They sit together on facing sofas in Jonny’s flat. Max is opposite Hazel, who has her head bowed, hands in her lap, Jonny’s arm curled protectively around her back. The room has the weighted stillness of tension. Jonny has made coffee but it remains untouched on the side table, its aroma vaguely nauseating in the overheated space.
Max is aware of the traffic noise outside. In the distance, a jackhammer is ploughing up a road. He squeezes his palms together, trying desperately to quell the adrenaline, to remain calm and not frighten Hazel with his eagerness. She is sunken and pale from the prison trip yesterday. When she had confessed to Max that her memories were returning, he had driven her to Jonny’s straight away. They had run the gauntlet through the camera flashes of the pack of paparazzi, who waited outside Jonny’s flat just as they lurked outside her own. Once inside, she had trembled as if she were cold, as if she could never be warm again. Jonny had looked over her head at Max in concern as he led her inside, sat her in an armchair with a blanket over her knees.
‘She needs to rest,’ Max said quietly to him in the hallway. ‘She thinks she can remember what happened on that day.’ He looked over Jonny’s shoulder to where Hazel sat. ‘Keep her calm tonight and I’ll come back in the morning. Just let her sleep. She looks exhausted.’
Jonny had nodded. ‘Right you are.’ After Max had left, he had given Hazel a bowl of chicken soup and they had eaten together in silence. Then he had run her a bath and washed her back slowly as she stared down at her knees.
‘I’m sorry,’ she had said at last. ‘I’m so sorry to have involved you in this. To have involved Evie. The press. It’s all so horrible. You can’t know how much I wish that things were different.’
‘It’s not your fault, babe,’ Jonny had replied, lifting her chin to look her in the eye. ‘You’re just as much a victim of this as anyone.’ He nodded at her, swirling his hand in the water. ‘Hopefully now, though, we’re on the way to sorting it all out. Making everything better.’
Hazel had given him a sad smile.
‘What’s that for?’
‘You look after me, don’t you, Jonny?’ she had answered. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, that’s all.’
‘You don’t have to do without me. And do you know why?’
She had shaken her head.
‘Because once all of this has gone away, been dealt with, we’re going to get married. You and me against the world. Just us two. And Evie of course. And maybe,’ he had said, his voice faltering a little, ‘a baby of our own. What do you reckon?’
Hazel had reached up a hand covered in soap suds and stroked his cheek. ‘Yes,’ she had said. ‘That’s all I want.’
Max looks over at her now and wonders, not for the first time, how much a person can take. How much pressure can be loaded onto Hazel before she snaps, needs more qualified help than either he or Jonny can provide.
‘Hazel,’ he asks gently. ‘Are you feeling a bit better? After yesterday?’
She nods. ‘Thank you for looking after me,’ she says. ‘I felt so strange in the car. As if I were . . . outside myself. I couldn’t think straight at all.’ She shakes her head. ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’
Jonny’s chest puffs up a little at this. His hand doesn’t leave Hazel’s thigh, stroking the wool of her skirt repeatedly. ‘We had a quiet night last night, didn’t we, babe?’ he says.
‘I spoke to my father,’ Hazel says, tears brimming.
‘Oh?’ Max lifts his head. ‘How is he? It must be a shock for him to know that you’re back in contact with Laurel.’
Hazel nods, giving a thin smile. ‘He’s not well, Daddy. He . . . can’t take the strain of this really. I feel so guilty that it’s all being dragged up again.’
Max’s mind is whirring. Unable to stop himself, he asks, ‘Would he consent to being interviewed, do you think? For the book?’
An expression of fear passes across Hazel’s face. ‘No!’ she blurts. ‘Please don’t speak to Daddy! We must leave him alone. He can’t take the strain. It’s going to kill him, all of this.’
Max bites his lip, sitting back. ‘OK, of course. You mustn’t worry, Hazel. Please. I’m here to look after you—’ He breaks off as if a thought has leapt into his head. Tense silence fills the room as he shifts in his seat and crosses his legs. He smiles wanly at her, taking off his glasses, polishing the lenses with the edge of his jumper.
‘You look worried suddenly, Max,’ she says. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Well . . .’ he hedges. ‘Something’s just occurred to me. About your memories coming back, that’s all.’
‘But it’s good, isn’t it?’ Hazel asks. ‘If my memory is returning? It will help with the book, won’t it? With the publishing deal?’
Max nods, replacing his spectacles. ‘Yes, yes. It’s good for the book. It’s just . . .’
‘What?’ she says, moving Jonny’s hand away and leaning forward. ‘What is it? Tell me.’
Max blinks and rubs the back of his neck. ‘It’s just . . . I’ve realised you might be testifying soon, mightn’t you? If the court allows it. At Laurel’s court hearing.’
‘What about it?’ Jonny asks. ‘Why does that matter?’
Hazel pushes back into the cushions, comprehension dawning on her face.
‘Hazel?’ Jonny says. ‘I don’t get it. Why is this a problem?’
She holds Max’s gaze as she answers.
‘Because it will matter to Laurel what I say,’ she says. ‘It will make a difference to her parole.’