Blink of an Eye

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Naomi

I try not to think about Alex too much – it still takes my breath away, it hurts so deep. I talk about it with the therapist, going over and over it. I weep buckets for the little girl and for myself. For Alex even, and losing him. And sometimes the rage comes, clean and cold and sharp as ice. But I am not going to prison. I’m a little stronger every day.

It is another four months before we get to trial. Late January, eight months after the accident. I’m not allowed in court until I’ve given my evidence. I wait in a special room for witnesses with Alice and Larry from Birmingham. The solicitor for the prosecution says it’ll be towards the end of the prosecution case before I’m called. I will be talking about two things – the fact that we always decided who would drive and stuck to it, and what Alex said the last time I saw him at their house.

Mum and Dad and Suzanne will be there in the court, but they are not supposed to tell me anything about the case. A couple of weeks after her ‘apology’, Suzanne came round with Ollie on her way back from work. She was restless and went on about her trainee like he was a right dork, and she didn’t want any pasta, probably because it was dried not freshly made, for fuck’s sake, and might poison her.

Ollie was cranky and I didn’t know why she hadn’t gone straight home. I was the only one there.

She went to the loo and Ollie cried. Real tears, and his bottom lip was trembling like the world was ending, so I picked him up and sang to him, ‘Daisy, Daisy’, and he was quiet enough, then he grabbed my earring, which was agony, and I swore just as Suzanne came back in.

‘Naomi.’

‘Yes?’ I prepared for a lecture about bad language and setting examples. And she said, ‘How are you?’

Was it a trick question? ‘Not bad.’

Ollie gurgled and patted my nose. ‘Ow,’ I said, but it didn’t hurt.

She nodded. ‘Your hair’s nice,’ she said.

Good God, I thought, we’ll be talking about the weather next. ‘I’m going out soon,’ I said, dropping a big hint. I blew a raspberry on Ollie’s cheek and he chortled and patted me again. Suzanne hadn’t moved. ‘I need to go and get ready,’ I added.

‘Jonty’s left me,’ she said, quick and quiet, her chin wobbling.

‘What?’ She did not just say that!

‘He’s been sleeping with his production assistant. All the way through the pregnancy and since. Shrewsbury, Belfast, Aberdeen.’ Suzanne was shivering.

Fuck me! ‘Oh, Suzanne.’

‘I don’t know what we’ll do. Probably have to sell the house, and we’ll lose money on that. Won’t be able to afford the nursery.’

‘Oh God.’ I jiggled Ollie on to the other hip, and got Suzanne to sit down while I made her a cup of tea.

‘How did you find out?’ I sat down opposite her.

‘He told me – yesterday. Said he had something important to talk about. I thought it was going to be a new commission at work, maybe going abroad…’ She couldn’t continue. Her nose went red. She gave a big sigh.

Ollie had fallen asleep on my lap. He was amazingly heavy. I stroked his head. I didn’t know what to say.

‘If I can’t find child care, then my job…’ She shook her head.

‘People manage,’ I told her. ‘Childminders are cheaper, aren’t they, must be cheaper than where you’ve got him?’ He was at a really swanky nursery.

Ollie gave a little start in my arms and relaxed. Then it came to me. ‘I could look after him. Unless you’re worried I’ll be a bad influence.’ I couldn’t resist the dig.

She looked at me; hard to tell if she was intrigued or appalled.

‘I’m not having much luck with interviews,’ I said, ‘and I need to work. You’d have to pay me the going rate.’

She nodded her head. ‘I think it could work,’ she said slowly. ‘We’d have to agree some standards, and you’d have to pay your own National Insurance, have a contract and everything.’

Only Suzanne. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry, Jonty must be off his head, everything he’s throwing away. The bastard.’

I didn’t intend to build bridges with Suzanne; a stepping stone or two was more than enough. But I didn’t want to miss out on being an auntie, and minding Ollie would be a way of seeing him, and earning some money, without having to spend much time with her. Keeping a reasonable distance is the only way I know to protect myself from the unhealthy pattern of our relationship.

And I wanted to keep getting better. That week the therapist had asked me if I’d been thinking about the future at all. And I had. For the first time without total dread or fear, wondering what I might do next. Little things like arrange a break away or look for some new clothes.

