12

The full prosecution case is served two weeks later.

‘We have most of the statements you’d expect,’ I tell Will, over the phone. ‘And the toxicology report – which doesn’t really tell us anything we don’t already know. They’ve not tested for drugs. We’ll seek secondary disclosure of the samples and run our own tests. But the main thing is that there’s no CCTV from the hospital.’

‘When are we going to get it?’

‘That’s the problem. We’re not. The police say their copy is in an unplayable format. And they’ve served a statement from a Kathy Fosdyke, Senior Operations Manager and Head of IT at the hospital, who says that the disc has corrupted. Something to do with the compression and functionality of the time-lapse system. Basically, the relevant period of time is missing.’

‘So that’s that.’

‘Sadly, yes. Can we make an “abuse of process” argument?’ I ask.

Will is silent for a moment. He says, ‘There’s no other evidence of bad faith by anyone at the hospital or of any failing by the police to investigate or preserve the evidence. I don’t think it will be enough to sustain it. It’s a matter to raise at trial, but no more.’

‘A nurse – a key prosecution witness – goes missing, and now there’s no CCTV of who went in and out of the ward. Their systems are “state-of-the-art”, according to the hospital administrator. It may not be bad faith, but it doesn’t mean that someone, somewhere, hasn’t made a big mistake.’

‘So, where do we go from here?’

‘Well... Anna’s husband, Tim, has tracked down a nurse for me: Liberty Jones. She was working on the PICU ward at St Martin’s in July, on the same shift as Mary. She’s agreed to talk to me. I’m meeting her today. And we have two more names: in the unused material there’s a statement from a nurse called Stacey Bennett, who also mentions a Dr Kent being on the ward that night. It seems Stacey is another agency nurse and Dr Kent’s a locum. If I can find them, and speak to them, they might have seen something. As agency staff, they might be more willing to blow the whistle, to speak out about any improprieties. And if they saw anything irregular, we would be entitled to full disclosure of the hospital records.’

‘Well, it’s a long shot – and far from certain that that’s where it’s going to take you, but sure, it’s worth speaking to them if you can. In the meantime, we need to take Ellie through the rest of the statements.’

‘OK. I’m meeting Liberty at twelve thirty at Borough Market down on the South Bank. We could have our con after that, if you like?’

‘That works well, actually. I’m down at Southwark Crown this afternoon for a two o’clock hearing. I shouldn’t be more than half an hour, an hour tops. Why don’t you and Ellie wait for me in the Côte Brasserie by the Thames at two thirty?’

‘Great. I’ll call Ellie and let her know.’

I can hear Matt’s phone ringing and his voice answering. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he’s looking across at me from his desk near the window. I look up and he points to the phone receiver in his hand and mouths something to me.

‘Will, I’d better go,’ I tell him. ‘I think I have another call coming through. I’ll see you this afternoon.’

‘OK. See you then.’

As I hang up, Matt says, ‘It’s Lucy,’ and transfers the call.

‘Hi, Lucy, what’s up?’ I ask.

‘We’ve got one in at the police station,’ she says. ‘Charing Cross. It’s ready to go.’

I look at the clock on my phone. ‘I can’t do this one,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve got an appointment at twelve thirty on the South Bank. I’ve got to go.’

‘Oh. I just asked Matt and he said you could do it.’

I look across at Matt who is tapping away at his keyboard and staring straight ahead at his computer screen. ‘Matt, I have an appointment,’ I tell him. ‘I can’t cover Charing Cross.’

Matt stops typing and looks at me. ‘What? You’re joking? What appointment?’

‘A potential witness on the Ellis Stephens case. I have to meet her in less than an hour.’

‘Ellis Stephens. Of course you do.’ Matt starts typing again. I watch him for a moment, unsure if he is finishing up what he’s doing or has decided that this is my problem and that he’s leaving it with me.

‘Lucy, I’ll call you back,’ I tell her. I put the phone receiver down and look across at Matt, but he carries on typing. ‘I was just on the phone to Counsel about it,’ I tell him. ‘Maybe you didn’t hear?’

