The Friday before Christmas Grace was due in court. The kids had broken up from school and Libby had promised to take India into Midhope and help her buy Christmas presents. I found them both on India’s bedroom floor, counting the pound coins and fifty pence pieces that Libby was painstakingly extracting from my old tin money box with the help of one of my best knives. Libby had seemed much less irritable over the past few days and I determined, when I got back from taking Grace, to broach the subject of the boyfriend coming to us for a drink on Christmas Day. I couldn’t really see it happening. We’d not even met him to date, and I couldn’t imagine any mother letting her offspring go to someone else’s house for Christmas Day. I realised, with a bit of a pang, I’d have all that ‘who’s going to whose house for Christmas?’ in years to come, and I wasn’t looking forward to it one bit. Maybe he’d like to come round in the evening after he’d eaten with his own family.
Leaving Kit in bed and the twins with Lilian, I dressed in my smartest little black suit and heels and set off to pick up Grace from her parents’ house. I wasn’t quite sure why I’d felt the need to look like a businesswoman about to take on a board of directors – I’d never been in a court before and wasn’t quite sure what to expect – but reckoned if we both looked the part, it could only help Grace’s case.
Katherine Greenwood, Grace’s mother, met me at the door and ushered me into the sitting room where Grace’s father was on the floor, playing some sort of peek-a-boo game with Jonty.
‘Now then, Harriet, do you want me to come along as well? Corporate law, rather than criminal law was obviously my area and I’ve been out of that now a few years, but I’d be happy to join you. Grace has already told Amanda and Sebastian she doesn’t want them there and I don’t really think she wants me there either but…’ Robert Greenwood stopped what he was saying as Grace came into the room. She went straight over to Jonty and picked him up, covering his face in kisses while he giggled in ecstasy. Oh, thank goodness. It was all going to be all right. Grace looked fabulous. She’d put her chestnut coloured hair up into a sort of chignon, had made up her face so that she appeared not to actually be wearing any make-up apart from a hint of pink lipstick, and was also dressed in a chic black, short skirted suit. She smiled at me and handed Jonty over to her father.
‘God, we look a right pair. They’ll think we’re the solicitors, not the damned criminals.’
‘Hey, hang on,’ I laughed. ‘You’re the only criminal round here. I’m just your escort.’
She frowned slightly, obviously more nervous than she was letting on. ‘What if they keep me in? What if they send me down? I can’t leave Jonty. I can’t.’
‘Don’t be so daft, Grace.’ I said. ‘I looked it up. It’s only custody if you were so drunk you were almost out of it and had collapsed at the wheel. Or if you’d killed someone. Your solicitor has explained all this to you, hasn’t he?’ Despite originally not wanting a solicitor to speak on her behalf, Grace had agreed, at the last minute, to see someone recommended by her father, and had both liked and felt confident with his choice of advocate.
Grace nodded. ‘Yes, but you never know. We might get a magistrate with PMT or… or who doesn’t like the look of me or something.’
I laughed and handed Grace her jacket. ‘Come on. Let’s get it over and done with.’
‘My solicitor asked Dr Treadwell at the Leeds hospital if she’d write a letter explaining that I was ill at the time.’ Grace reached for her bag and pulled out an envelope. ‘I’ve got that here. So are we off?’
Grace hugged Jonty once more, then her father, who hugged her back really fiercely. She’d always been a bit of a daddy’s girl, had Grace, and I wondered if he knew the full extent of her illness, including her potential suicide attempt.
We were in plenty of time, and after we’d finally found a parking place not taken by Christmas shoppers, we decided to go for a coffee.
‘God, what do we have to do to get a Starbucks round here?’ Grace grimaced, tasting the murky looking liquid masquerading as coffee. It had started sleeting slightly as we made our way up the main street of Midhope, and we’d ducked into the nearest available coffee bar.
I laughed. ‘That reminds me of that time when we were in BarBaric. Do you remember? We’d been waiting for ages to get served and Rebecca yelled, “Who do you have to shag round here to get a drink?” and as she said it came eye to eye with her parish priest who simply said, in that wonderful deep, southern Irish accent, “Not me, Rebecca, certainly not me. Not only am I celibate, I don’t believe the Almighty is open to bribes.”’
