‘You were brilliant,’ she said.
‘I told the truth. You were a bit extreme.’
‘I’m sorry. Did I embarrass you? It won’t make any difference. They’re not going to charge you just because your mother is a maniac.’
‘Guess not.’
She asked, ‘Where were you last night? You were really late.’
‘I was round Don’s.’
‘You said you didn’t know where she lived.’
‘I don’t want them hassling. Don’s cool.’
‘So, it wasn’t a party.’
‘We play games.’
‘What sort of games?’
‘Mum…’
‘OK, none of my business.’
‘Computer games. Board games. Ze’s a geek.’
Board games. Sunday afternoon at her mother’s. She was due there in less than an hour, but how could she leave Jacob now? While he was finishing his croissant, she dialled her mother’s number.
‘Where are you, darling? I was expecting you at twelve.’
‘I thought it was one.’
‘Never mind. So, are you on your way? It’s a simple meal. Sardines on toast and a fruit salad.’
‘Mum, I’m really sorry. Jacob’s not been well. I should have rung.’
‘What is the matter with him? Should I be worried?’
‘I’ll explain. It’ll have to be a bit later. I’m meeting someone at the Picture Gallery at four thirty. So maybe sometime after six.’
‘There’s Countryfile and Fake or Fortune.’
‘We can watch them together.’
‘Just go,’ muttered Jacob.
‘May I call you back, Mum?’
‘As you wish.’
Isabel’s words were like tiny darts. Mel hung up.
‘Mum, will I have a criminal record?’
‘Not if they don’t charge you. And even if they charge you, well, only if you plead or…’ She couldn’t get the words out. ‘We’ll take it one stage at a time.’
‘That solicitor didn’t say much.’
‘He won’t know what the police are planning. Anyway he seemed OK; he’s got a note of everything. You were good, darling. I’m proud of you.’ She threw her arms around him, felt him tense and pull back. He would allow her to hug him, but he would no longer respond. For months he had been like this, throwing up an invisible wall between them. He used to kiss her, even cuddle her. Other parents said it would pass and he would become affectionate again. But everything was happening so fast. What about Don? Was she his girlfriend, his… whatever the word should be?
She said, ‘I’m supposed to meet this woman about work. Though I could cancel.’
‘Don’t cancel her for me. I’ll be fine, Mum.’
He looked up at her and his beautiful eyes were alive again, shining, and the last two horrible hours had been a big mistake, and all would be well. She wanted to grasp him and pull him close, but she wouldn’t, she would stand back and wait.
‘Come with me,’ she said.
‘Not if you’ve got a work thing.’ His face was face tense with the effort of holding back the tears.
‘It’ll be fine. She’s my pupil. You can just drift around the gallery when we’re talking.’
‘I’d rather stay here.’ He gulped, as if trying to force back whatever was surging inside him. His throat quivered. She noticed for the first time, the hint of an Adam’s apple, sign of manhood, symbol of man’s fall. He was swallowing again, battling against collapse, a hundred Jacobs warring with each other, the frightened, the angry, the child, the man… She desperately wanted to hug him, to protect him from everything, from the whole world, from himself. But she could not live for him.
‘I’m not leaving you alone, Jacob,’ she said. ‘Not today.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Natasha
Everything was back to normal. Luke wanted to take her for a long bike ride through Epping Forest, but she reminded him she was meeting her supervisor for tea.
‘What’s she ever done for you?’
‘Yeah, well maybe she wants to make amends. Anyway, I’ll need a reference for the CPS.’
‘When do you think you’ll be back?’ he asked.
‘Not late. Around six. The gallery shuts at five.’
‘I’ll make a nice supper for you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.’
‘I’d like that.’
She kissed him. He was onside again and she could breathe.
And now the scruffy fringes of Brixton had been left behind and the bus was trundling up Herne Hill. Both the sky and the prospect brightened. The 1930s houses were freshly painted and set back from the road. Natasha felt a smile creep up her face as they swept over the crest of the leafy hill and down towards Dulwich with its cafes and arty shops, tiny fingerposts on every junction. This was where she should be. Mel might have prevented her getting the chambers tenancy she deserved, but she’d get the next best thing, a proper job with the CPS. It might be less exciting, less prestigious than working as a defence barrister, but it made sense. Regular hours, holiday pay, security. She thought about the sickness that had troubled her for the past four days. She was still unsure what she would do. But, if she did decide to keep it, there’d be maternity pay. It was foolish to discount it as an option. And the thought of prosecuting villains was appealing in a different way. It would turn her life around. She’d satisfied all the criteria so far. She just needed the reference. If Mel was tricky, Natasha would mention Paul. Just a nudge. An unspoken agreement. You help me. I help you. Simple as that. Mel wouldn’t want the world knowing her dirty little secret.
It was a beautiful sunny day and a relief to get out of the flat, away from Luke’s relentless attention. How would he be if she was pregnant? Well, she would deal with that if it happened. She would take the test and there was still the option of termination. And if she did have the baby she could go straight back to work. Luke could be a house husband. He’d like that.
It was after four when the bus drew to a halt outside the gallery. Natasha walked quickly down the path towards the cafe. Jumping the queue outside she put her head round the door. No sign of Mel.
‘Try the pavilion,’ said the waitress, pointing across the grass to a wooden and glass structure where the overspill of customers was seated. Natasha scanned the tables for a woman alone. There weren’t any. Everyone was in a group or pair. Mel must be late. It was irritating, though not surprising. Natasha headed for one of the empty tables.
Then, just as she was about to sit down, she saw her. Mel was seated only a few yards away, facing Natasha, though her focus was elsewhere. She had made no effort to look presentable for the meeting. Her hair was wild and unkempt and her face pale and devoid of make-up, but for traces of smudged mascara below the lower rim of her eyes. And far from looking about for her expected companion, she was deeply engaged in conversation with the young man sitting opposite her. He had his back to Natasha, but she was close enough to take in the set of his neck and shoulders, the drape of his loose blue T-shirt, the thick chestnut hair, long on top and shaved at the side. He sat very still and her eyes traced the shape of his upright back, his head, his arms. Her throat felt dry, her heart was speeding. Even before he turned his head and she could see his profile, she had no doubt it was him. When he did, she found she was unprepared for his astonishing beauty. Acting came naturally to her, but this was taking it to another level. She breathed deeply and took a step forward.