Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘That’s all I have to ask.’ She folded her gown about her and sat down.

‘Thank you, Ms Gilbert,’ the judge said courteously. ‘You may stand down now.’

As the usher guided Sharon out Sarah watched the jury, trying to gauge their reaction. The middle-aged lady looked disapproving, the girl in the pink fluffy pullover vacant, the man in the leather jacket sympathetic, as though he would like to get up and wrap Sharon in his arms. No joy there, then. But a grey haired man in tweeds, whom Sarah had not noticed before, shook his head sadly as Sharon went out, and a younger man was scribbling intently on his note pad.

That must have put some doubt in their minds, Sarah thought, her hands trembling with suppressed excitement. I did the best I could; I couldn’t have done better.

She looked over her shoulder at Lucy, who smiled encouragement. Then she looked up, to see what Simon had made of her performance. At least he must see she wasn’t a complete dud at this job she had spent so long training for. Perhaps they could talk about it afterwards.

But to her surprise and intense disappointment, Simon was no longer there.

Sarah awoke at six as usual, and lay for a while thinking. In these first moments after waking her mind was always clear, and she could often solve problems that had been obscure the day before. It was as though a team of civil servants in her subconscious had been working all night, to present her with the main issues of the day neatly typed and sorted for her consideration.

Bob, still dozing beside her, was the exact opposite. He wouldn’t surface for half an hour, and then only with groans and sighs. She had often tried to discuss things with him at this time, but it was hopeless — he was scarcely human until she was already showered, dressed, and ready for work. It was a daily irritation in their marriage.

But family matters were not uppermost in her mind this morning; they seldom were. Today she might have to cross-examine Sharon Gilbert’s little boy by video link. It would not be easy. Then there were the forensic scientist and DI Terry Bateson, both tough nuts too. She replayed the questions she had planned in her mind as the dawn light filled the room.

She sat at her dressing table by the window, looking out. This was the time of day she liked this house best. There were dew-covered spider’s webs on the long grass in the meadow. She saw a heron float on its wide, creaky wings down to the river bank, where it folded its wings and stood, silent and intent, among the reeds on the further shore. There had been nothing like this in Leeds — it belonged in a nature film on the telly, not in real life where you could actually walk about in it if you wanted. Occasionally Sarah did that — put on a coat and wellington boots and trudged along the river bank; but she felt out of place in it then. It was too cold or damp or muddy; there were insects that bit her; it was eerily quiet and hostile.

It was better looking at it through the window. After all the fact of having a detached house with a view like this proved she and Bob had made it; they were a success at last. So she sat for a while longer, as other people did Tai Chi or meditation, and told herself she enjoyed it. Then she crossed the room to have a shower, tickling Bob’s toes wickedly under the end of the duvet just before the alarm went off.

She was putting on her face before the mirror when Bob came back with a cup of tea, his hair still tousled from sleep. He slumped down on the bed and, to her astonishment, spoke.

‘Can you talk to Emily before you go?’

She turned to stare at him. ‘What about?’

‘Her exams. I was up with her for an hour last night. She thinks she’s going to fail.’

‘Of course she’s not going to fail.’ Sarah turned back to the mirror to finish her eye-shadow. ‘She’s a clever girl, she’s done the work. She’ll be fine.’

‘ She doesn’t think so. The poor kid’s in a dreadful state.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Talk to her, that’s all. Show some sympathy. You’ve passed enough exams, you know what it’s like.’

‘All right.’ Sarah glanced at her watch. ‘But I’ve got to go in twenty minutes. Is she up?’

‘Probably not.’ Bob sighed, and took a life-saving draught of tea. ‘You don’t have to be first person in every day, surely? Have a heart, Sarah.’

‘It’s a brain she needs, not a heart.’ Sarah walked quickly across to her daughter’s bedroom. ‘Emily, are you up? I want a word.’

‘What? Oh, mum, no.’ Emily was still in bed. She opened one eye, saw who it was, and buried her face in the pillow.

Sarah softened a little. She sat on the edge of the bed and touched her daughter’s shoulder. The shoulder shrank away. ‘Emily, wake up. I just want to talk to you for a bit. Dad says you’re worried about your exams.’

A mumble that might have been ‘so I am’ came from deep in the pillow.

‘Don’t you want to talk about it?’

‘No, not now — I’m asleep.’

Sarah sighed. ‘You’ve got to get up anyway to go to school.’

‘No, I haven’t. Not going today.’

‘Don’t be silly, of course you’re going. You’re not ill, are you?’

‘No. I’m revising at home.’

‘But you can’t just skip school when you feel like it.’

‘’Course I can. Everyone’s doing it. The lessons are finished now — all we do at school is revise or sit around and talk. I can work better here.’

Emily hunched up to a half-sitting position facing her mother. Her face was puffy from sleep, but there were no signs of tears. Sarah felt her forehead. ‘You’re not feverish, are you?’

‘No , mother! For God’s sake, I’m just staying home to revise! It’s only six days to German, you know!’

‘All right.’ Sarah looked around the room. There were books and papers spread on the desk, clothes scattered all over the floor. ‘Have you got all your books here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you can at least pick up these clothes if you’re going to be here all day.’ She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them; predictably, they brought tears to Emily’s eyes.

‘I haven’t got time for that — don’t you understand? I’ve got all this work and almost no time left to do it and you go on about stupid things like clothes! It’s just like that silly concert — why did I have to waste time practising when I could have been revising instead? I don’t know any German and I’ve got an exam in six days and I’m going to fail, I know I am!’

She was crying, and turned her face towards the wall. Sarah groaned inwardly, and surreptitiously checked her watch. She really would have to go soon, to get ready for court. Clumsily, she tried to embrace her daughter, but Emily shoved her away.

‘Don’t! Leave me alone!’

Frustrated, Sarah tried to speak sensibly. ‘Look, you did all right in the German mock, didn’t you? You got an A …’

‘A B ! And I only just got that!’

‘All right, a B then. But that’s not too bad …’

‘ You never got B s, did you? You never got a B in anything!’

‘Well, maybe I didn’t, but … I thought I was going to get B s lots of times, so I did a bit more work and got an A . That’s what you should do, darling. If you sit here and work hard …’

‘It’s not just German, you know! There’s nine other subjects!’

‘I know. But they don’t all happen on the same day, do they? What you should do is set out a plan, a revision timetable, and then …’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Furiously, Emily leapt out of bed, scrabbled in the mess of papers on her desk, and waved a coloured chart under Sarah’s nose. ‘See — look at that! That’s what I’m doing! Supposed to be doing, anyway. That’s what my life is now!’