Grace laughed. ‘Gosh, that seems so long ago now. We’d just finished A levels, I think, and thought we were so sophisticated out in town. Rebecca was scarlet, terrified that the priest would tell her mother.’
‘I don’t think Rebecca’s mother would have been interested. Being good Catholic girls, she made Rebecca and her sister go off to church every Sunday, but I’m sure it was only so she could have a lie-in with her man of the moment. I think Rebecca had it quite hard, you know: that’s why she ended up doing all that working out and ironwoman stuff, and was always determined to do well with her businesses. It’s sad her relationships seem to have been as dysfunctional as her mother’s were.’
Grace smiled. ‘Yes, I had a long chat with her about her childhood a while ago. I’d no idea, when we were at school, that her home life wasn’t particularly stable. She’d never admit it, you know, but I think she’s desperate for a really lovely man to settle down with.’
I attempted one more mouthful of coffee before abandoning it. ‘So… what about you, Grace? What’s happening? With you and Seb, I mean? I’m assuming he’s not living with you at your parents’ house.’
‘No, he’s not. Of course not. He’s still with Amanda and David and comes over to see Jonty every day.’
‘And you?’
‘Sorry?’ Grace looked puzzled.
‘And you as well. He comes over to see you as well.’ I said this as a statement rather than a question, but Grace opted for the latter.
‘Does he come over to see me as well?’ Grace gave a slight smile. ‘I’ve really no idea, Hat. This whole business has been such a trauma for him as well as me, I’ve really no idea what he’s thinking… what he wants.’
‘Well, what about you? Do you still love him?’
‘Honestly?’ She paused. ‘I don’t know if I ever loved him. I fancied him like mad – still do, really – but, if I am being honest, if it hadn’t been for me getting pregnant with Jonty, I’m not sure it wouldn’t have fizzled out after a few months once he’d gone off to London as he’d intended. He’s so young, Hat. I feel really guilty that I’ve put him through all this. I mean, when I abandoned my knickers – as well as my better judgement – in your potting shed, neither of us could’ve dreamed all this would have happened.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Well, obviously we need to sit down and have a huge discussion about what we both want and where we are going to end up.’
‘And where do you want to end up?’
‘I thought about it all the time when I was both in the hospital and the MBU. I had a lot of counselling, which really helped me. Once I had Jonty with me and began to get to know him again, it all seemed so obvious. The only thing of importance is him.’
Grace’s eyes shone and I wasn’t actually sure whether with tears or happiness.
‘Harriet, I have totally fallen in love with him.’
‘Jonty?’
‘Yes, of course, Jonty. Who else?’
I laughed. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know if you meant you’d fallen in love with Seb all over again.’
‘Well… I’m hoping that will happen but, to be honest, I’m not sure it will. He’s a boy, Harriet. When he’s thirty-six, in the prime of his life, I’ll be a menopausal fifty year old. If we do manage to sort it all out then we’ll move into the farmhouse in a couple of months. Have you been down there recently? Dad and I drove over there yesterday and it really is looking fantastic. Still lots to do, but David has obviously put the wind up the builders or bribed them or something. I was chatting to the main builder and he says they’ve been working until very late in the evening and all weekend. And if we don’t live in it together, then I’ll look for somewhere smaller by myself for Jonty and me. Somewhere near to Mum and Dad.’
‘And away from Amanda?’
Grace shuddered. ‘Absolutely. Living with her did nothing to make me warm to her. She was fantastic with Jonty, and for that I will always be grateful, but she is a calculating bitch.’ When Grace saw my raised eyebrows she went on, ‘Sorry, that was a bit harsh… but you experienced yourself what she was like with Nick last year. She sets her stall out, like a spoilt child, and she’s determined to get what she wants. She wants Seb and she wants Jonty. Well, she can have Seb, but no way am I letting her be in control of my baby again.’
I hadn’t told Grace that we’d bumped into Dan at the restaurant – hadn’t wanted to complicate matters further – but I decided now there was no reason not to.
‘Nick and I saw Daniel last week,’ I now said, carefully.
‘Oh?’
‘He was in Xavier and came over for a quick chat.’