‘Can’t you move it?’ he asks.

‘It’s already arranged,’ I tell him. ‘She’ll be on her way there by now. And besides, I need to talk to her – and I have a con with Counsel straight after.’

‘Are we getting paid for this?’ Matt asks, still typing.

‘For what?’

‘All this extra work you’re doing on that case.’

I bite my lip. ‘I believe that taking a witness statement from a potential defence witness is chargeable.’

Matt stops typing. ‘It’s a fixed fee,’ he says, sharply. ‘I’ve checked the page count and worked it out. We’re going to get paid less than three thousand pounds for the whole case. You’re never going to recover all your costs.’

‘I can’t let that influence me,’ I reply. ‘I have to defend her properly.’

Matt ignores me. He clicks and saves his document and switches off his monitor, before pulling his jacket off the back of his chair in an overly dramatic movement and picking up his bag. He heads out of the door and down the stairs.

I shut down my computer monitor and pick up my own bag. He’s right that I’m spending more time on this case than we’ll be paid for. But this is Ellie’s life we’re talking about. I’m not going to give up now.

I head down the stairs in the direction Matt has just gone. Lucy glances up as I pass her. ‘So which one of you is covering Charing Cross?’ she asks.

‘Matt,’ I tell her, although instinct tells me she knows that already.

As I head out of the door I hear Lucy say, ‘Again,’ but when I look back at her, she’s busy typing and doesn’t look up.

*

Liberty Jones is already seated at a table in the Borough Central café, eating a messy crêpe with one hand and emptying a sachet of sugar into a large latte with the other. She brushes some chocolate crumbs from her mouth with a paper napkin and waves when I walk in. She has striking curly red hair, which is tied up in a messy bun, stray ringlets escaping and tumbling around her ears. She’s just as I imagined her from her description of herself: petite and attractive with an open, friendly face and a smattering of freckles across her nose.

‘Sorry.’ She grins apologetically, through a mouthful of pancake. ‘I was starving. I couldn’t wait.’

‘Am I late?’ I ask.

‘No. I’m early. I just wanted to leave enough time to talk to you before my shift starts.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’

I pull out the chair opposite her. The waitress appears behind me and I order a crêpe and a latte too. Through the window beyond I can see the wholesale fruit and vegetable section of the market. Giant watermelons are stacked in a barrow just beyond the windows of the pub, and tray upon tray of apples, pears and bananas are piled high upon a bed of plastic grass.

‘So,’ I say, taking out my iPad. ‘Do you mind if I make notes as we talk?’

Liberty shakes her head. ‘Of course not. But you know I was in PICU, right? Finn had just been moved off PICU and onto Peregrine Ward. I wasn’t there when it happened.’

‘That’s OK. Anything you can tell me might help. You remember the incident?’ I ask her. ‘You heard about it?’

‘How could I forget? We all knew Finn. He was a gorgeous little boy. So lush with his big blue eyes and his cheeky smile. He’d only been with us for... well, it must have been less than a week when it happened.’

‘So, do you remember much about that evening? Who was working – and where they were?’

Liberty picks up what’s left of her crêpe and folds the last bit into her mouth. I wait for her to finish. ‘I was on the late shift with Mary that day,’ she says, swallowing and wiping her mouth with the napkin again. ‘Mary was really attached to Finn. I remember when he was ready to go, she wanted to be the one to go with him over to Peregrine Ward for the handover. It was early evening and I remember she went over a couple more times to take his meds and check on him before we went off shift.’

The waitress appears again with my food.

Liberty continues, ‘I was gobsmacked – we both were – when we came back on again the next afternoon and found him back there in PICU, intubated and sedated all over again, and fighting for his little life. It was unbelievable... shocking. He nearly died. The thought that someone could do that to an innocent little boy. A baby.’ She shakes her head, then looks up at me. ‘Sorry. I know you’re her lawyer and everything, and I’ve never met her, so I don’t know what she’s like—’

I interrupt her. ‘You’ve never met Ellie? Finn’s mother?’

‘No. I don’t think so. It was the other lady that was there all the time.’

