Lisa Ballantyne - Guilty One

‘Aye, but mind you, I need someone careful. Can you be careful with the eggs?’

‘I’ll be careful. I promise.’

‘Well, we’ll see then. We’ll have to see.’

9

In the car, Daniel drove above the speed limit, the windows open again, enjoying the fresh air and taking deep breaths that stretched his diaphragm. He frowned at the road, trying to understand why he had been so upset at the funeral, and then so angry at Cunningham. It had been childish and emotional. He berated himself, gently cursing under his breath as he drove.

Now that he was on the road again, he felt better: relaxed but tired. Brampton was a downer; the distractions of work still seemed far away. He took another deep breath and wondered if it was the scent of manure doping him. He should have taken the M6 straight down to London – he wanted to be home before dark – but he found himself just driving with the window open, smelling the fields, observing the small houses and remembering places he had visited as a child.

He found himself on the A69, almost by accident, and then he was trapped in traffic, with Newcastle ahead of him. Daniel had not intended a detour, but there was something that he wanted to see again; something he needed to do, today of all days.

Daniel drove into the city and past the university, out on to the Jesmond Road. He drove much slower here, almost in fear of arrival.

When he got out of the car, the sun was hidden behind cloud. He was mindful of the long drive ahead of him, yet he wanted to stay and see her one more time.

The entrance to the cemetery was a maternal arch of red sandstone and he found himself drawn into its depths. He knew where to go; he had followed the path with teenaged footsteps, finding the place where she was laid to rest.

Daniel was surprised how quickly he found her gravestone. Its white marble was now discoloured and stained. The black-painted letters of her name had almost entirely flaked away, so that from a distance her name read Sam Gerald Hunt, instead of Samantha Geraldine Hunter. Daniel sighed, with his hands in his pockets.

It was a simple cross, with gravel at its foot, so as to negate the need for flowers, upkeep, protestations of love.

Rocking on his heels before the grave, Daniel thought about the words from Minnie’s ceremony: Commit. Body. Elements. Earthly. Dust. Ashes. Trust. Mercy. He remembered standing before this grave as a younger man, feeling wounded because his own name was not engraved on the cheap marble. He had wanted it to read Loving Mother to Daniel Hunter. Had she been a loving mother? Had she loved him at all?

He had been angry about this death for a long time, but now he stood unmoved by the fact that his name was not on the gravestone. He knew that he shared DNA with the bones below his feet, but he had no need for these bones any longer.

He thought of Minnie, immolated and cast on the wind. In his mind he could smell her, feel the chuff of her cardigan on his cheek, and see the glee in her watery blue eyes. Like the present itself he would chase her, ephemeral, like the ever un-snatchable now. Years he had shunned her, but now she was gone: not in the old house, not in the farm, not in the cemetery, not in her sister’s eyes. Minnie had disappeared from the earth without so much as a piece of marble sitting dumbly to tell of her passing.

Daniel remembered crying at this grave. Now he stood with eyes dry and hands in pockets. He could remember Minnie more easily than he could recall his own mother. He had been so little when he last lived with his mother. For years their meetings had been fraught and brief. He had run to her and been dragged away.

He had stayed with Minnie. She had been with him as a child, a teenager and a young man. Now that she was gone he felt strangely calm, but alone: more alone than he had before he knew of her death. It was this that he could not fathom. She had been lost to him years before, and yet now he felt her loss.

Losses should not be weighed, he thought. And yet now, considering the loss of both his mothers, he felt Minnie’s loss the greater.

Driving back to London, Daniel stopped at the service station at Donnington Park. He bought petrol and a coffee and then checked his phone for the first time since he had left.

There were three missed calls from work. Sipping lukewarm coffee and inhaling petrol fumes, Daniel called Veronica. He sat in the driver’s seat with the door open, listening to the hoarse whisper of the motorway behind him.

‘Are you all right?’ said Veronica. ‘We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. You are not going to believe this … How was your funeral, by the way, not someone close, was it?’

Daniel cleared his throat. ‘No … no, what’s happened?’

‘You’ve not been answering your phone!’

‘Yeah, I … turned it off. I had stuff to deal with.’

‘You have the Sebastian Croll case back if you want it. Will you take it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Kenneth King Croll is well connected.’

Daniel rubbed a hand across his jaw. He hadn’t shaved and he felt the stubble against his palm.

‘The case ended up with McMann Walkers, but … believe it or not, Sebastian wouldn’t work with them. He had a massive tantrum and said he would only have you as his solicitor!’

‘Why wouldn’t Seb work with them – what did they do?’

‘Well, the solicitor from McMann Walkers went to see Sebastian the day after you left. I know him, Doug Brown, apparently he’s an old school pal of Croll’s …

‘Anyway, I don’t have all the details, but Sebastian was very rude to him. His parents stepped in but then Sebastian started screaming and shouting and saying that he wanted you back. He actually asked for you – for his lawyer, Daniel.’ Veronica twittered with laughter. ‘In the end it was so bad that McMann Walkers turned it down. I’ve had that King Kong bloke, whatever you call him … calling me non-stop. They want you back to keep Sebastian happy.’

Daniel finished his coffee and bit his lip. He had felt an urge to protect the boy, to save him. Sebastian was the same age that Daniel had been when he stood in Minnie’s kitchen for the first time. But now Minnie was gone and Daniel felt drained. He wasn’t sure that he was ready for the case.

‘So, will you take it back?’ asked Veronica. Her clear voice was insistent. ‘I looked at the brief and it seems strong.’

‘Of course I’ll take it,’ said Daniel, but the words were robbed from his lips. The motorway growled behind him and he turned from its callous, aberrant noise.

‘Great. Will you call Irene’s chambers tomorrow? Make sure she and her junior are still available? I would have approached her, but I wanted to check with you first.’

Daniel drove fast, leaving the north behind him. He stopped off at the office to pick up Sebastian’s case notes. It was late, and as he walked through the office’s surreally quiet spaces, he felt relieved that none of his colleagues was there.

The day was waning when he finally returned to Bow. He picked up a takeaway in South Hackney and then found a parking space not far from his flat on Old Ford Road. The sun was setting on Victoria Park, the pond with its fountain like a watery sundial reflecting the bloodied sky. He could smell the vestiges of barbecues in the air. Opening the boot of his car, he lifted out the box that Cunningham had given him and walked to the flat chin-down, the box in one hand and the takeaway and his keys in the other.

He felt strangely deflated, the empty farmhouse inside him still, creaking with her loss. He heard notes again, painful as exposed bone. They chimed cold and hard.