A. Bird - Don’t Say a Word - A gripping psychological thriller from the author of The Good Mother

Fluff my hair up – rocking the sharp blonde bob, if I do say so myself. Should probably take the sunglasses off the top of it for the office though, cool as they look. The usual earrings, silver more tarnished than sparkling. I should upgrade them. But they were from Mum. They’ve survived enough attempts at being torn out in anger, over the years. Now, they’re staying. Even though I had to go.

Oh, but look! Toothpaste on my jacket. Shit. I spit on my finger and rub at the stain. It gets worse. Bugger. Right, let’s hope no one wants to meet with me today – the jacket’s coming off. It’s not the Eighties, anyway. As much as I like the armour, I don’t have to power dress every day: Luton’s best legal executive doesn’t need shoulder pads. Sorry. Lu’on’s best. Drop the t. Do the glottal stop. It means fewer questions. Don’t need to do the whole ‘We lived in Leeds’ routine. Again.

I ditch my jacket. It exposes the fragile cotton threads of the friendship bracelet Josh made for me when he was seven. Blue, white, and red. I’ve safeguarded it like the most expensive Rolex – and for me, it’s as much of a status symbol. If anyone wants to mock it, let them. I grab my bag and jump out of the car.

I run straight into Tim, the firm’s newest partner.

‘Jen!’

‘Sorry, Tim. Sorry. I didn’t see you.’

‘Ah, I move silently – appear when you least expect it.’

Something about the way he says that gives me a little shiver. I wish I had my jacket with me again.

But the moment goes, because he carries on talking.

‘I wanted to see you, actually, Jen. New case I need you to help me on. If you’ve got capacity?’

‘Great! Yeah, of course.’

‘Excellent. Let’s speak later. It’s almost made for you.’

I nod. ‘Perfect.’ Of course it’s made for me. Because it’s bound to involve some crappy admin running around, which is what they all think is made for me. Even new hires, like Tim. Perfect. Thanks so much …

He holds the back door open and gestures for me to go inside.

I half-curtsey a ‘thanks’ and duck into the building.

One of my safe havens.

It has been, for the last four years. Thanks to Bill, the head of the firm. He knows, of course. Some of it, anyway. Trustworthy lawyer. They thought it was fine to tell him. Said he wouldn’t tell anyone else. I was against it (of course). I didn’t like that when I looked into his eyes he was seeing two of me. And judging me, probably. Thinking I’d done things that I hadn’t. But. I didn’t have any other choices, did I? If I wanted to do something with the college diploma I’d clawed to achieve. Even if ninety-nine per cent of the time it is the less-than-perfect crummy admin jobs none of the ‘real’ lawyers want to do.

Sheila – Bill and Tim’s PA – waves good morning to me. ‘All right, love?’

I wave back. ‘Good thanks. You want a coffee?’

She gives me a thumbs-up. ‘You’re a star!’

So I move to dump my bag at my desk. But then Tim speaks again. I jump. I didn’t realize he was still there.

‘Another thing, Jen,’ he says. His voice is low. ‘Keep this new matter between us, OK? Very confidential. I’ll explain why later.’ I nod. Of course. I feel a little thrill. Lawyers are always obsessed by confidentiality, so for it to be extra confidential – well, that’s got to mean it’s exciting. And it’s good to be trusted. ‘If you need to speak to someone, you can talk to Daniel Farley. I’ve instructed him.’ Tim winks and walks to his office.

I go to my desk, head down. Can anyone see the colour that must be rising in my cheeks? Tim winked – he’s new, but does he know about the Daniel incident? He can’t do, surely. The firm always instructs Daniel when it needs a barrister, at least since I’ve been here. The wink wasn’t a reference to any incident, it was just … A wink.

Not that there was an incident. Not really. Just a crush. Which might be mutual. We almost went for a drink. Until I stood him up. But it’s the nearest I’ve had to a date since the man we don’t mention.

Chapter 3

Two spoons coffee, no sugar, for Bill. One teabag, dash of sweetener for –

‘Jen.’

That voice! I start, and the whole sweetener pack goes in Sheila’s tea.

The one downside of working here: Lucy Caxton.

Applying my smile, I turn round.

‘Morning, Lucy.’

‘Getting straight to the important jobs I see,’ she says, gesturing to the cups in front of me. ‘I left you a voice message. Didn’t you see the flashing light?’ She puts down her own cup. Yeah, that figures. She’s allowed time to make tea. One rule for her, another for me. I know that type well.

‘Sorry, Lucy.’ If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, you don’t answer back. You can shout and rail internally. But it doesn’t help anyone to be mouthy. ‘The team needed their caffeine, but I’ll get right on it.’

‘OK, well it’s urgent, so maybe get that kettle boiling.’

It’s literally just about to boil. She can hear it. Unless that’s just the steam mounting in my head? Nope, nope, there’s the click. The pressure’s off. Allegedly.

‘Ah, there we are,’ I say. Forced jollity. Turning the old trick. So they won’t know what’s underneath.

‘Well then, mine’s a tea, white, none. Call me when you get to your desk.’

And she leaves me her cup. Christ, she’s led a sheltered life. If you’ve had all kind of shit – yes, actually, shit – mixed in your drinks over the years (ha, ha, yeah, really funny, now fuck off) then you wouldn’t be Miss Prissy Bitch to someone then expect a standard cuppa. But then that’s her whole fucking problem. No compassion. One of those people – walks past on the other side, says the State should help and then goes into Starbucks for her frappe-latta-cappa, then complains about being overcharged. Fucking hell.

I need to boil more water.

Come on. New Jen. New Jen doesn’t stand in kitchens grasping cups so hard they might crack. She doesn’t rail against well-dressed women in authority. She smiles; she makes tea; she gets to her desk. She does not swear. The day does its thing; she does hers. And Josh gets safely collected at the end of it.

So I dispatch the tea. I almost bow when I drop off Lucy’s (better than pouring it on her, I guess). ‘I’ll be right with you, as soon as I’ve listened to that message.’

‘What, Jen, you haven’t done that yet? Oh, don’t bother. I might as well just tell you. Sit here.’

And she pulls her pashmina-covered oversized handbag from the chair by her desk.

I don’t have a notebook. I am carrying coffee (for myself and one other). The obvious thing to do is to ask her to give me a minute.

‘Lucy, could I possibly …’

‘Jen, what’s with you today? You’re unfocused. Do I need to talk to Bill?’

No, of course not. Of course she doesn’t need to speak to Bill. Of course, I will sit here.

I wish there was a room I could slam upstairs to. Refuse to come down. Until I’m shipped off somewhere else.

But I don’t have that luxury.

So I sit.

‘I need two land transfer forms this morning. One …’

And on we go. Minus pen and paper, I work hard to remember the details. Which I can do. It’s details I’ve always been good on. That’s how I got where I am. And he got – where he is.

***

Finally, mid-morning, I reach my own desk. The light on my phone still flashes. If that light thinks it’s going to annoy me into listening to Lucy’s recorded voice, it’s very wrong. I sip my cold coffee. Not ideal but I’ll tough it out. Hah! Emails, forms, emails, forms. The day goes on. Roll on Tim’s new case. I can’t be Ms Motivation every day.