‘The other lady?’

‘The posh lady. Lady Bla Bla Bobbington-Plum or whatever her name was...’

I laugh. ‘Barrington-Brown?’ I suggest.

She grins. ‘Yeah. That’s the one.’

‘So, was there anyone else who visited regularly?’

‘There was that other woman from Social Services.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Now, she was a piece of work.’

‘How do you mean?’

She looks me in the eye. ‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but she was a bit of a bossy cow. I felt really sorry for Mary. She was totally on her back.’

‘In what way?’

‘Telling her what to do and when to do it,’ Liberty confides. ‘Always telling her she was doing stuff wrong.’

‘Really? Like what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I can’t remember now. There were various things that Mary was supposed to have done or not done. Mary was a good nurse, don’t get me wrong. But she didn’t always do everything by the book.’

I look her in the eye. ‘Can you give me any examples?’

‘Well, she didn’t always remember to...’ She tails off suddenly, and her friendly smile fades. ‘Wait a minute, is this going to be used in Court?’

‘Well, possibly,’ I say. ‘If you agree.’

She shakes her head. ‘Well, then, no, I don’t... I don’t really want to say. It really wasn’t anything much. I don’t want to get Mary into trouble.’

I nod, calmly, reassuringly. Inside, my mind is racing. Mary didn’t always get it right; Mary might have made a mistake. This is the first time that I’ve been told that Mary is anything other than hard-working and reliable. This evidence is crucial to Ellie’s defence. But Liberty clearly isn’t going to be the one to deliver it.

On the other hand, one person who is going to be giving evidence in court is Heather Grainger. So, we can ask her, can’t we? Cross-examine her – under oath – about Mary, about how she wasn’t as careful as she should have been. This is definitely something to work with, even if Liberty doesn’t want to get involved.

‘OK. Not to worry,’ I tell her. ‘So did anyone else visit Finn?’

‘There was the baby’s dad, of course.’

‘That’s it? No one else?’

‘Not that I remember. Why?’

‘No reason,’ I tell her. ‘I’m just really surprised that you didn’t bump into Ellie, that’s all.’

She shrugs. ‘Well, we were on lates. Came on at two and left at ten. So she might have been there in the morning. Or at night.’

‘OK. So what else can you remember about what happened?’ I ask her.

‘Nothing. I just remember the police talking to everyone the following day.’

‘Can you remember who they talked to?’

‘Well, there was Brooke Allen, Susie Johnson... me and Mary. I can’t remember who else. I couldn’t really help them, though, I told them that. I was busy when it happened. I remember when Mary went over to Peregrine to say goodbye to Finn, the last time, we’d already finished our shift. I got collared at the same time by the parents of a little girl that I was looking after. I didn’t see or talk to anyone about Finn until we came in and found him on PICU again the next day.’

‘And what did Mary tell you about what happened?’

‘Not much, as it goes. She told me she’d given a statement to the police and that she would be called to give evidence, but she didn’t say any more. We were really busy that day. That would have been the Saturday. She did an early shift on the following Monday. I was on lates and I did the handover. But, again, we didn’t really have time to talk and I never saw her again after that. I think it was Wednesday or something when they told me she’d gone.’

‘Gone? She left the PICU? Just like that?’

‘She left the hospital. She came in on the Monday, and then never came back.’

‘Were you surprised?’

Liberty pokes with a wooden stirrer at the froth that’s clinging to the sides of her empty coffee mug. ‘Well, not really, no. She was agency, at the end of the day. They come and go.’

‘But... she left so suddenly after Finn’s tube was tampered with. Didn’t people wonder why? Did the managers tell you what had happened?’

‘They said they didn’t know.’

‘Wasn’t anyone suspicious?’

Liberty frowns. ‘Of Mary? No. Why would they be?’

I shrug. ‘No reason. Maybe it was just a coincidence...’

‘What was?’

I push my iPad aside and lean towards her, my elbows on the table. ‘Look, could it have been an accident?’ I ask. ‘What happened to Finn?’

‘What do you mean? Could his mother have pulled the line out by accident?’

