The Child Who

18

There were no shards of glass this time. That, by itself, should have been a relief. But the implication that he – whoever he was – had been following, watching, just as he had threatened and despite Leo’s vigilance, was somehow more unsettling than if the envelope had arrived barbed with razor blades. And if the intention was to alarm him – to panic him – then whoever wrote the notes could hardly have chosen a more economical turn of phrase. It was, thinking about it, almost as if… as if…

No. The thought was ridiculous. He was dealing with a lunatic. Someone deranged. There was simply no way that anyone Leo knew… That someone from work like… like… Terry, for instance. Even Terry. He was jealous, certainly, but even Terry would not stoop to this.

Closer to home, then. Who was more eager for him to drop the case than his wife? She had asked, repeatedly, and Leo had refused. They could barely have a conversation, it seemed, without Daniel becoming the theme. Maybe if Megan was even more desperate than she so often seemed? Take the man at the window, for example. Did Leo not half suspect, deep down, that the story had been a fabrication? Or, if not quite that, an exaggeration; a deliberate misrepresentation. And the phrasing. Not exactly beach weather. Hadn’t Leo, speaking to Megan, used virtually the same expression himself?

Or Ellie. What about Ellie? She had been at the beach too. And Ellie, in her quieter, more solicitous way, seemed more upset even than her mother. Leo had put it down to the incident with the ink, her troubles at school, but perhaps the last note had also been a clue. A confession. How would your daughter like it? Was that Ellie’s way of saying –

Your daughter. Your wife. For Christ’s sake, Leo!

He wrapped the note in his palm. It crumpled easily, along the scars it had suffered after Leo had tossed it, the first time he had read it, into his office bin. He felt an urge to hurl it again but instead slid open his bedside drawer and shoved it beneath his socks and his emergency cash, atop the other two notes tucked away in their envelopes. He stood and the mattress sprung and he turned towards the door.

‘Was that it?’

Ellie was at the threshold. She was sockless and damp-haired and wrapped in a dressing gown that sagged from her shoulders. She bore a towel, damp like her hair, and a book and a hairbrush. Her cheeks were flushed: from the heat of the bath water, Leo assumed, though if he had encountered her in any other guise he might have wondered whether his daughter had in fact been crying.

‘Ellie. I didn’t hear you.’ Leo stepped away from the bedside drawer and towards the doorway, resisting the urge to glance back.

‘Was that it?’ Ellie said again. ‘That thing you were reading?’

‘Sorry? Was what what?’

‘The article. I heard Mum,’ Ellie added when Leo frowned. ‘Is she going somewhere? Why was she talking about leaving?’

‘Leaving? What do you mean? Who’s leaving?’

‘I don’t know. Mum was talking to Grandma. She said something about…’ Ellie ended the sentence by shaking her head, as though she were not sure, actually, what her mother had said.

‘Ellie? Please. Start at the beginning.’

‘I heard Mum,’ his daughter said. ‘On the phone, through the floorboards. She was talking to Bernice. Something about an article.’

The article. The piece in the Gazette. Leo had seen a copy just that morning but he had thought, if he ignored it, maybe Megan would never have to know. He had reckoned, clearly, without Terry’s wife: briefed by her husband, no doubt, on Leo’s hesitancy in agreeing to the interview in the first place, and with nothing else to keep her awake at night but getting to the bottom of why. ‘But… What’s this about someone leaving?’

‘Mum called Grandma. Afterwards. She said… She definitely said something about going to stay. Or… I don’t know. Something, anyway. It was quieter so I couldn’t hear but… Are you breaking up?’ Her tone teetered as she voiced the question.

‘What?’

‘You and Mum. I mean, why else would she be—’

‘No! No one’s breaking up. Honestly, Ellie, I promise. You misheard, that’s all. I’m sure you must have misheard. She was talking about visiting, I expect.’

‘She sounded angry. Talking to Grandma. She said… What was in the article, Dad? What did it say?’

‘The article? Nothing. Nothing at all. I don’t know why you think your mother would be angry.’ Except, in truth, he did. He could just hear Megan’s voice. One minute you’re chasing the press away, the next you’re preening for the cameras. Never mind that Leo had done his best to back out of the interview. Never mind that the article, anyway, made no mention of the Forbes case. Leo, inevitably, would be at fault. But calling her mother. Leaving. There was no question: Ellie, surely, had misunderstood.

‘You should dry your hair,’ Leo said. ‘You’ll catch a chill.’ He made to herd his daughter towards her bedroom but Ellie held her ground.

‘Ellie? Please, I really need to… ’ Leo looked behind him at his bedside drawer. He looked through the doorway towards the stairs.

‘It’s not fair,’ Ellie said.

Leo’s attention settled on his daughter. The colour on her cheeks had intensified and there was an unmistakable sheen now across her eyes. ‘What’s not fair?’

Ellie swiped at a tear. ‘Just… Everything. School; Sophie; you and Mum. Everything.’

‘Sophie?’ Leo said, consciously sidestepping the you-and-Mum part. ‘What’s happened with Sophie?’ More than his daughter’s closest friend, Sophie seemed Ellie’s only friend. Since they had moved to the estate – since Ellie had switched schools – even her childhood friendships seemed to have withered and she had struggled, in the bigger school, to fill the void. ‘Did you argue? Look, darling. It’s natural, at your age, to have disagreements.’

