‘But that’s not the plan!’ she wails. ‘The plan is for us to pay off the mortgage and then for him to move down. Not the other way around. That’s not the plan.’
‘Oh, I see!’ I say, and I really do. ‘The plan is for you to enjoy living on your own and occasionally visiting your boyfriend and having him visit you, but you essentially live the single life for as long as is humanly possible, yes?’
‘Get lost,’ she says, refusing to meet my eye.
‘I love it when a sibling joins me in the messed-up stakes,’ I laugh. ‘Just love it.’
‘Get lost,’ she replies.
I am, I think. I am completely and utterly lost. And I have a feeling that once I see what’s on the USB, I’m going to be even more lost. Even more in need of something to anchor me. I watch my sister sip her wine, her short brown hair is in a newly acquired sexy little pixie cut, and her face is looking happier than it has since Logan was hospitalised.
I should probably tell her what I’ve found. Look at it with her. But I’m scared that it may be something hideous. It might be something so damaging she’ll never recover from seeing it, so I quiet the small part of me that wants to share it with her by downing more Bailey’s. The rest of me knows that, for now, I need to keep this discovery to myself.
Part 7
serena
Now
I’ve pretty much erased from my mind what it’s like to be in a magistrate’s court. Or maybe it’s one of the things that was removed with my memory loss.
I wasn’t in one for an extensive amount of time, just long enough to hear the charges read, to be asked if I understood what I was being charged with, and to be told I would have to stay at home under curfew for the months and months before the trial.
Verity might not be in court for long this morning. The police have come up to seventy-two hours and haven’t found anything to prove she did something to Logan Carlisle, so they’ve had to return to court to get her time in custody extended to ninety-six hours.
It’s rare for the full ninety-six to be awarded, explained Mr Palmer, but it might be. Because of that possibility, we’ve all put on suits to make us look respectable. It’s not as cynical and calculated as it sounds, just sensible. Easier. Verity doesn’t have any smart clothes and I know she will look tired and bedraggled; like someone who could have done what she was accused of. So the rest of us have to show that this is not how she normally looks, that’s not where she comes from.
There is a lot of wood around the court; that hasn’t changed in all these years. Lots of wood, imposing and grand; overtly menacing. You can’t help but feel intimidated sitting here surrounded by all this wood and worry.
We told Conrad he didn’t have to come to court, but he insisted because he wanted to see his sister. We don’t speak as we sit in a line on uncomfortable chairs, waiting to be called. It feels small in here, maybe because of the wood, maybe because of how oppressive being surrounded by so much emotion is, but I feel ridiculously oversized, like a giant in a miniature world.
When I look up at the doorway to the waiting area, I see Medina and Faye. They are also wearing suits – identical suits. I bet that’s an accident. They used to hate dressing alike when they were younger, so I suspect this morning, when they grabbed clothes to come down here, they didn’t intentionally coordinate and pull on dark-grey trouser suits complete with waistcoats and pink shirts. If we weren’t in this situation, I would laugh. Their faces when they saw each other first thing must have been a picture.
Medina indicates her head for me to come out rather than wait for them to go in. I stand and pull my bag onto my shoulder, mumbling, ‘I’ll be back in a minute’ to the other two, and head outside.
Once in the corridor, Medina pulls me into a hug, clinging onto me tightly. ‘How are you, babe?’ she says. I’m not sure who the hug is for – her or me. Faye, always more reserved, rubs my back while Medina squishes me. ‘Are you OK? Have you seen her? Is she OK? What can we do? Will she be let out today?’ Medina’s questions are rapid, frantic, a sure sign of what she is feeling inside.
‘Give the girl a bloody chance,’ Faye says, rubbing my back a little firmer. ‘How is she supposed to answer those questions when you’re firing them at her like your mouth’s a machine gun?’
‘Don’t start with me, Fez,’ Medina threatens.
‘Or you’ll do what? Go and get your own style so we don’t dress like fifty-something twinnies?’
‘I said don’t start with me.’ Mez is crushing me to her chest so she can remonstrate with our sister over my shoulder.
‘I’ll start all I want,’ Fez replies. She’s now rubbing my back so hard she’s about to break a rib.
‘Really? My two big sisters come to support me in my hour of need and this is what they do?’ I struggle to loosen Mez’s hold for long enough to break free. ‘Really? Well, thanks for coming girls, couldn’t get through this without you.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart, sorry,’ Medina says, scowling at Fez.
‘Yes, sorry. I know you didn’t need that,’ Faye adds, side-eyeing Mez back to the dawn of time.
‘I can’t believe this is happening again,’ Medina declares, even though the words from the apology for their spat aren’t even dry.
‘Don’t say that,’ Faye says, trying to tell Medina to stop because she can see I can’t take it.
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘In a way it does feel like this is history repeating itself. But Verity is not me. She’s an adult and she’s way smarter than I ever was.’ My confidence in what I am saying is thin, papery, blatantly apparent to the other two.
‘We know,’ Faye says. She slings her arms around me and pulls me into one of her rare hugs.
‘We absolutely know,’ Medina adds and throws her arms around the two of us.
This feels more genuine, more comforting, like they’re here to prop me up in a way that I definitely need right now. My body relaxes, only for a moment, a time when I don’t have to keep myself upright because my two big sisters are doing it for me. My eyes are about to slip shut, to allow Faye and Medina to keep me up for a few moments longer before I have to go in and be a respectable parent in front of the magistrate while they pass it over to the crown court and let us know the conditions of her bail, when something familiar catches my eye.
Someone familiar.
They are outside, beyond the revolving doors, talking to someone else. I don’t have my glasses on, I can’t see properly, completely, but this person is . . . My eyes widen rather than shut as I stare through the smoky, slightly darkened court glazing at the person who stands at the top of the steps, hands in pockets, having an intense discussion with another person in a suit.
My whole body grows icy and I’m glad my sisters have their arms around me because if they didn’t I would probably pass right out cold on the floor.
Standing outside is a person I never thought I would see again. Literally thought I would never see again because it would be impossible.
Standing outside, just beyond the doors is . . .
Sir.
Him.