Cath Staincliffe - Split Second

When the phone went during breakfast she had expected the agency with a change to her visits, but it was the police. The news made her physically sick, the shock of it.

Now she was waiting for more. She had called at the hospital straight from work. Aware with each visit that she was avoiding Dr Liu, not ready to face any more discussion about moving Luke or the impossible decisions she might be forced to make after that. She bathed Luke and brushed his teeth. The dressing on his head had been removed and his hair was growing back, dark fuzz, the texture of hair on a kiwi fruit. The scar looked livid, pink and lumpy where they had operated. Fee had given her some aromatherapy oil, a mix of basil, bergamot and peppermint. She massaged him with it, his torso, arms and legs, gently round his neck, his feet. The scents, peppery and fresh, filled the room.

‘Do you like the smell, then?’ she said. ‘Meant to help your memory this, stimulate the brain.’ When she’d finished, she drew the sheet over him and sat and held his hand. ‘They’ve arrested them, Luke. The three that hurt you. They picked them up this morning.’ She watched for the slightest twitch, saw only the steady pulse in the side of his neck, the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

She reached and tapped the side of his face. ‘Luke, wake up now. It’s Mum. You can wake up now.’ She pressed a fingernail into the sole of his foot, her eyes fixed on his face. Altered her tone: quick, instructive, ‘Luke, wake up!’

There was nothing.

‘Ring them, Mum,’ Ruby said again.

‘I’ve told you, they’ll ring me.’

‘What if they’ve forgotten? Or think it’s too late?’

‘Then I’ll kick up a stink,’ she said.

‘What if they let them go?’

‘Then they’ll tell us.’

Ruby looked so worried.

‘Why would they let them go? Look, you’re getting me all stressed now. Haven’t you any homework to do?’

‘Done it.’

The phone rang. Louise snatched it up. Ruby stared, shoulders hunched, her eyes huge.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, Louise: DC Illingworth.’

‘Yes.’ Her mouth was dry; she strained for a clue in the way the woman spoke. Good news, bad? She nodded to Ruby, reached out a hand. Ruby took it.

‘The three people we arrested this morning have now been charged with the murder of Jason Barnes and the attempted murder of Luke.’

Louise gasped, felt dizzy, as though she’d topple over.

‘One of the three has made an admission of guilt, a confession, and that’s enabled us to bring charges more quickly than we’d anticipated.

‘Oh God.’ A confession!

‘What?’ Ruby was mouthing, slicing her free hand with impatience.

‘The people involved are Thomas Garrington aged eighteen, a seventeen-year-old woman who cannot be named for legal reasons and Conrad Quinn, aged eighteen.’

She unscrambled the words, struggled to take it all in: the numbers, the unfamiliar name. ‘What legal reasons?’

‘Under eighteen.’

‘What happens now?’ Louise asked.

‘They’ll appear in the magistrates’ court in the morning, and then next week there will be a plea and case management hearing in the Crown Court. That will set a date for the trial.’

‘Thank you,’ said Louise, her voice breaking.

‘I think I can speak for the whole team when I say how pleased I am that the individuals have been apprehended and charged. I’ll be in touch soon. You are entitled to attend any of the court hearings if you wish.’

Did she want to? The thought of seeing them made her stomach turn.

‘I’ll call tomorrow,’ the detective said.

‘They’ve got them,’ Louise told Ruby. ‘They’ve charged them all.’ And she started to cry.

Emma

She showed the letter to Laura at work. Laura scanned it. ‘You’re going to be a witness?’ She glanced at Emma.

Emma nodded, miserable. ‘I wish I didn’t have to.’

‘It might fall through,’ Laura said. ‘It’s months away. I know someone who had to go, about their neighbours: the bloke had attacked his wife. Anyway, when my friend got there, all hyped up, they said it was off. The bloke changed his plea.’

Emma considered this, but knowing her luck, the thing would go ahead and she’d have to appear.

She’d had to go in to the police station, once they’d arrested the suspects. The police had called at work and she’d had to go and ask Gavin for the time off. He had no problem with it but she half hoped he might have some reason to refuse.

The people weren’t lined up like on telly. She just had to look at videos of different people and pick them out. It was easy, really. The Gazza guy with his red hair and staring blue eyes, the other one with that tattoo and his pokey face and the girl prettier than all the other girls in the clips shown to her.

Now, with it all being reported in the papers, Emma knew their names: Thomas Garrington and Conrad Quinn. The girl was just called Girl A because she was under eighteen. Conrad Quinn had confessed, he’d pleaded guilty so he’d be a witness like Emma.

‘Might be exciting,’ Laura said.

She doesn’t understand, thought Emma. Emma wanted to do the right thing – she still felt a sting of shame when she thought back to her silence on the bus – but she was bound to freeze up or get tongue-tied and make a fool of herself.

That weekend she went home to celebrate her mother’s birthday. They were having a meal on the Saturday evening. Emma had bought Mum a necklace, lovely rose-coloured beads interspersed with pearls, which would go with some of her clothes.

The restaurant overlooked the river and they had a table in the conservatory right next to the water. Emma waited until they had finished the meal, and she’d had three large glasses of white wine, before telling them about the witness summons. Her dad was on it like a hound on an injured fox.

‘You a witness! God help the prosecution. Tell them to give you a megaphone or no one will catch a word you say.’

‘Roger,’ her mum chimed in, on cue.

‘Well,’ he leaned back, belched softly, ‘you know what she’s like. Whispering Winnie.’ He made stupid sibilant sounds, angling his head to and fro, some ghastly impersonation, malice flickering in his gaze.

Emma dug her nails into her palms, felt the hate for him black in her heart. ‘Why do you always put me down, Dad?’ The directness of her question startled Emma as much as it did her parents. Her mum shifted and laughed awkwardly and her father stopped still.

‘Any more coffee?’ her mum said.

‘I asked you a question.’ Emma forced herself to keep looking his way, even though her face was aflame with heat.

He leant forward and lowered his voice. His eyes glinting. ‘You will not ruin your mother’s special night out with this silly attention-seeking claptrap.’

‘Roger… Emma…’ Her mum was flustered.

Emma pushed back her chair.

‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ he snapped.

‘Toilets,’ Emma said. ‘Something’s made me feel sick.’ As she turned, she caught her foot on the chair and stumbled.

‘Hah hah!’ he cackled, delighted. ‘See that! Hah! Nellie the Elephant.’

‘Oh, Roger,’ her mum said sadly, ‘that’s not fair.’

Emma didn’t cry; she wouldn’t cry. Nellie the Elephant, Whispering Winnie. Hateful. And what hurt worst of all was that he was right.

Louise

They had to set off early to allow for the traffic. Ruby was wound up with anxiety, chewing at her nails. ‘Stop it,’ Louise told her. ‘If you have to chew something, chew some gum.’

‘I haven’t got any,’ Ruby retorted.

‘In the glove compartment.’ Louise’s stomach was fluttering too – like a bird had got trapped in there – but she tried to act calm for Ruby’s sake.