And I’ve been minding Ollie ever since.

Now, waiting with the other witnesses, I can feel the pressure building up inside and the echoes of the worst times when I was falling apart. I try to breathe slowly and deeply, and distract myself. I try to connect, chat to Alice and Larry; again we mustn’t discuss the trial, so we end up talking about who we like on X Factor or The Voice and Alice talks about the sheep she has on the farm.

We’re all nervous, it’s not just me. Alice keeps messing with her hair and she laughs a lot even at things that aren’t the least bit funny, and Larry goes out for a cigarette every five minutes.

I’ve been warned that I could get some pretty rough treatment under cross-questioning, but I think it’s the first sight of people that’s going to be the hardest. Lily’s parents and her brothers, and Alex and Monica. Alex in the dock.

Where he would have put me.

Carmel

We were all sitting together, Phil and Suzanne and I immediately behind the Vaseys, who arrived just after us. Everyone in their best, sombre clothes. I caught Tina Vasey’s eye as the family made their way along the row of seats and tried to express my sympathy without words, and she gave a tiny nod of understanding. She wore a grey suit jacket and skirt, on the jacket a brooch, enamelled white and green. A lily.

The two boys, Robin and his brother, look so alike, I’m not even sure which is the one who came to the house.

The solicitor hadn’t been able to tell us how long it would be until Naomi was called. Might even be the next day. Before her there would be evidence from Alice and Larry and then from the police who were first on the scene and the paramedics. After them the hospital doctor and the police officer who interviewed Alex and later Naomi. Sometimes they play the 999 call in court. I was dreading that. Imagining Alex’s voice, torn and frantic, stumbling to explain, high with panic: We hit a little girl. Oh God, I think she’s dead, and my girlfriend’s not breathing. My stomach hurt. My mouth was dry. I had some mints; I took one and offered the packet to Phil and Suzanne.

Suzanne was still reeling. I’d hoped that Jonty would see sense, crawl back with his tail between his legs, but apparently not. Though whether Suzanne would have given him a second chance was highly debatable. She’d thrown herself back into work, even done a couple of trips abroad, Milan and Paris, for the fashion shows, and Ollie’d stayed with us. Suzanne had put the house on the market. She was looking at renting somewhere until the divorce was sorted out and the financial situation was clear.

She and Jonty were trying to work out what contact he’d have with Ollie. It was hard for Suzanne, especially as it would mean that Ollie was going to spend time with the production assistant, who Jonty was living with. We did offer Suzanne a room with us, though I’m glad she said no. It wouldn’t really have helped Naomi: too much bad blood, too big a sense of betrayal. I don’t think Naomi and Suzanne will ever be really close. Oh, they cleared the air, as much as was possible. And Suzanne came to court for her sister, but I think she blew it really and Naomi’s drawn a line; she’s not going to put herself in the position of being hurt by Suzanne again.

There was a hushed anticipation in the room as the court officers went about their work and more people arrived. The barristers with their wigs and gowns chatted to each other. The clerk instructed us all to turn off our mobile phones and reminded people that taking photographs was not allowed. Then we were asked to stand and the judge came in, a tall woman in her robe and wig, wearing very large glasses. Once she was seated, we all sat down again.

We had speculated endlessly about what Alex’s defence would be, and could only assume that he’d continue to insist that Naomi was driving and try to undermine Alice’s and more importantly Larry’s testimony. Even though Larry had identified Alex to the satisfaction of the police, the defence would probably try and compromise his account – question his eyesight and memory and so on.

The clerk stood up and nodded to the barristers, then he said, ‘Call Alex Cottingley.’

Alex came up the steps and into the dock, every inch a promising young professional in a dark navy pinstripe suit, shirt and tie. He was accompanied by a court officer, who stood at the far side of the dock area. Alex glanced back, up to our left, towards a middle-aged man with a tan and a grey-haired woman, who I thought might be his father and grandmother. He looked ashen, terrified really. He was visibly trembling.

The clerk called for Monica next, and she came up the stairs followed by another court officer and stood beside Alex. She wore a black skirt suit and a white blouse. I felt a burn of resentment, hot in my chest, looking at them both.

