Blink of an Eye

CHAPTER TWENTY

Carmel

Almost three months after the accident and five weeks after Naomi had first appeared in the magistrates’ court, we returned there for the committal hearing. She was withdrawn for much of the time, barely responding to the scene around her, or even to us when we asked her something. Her nails were bitten down to the quick.

At one point she stood up suddenly and said she was going outside. She looked panicky and her face was ashen. I got up too and she grabbed my arms.

‘We need to stay inside the building,’ Don said apologetically, ‘in case they call us.’

Naomi was making a sort of rocking motion, like someone preparing to bolt.

‘I feel dizzy,’ she said.

‘It’s warm in here.’ I tried to downplay her reaction. ‘Let’s go to the ladies’.’ I was thinking she could wash her face, put cold water on the back of her neck and cool off.

She continued to rock, looking to left and right.

Phil stood up. ‘Come on.’ He put his arm around her. ‘Stretch your legs.’ He edged her along and they walked off down the corridor.

Don shot me a sympathetic look and said, ‘It’s a stressful situation.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll get her some water.’

By the time Phil had walked her round the building, she was calmer again. Back to being quiet and distanced. She drank some water.

When she was finally called in, she gripped the sides of the dock so hard her knuckles were white. She confirmed her name and address and date of birth and the magistrate asked Don if he consented to the case being heard at Crown Court. That was about it.

Afterwards Don had a quick meeting with us. He had a file which he patted as he spoke. ‘Now that we’ve got the full case papers, my job will be to see how we challenge their case. That means questioning everything. Can they prove Naomi was driving? Can they demonstrate beyond any reasonable doubt that her driving was dangerous? Can they present evidence that shows that her driving was the sole cause of the cyclist’s death? And on all those points we look for gaps, for absence of evidence, for weak areas. We introduce uncertainty, we query everything. Given what you’ve told me about the state of the vehicle, there will be very limited forensic evidence.’ He put his hand on the papers. ‘And there is no CCTV coverage included in here. The road traffic investigation unit estimate the car was doing forty-six miles an hour.’ In a thirty-mile-an-hour zone. ‘We will get our own experts in to consider that. Speeding of itself is neither dangerous nor careless. No evidence has been recovered indicating any mechanical fault.’

Now that he had the complete case file, his investigators would be visiting the scene of the crash, measuring distance and angle, studying the road traffic unit’s report and assessing every little bit of factual evidence before making their own interpretations. They’d comb through the witness statements for errors or gaps and set out to find anything additional that might contradict or undermine what was in the file.

I had felt helpless for weeks, swept along by the current of events and failing in my attempts to revive Naomi’s memory, but now that Don had talked in concrete terms about what defending her would mean, I saw some small chance for me to contribute. Why didn’t anyone stop her driving? I thought.

‘I can talk to people,’ I said.

‘You don’t need to bother,’ Don said.

‘No, I will – I already have, anyway. Hoping to help with her amnesia. Anyone who says anything remotely helpful, anything that’s not in there,’ I pointed to the file, ‘I’ll pass on to you. I can’t just sit here and…’ I shut up: too emotional. Don’s cheeks grew rosy at my little outburst.

Phil was bothered by my keenness to get involved. ‘Shouldn’t we leave it to Don?’

‘Look, I’ve no objection,’ Don said. ‘I know you’re a reliable person, you’re used to dealing with people, but I will say now that I can cover this – it’s part of my role.’

‘I have to do something,’ I said again. ‘What about Alex – are we allowed to talk to him?’

‘If he’s willing. The law says there is no property in a witness; neither side owns them, and their evidence can be considered, even used, by both.’

Naomi watched us debating, then said, ‘You don’t have to do it, Mum.’

‘I want to – maybe I need to.’

‘What do you expect to find?’

‘Some things don’t add up: why did you drive in that state? Why didn’t anyone stop you?’

The next person from the barbecue that I rang up heard me out then said, ‘Sorry, no.’

‘If it’s a question of time…’

‘It’s not that. I, erm, I don’t want to get involved.’

‘But you wouldn’t be, not real-’

‘I think what she did was appalling. I don’t want anything to do with it.’ And he hung up.

Somehow Suzanne got to hear about my efforts, and when I called round she took me to task. ‘Why are you still hassling everyone, Mum? What does it matter? The facts are staring us all in the face. What are you wasting everybody’s time for? Is it some sort of distraction?’

