‘I cannot fucking believe it,’ Joanna says, pushing a twenty-pound note across the bar. ‘Permission granted? What are they thinking? I can’t bear it. Toby Bowman standing in the court like a prince, smiles all over his face. How dare they?’
The barmaid takes the money and hands her the change before moving a glass containing ice, gin and lemon with a small bottle of tonic towards Joanna. ‘Here’s your double,’ she says, flicking a quick troubled glance at the expression on her customer’s face, the violence that seems to throb beneath it, the unhealthy sheen over her features.
Joanna pours the tonic into the glass and takes a huge gulp.
‘Cheers,’ Will says, his pint held lonely in the air as Joanna downs her drink.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she says. ‘Here, I’ll get another one. I need it after this week.’
‘Let me,’ he answers, catching the barmaid’s eye and gesturing for the same again. He looks at Joanna and wonders, not for the first time, whether this is really what they should be doing. All this effort expended to keep one woman locked up in prison. Something about it seems wrong, as if they are the ones being punished and not Laurel Bowman. His cheeks burn as he notices Joanna stare at him, as if she can read these disloyal thoughts running through his mind.
‘What?’
He shrugs. ‘Nothing. Just tired, I suppose. It’s only permission, Jo. The real hearing could easily agree with the parole board not to release Bowman.’
‘Yeah, but it’s a risk, isn’t it? I feel like she’s slipping and sliding towards the exit doors.’ Joanna puts her head on one side and reaches for the new glass that has appeared at her elbow. ‘Thanks.’
Will surveys their local. The one they like because its clientele consists more of old men and less of the faux-ironic hipsters who slouch in bars further along the road, stroking their beards and ordering craft beer. An elderly man sits in the corner, his eyes closed, a half-pint glass of bitter on the table next to a folded copy of the Sun. The photograph of Rosie Bowman as a schoolgirl stares up at him from the front page.
‘What about that?’ he says to Joanna, tipping his glass in the direction of the newspaper. ‘Talk about timing.’
Joanna shakes her head and rubs the back of her neck. ‘Unbelievable. Seems unlikely, though, doesn’t it? That she had anything to do with that kid going missing? She’d have to be mad to try anything dodgy, with her background.’
‘Unless she couldn’t help herself,’ Will points out.
Joanna looks at him. ‘I’m going to go up and see Deb tomorrow,’ she says as if she has just reached that decision. ‘See if she needs anything. If she wants to come down and give some interviews maybe. Try and get some leverage to swing the coverage back to Kirstie.’
Will takes a swig of his pint and glances back at the old man. The thought hovers just within reach that he will never be that man. By the time he is the same age, pubs like this will be long-since gone. He sighs. Life just gets more and more complicated and, lately, the relentless ethos of Bang to Rights is wearing him down.
‘Wears what?’ Joanna asks. ‘What did you say?’
Will laughs uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t realise I’d said anything out loud.’
Joanna doesn’t reply, holding up her hand for another gin.
‘You’re drinking a lot,’ he observes.
‘Thirsty, tired, and grieving. No better reasons.’ She studies his face while she waits. ‘Well? Wears what?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking about us and what we do and what we’ll do in the future.’
‘Carry on fighting the good fight.’ She gives him an angry little smile. ‘Making sure people who can’t speak for themselves have a voice.’ She shakes her head vigorously. ‘As if suddenly it’s acceptable to be a child murderer? As if you can be rehabilitated from that.’
Will doesn’t answer but stares down at his beer.
‘Jesus, Will. What is it? I know it was a shit result today but you look like your puppy’s just been run over.’
Will lifts his eyebrows and presses his lips together, debating with himself whether to reply. ‘I just don’t know, Jo,’ he says finally.
‘What is it that’s wearing you down?’
‘I don’t know if it’s what I want any more,’ he says simply.
Joanna’s eyes narrow.
‘I mean . . . it should feel good, right? Even today when we essentially lost. But we had our submissions considered. The court is listening to us. We are making a difference. But . . .’
‘But, what?’
‘But,’ he scratches the back of his neck nervously, ‘I don’t feel like that. I just feel really sad about it all. Like no one’s a winner really. That it’s all so miserable while we argue with each other. And nothing gets better. We only make sure it stays exactly the same. All the hatred, you know? There’s so much of it.
‘And then I go home and I look at my daughter, and I think, what kind of life is it for her? To grow up in such a depressing world where all we do is argue and try and keep people locked up. Not help them. Not help anyone. Because, you know,’ he stares at Joanna earnestly, ‘I don’t think even Debbie and Rob are happy about this. After all this time, how does Laurel rotting away in prison help them move on? How can you move on? Because, you know . . . wouldn’t it be better if you could?’
Will’s voice trails away and the silence between them lengthens. He swallows, watching Joanna, but her face is blank.
‘Don’t,’ he says, pushing his glass away. ‘Don’t do this. I just mean . . . it’s something I’ve been thinking about. I don’t want to end up in a pit of resentment, stewing in my own anger. Not forever, Jo. And I don’t want you to do it either.’
Joanna gives a short nod. ‘And . . .’ she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, eyes fixed on the condensation moving down her glass towards her fingers ‘. . . what would you do instead? What would you do?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not saying I’ve planned anything. I’m just talking. About how I feel sometimes. Not all the time. You know what I think about Bowman. It’s not that I’m saying we should forgive . . .’
Joanna bangs her glass down on top of the bar. Her knuckles wrapped around it are red. The barmaid jerks her head up at the sound. ‘That is what you’re saying, Will. If you don’t keep her inside, what else is there? You have to forgive. You can’t say – oh, yeah, come on out, come and have a nice council flat, enjoy your NHS medical card and the rest of it. Oh, and by the way, I still think you’re a murderous lying cow, but never mind! It’s about time you were out and living amongst us all. Please don’t kill anyone else, though! That wouldn’t do at all.’
‘You’re being facetious. That’s not what I mean and you know it.’
‘I’m serious, Will. If you let her out, you have to forgive. What’s the point otherwise?’
‘What about saying that she’s served her time? That she’s a different person from who she was before? That the ten-year-old Laurel has gone. This is someone who won’t hurt again because she’s learnt her lesson?’
Joanna seems frozen, her mouth open a little, her eyes fixed on Will’s. After a second or two, she tosses her head. ‘You’re a fucking idiot,’ she snaps, picking up her bag from off the floor. ‘You’re an idiot if you think that someone like that can change. They never change. Ever.’ Joanna wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I’m going now. Because I’m feeling pretty sick.’
‘Don’t go, Jo. I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you. I wish we could talk about it.’ He reaches out and touches her arm but Joanna looks down coldly at his hand before shifting away and it falls into empty air.
‘There’s nothing to talk about. You can take your paid notice. It’s two weeks, I think.’
‘Oh, Jo. Come on . . .’
‘And then you can get your stuff and get out. Got it?’ Joanna backs off, an expression of disgust contorting her face, before she turns and slams out of the pub.