Losing You (49 page)

Though this was obviously good news, Russ was far too cautious to start celebrating yet. ‘Does Oliver know about this?’

‘I left a message the other day for him to call, but so far he hasn’t got back to me.’

Sighing, Russ said, ‘Sorry about that. I’ll talk to him when I get home.’

‘Well, when you do you can tell him that the gods really are smiling on him, because the speed test shows that he was doing somewhere between forty-one and forty-four miles an hour at the point of impact, which puts him at a mere four miles an hour over the limit.’

Russ wasn’t entirely sure what this meant. ‘But he was over?’ he queried.

‘Indeed, just not sufficiently for a dangerous-driving charge to have particularly strong legs.’

Feeling the need to stop the car, Russ kept going in the slow lane as he said, ‘So what’s all this amounting to?’

‘Well, when we throw in our special reasons and duress, we’re going to have a pretty strong case for getting the whole thing thrown out. I’ve arranged a meeting with the region’s senior prosecutor for the Thursday before the prelim, and if it goes to plan I think we could possibly find ourselves being sent home with not much more than a warning never to get in a car when under the influence again.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Russ murmured. ‘This isn’t what I expected at all.’

‘I can’t say I’d have put any money on it, either,’ Jolyon responded with no little irony.

‘So – so what do Oliver and I do now?’

‘You just carry on as normal and wait for my call.’

After ringing off, Russ continued to drive, barely noticing the traffic around him as he tried to come up with where the catch might be, because there surely had to be one. No one walked away from a drink-drive charge, much less dangerous driving when a young girl had been badly injured – but Charlie, and Jolyon, said they did, and more often than most people realised. Had he really understood everything correctly? Oliver’s charges were possibly going to be thrown out, largely due to police error, or government cutbacks, or whatever the hell was going on at the labs or the station that had labelled and sent the blood in the first place. This could mean that Oliver wouldn’t lose his licence, or receive a fine, or – and this was the really big one – if Jolyon pulled this off, Oliver wouldn’t end up going to prison.

Though Russ knew he should be rejoicing, or at least allowing himself some modicum of relief, he was still finding it a struggle to make himself accept that it could be this easy. Or maybe it was the way Oliver was going to respond that was bothering him, because he had a fair idea of how it would go.

Russ realised, as he stepped on the accelerator, that in spite of knowing that the Scott family shouldn’t be his concern, even he was starting to feel guilty about their own good fortune, when no amount of police blunders or special reasons were ever going to help Lauren Scott.

Chapter Twenty-Five

EMMA ALMOST WANTED
to laugh at the look on her mother’s face. However, the constant dread inside her that had all joyful emotions trapped in its thrall wouldn’t permit much hilarity, and besides it wasn’t that funny. It was really only mildly amusing, and, now Emma came to think of it, a little annoying actually, but she was careful not to let that show. She and Phyllis had learned over the past few weeks how to steer clear of anything that could bring them into confrontation, particularly one that might threaten the fragile fences they were managing to build. They hadn’t even tried to revisit Emma’s exhausted attempt to force the issues between them. Instead, they skirted around the past – the great big slumbering elephant in the room – talking only about Lauren, or Harry and his family, or what they might need from Sainsbury’s or Aldi, depending on who was doing the shopping.

They were gardening now in the early afternoon, and since the sun was shining and insect life was stirring, Emma was tempted to warn her mother that she might catch a fly if she didn’t close her mouth soon.

‘I – I don’t know what to say,’ Phyllis finally stammered, her fork still buried in the soil she was about to turn.

Emma kept her eyes fixed on the seed packets she was sorting – sweet peas, hollyhocks, lobelia, poppies – four packs for the price of two at the local DIY. They were attempting to create a border of wild flowers around the lawn (that had yet to be laid), envisaging a joyful abandon of colour ready for when Lauren came home. They never actually voiced those words, but Emma knew it was what they were both thinking, and though it would break her
heart to watch the flowers come and go without Lauren seeing them, not planting them at all simply wasn’t an option.

‘Why are you only telling me this now?’ Phyllis demanded.

Not entirely sure why she’d kept her encounter with Oliver Lomax to herself for the past two days, Emma sighed as she rocked back on to the small stool behind her.

