The Things You Didn't See(71)
‘I want him home, Mr Jackson. He needs to be with us, especially now we’re all grieving, so please make that as clear as you can to the court.’
Daniel places a concerned hand on my shoulder. We’re a united front, and I lean into his body. ‘This is a terrible time for all of us, but Hector has our full support.’ Just then his mobile starts to ring, and he glances at the screen. ‘I have to take this, I’m afraid: it’s a very poorly client. Won’t be a minute.’
Rupert Jackson watches him go. ‘Remarkable man. Now, Cassandra, there’s already been some developments in the case. Dr Marsh has a colleague at the Bartlet Hospital who can run the sleep test later this week, which is great news, and he’ll also need to set up overnight monitoring in your home. What do you know of your father’s behaviour when asleep?’
‘He has done strange things in his sleep, I won’t deny that, like the time he jumped through the window, but that was years ago. I had no idea he still sleepwalked. My mother never mentioned it.’
‘She did, Mum! I remember the story of him driving the tractor and not waking up till he reached the motorway,’ Victoria chips in, unable to suppress her nervous excitement. ‘We all do it – you bake cakes in your sleep, don’t you, Mum? Dawn says sometimes I get up and move things around our room, but only when I’m anxious about a test.’
I turn to her sharply. ‘Hush, Victoria, Mr Jackson isn’t interested in our family anecdotes. Why don’t you go and get us some drinks from that machine in the foyer – make yourself useful.’ I hand her my purse, and Mr Jackson watches her go with amusement on his face, rocking back on his patent shoes.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Not at all, Miss Hawke, your family are quite charming, which will help immensely with the trial. And the housekeeper, Janet, also confirms his sleepwalking from when she lived at the farm, so we’re in a strong position.’
I glance across to where Daniel’s leaning on a wall beside the main entrance. He’s facing away from me, so I can’t see his expression, and still talking on his phone. Victoria’s pushing coins into the vending machine, too far away to hear me.
‘How do you know Dad’s not lying though?’
Jackson doesn’t even seem shocked, as though my disloyal question is simply philosophical musing.
‘Truthfully, I don’t.’ He raises an eyebrow then removes a yellow pad from his bulging briefcase, flicking rapidly through his notes to find the right section. ‘What I present is an argument, and ultimately, the jury decide if it’s a convincing one. Everyone deserves a defence, Miss Hawke, and that’s my motivation. Now I’m off to the cells to see Hector. I’ll come back and get you when it’s time.’
Daniel is agitated when he returns.
He slides his phone into the pocket inside his jacket as if it’s something he wants rid of. I wonder if Monica is making demands he isn’t happy with. He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
‘Poor love, you look awful. I think once your dad is home, after the funeral, you should take a break. Spend some time relaxing.’
‘You mean a holiday?’ All of our money has been earmarked for the Spa: we haven’t had a break in years. My pathetic heart lifts, because he wants to spend time alone with me rather than his lover. ‘Where would we go?’
‘We? I can’t take time off work, love, not with my growing client list, and the radio show is getting so many listeners. I meant you could get signed off from work.’
‘Signed off ?’ The phrase is a chilly one. It takes me back two years, to the last time I wasn’t coping. Bad times.
‘It might be a good idea, Cass. Give yourself a chance to recover.’
He thinks I’m sick. I watch as a group of teenagers kick a paper cup between them, despite the usher’s warning look. There’s a weepy woman across from me, clutching the hand of a man wearing a suit and trainers, speaking to his solicitor. Life’s outcasts, but right now, I feel more kinship with them than with Daniel and his successful life.
Rupert Jackson returns. ‘We’re up next,’ he says, as if we’re about to get on a stage and perform. He places a hand on my elbow and guides me through a dark wooden door with gold script announcing its name: COURT I.
Among the faces up in the public gallery are people from Kenley who knew you, Mum, most of your life. This is an event: a family tragedy worthy of prime-time television, played out in front of their eyes like the best kind of theatre. I imagine them muttering behind hands, ‘He shot her, you know. Said he was asleep.’
‘Likely story. They should bring back hanging!’
Alfie Avon is up there, of course; I can hear his rasping voice from here. He’s hounded this case since the start, and now he’s looking around to see who might have some tidbits for him. In the front row, leaning over the balustrade, is Philip Godwin. He’ll be thinking only of the farmland, and the question mark that looms over it now you’re dead and Dad’s been accused. Criminals can’t benefit from crimes, I know that much, so any decisions will now fall to me and Daniel.
Godwin catches the reporter’s beady eye and Alfie Avon moves to sit next to him. He must be enjoying this, feasting on our tragedy.
I sit as far back as I can on the bench, so they can’t see my face. Wedged between Daniel and Victoria, I feel myself swaying, like I’m in a dream and can’t wake up. Victoria is subdued now, her nervous energy evaporating into the intimidating atmosphere. I slide my hand over hers and feel sweat, whose I’m not sure. She’s only fourteen, it wasn’t fair to bring her, but Daniel insisted it would show the magistrates that Dad is a family man.