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?

‘Ah, but Jen doesn’t know that seedy underbelly we frequent, Tim. She is but a novice in these parts!’ Dan’s tone is light.

‘Oh, don’t misjudge her, Dan. I’m sure Ms Sutton has done her share of racy deeds.’

Are they flirting? Or are they insinuating? Have I found myself in the lion’s den, or just a pit of everyday sexism?

‘Excuse me,’ I say. I push back my chair and leave the room.

I rush along the corridor to the ladies’ bathroom before they can follow me.

Once there, I splash some water on my face. The lipstick comes off again, revealing the true me – pale and paranoid as ever. But am I paranoid this time? A partner at a law firm where I work, the managing partner of which knows what he believes to be my full history, has just alluded to that secret. Is Bill a gossip? When all along I thought my secret was safe with him, has he been laughing with the other partners about my secret past? About Mick? About Chloe?

I shake my head. Surely not. Bill must know he’d be in no end of trouble if he was found to have given away my story. That’s why they chose him – trustworthy to a fault. Pillar of the local community. Committed to the role of law in rebuilding lives. All that worthy stuff.

So. Just harmful flirting, then. In which case, I need to go back.

I dry my face and return to the room.

Tim gets to his feet. His face is serious.

‘Jen, we didn’t offend you, did we? I’m sorry, I was just trying to lighten the tone in this unpleasant case.’

I stay mute, biding my time.

‘Look, let’s call it a day for now. Dan and I discussed some action points while you were out and –’

‘What action points?’ I ask. About me? A follow-up to the flirting?

‘About the case.’ Tim looks at me like I’m mad.

‘We decided that Tim is doing such a good job of building up Rhea’s trust that he’s going to go and speak to her again,’ Dan tells me. His voice is serious but his eyes are sparkling. Tim thinks he’s building up trust? Lawyers and their egos. Poor Rhea. But Dan’s invisible dig at Tim puts me at ease more than a stilted apology.

‘Yes, Dan read the transcripts and was kind to say I went about it like a proper QC!’ Tim says.

I don’t look at Dan in case my anxiety spills over into giddy laughter.

‘So I’ll go and visit her again,’ Tim says.

‘I can come if you like,’ I tell him. Poor Rhea. She needs someone who gets it. Someone to talk to her about her kid. Someone who’s been there.

Tim puts his head on one side. ‘Interesting idea for the future. But look, I’m getting somewhere with her. And besides, it will be too much admin with the prison passes and everything. Maybe later.’

I nod. ‘OK.’

‘Anyway, what I was going to say was – I think we’ve got what we need for today. Shall we adjourn to the pub?’

I flick a look at the clock. ‘I’d love to, Tim, but it’s getting on for school pick-up, and I’m driving, so …’

‘Oh, you’ve got time for a quick one, and I won’t let you get over the limit. Come on, live a little.’

I look at Dan. He shrugs behind Tim’s back in an ‘up to you’ gesture.

I look at the clock again. I have fifteen minutes, which means by the time we order I would have approximately one point five minutes to down my drink.

‘I’ll minesweep what you don’t finish,’ Dan offers, relieving my quandary.

‘It’s a deal, then,’ I tell him.

But as we cross the road to the pub, I’m not at ease with my choice. It’s not so much the timing. Or the drinking. It’s the morality. Because they’ve been shamed into thinking I minded them almost flirting with me, Rhea Stevens’s two best hopes of freedom have abandoned their posts to take me for a drink. If someone had done that to me all those years ago, where would I be now?

Chapter 8

The pub is crowded when we get there. Pinstriped suits jostle with polo shirts to be served by a too-relaxed barmaid. I almost turn round and leave then and there – we’ll never get a drink on time. I mustn’t be late for Josh again. But Tim waves us to a table ledge and says he’ll get us a drink in no time.

‘Vodka and Coke,’ I say. Tim raises an eyebrow at me. What, am I meant to be on the dry white wine here? Fuck that. ‘A single,’ I tell him. ‘I’m driving.’

I follow Dan to a trio of bar-stools. As we clamber up, our knees brush. I pull away, too quickly.

‘Are you OK?’ Dan asks me. I think for a moment he means the knee-brushing. But he doesn’t. It’s the meeting.

‘I’m fine,’ I say.

He looks at me closely. ‘If I offended you, I’m sorry.’ He pauses a moment. ‘But I don’t think I did, did I?’