‘No. I mean, could a member of hospital staff have done it? A nurse?’

Liberty stares blankly at me for a moment. ‘Well, yes,’ she says, finally. ‘Technically. If the catheter was knocked out of the exit site, or if it hadn’t been taped up properly. But that’s never happened, not in all the time I’ve been nursing.’

‘Would you know about it if it had?’

Liberty shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But it would be a huge mistake to make. The nurse would be suspended immediately... and she’d be disciplined. We’d know if another nurse was being disciplined. Word gets around...’ Liberty tails off.

‘But they couldn’t discipline her if she wasn’t there, could they?’

Liberty chews the end of the wooden stirrer and looks thoughtfully at her empty coffee mug.

‘Would you like another?’ I ask her.

She shakes her head and checks her watch. ‘I’m going to have to go in a minute. Shift starts at two.’

‘OK. I don’t want to make you late... but can I just ask you a couple more questions?’

She hesitates. ‘Go on then.’

‘There’s a statement here in the unused material...’

Liberty frowns.

‘That’s basically statements – and other evidence – that the prosecution have given to us because they are of no use to them but might help us.’

‘That’s nice of them,’ she says.

‘It’s the rules. Equality of arms,’ I tell her. ‘The prosecution have a whole police force at their disposal to gather their evidence but we only have... well, me. So, this is a statement from a nurse called Stacey Bennett. It seems she’s no longer at St Martin’s. Do you know her?’

‘I remember the name. She was agency. She was a ward nurse on Peregrine. She was also on the General Medical Ward for a while. I knew her, but not well.’

‘Do you know where she is now?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘OK, well she mentions that she was – as you say – on Peregrine Ward on the twenty-fifth of July. She mentions a consultant looking after Finn that evening, a locum named Dr Kent. Do you know the name?’

Liberty frowns and purses her lips. ‘No. Doesn’t ring a bell. He’s never worked on PICU. You should speak to someone on the ward, or the hospital admin department.’

I pull a face. ‘Yeah, I tried that. I didn’t get anywhere.’

‘Sorry.’ Liberty looks at her watch. ‘Last question?’ she smiles.

‘OK,’ I agree. ‘Last question – the big question, now. There are three Mary Ngombes on Facebook. None of them would appear to be our Mary. Is there anyone who might know where she is?’

Liberty shakes her head. ‘She wasn’t... well, good friends with anyone, really. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her and we got on. But it doesn’t surprise me that she’s not on Facebook, or that she hasn’t kept in touch. She was the sort of person who kept herself to herself.’

‘So there’s no one who could tell me where she’s gone?’

Liberty shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. Not that I know of, no.’

*

I head out of the wholesale section of the market, past the gigantic cheeses and huge tubs of olives. I wish I had time to stop and investigate the incredible aromas of fried chicken and Catalan stew, the rows of Turkish sweets and slabs of chocolate all mingling enticingly with the bitter scent of coffee. I circuit the cathedral and pass under London Bridge before heading along beside the choppy grey waters of the Thames towards Battle Bridge Lane. The wind whips my hair around my face so that I struggle to see where I’m going. I pull a hairband from my wrist and tie it back into a messy knot.

Before I get to the Crown Court building I can see the black metal and glass dome of the Hay’s Galleria which houses the Côte Brasserie. Ellie is waiting for me outside, under the black-and-white striped awning of the restaurant. She’s wearing a baby pink leather jacket and ripped skinny jeans with stylish brown riding boots. Her blonde hair hangs loose around her shoulders and falls across a pair of wide blue sunglasses as she stands with her hand on one hip, her thumb tapping away busily at the keyboard of her phone. I can see at least three waiters standing just inside the window with their tongues practically hanging out, but Ellie is oblivious to the looks she’s getting from both the people inside the restaurant and the passers-by.

As I approach the restaurant, my own phone rings and Alex’s name lights up the screen. My heart, as usual, gives a little lurch and I wonder briefly if his might do the same. We’ve been seeing each other several times a week since the evening in early September when we went dancing and he’s made it plain that he likes me as much as I like him. But I’m still half expecting something to be wrong each time he calls. I can’t quite believe he’s still here.

