‘Please, Fran. Even if it’s only for a few minutes. I want to see him in the flesh, to check he’s okay. I appreciate that you’d want to talk to him on your own. I just need a few minutes with him.’
‘No.’ Fran stood up, signalling that their ridiculous conversation was over.
But Martha didn’t budge. ‘Please. Dad won’t take me.’
‘That’s between you and your dad. I’m not going up there to have a nice, cosy little chat.’ She could hear the flint in her voice.
Martha flinched, but didn’t back down. ‘Please. I can’t bear not seeing him. When I talk to Harry on the phone, he sounds so down. It was awful over Christmas. Just awful. I’m worried about him. Really worried about him.’
Fran could see how distressed she was. She understood why. The Westwood household wasn’t the only family missing its beating heart. Looking at Martha’s pinched, thin little face, Fran could feel the desperation emanating from her, but she felt absolutely no responsibility to alleviate it. ‘Martha, there is no way I’m going to take you up to Darlington to see your brother. Not next week or any other time. It’s something you need to sort out with your dad. You need to leave. Now.’
Martha looked confused. ‘Fran?’ She reached out to touch Fran’s arm, as if wanting to check that this woman who was so coldly dismissing her was the same person who had always been so warm and open.
Fran instinctively pushed her stool back out of reach. She stood up, walked over to the door and opened it. The sound of the outer shop drifted into the room. There was nothing left to say.
Chapter 66
MARCUS TRIED to cling onto sleep, but it slipped away from him, unconsciousness denied. Regardless, he lay still. Another day lay in wait, but he was in no rush to face it. Better to stay, flat on his stomach, his eyes blind in the pillow. Fran was not next to him. He heard a couple of cars pass the house. He lifted his head. His phone showed 6.40 a.m. He had had a full eight hours’ sleep, but he still felt tired out. He rolled onto this back. It was still dark in the bedroom. It took a huge effort to push himself upright. He got out of bed. Fran was in the kitchen. When he entered, she smiled and flicked the kettle on, opened the cupboard and took out his mug. ‘Morning.’
‘Morning.’
‘How did you sleep?’
‘Not bad. You?
‘Better than last night.’
They weaved around each other, making toast, pouring cereal. The overhead light bounced off the surfaces. Armed with his breakfast, Marcus went to go through to the lounge, on his own.
Fran had other ideas. ‘Will you come and sit with me?’
It was an oddly formal invitation. ‘Yes, of course.’
They sat opposite each other at the kitchen table, crunching, swallowing, eating breakfast. Fran’s silence sat at odds with her request for him to join her. Marcus’s mind turned to work, and the day ahead. It took an act of will and disciplined determination to summon up the energy to face a school full of kids. Tuesday was especially bad, given that he had no PPA time. He would have to be ‘on’ all day.
Fran pushed her bowl aside, dragging his attention back. ‘Marcus, I need to talk to you about something, and I want you to hear me out before you say anything.’ He could do nothing but nod. ‘I’ve been looking into a service called restorative justice.’ She paused, as if waiting for him to react. He didn’t. ‘It’s a scheme they run for the victims of crimes. They arrange meetings with the perpetrators – face-to-face sit-downs – with a moderator present. It’s all very safe and well managed…from what I can make out. The meetings are so that everyone directly involved in an incident can talk through what happened and learn from it.’
‘And…’
‘Well, I approached them…regarding Harry.’
‘When?’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘Before Christmas. Just to make initial enquiries. It’s a non-starter if the perpetrator refuses.’
‘And…’
‘I’ve received an email from them, saying Harry has agreed to meet us, if we want to pursue it. I obviously haven’t committed us to anything yet.’
Marcus wasn’t really surprised. He’d seen what she’d been watching. He’d looked at her search history. What he was angry about was Fran taking him for mug. If it had got to the stage of them approaching Harry, she’d hadn’t simply made initial enquiries; she must have made a formal application, must have spoken to them, pursued it, provided them with information – all without saying anything to him.
Fran was still talking. ‘We can discuss it more tonight. I’ve got some information I could show you, but given that I’ve just heard he’s said “Yes”, I thought I should tell you.’
‘Yeah’ was all he could manage by way of a response.
She actually squirmed in her seat. ‘Marcus? Do you think it’s something you would consider? It might really help. Give us a chance to speak to Harry directly. He barely said two words at the hearing. This way, we could talk to him for as long as we need – find out what really happened that night. That’s got to be worth pursuing, hasn’t it?’
Harry had said more than two words at the sentencing. He’d read out a short statement, the paper wavering in his hands, his voice low and distressed, his face so tight it was amazing the words had managed to get through his clenched jaw.
‘Marcus?’
He stood up. ‘I’ll think about it. I’ve got to get ready for work.’
Upstairs he cleaned his teeth, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. If the eyes are supposed to be the window to the soul, in his house the blinds were down.
Chapter 67
THREE WEEKS later Harry received the letter confirming the restorative justice meeting. He took it back to his cell. It had been opened and read, of course – that was one of the many personal infringements of serving time. Nothing was private, nothing except your thoughts, and even those they wanted. Up until that point Harry had stoically resisted their attempts to get him to talk – to share – and yet by agreeing to the meeting with Fran and Marcus he had walked straight into the firing line. He slid out the letter. He skipped through the official waffle on the front. Fran and Marcus’s questions were on the second page:
The applicant[s] would like the discussion to focus on the following areas:
• The events on the night of the crash, specifically,
- for you to talk about what happened at the party
- for you to explain your decision to drink and drive
- for you to provide a detailed breakdown of exactly what happened after you and the others left Alice Mitcham’s house
- to explain why you left Mo Akhtar behind in the car park
- for you to give your explanation of what caused the crash
- for you to describe what you did immediately after the crash
- for you to express your understanding of your responsibility for what happened.
• For you to tell us anything you can about how Jess was that night – before, during and after the crash. What mood she was in. What she said. What she did. Specifically, for you to describe her last few hours of consciousness.