The clerk spoke, asking Alex to confirm his name and address and date of birth, the day he shared with Naomi, only a year older. Then he did the same with Monica.

I looked away. I was finding it hard to watch. In front of me, Lily’s father’s shoulders moved up and down, like he was taking a long, slow breath.

The jury filed in. I wondered if they were apprehensive too – or looking forward to their role. Once they were seated, the judge began to explain to them what the charges were.

Alex suddenly made a noise, a sort of sob, and I saw him jerk, bending over as though someone had hurt him. ‘I can’t!’ he cried out.

‘Alex?’ Monica said, concern clear in her voice.

He straightened up. ‘Oh God,’ he said, and everyone stirred. ‘Naomi!’ he cried out, and my skin prickled at the sound of her name.

‘Alex!’ Monica said, steel in her tone. ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’

The judge started to admonish them but had got no further than ‘Mr Cottingley…’ when Alex said, his voice cracking, ‘I can’t do it, Mum, I can’t.’

‘Alex!’ Her voice cracked like a whip.

He was shaking his head, his breathing loud and uneven, in terrible distress. ‘I’m guilty,’ he blurted out. ‘Guilty.’

The word rolled around the room and the place exploded.

Monica yelled at him, ‘No! Alex, no!’ and his father and grandmother were calling out. One of Lily’s brothers shouted, ‘Yes! Yes!’ and the Vaseys fell on each other and Mrs Vasey started crying.

Alex was muttering, ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over again. His barrister had gone white in the face. He hadn’t been expecting this.

Suzanne stared at me, her eyes wide. Phil said, ‘Oh my God.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘Oh God.’

The clerk called for silence and the room settled, but the air was thick with tension. Monica’s head was bowed and she no longer tried to communicate with Alex.

The judge asked the jury to leave while a legal point was discussed. Once they’d gone, she instructed Alex’s barrister to meet with Alex.

Alex was taken down. As he passed Monica, she grabbed at him, close to hysterical, gasping, ‘Alex, Alex, please, Alex.’ He twisted away. Then she howled, a guttural noise that made my flesh crawl. ‘Please,’ she called to her barrister, ‘I need to talk to you. God, please!’

Another wave of reaction washed around the public gallery and the press benches. There was some discussion between her barrister and the judge, and Monica too was taken down the steps from the dock. Then we all rose as the judge disappeared too.

Over the next twenty minutes the room buzzed with speculation and hummed with tension. I felt nauseous, despite chain-sucking mints. I thought it must be intolerable for the Vaseys, restless in the front row, talking to each other in sporadic bursts.

Finally we were instructed to stand again. The judge re-emerged from the door at the back of the court, and once we’d settled, the clerk called Alex and Monica. The jury didn’t come back in and I guessed then that the guilty pleas were going to be entered.

Alex’s barrister stood up. ‘Your Honour, would you please put the charge again?’

The judge nodded, and the clerk rose and said, ‘Alex Cottingley, you are charged that on the twentieth of May last you drove a motor vehicle on a road, namely Mottram Lane, Sale, Greater Manchester, causing death by dangerous driving, contrary to section 1 of the Road Traffic Act 1988. Are you guilty or not guilty?’

‘Guilty,’ he said brokenly. Tina and Simon Vasey were huddled close together, his arm around her, and she gasped aloud as Alex spoke. I felt a bloom of relief inside. I longed to tell Naomi.

‘Alex Cottingley, you are further charged with conspiring to pervert the course of justice in relation to the first charge. Are you guilty or not guilty?’

‘Guilty,’ he said again.

Phil looked at me, nodding his head, close to tears.

‘You plead guilty,’ said the judge. ‘You will be removed from court and remanded on bail. You will return here for sentencing once a probation report has been completed. Take him down.’

Alex turned, shaking uncontrollably, weeping, his face blurred with emotion. He made to touch his mother as he passed her, but she reared away. I felt my eyes sting.

Then it was Monica’s turn.

‘Monica Cottingley, you are charged with conspiring to pervert the course of justice in the weeks after the twentieth of May last year. Are you guilty or not guilty?’

‘Guilty,’ she said, a stammer at the start of the word betraying her nerves.

‘You will be removed from court and return here for sentencing. Take her down.’

And like that, it was done.