‘Aren’t you upset?’ Phyllis wanted to know. ‘Angry? What did you say to him?’

‘Actually we had quite a long chat,’ Emma admitted, ‘and he did most of the talking.’

Phyllis was still having difficulty assimilating the news. ‘But you told him he mustn’t go near her again?’ she asked, rather than stated, clearly not wanting to sound bossy, but managing to anyway.

Realising how hard her mother was searching for the reaction that was going to cause the least discord between them, Emma said, ‘I know this isn’t going to be easy to understand, frankly, I hardly understand it myself, but when I found him there ... I don’t know ...’ She gazed out over the barren garden as she tried to collect her impressions of the encounter and turn them into words. ‘There was something about the way he was with her,’ she said. ‘He was ... Well, let’s just say it didn’t feel as wrong as you might think.’

Phyllis continued to look perplexed – and wary.

Pressing on, Emma said, ‘Actually, I told him it was OK to visit her again and apparently he’s been back since, Jo the staff nurse told me. He goes in the middle of the afternoon, before I get there, and so’s not to clash with you in the morning.’

Phyllis shook her head in bewilderment, taking a breath and blowing it out slowly. ‘Well, I must admit, this is very unexpected,’ she declared, which was a surprising euphemism given how forcibly she normally aired her opinions. ‘Have you told Will?’ she asked, evidently hoping for some support from other quarters.

‘No, of course not. As far as I’m concerned he doesn’t have a right to know anything, and I hope you won’t tell him either. He’ll only start ringing the hospital ordering
them to ban the boy or threatening to sue someone for invasion of privacy, or intimidation, or whatever spurious offence he can come up with.’ She knew her mother might not want to hear this, and she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have herself a week ago, but she hadn’t met Oliver Lomax then. ‘He struck me as a decent young man who’s suffering greatly over what’s happened. Plus, he really seems to care about Lauren.’

Phyllis blinked, and tried hard not to look sceptical.

‘OK, I know that’s difficult to believe,’ Emma said, ‘but it’s the impression I got. He really wants her to recover, and not just because it’ll get him off the hook, but because he ...’ She braced herself. ‘He thinks ... she’s special.’

Phyllis looked away and back again, seeming more at a loss than ever.

Though Emma understood her mother’s confusion, she was becoming increasingly irritated by it. ‘Tell me what harm you think he can do by going to see her?’ she cried. She hadn’t meant to sound challenging, but there it was, she had now, and anyway, she needed to know just in case she was missing something.

‘Well, off the top of my head I don’t know,’ Phyllis replied honestly. ‘I’m just not sure it’s ... appropriate.’

Wanting to slap away the word like a fly, Emma said, ‘In truth I’m not sure it is either, but nor can I find anything really wrong with it.’

Phyllis was clearly thinking hard about this. ‘Unless,’ she cautiously suggested, ‘he’s doing it to try and create a good impression. You know, to gain sympathy from a jury when the time comes.’

Having already thought of that and dismissed it, Emma didn’t like having to confront it again. ‘It’s not coming across that way,’ she said shortly. ‘He truly does seem genuinely concerned, and sorry and afraid, for Lauren much more than for himself.’ She went on quickly, ‘He’s recorded music for her to listen to, making choices that show what care he’s put into it, and frankly, when I saw them together ...’ Her eyes went to her mother’s and stayed there. ‘He doesn’t frighten me, or make me angry or vengeful, he just makes me feel ... I don’t know ...
Sad, I suppose, for what all this has done to two young lives.’

Phyllis seemed startled. ‘But I don’t think you can compare what’s happening to him to what’s happening to Lauren,’ she protested.

‘Maybe not, but they’re both victims of the same accident, and frankly, something feels
right
about them trying to help each other through it. And I think she does help him, or at least being with her does.’

‘Which might be fine for him, but what’s it doing for her?’

Emma’s eyes clouded as she pictured Lauren lying on her hospital bed, the world going on around her while she remained trapped in another sphere where no one could reach her. ‘We can’t know that, can we,’ she said, ‘but you can’t think I’d ever let this happen if I thought it could harm her in any way.’

‘No, of course not,’ Phyllis conceded.