I flick a glance at him. ‘No,’ I say.

‘I know it’s a serious case, Jen. I take it seriously, don’t worry. I’ll do my bit for Rhea.’

‘I’m glad,’ I tell him. If I need to pretend that’s what happened, fine. That upset me too. Just not as much as thinking Bill had blabbed, that I was in a room of people who Know.

Dan smiles at me and I can feel the warmth of our connection starting. Rebuilding.

Then Tim reappears with the drinks.

We clink our glasses, although I don’t know why.

‘To Rhea,’ says Dan.

Tim nods sagely. ‘Yes. To Rhea. Well said.’

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. What are your counsel doing now, Rhea? They are clinking glasses in an overcrowded pub. And what are you doing? Sitting in a cell wondering when you’re next going to see your daughter.

‘I should get going,’ I say.

‘Oh, already?’ cries Tim. As if I’ve made up my son, made up my caring responsibilities.

‘Minesweep for me, Dan?’ I ask him.

‘With pleasure,’ he returns. ‘See you soon. Take care.’ This time we both know that we’re going for a kiss on both cheeks. ‘I’ll call you,’ he says softly into my ear. I wonder if he means about the case.

‘Let me escort you out,’ Tim says.

‘There’s really no need,’ I tell him, but he’s already on his feet.

Outside, I’m ready to go, but Tim takes my elbow slightly and pulls me away from the doorway into the quiet side street.

‘Jen, I really am sorry about before. And look, about you having to leave early – it’s difficult for you. Lucy giving you a dressing-down the other day, you getting on with Dan just now but having to go … well, look, I don’t want to speak out of turn again. But I can recommend a very good child minder.’

‘I can’t afford a child minder, Tim.’

‘Well, you should be able to, Jen. Let me put in a word with Bill. Least I can do. And I’ll message you her details.’

‘OK, but I really think –’

‘Of course, of course, it’s up to you. Just think about it, OK? Keep your options open.’

‘Thanks, Tim. I appreciate it.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t want us getting off on the wrong foot, you know. I’m looking forward to having your input on this case. We’ll catch up when I’ve spoken to Rhea again. And we can use that murky past of yours, yes?’

I feel a chill again. I laugh. He laughs back.

‘Good, you see – we can laugh about it now. I’m such a chump. Always misjudge situations. Look, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.’

‘Thanks, Tim. I’ll type up my notes of the con tomorrow.’

‘Good stuff. Say hello to the little one for me.’

And so we part.

I haven’t had enough vodka to feel a warm fondness for him. But I am grateful. Again. There was a glow with Dan. If I had a child minder – or even a babysitter – I could have stayed there a little while. And if he does call me (about me, not about the case) I could do something other than lunch or an invitation to read a bedtime story to a ten-year-old. So yes, I’ll think about it.

Back at the office, I put the Rhea Stevens file in the boot of my car. On a whim, I flick again to her photo. I stroke it with one finger. ‘We’ll help you,’ I say.

Tim, Dan, and I. We’ll make a good team. I know we will.

Chapter 9

That night, after Josh is in bed, I’m just dimming the lights and putting my feet up on the sofa when my mobile phone glows. You know, my proper mobile (not the one under the bed). A call in.

Oh. It’s that number.

I hate these calls. Like a pointless routine doctor’s appointment – a waste of everyone’s time.

I’d better answer, though.

‘Hi,’ I say, my voice hushed. Josh wouldn’t go to sleep until we’d read about a million chapters of The BFG together. The last thing I want is to wake him. I’ll need matchsticks under my eyes tomorrow as it is.

‘Ms Sutton?’ It’s the woman this time – Sarah.

‘Of course.’

‘Hi, Ms Sutton, it’s –’

‘I know who you are.’

A pause.

I can hear her think ‘Rude ungrateful bitch’ then regather her professionalism.

‘Well, Ms Sutton, I’m just checking in, to see everything’s OK.’

‘All fine,’ I say.

I don’t tell her about the shop windows, the notes on dashboards, the strange comments today at work.

‘Just the odd bit of paranoia,’ I say. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Do you need another medical referral?’ she asks.

‘No,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t.’

That’s how they coped with me in the first two years. Doped me up on Valium and Seroxat and God knows what else. Sang the old lullabies to get myself through, never mind the baby. Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy … a hitman to come and kill us if he or his housemates ever find us. Postnatal depression my arse. Justified fear for your own life and the life of your child. Horrified at what desperation had driven me to – the fear not just of Mick, but also of having no future to offer my little baby. Hunched on the sofa, terrified that Chloe would turn up.