I glance up to see that Ellie is still absorbed in her own conversation, and Will is clearly nowhere in sight, so I walk back towards the exit and take the call.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi, babe.’

I laugh out loud. This is the first time I’ve heard this. ‘Hi, babe’ is not an expression that sits comfortably within Alex’s usual repertoire.

‘What?’ Alex’s voice sounds mock-offended.

‘It’s just... “Babe”!’ I giggle.

‘Hi, babe,’ Alex says again. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing,’ I smile. ‘It’s nice. It’s better than “Sugar-tits”.’

‘“Sugar-tits”?’

‘Ah. You obviously haven’t seen Gavin and Stacey? I have the box-set. You are in for a treat!’

‘I can’t wait. Is it porn?’

I laugh. ‘No. It’s a comedy series. It’s brilliant. You’ll love it.’

‘OK. Excellent. I’ll look forward to it. And, as it happens, I’ve taken the afternoon off. I’ve already been shopping and I’ve got all the ingredients for an excellent Thai stir-fry which I intend to have ready for you when you get home tonight. Coriander, chilli, lemongrass, ginger, galangal and prawns. How does that sound? If you don’t mind me letting myself in, that is?’

‘It sounds amazing. You spoil me.’

‘Good. I want to spoil you. You deserve to be spoiled. You are the most obvious candidate for a spoiling that I ever came across. I’m going to give you a good spoiling when I see you.’

I giggle again. ‘Thank you. Do you still have my spare key?’

‘Yep. So, I’ll see you and Ben just after six, then?’

‘OK.’

‘Where are you, by the way? You’re echoing.’

‘I’m on the South Bank. I’m just entering Hay’s Galleria.’

‘What are you doing there?’

‘I’m about to meet Will for a conference.’

Alex hesitates for a moment. ‘So, would that be Will, the good-looking, intelligent barrister who never stops phoning you?’

‘Alex! Are you jealous?’

‘Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?’

I can’t think of an honest answer to this. Will does phone me a lot. As my instructing-solicitor-to-instructed-counsel relationships have gone, the one with Will has been by far the most intense.

‘Because... because you’re gorgeous,’ I tell him. ‘And... because I...’

‘Because you what?’

My heart starts to race. ‘Because I love you,’ I tell him.

Alex is silent for a moment and I can actually feel my heart hammering against my chest. I had no idea I was going to say that. What have I done? What if I’ve scared him? Is he going to pack his chilli and his galangal and his lemongrass right back into his shopping bag and run back to Lewisham?

‘Sarah.’ That’s all Alex says.

‘Yes?’ I reply, meekly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ellie flicking her hair back and sliding her phone into her handbag. She spots me standing at the entrance to the shopping centre and waves.

‘Sorry, Alex, I’ve got to go,’ I tell him.

‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

*

Will orders a coffee each for him and Ellie and a lime and soda for me. We run through Stacey Bennett’s statement.

‘She was on lates that day,’ I tell Ellie, ‘which means she finished at ten. She says she remembers clearly that you got to the ward late, at around nine fifteen p.m. – and that it was quiet. There were no other parents on the ward; they’d all gone to the parents’ quarters for the night, which is what they generally do if they want to stay.’

Ellie listens in silence and then nods when I pause to look at her.

I continue, ‘She says that she remembers you, because you were a bit stressed when you arrived... that you buzzed repeatedly to be let in.’

‘They wouldn’t open the doors,’ Ellie protests. ‘My baby had been in intensive care all week. They’d moved him, and I wanted to see him. What does she expect?’

I look up. ‘I don’t think she was criticising you, Ellie. In fact, she says she felt sorry for you. She says you looked exhausted. She says that she asked you if you wanted to sleep next to Finn, since it was his first night off the ICU.’

Will sits down and the waiter brings the drinks over a moment later.

‘Did you always go to the hospital at night?’ I ask her.

Ellie nods. ‘Every night. Often not until around nine or even later. I waited until I knew she would be gone.’