‘It wasn’t just a disagreement! And stop treating me like a little kid! I’m not a fucking five-year-old!’

Leo recoiled. ‘Ellie! Mind your manners! I won’t have you using language like—’

Ellie did not wait for the rest of the rebuke. She rolled her eyes and turned away.

‘Ellie. Wait. Ellie!’

She stopped. She angled her shoulders towards her father but not her face. She dragged a baggy sleeve across each eye.

‘Look at me. Ellie. Please. I’m sorry. Okay? You’re not a kid. You’re grown up enough to decide for yourself what language is appropriate. Okay?’

But when she looked at him, finally, she did not seem grown up. She seemed the child he always imagined her: confused, anxious, unsure of herself and the world.

Until she took a breath and seemed to inflate. ‘You’re the one behaving like a child,’ she said. ‘Hiding things from Mum. Hiding things from me.’

‘Hiding things?’ Leo thought of the notes. ‘I don’t know what you’re…’ But: the article; the Gazette. ‘I wasn’t hiding things. I was just… I forgot to mention it, that’s all. It didn’t seem important.’

His daughter looked doubtful.

‘You were telling me about Sophie,’ Leo said.

Ellie dropped her chin. ‘There’s nothing to tell. She hates me, just like everyone else.’

‘Ellie. Really. Why would she hate you? You’re best friends. Aren’t you? I thought you two were inseparable.’

‘Not any more. Just this week, it’s… Something’s changed. It’s like she doesn’t want to talk to me, not if anyone else is around.’

‘Maybe she’s… I don’t know. Maybe there’s some simple reason…’

‘It’s not just her, Dad. It’s everyone. Even the teachers treat me like an outcast.’

‘The teachers? Come on now, Ellie, don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m not being ridiculous!’

‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

‘You don’t know! How could you know? You’re not there! You’re always at work. With him.’

Leo felt his jaw tighten. ‘You’ve been talking to your mother,’ he said. ‘If you have questions about my work, Ellie, you should really come and speak to me.’

‘Why?’ she countered. ‘What would you say? What could I say that would make things any different? Ever since Grandad died you never seem to notice what any of the rest of us are feeling. You don’t seem to care!’

She had. She had been talking to Megan. It was the only explanation as to why they kept accusing him of the same failings.

‘I’ll go to your school again. I’ll talk to the head. If you feel like you’re being victimised then it’s important that someone—’

‘No! Don’t! Please, Dad, don’t!’

Leo sensed his exasperation showing. ‘Look, Ellie. If you feel like the teachers are being unfair somehow, I don’t see what other option—’

‘Dad! Don’t! I mean it! Please!’

‘What then?’ Leo spread his arms. ‘What else do you want me to do? I can’t just… It’s not like I don’t have other things to…’ He shook his head and gripped his forehead.

‘I want it to be over.’

Leo looked up. There were no tears now in his daughter’s eyes, though the burn on her cheeks endured.

‘The case. You and Mum. Sophie ignoring me, people hating me. That man taking pictures of me at the beach. I just want it all to be over.’

‘It’s not that simple, Ellie.’

‘You asked me. You said, what else could you do? I’m telling you.’

‘Yes. I know. But…’ The plea. The trial. Leo had avoided telling his family about Daniel’s decision but it was getting to the point where he would have to.

‘So? When will it be over?’

‘It depends.’

‘On whether there’s a trial.’

‘Right. Exactly. On whether there’s a trial.’

‘Do you think there will be?’

‘That’s not up to me. That’s up to Dan…’ Leo, for some reason, stopped himself saying Daniel’s name. ‘That’s up to my client. As a solicitor, I can only do as I’m instructed. It would be unprofessional of me to try to influence his decision either way.’ Which seemed an odd thing for him to say – now, here, in the circumstances. But at least it was out there. He would not, he hoped, have to say it again.

‘But you must know. You must have an idea.’

‘Ellie. Really. It’s not my—’

She stopped him with a look.

‘Probably,’ he said, exhaling. ‘At the moment, the way things are looking, it seems likely that there will be a trial.’ He flinched at the sight of Ellie’s despair. ‘But until the plea is entered… I mean, technically, at this point in time, at least until the arraignment…’

‘But… How long? How long will a trial take?’

‘I… It’s difficult to say.’

‘What does that mean? Days? Weeks, even?’

Leo hesitated. Weeks, certainly. Months – years, probably – counting the appeals. ‘It might take a while, yes. But really, Ellie, there’s no need for you to worry.’

‘That’s what you said before. At the start. That’s exactly what you told me then!’

Which was not fair. He had warned her. That day in the car. He had said, things might get uncomfortable. He had used those very words. He would not remind her of that now, of course, because heaven knew how she would respond.

‘Now you’re angry.’

‘What?’ Leo said. ‘No I’m not.’

‘You are. I can tell.’

‘Ellie. Don’t. Don’t cry, please.’

‘I’m not crying,’ she said with a sniff. ‘I’m just…’

‘What? Ellie, tell me.’

‘I’m scared, Dad.’ The tears ran now and she did not try to stop them.

‘It’s all right. Ellie, darling. There’s nothing to be scared of.’ He attempted a reassuring laugh but heard, from somewhere, a voice.

How would you like it? How would your daughter?

Leo held out an arm and Ellie allowed herself to be enfolded. Through the heavy cotton of the dressing gown, her body seemed barely to have substance at all.