Blood Sisters(67)

Of course, I could have made the appointment under another name, and then surprised him. But I’d felt it only right to explain to the receptionist when making an appointment that Mr Wood used to know me years ago as Ali James. Right now, my heart is thumping – not just with the fear of being prosecuted for my part in the accident but also at the prospect of seeing an old friend after all these years. Someone who, understandably, had dropped me after I’d abandoned him at the Wrights’ party. Is this a big mistake?

I hover outside the building with his nameplate on it and then push open the heavy glass doors. A man is waiting. He looks at me. Does a double take. I do the same. It’s Robin. Yet it isn’t. He is more grown up. Obviously. But there’s a certain smoothness about his suit. The way his tie is knotted. So different from that red and blue jacket he used to wear. His hair is … well, tidy. There’s no other way of putting it. His face is lined but it suits him. I’m not sure why. But it does. His body is no longer ‘gangly’. It’s substantial. Robin has grown into a man.

‘Good to see you again, Ali.’

With a jolt, I note that his voice is exactly the same. I remember suddenly how it had always been deep for his age at school – something else that he got ribbed about as well as the name and the jacket.

‘It’s Alison, now,’ I say nervously.

His hand shakes mine. As he does so, I realize that, despite our closeness all those years ago, our skin had never touched apart from the odd accidental brush. ‘We don’t have that kind of relationship,’ I used to snap at my sister when she teased me about my ‘weirdo, geeky boyfriend’.

Kitty wouldn’t think Robin was weird or geeky now. I can almost imagine her speaking. Wow, Ali! He looks a bit like an older version of that actor who played the lead in Fifty Shades.

As he takes me into his office and invites me to sit down, there is a stiff formality between us. I remind myself that this is the boy I used to swim across the bay with, early in the morning. Who shared my love of Leonard Cohen. Yet that lovely comforting ease, which had always been there between us, has gone. I’d been right earlier. This is a mistake.

‘How is your sister?’ he asks.

My stomach sinks. I hadn’t prepared myself for this question so fast. I’d selfishly been thinking about my own predicament. But then again, an old friend like Robin would talk about family before business. It was only polite.

‘There’s been very little change since the accident. Apart from her getting pregnant and married.’

His eyebrows raise. ‘Really?’

‘It’s a long story.’ I hesitate. ‘And there is some hope for her recovery. At least, there’s the possibility of a new machine that might help her voice her thoughts.’

‘That’s encouraging.’

No it’s not, I want to say. The implications are terrifying. Just think what she might come out with.

But instead I repeat one of Mum’s platitudes. ‘Any small step is encouraging. But you also learn not to have false hopes.’

‘Sure.’

It’s then that he fiddles with a ring on his finger. A gold one. On his left hand. There’s a ping inside my chest. Then I reproach myself. Naturally, a man like Robin is married. Maybe, if things had turned out differently, it could have been me. I might have had a safe life. Why don’t we understand when we make rash decisions in our early youth – while praising ourselves for being spontaneous – that these choices can affect our lives for ever?

‘My secretary said you have a matter you wish to discuss.’

So stiff. So formal. Where is the boy I used to know who was so different from everyone else? I look around his office to buy time. There are no family pictures on his desk. Just smart wooden filing cabinets. Certificates on the wall. A drinks cupboard.

‘I’ve been working as an artist in residence at a prison,’ I start to say.

His eyes widen. ‘That’s very enterprising.’

If only he knew.

‘Something happened recently. A man was killed.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. It’s a sort of distant apology. The type you might make if a friend of a friend of a friend had died.

I sit forward. ‘There’s something else. Crispin Wright was one of my students there. He’s the one who killed the other man.’

That’s better. I can see real shock in his face now.

‘He’s changed. I didn’t recognize him.’ I’m rabbiting on in my nervousness. ‘Now I’m suspended until, well, until the authorities have investigated the situation. Staff aren’t allowed to work with inmates they know.’ I stop and lean closer. ‘Are you allowed to represent me? Given that we know each other?’

‘Yes. Provided there isn’t a conflict of interest.’

‘There isn’t. As far as I can see.’

Robin’s eyes take on a cool intensity. It’s as though he knows there’s more to come. My mouth is so dry that I can barely speak. But I must. ‘Crispin – or Martin, as he has been calling himself – accused me of causing the crash …’

I stop. Preparing myself for the lie I have to tell him.





53


September 2001


Ali


Kitty was out of rehab. Not much more could be done for her, apparently. She was being moved to a residential home. She still hadn’t managed to say any words. Slowly, I began to relax. Maybe my secret would be safe after all.