‘Lottie,’ the clerk dived in, no time for pleasantries, ‘can you get over to Slough for a last-minute appearance this afternoon?’
‘Today?’ I asked pointlessly, my nose wrinkled. Although last-minute appearances weren’t unheard of, this seemed to be cutting things fine. ‘What is it?’ I asked, assuming it would be something straightforward, a request for an adjournment or similar.
‘It’s a new case. The client has fired George Thorpe on the first day of the damn trial and Alan recommended you take it on.’
George Thorpe was one of the other barristers in our chambers, quite an abrasive character when butting up against the wrong person. People described him as ‘old school’ when they were being polite, other things when they weren’t.
‘It would mean a lot to Alan, shore up the damage done.’
My brain was full. This could be a tricky, prolonged case, stressful and complicated. I had heard George discussing aspects of it last week, a GBH with a number of witnesses. I was being thrown in at the last moment, felt the swirl of worry at the lack of preparation. Then I thought of Alan, a man in charge of my career and possible promotion. The excitement when I heard he thought I had it in me to become the youngest silk in chambers had spurred me on to work harder than ever in the last year or so. He would be so pleased. And if I did step in now the judge might be impressed too and give me a reference when the time came to apply to become a QC.
I agreed without more thought, the clerk sighing with relieved satisfaction.
‘We’ll courier the papers over to you now, and contact the court letting them know you’re on your way so they can move things around. You can get the train there from Paddington.’
‘Great,’ I said, already heading off to hail a taxi to Paddington. As I walked I noticed another unread text, this time from Luke, sent an hour earlier. Striding purposefully towards the kerb looking out for a black cab, I glanced at the message.
2 words, first word 7, second 5. Tonight. Love you x x
Frowning, it took me a second to realise it was a reminder of the parlour games later that evening. It felt silly next to all the other messages and calls. I’d call him, let him know I might be a little later than I said.
Then I paused in the street, a strange moment where I felt as if I’d forgotten something important. I checked my bag for my wallet, checked the time on my mobile. Shrugging off the feeling I pressed Luke’s name, still scanning the road for an approaching cab as I waited for him to answer.
‘Hey,’ I said launching straight into the call. ‘Where are you?’ I asked, hearing voices in the background.
‘I’m with Geoffrey and Arjun,’ he said, sounding distracted. A girlish giggle, high and loud.
‘Who’s that?’
‘What?’
Why did I feel Luke could hear me perfectly well? ‘Who was—’
‘Luke,’ a voice called, interrupting my question. A woman. Something familiar in her tone.
I frowned into the phone. ‘What are you guys doing?’ I asked.
Luke sounded distracted as he burbled a response. ‘Um, we’re not doing much, I just thought I would see how Arjun was getting on.’
Why did he sound so strange? Stilted and guilty. It made me bristle a response. ‘All right for some. Work going well then?’
‘Yes, fine,’ he said, clearly not picking up on my tone.
I hoped the next time he went to the Tube the screen announced the next train was eight minutes away.
‘Well, I was just letting you know I’ve been asked to take on a case at the last minute. I might be a bit late tonight.’ Luke was saying something to someone else, his distracted tone making me bristle more, a cab heading towards me in the distance. ‘So that’s it, I have to go, the taxi’s here . . . ’
‘Right, sorry, OK, see you lat—’
The taxi pulled over next to me as I jabbed at the call. Job done. I needed to head to the train station. As I stepped inside the cab I suddenly realised where I had heard that girlish voice before: Storm. But how? Why would she be with Luke if he was visiting Arjun? It made no sense but I didn’t have time now to unpick it.
The afternoon was a blur: meeting with the client, reading up on the case, trying to get a handle on the statements I’d read. The judge, a middle-aged woman with tortoiseshell glasses, had thanked me for stepping in and although things had been up in the air I felt heroic on leaving the courthouse a few hours later. The moment I headed back to London on the train I wanted to rest my head against the seat and fall asleep. I knew I should cancel the night ahead, I had so much to do. The thought spurred me on to drag my eyes over the documents in front of me.
Paddington was just getting busy as I grabbed the escalator, passing adverts for West End shows I would never have the time to see, books I would never read. I froze as the escalator went to spew me out on to the bustling floor, people jostling around me, some pushing past, bags and briefcases pressed to their chests. I froze to the spot. Oh my God. That was the niggle in the back of my mind today: Amy. The brooch.
I stared back up at the escalator, at the stream of people. Did I have time to head back outside, get to the shop? What time had Amy said? Maybe I could make it, if I raced back up, ordered a taxi from there, prayed the rush-hour traffic was less than normal? I checked my watch, feeling a sinking sensation, knocked off balance by someone tutting as they passed me. It was five thirty. The shop would be closed. I had forgotten. I couldn’t move from where I stood, chewing my lip as if I could will time to move backwards. I thought of Amy’s words, her desperation, the ultimatum. And this wasn’t something I could replace.
Someone else tutted as they skirted me.
I started to be pulled along by the crowd, moving in a daze as I ran through any options I had left. I wanted mobile reception. Maybe the woman would agree to a later time, perhaps she had been exaggerating and could open it tomorrow? How early was her flight? I could try. It wasn’t over yet.
I felt desperate as I headed to Grandad’s. Amy never really asked for anything. She was absurdly capable and efficient. She was always the one turning up with a lasagne because she knew I would burn whatever I offered, the one who booked tickets for things when I expressed an interest in wanting to go. She would arrange the holiday details, flights, hotels and make everything ridiculously easy for me, needing only to transfer her half the cash with a click of my mobile.
She juggled the problems of kids and parents; she had been like a mother to me when my own mother was on the other side of the world. She had never let me down. I felt acid churn in my stomach, knowing at some point I was going to have to dial her number, tell her that I had forgotten, that I had completely failed to come through for the one thing she had asked me to do.
‘Parlour games,’ Luke chorused as I stood on the doorstep of Grandad’s place.
He was holding a glass in one hand, looking casual, relaxed and happy. It made me feel even more taut.
‘Charades are beginning. Thank God you got here when you did – you might have missed it.’
I could barely raise a half-smile.
‘I’ve got you a gin and tonic. The gin’s got black pepper in it but don’t worry, it’s nicer than it sounds, and we’re just running through the rules for the eighteenth time with Howard . . . he is struggling with the not-speaking element of the game.’