‘I’m trying to make sense of it,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she said sharply. ‘That is the whole point. Naomi has a solicitor; it’s up to him to go and talk to people or whatever, isn’t it?’

‘And he’s doing that,’ I said.

‘Well leave it to him,’ she said. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

‘What?’ She’d really got my goat. ‘Embarrassing? A child’s dead,’ I stood up, ‘your sister is at risk of going to prison and you’re worried about being embarrassed?’

‘Don’t shout,’ she said. ‘There’s no point to what you’re doing. You’re like some neurotic crusader, except there’s no crusade, is there?’

‘The truth,’ I said.

‘We all know what the truth is, and it’s ugly and horrible and you won’t accept it. Because you can’t bear to see Naomi in that position. But she is.’

I picked up my car keys and made to leave. Her outburst had shaken me. I was angry and smarting but I did not want to fall out with her and I knew if I stayed I’d say something I’d regret. ‘I’ll give you a ring later in the week,’ I said as evenly as I could.

She gave a nod. Neither of us moved to embrace.

Doggedly I carried on. Some people I rang didn’t respond when I left messages. Perhaps Suzanne had warned them off: my mum – she’s coming apart at the seams, ignore her.

Naomi

It’s hard to concentrate. I feel sick and shaky and my head hurts. My brain is a numb grey rock. Thoughts sneak round it unbidden, quick as lizards. And behind the boulder there’s a thunderstorm cracking and raging, a hurricane howling.

The items are there on the chest of drawers.

The vodka from the kitchen: the bottle is dusty, who knows how long it has been there? Mum and Dad never drink it. Perhaps it’s left over from a party. Perhaps Alex and I bought it front-loading before a night out. We had some great nights. The best ever, the one when I knew I really loved him and he loved me back, was up in Newcastle. The bands were awesome, just out there, and everyone dancing, and we were pretty mashed up but in a nice way. No toilet-hugging. We went to chill out for a bit, thirsty and breathless. We got some water and some crisps. And he was staring at me with this soppy grin on his face.

‘What?’ I said. ‘What you looking at?’

‘Move in with me,’ he said.

And my stomach flipped over. I felt so happy that I was nearly in tears. ‘You sure?’ I said.

Then he came even closer, whispered in my ear: ‘I love you. I want us to be together.’

I kissed him and then I dragged him back to dance because I needed to jump about. We went for breakfast at a place near the river. Shared a fry-up because we’d not got much money left.

Now I shake my head; no point in thinking of that. I take another drink of the vodka. Oily and sharp at the same time.

Then there are the pills; three different sorts. From the bathroom and the kitchen. Hard to know if I’ve got enough, but I think so. I’m very tired, my eyes feel dry and sore, but I can lie down in a minute.

I take a load of pills, about half of them, washed down with vodka. I don’t take all of them yet, because the other thing on the chest is the note. Which I haven’t written yet. But I think I should.

I don’t want them to feel bad, you see, and if there’s no note then they might think all sorts and blame each other or themselves. And they mustn’t think I don’t love them. I do love them, that’s why I’m doing this. So they understand that this is the best thing for everybody. Mum and Dad and Suzanne and Alex can get their lives back and I won’t be there dragging them down. Lily’s family – they’ll have their ‘life for a life’, won’t they?

I know I’m a coward because I can’t face another day. Each minute with the storm in my head and the claws gouging inside me. I want it to be over.

I’m sweating now, like when you have a fever, shivering too. So I don’t think I can write a lot.

I put their names at the top. I smudge Dad a bit but you can still read it. To Mum, Dad, Suzanne and Alex.

The letters wriggle on the page and I have to close one eye. I’m very thirsty so I have another drink.

I thought I might be scared, but the only thing I’m scared of is it not working. That would be awful. I just want the peace; it will be peaceful. Not to feel at all, not to feel anything, not to wake up and have that awful sense of desolation, of hopelessness.

I am sorry. I write that next. I am so sorry.

The dizzy feeling is getting stronger. I take more pills. All of the ones that are left.

I read my note. I love you all so much, I write, and the words slope to the left, like they’re dizzy too. Please forgive me and remember I love you and I never wanted to hurt you.

My fingers ache and I sign my name as quickly as I can manage because everything is moving around.

I leave the note next to me on the bed.

I try to think if there is anything else. The waterfall is in my head. The ink fills my eyes. I am falling, falling and flying.