‘Who? Finn’s grandmother?’

‘Well, there was her, yes. And Heather Grainger. Between the two of them, I knew they weren’t going to let me anywhere near Finn.’

‘But no one had stopped you seeing him at that point, or imposed any conditions on you?’

Ellie shakes her head. ‘No. No one had said I couldn’t see him. They didn’t know how he’d got ill. No one at the hospital was blaming me, not then... So, basically, I just kept out of their way.’

‘How did you work it out, then? The visits?’

‘I just waited outside until I saw everyone leave. Heather was never there after six, but Jay’s mum was sometimes there later. I worked out that night times were the only time I could be on my own with him, without being watched all the time.’

‘So, on the night in question, who did you see?’

‘No one. I got there late. Everyone had gone.’

I nod. ‘Stacey says she came back with a camp bed for you. She came back again to check on Finn before she left at around five to ten, and she says you were already asleep.’

Ellie nods. ‘Exactly. That’s what I told you. I was asleep.’

I look back down at my iPad. I swipe up from Stacey’s statement to Mary’s and back again. ‘So, Stacey left at ten, or just before. She confirms that Finn’s observations were all fine and that both you and Finn were asleep. But, then we have Mary Ngombe. She says she also checked on Finn at around ten o’clock, when she went off shift. She doesn’t mention seeing Stacey, and Stacey doesn’t mention her, so we don’t know for certain which one of them came along first. It seems likely, though, that Mary came shortly after Stacey had left. Stacey says she left on time that evening, while Mary says she’d finished her shift on the PICU and went to check on Finn on her way out. It’s one of the things that the CCTV might have told us, if we’d had it.’

Will takes over. ‘Crucially, as we know,’ he says, ‘Mary says that she saw you leaning over the cot with your back to her, and lifting Finn out. She says that you held him in your arms for a moment or two and then you laid him back down again. She describes you: five feet seven or eight, blonde hair, wearing jeans, a light-coloured top and a blue scarf.’

Ellie shrugs. ‘I told you,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t me.’

‘What were you wearing?’ I ask her. ‘In bed?’

‘Jeans,’ mutters Ellie. ‘A light blue T-shirt. The police have them.’

‘Mary doesn’t mention the camp bed next to the cot,’ I say. ‘Which is curious. And I think I’ve found another angle that might show the jury that Mary doesn’t always get things right.’

‘But she names you,’ says Will. ‘She’s clear about that. She says your name is Ellie and she knows you as the baby’s mother. I know that she gets your age slightly wrong, but she is clear that it’s you she saw holding Finn – the last person to be seen with him before his dialysis line was pulled out. This is our biggest problem.’

Ellie shrugs again. ‘Well she’s wrong. It wasn’t me. I don’t know what else I can say.’

‘You said last time that you don’t even remember Mary?’ I ask her.

‘No.’

‘So, who do you remember, then? Who did you see?’

Ellie shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. That nurse... Stacey, was it? I’m not sure.’

‘Anyone else? Any doctors? Did you talk to anyone about Finn and how he was doing?’

Ellie shakes her head. ‘They just said he was OK. Doing well.’

‘Who did?’

‘I’m not sure. That nurse, I think.’

‘Mary or Stacey?’

‘Stacey, I think.’

I ask, ‘Do you remember a doctor called Dr Kent?’

Ellie shakes her head. ‘No.’

I glance up at Will, who narrows his eyes behind his glasses and purses his lips. I know that he’s thinking the same as me: if this is going to be the quality of Ellie’s evidence, we’re going to have to consider carefully whether we want to put her on the stand.

I pick up my phone to check the time and realise with alarm that I’ve missed a call from the school. I apologise to Ellie and Will and quickly dial the number and weave my way through the tables to the exit.

There’s no answer from the school office, which has in all likelihood now closed. The after-school club staff aren’t answering. I check my voicemail and am told that I have one new message. I dial to listen.