But do you know what? I fucking missed Chloe. I missed her every day. Even though the thought of her surfacing again, some time, scared the shit out of me. That’s what happens when you’re ripped away from someone, even when it’s for your own good. And Mum. Of course I missed Mum. After everything, I just wanted a hug from her.

‘Well, if there’s anything you do need, or if you think there’s anything unusual, let me know, won’t you?’ says Sarah.

‘I’m thinking of getting a child minder,’ I tell her.

A bit of a pause. Consulting the manual, maybe?

‘Right,’ she says. ‘Well, we can arrange that for you. Obviously, you can’t be placing any advertisements. You won’t get extra funding, I’m afraid.’

Of course. The deal didn’t come with ‘You can live your life’, just ‘You can live.’

‘I’ve got a recommendation from a colleague,’ I say. I don’t want some State-endorsed child minder in six months’ time. I want an easy route, a known person, soon.

‘We’ll have to vet them on the security files. You’ve still got the address haven’t you, to send information through? We’ll need their full details and –’

‘Forget it,’ I say. ‘It was just a thought.’

‘You’re sure?’ she asks.

‘I’m sure,’ I lie, crossing my fingers. I’ll rely on my own security vetting when I meet the child minder – my gut. After all, no one here in Luton would connect me with Chloe. Anyone who would want revenge for what she did is safely locked away in another part of the country. For the first time in my life, I’m safe, and so is Josh. We can get a fucking child minder.

‘Well, if you change your mind, Ms Sutton, please let me know. Better safe than sorry.’

‘Of course. Is there anything else?’

‘No, not at the present time, Ms Sutton. We’ll keep you posted if there are any developments.’

The same sign-off to every call. What developments would there be?

Well, obviously, one. But I don’t need to worry about that yet. Not for a good five years or so.

She rings off and I’m alone again.

Except not. The phone glows again. What, new developments already?

No.

Unknown number.

Is the woman calling me on a different line?

I accept the call, and let the caller do the talking.

‘Hey,’ says a voice.

Dan!

‘Hey,’ I say back.

‘So Tim is busy preparing his opening line to use on Rhea,’ Dan jokes.

‘Oh God, don’t,’ I respond, groaning. ‘If that’s him trying to build trust, imagine him trying to ask someone out.’

‘“You like to drink, don’t you – let’s mutually assess whether you’re an alcoholic at The King’s Head at 7.”’

‘“I hear you think you can dance. You can’t. I’ll train you if you come to Flame at 8 on Sunday.”’

‘Oh, come on, Jen, even Tim would know better than to ask a girl to a gay nightclub!’

‘He probably just thinks it’s the pretty rainbow-coloured bar outside the Magistrate’s Court.’

‘You don’t get to be a criminal litigator by being totally naïve,’ Dan tells me.

‘Ah, so you’ve been in Flame, then,’

‘I reserve my rights to have been there. Great night out, I hear.’

‘Hmm. So come on, you’ve dissed Tim’s opening lines, let’s have your best cringeworthy one.’

‘Are you asking me to ask you out, Jen Sutton?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Then how about a drink on Friday evening?’

‘That’s not cringeworthy, Dan. What a let-down.’

‘I’ll wear a rose between my teeth. Better?’

‘It’ll do.’ I laugh.

Then the real world hits. ‘Listen, I don’t know, Dan, I’ve got the little one; it’s difficult.’

There’s a slight pause. Shit, I think. Blown it again.

When Dan speaks he is sheepish. ‘Actually, Tim, um, told me he was giving you the contact details for a child minder. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.’

Ah, so Tim is now running a dating agency.

‘Yes, but I can’t arrange a child minder by Friday. I don’t even know how I’d go about it.’

‘You interview them, I guess.’

‘I guess,’ I say. This is when a girl needs her mum. Or school-gate mum friends. Or friends.

Shit, I’ve been lazy over the last decade. Lazy or scared. Couldn’t find it within myself to return nods or hellos that could have led to friendship. You put down roots, right, when you move? Chloe would’ve. She’d be the most popular girl in the town. I can see her now, up in Donnie, being the life and soul. Or maybe that’s just a favourable image. Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe she was sat in a corner, her eyes narrow, drink in hand, watching it all unfold, waiting to strike. Waiting to fuck everyone up.