Cath Staincliffe - Blink of an Eye

‘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.

Naomi

Alex got seven years, five for causing death by dangerous driving and two for perverting the course of justice. Monica got eighteen months for perverting the course of justice.

It helps that he finally told the truth. He must have just decided that day, that minute. Up till then he’d pleaded not guilty at every stage. But it was the right thing to do. He finally did the right thing.

I’ve agreed with the GP to reduce the antidepressants. I don’t want to depend on them for ever. I’m still seeing a therapist.

One of the hardest things is the anxiety, worrying that I’ll relapse, that I’ll go mad again, not be able to cope with my feelings. But I am getting better at living with that fear, trying to ignore it, accept it even, and then get on with things. Posts I’ve read online from other people in the same situation make me hopeful.

I’ve signed up to do a counselling course. Ironic maybe. But Evie says most therapists become therapists because they had their own demons to deal with.

Sometimes I wonder about writing to Alex, or even visiting him, though I’m not sure yet what my motives are. Forgiveness or vengeance? Or is there some sad part of me that wants to make up with him?

Anyway, I’m not acting on it any time soon. One thing I have learned from all this and the sessions is that I need to look after myself before anyone else. That is selfish, but in a good way. Be kind to myself, that’s what I’m trying to do. Be kind, be true, be gentle. That and acceptance.

The nightmare happened.

Lily died.

Alex lied.

I am damaged.

I accept these truths and I carry them with me.

That’s the way it is.

Carmel

She’s still wounded; I don’t know how far she’ll come back to us, whether that irreverence, that spark, is still kindled inside. Or whether that’s gone for good. She’s better than she was. Looking after Ollie has given her enough money to live on while she stays with us. And for the first time she’s begun talking about the future, about what she might do.

I should have trusted my instincts. That undertow of denial that I’d felt all along. I couldn’t believe Naomi had been drink-driving and I was right. But when the chorus of voices, from Suzanne, from Alex, from Monica, sang in unison, the proof seemed overwhelming. I lost faith in my child. But deep down I was still resistant to what they said, and I dug my heels in. All that struggling to collect memories for Naomi, interviewing party guests, wanting to work out why no one stopped her driving off – subconsciously I was seeking vindication for my gut feelings, I’m sure.

And Alex? I’d trusted him, seen the best in him, not fully understood the depth of his ambition, his instinct for self-preservation. His hunger. Fuelled in great part by Monica, I am sure. Piecing together what Naomi said and the way they took it right up to the wire, I think Monica was equally to blame for the cover-up. Alex had lied at the scene of the crash and then confided in his mother. He probably wanted to confess once he knew Naomi was not dead (after all, she might wake up like Sleeping Beauty and spill the beans). But Monica had heard from us that Naomi’s memory had failed and so she pushed Alex to maintain the fiction. The power behind the throne. Her ambition exceeding his. Naomi dispensable.

And Lily Vasey’s family? Presumably Monica had no compunction in lying to the people who mattered most in all this. The people whose lives had been shattered beyond repair.

They say girls are attracted to people like their father, so I’m not sure what went wrong for ours. Because neither Alex nor Jonty behaved like Phil would. Phil is fine, by the way, having regular blood tests and advised to exercise more. It’s his birthday soon. He doesn’t know yet, but I’m taking him to New Orleans. Not exactly our world tour, but it’s a start.

Perhaps if Alex hadn’t continued to lie, Naomi would have stuck with him. We all make mistakes and some can be fatal. He’s young; he might have deserved some compassion if he’d come clean once he knew she’d survived. Instead he’s behind bars, all his dreams ruined.

A moment’s madness, a child dead, and all those lives changed for ever.

Before.

Seems like a mirage shimmering in the heat. Elusive. Distorted.

And I would go back there in a heartbeat.

Cath Staincliffeis an established novelist, radio playwright and creator of ITV’s hit series, Blue Murder , starring Caroline Quentin as DCI Janine Lewis. Cath was shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey Best First Novel award for her acclaimed Sal Kilkenny series, and for the Dagger in the Library award in 2006. Her latest stand-alone novels all focus on topical moral dilemmas. She was joint winner of the CWA Short Story Dagger award in 2012 for Laptop . She is a founding member of Murder Squad, a group who promote crime fiction.

www.cathstaincliffe.co.uk