‘Hello, Sarah,’ says Amy from the after-school club, cheerfully. ‘Nothing wrong, Ben’s fine. But we’ve had two staff members go home sick. It seems there’s a bit of a tummy bug going round and one of the children has gone home with it too. Could you collect Ben by four thirty please? We can’t stay open any later, unfortunately, as we don’t have enough staff. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.’

I end the call and check the clock on my phone. I know instinctively that there’s insufficient time for me to get back to the school by four thirty, even if I called a cab. I’d need a helicopter, not a taxi.

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit,’ I say, mild panic rising inside me.

Will pokes his head round the door. ‘What’s happened? Are you OK?’

‘It’s Ben,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve got to pick him up.’

‘When?’

I look at my phone again. ‘I needed to have left about half an hour ago.’

‘Oh, crap. What are you going to do?’

There’s only one thing I can do, I already know that. I don’t like it, but it’s all I’ve got. I silently vow that I’ll somehow change my life so that I am never south of the river in the afternoon again.

‘Do me a favour, Will? Can you just go inside and explain to Ellie? I’m really sorry, but I just need to sort this out.’

‘Of course.’ Will narrows his eyes in sympathy and pats my arm, before heading back inside.

I call Alex and he answers straight away. ‘Sarah.’

There’s no ‘Hi, babe’ this time, but I can ask him this, can’t I? Will he mind? Will Ben? Will I?

‘Alex, I’m in a bit of a pickle.’

‘Why, what’s up?’

‘I’m still at Hay’s Galleria, having my con... my meeting. But Ben needs picking up. I just got a call. They’re having to shut the after-school club early. I’m so sorry to ask you this, but I’ll never get there on time...’

‘OK, calm down. Remind me where the entrance is?’

‘You’ll go and get him?’

‘Of course I’ll go and get him. Stop panicking.’

‘Oh, Alex, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you...’

‘Sarah, just tell me where to go,’ Alex laughs.

‘Right. Yes.’ I give him directions to the entrance to the after-school club and tell him which buzzer he has to ring.

‘Give them a call and tell them I’m on my way now,’ Alex instructs me.

‘OK. They’ll ask you for my secret password. It’s... “Tallulah”.’

‘Tallulah?’ Alex laughs. ‘Sounds like a porn name.’

I giggle. ‘It’s the name of my rabbit.’

‘You have a rabbit?’

‘Not any more,’ I laugh. ‘She was my first pet. Tallulah Louisiana. Will you remember that?’

‘How could I forget?’

‘And, Alex... I hope he’s all right for you.’

‘He’ll be just fine.’

‘Just give him... well, you know. Bread, or bananas or whatever. Nothing too difficult to swallow. No fruit with stones, or pips...’

‘I know, Sarah, stop worrying. I’ll take good care of him.’

‘OK. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Take your time. Finish your meeting. We’ll be fine.’

‘OK.’

‘And, Sarah,’ he adds.

‘Yes?’

‘I love you too.’

I end the call and allow myself a moment to breathe a sigh of happiness and relief. But my joy is short-lived; almost as soon as I end the call to Alex, my phone bleeps again. It’s the office, another missed call. I press and hold ‘1’ for voicemail and listen. It’s not Lucy, it’s Gareth. ‘Sarah, I need to talk to you. It’s important. Come back to the office please.’

I quickly dial the office number. Lucy puts me through and Gareth answers on the first ring. ‘Are you on your way back?’ he asks.

‘Well, no,’ I say. ‘I only just got your message. But I have to go home. Ben’s after-school club’s closed early. I have to get back for him.’

There’s a silence on the other end. I can hear Gareth sighing. He says, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning then. First thing.’

‘I’m in court tomorrow—’

‘I’m taking you out.’

My stomach flips. ‘What’s this about?’

‘There’s been a complaint about you, Sarah.’

I sigh. ‘Not Matt again? Seriously? Is this because I didn’t go to Charing Cross this morning? I told him, I had an interview with a witness booked, a con with Counsel.’

Gareth says, ‘That’s part of it. But it’s a little more serious than that. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, first thing. Don’t be late. In the meantime, say goodbye to your client and tell Counsel that Matt will be in touch. I want you off this case.’