They remained quiet for a while, continuing to dig and plant, the early spring sunshine warming them with unexpectedly bright rays, and the sounds of children playing in a nearby garden evoking memories neither of them wanted to dwell on. An easyJet flight thundered overhead, so close that if they’d looked up they might have actually seen faces at the windows. The ten thirty from Nice, Emma decided, and tried to smile over a flutter of poignancy as she realised this was the first time in over seven weeks that she’d even particularly registered a plane, never mind embarked on her and Lauren’s little game.

‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’ Phyllis suggested when the noise died away.

A mother’s answer to everything.

Emma checked her watch. She didn’t work at the vet’s on Wednesdays, so she had at least an hour to spare before it was time to drive over to see Lauren, though she’d been toying with the idea of turning up early in the hope of catching Oliver Lomax again. She felt surprisingly keen to see him, yet she was also finding herself reluctant to intrude on the private time he and Lauren shared. Her mother really would think she was losing it if she confessed that.
However, unless she was fooling herself, and she accepted that she very probably was, she was starting to believe that there really was something special, even healing, about them being together. Maybe this could even prove the miracle that Lauren needed.

‘His mother’s in a clinic, drying out,’ she told Phyllis as they washed their hands at the kitchen sink. When she looked at Phyllis’s hands she wondered if she was seeing her own in another twenty to thirty years. If she was, it wasn’t making her feel anything other than curious to know why her mother still wore a wedding ring when she’d been a widow for so long. Had she really never met, or even felt interested in, anyone else during all that time?

‘Well, that’s good,’ Phyllis commented. ‘Just a pity she didn’t do it before.’

Remembering how she’d thought the same thing, Emma reached for a towel as she said, ‘He made it sound as though he’s quite close to his father, which must be a blessing, given the way things are with his mother.’

Taking the towel, Phyllis said, ‘You know, I really don’t think you should be getting yourself involved with that family.’

Wishing her mother occasionally failed to irritate her, Emma replied, ‘I’m not involved, I’m just making an observation. And anyway, what’s wrong with taking an interest in what’s going on with them? Whether we like it or not, we’re going to be linked to them now for the rest of our lives.’

‘Well that’s just a daft thing to say,’ Phyllis protested. ‘Of course we’re not
linked
to them. Once Lauren’s through this and that young man is getting his comeuppance we’ll never have to have anything to do with them again.’

Deciding not to argue, since she knew she wasn’t being especially rational anyway, Emma slumped down in a chair, leaving her mother to carry on making the tea. The fact that she’d missed a period last month – obviously due to stress – and was clearly lining up for a particularly bad one this month wasn’t her mother’s fault, so she should try not to take it out on her.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Phyllis muttered, as she checked her mobile for texts.

Spurred into a tart response, Emma said, ‘You know, you don’t have to go on staying here. I understand that you’ve got a life of your own.’

Her mother’s expression was injured as she looked up from her phone. ‘I’ve just won ten pounds on the lottery,’ she explained, ‘but if this is your way of telling me you want me to go ...’

‘That’s not what I said,’ Emma broke in quickly. ‘I’m just ... Well, I’m just trying to let you know that I appreciate how you’ve put everything on hold for me, and that you must be worried about ...’ About what? What did she know about her mother’s life? ‘What I’m saying is, if you want to start spending less time here ...’

‘Have I given you any reason to think that? I hope not, because it would be completely the wrong impression. However, if you feel that I’m getting in the way and that you’d like to have more time to yourself ...’

‘Why are you putting words in my mouth? I’m simply trying to point out that I’m aware that you have friends and commitments that might need your attention ...’

‘There’s nothing that Harry can’t cope with, and as he’s happy to keep an eye on the house and pick up my mail, I don’t see any reason ... Unless you ... I mean I can always tell him to stop if you’d rather I went home.’

‘Oh Mum, for heaven’s sake, why are you being like this? You’re taking everything the wrong way or getting it out of perspective.’

‘I’m just saying that if you don’t want me here ...’

‘Except that’s not what I said. I was trying to be considerate, and now you’re making me sound ungrateful and selfish and like I can’t wait to get rid of you, when I’ve told you before that I don’t know how I’d have managed without you.’