‘And? I suppose he was with some woman.’ Grace smiled but her hand shook slightly as she lifted the still almost full cup of coffee and then put it down again without taking a drink.
‘No, he wasn’t, actually. He was with some business client.’
‘Oh.’
‘He asked about you.’
‘Oh?’
I wasn’t quite sure if I should be telling her this. But, at the end of the day, I’d always told her everything.
Until now, of course. Until Alex.
I took a deep breath. ‘He said he missed you terribly, knew you’d been ill and would give anything to be able to turn back the clock.’
‘Well, that’s something no one can ever do.’ Grace looked at her watch, gathered her things and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go see the hanging judge.’
I suppose we were both expecting a judge, a jury, wigs and lots of ‘M’Luds’, so were a bit disappointed with the rather stark courtroom, which was as basic as a Methodist Sunday school room. After Grace had had a quick chat on the concourse with Mr Bellingham, her rather dusty looking advocate, we decided that rather than wait until her case was called we’d sit at the back of the court and watch the proceedings. An usher found Grace’s name on her list and led the way to Court Three which, according to our guide, was being used as a traffic court.
‘Maybe we can get some idea what you’ll get if we listen to other cases,’ I whispered.
‘Well, if they send anyone down, I’m off,’ Grace whispered back, looking round for the nearest exit as we took our places at the back of the room.
We waited another ten minutes before the usher came over to us and told Grace her case had been transferred to another court. Grace was pale and looked as if she might actually pass out, and I was suddenly frightened that it was all going to be too much for her. She should have asked for an adjournment until she was really strong enough to cope with all this. I took her arm and guided her back out on to the concourse.
‘Are you OK?’ I whispered. ‘Do you want me to go and find Mr Bellingham and tell them you’re ill and you need to go home?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I’ll be OK. It’s all this hanging about. I just want to get it over and done with.’
The usher again showed us to another court, and again we sat at the back of the court. A portly little man, resembling a rather officious garden gnome, hurried in from the concourse and swept past us to take his place in the well of the court, spilling files labelled Defence Solicitor on to the table.
‘My apologies, Ma’am,’ he gushed, addressing the bench, ‘I’ve been in Court One looking for the case of cocks.’
‘The case of cocks?’ I hissed at Grace. ‘What is this, evidence of stolen dicks?’
The legal advisor sitting directly in front of the magistrates looked across at the man in the dock. ‘Mr Cox, would you stand please, and give the court your name and address?’
Grace sat perfectly still except for the occasional tremor in her shoulders that threatened to erupt into giggles and I knew, if I still had any doubt on the matter, that I really was getting the old Grace back.
Mr Cox, a large, florid-faced man in a loud checked jacket, was soon in full flow as to why he couldn’t possibly have been speeding. ‘I couldn’t have been speeding, love,’ he said confidently to the chair of the bench. ‘I have a German car, and in that car is a special bit of apparatus that tells me if I’m speeding.’
Without saying a word, the winger on the left briefly scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it to the chair of the bench, an elderly, twin-set-and-pearls type in the middle, who peered at it for some time.
‘This er, this Bo-llox machine you say you have in your car… is it in all German cars or just some?’
There was a stunned silence from those involved in the proceedings, only broken when the legal advisor turned to the bench and said, ‘Might I invite you to retire at this stage, Ma’am? I’ll be with you in two minutes.’
Once the door closed on the retiring magistrates there was another silence before one of the defending solicitors started laughing, unable to stop. The legal advisor, the other solicitors, including Mr Bellingham, and a woman whose badge proclaimed her to be a probation officer joined in, seemingly oblivious to Grace and me sitting at the back.
‘This is a sodding pantomime,’ I giggled. ‘I really am going to make it a regular thing coming down here to the courts. And it’s free.’
The whole debacle acted out in front of us had given Grace back some colour so that when – ten minutes later – the bench returned and Grace was called to the front, she didn’t hesitate, but gave my hand a quick squeeze and went forward.
And then it was all over. As Grace sat at the front of the court, Mr Bellingham explained how ill she had been with severe post-natal depression. He told the magistrates of her state of mind, how a type of madness had seemed to take her over in the early hours of that Sunday morning; that she’d accepted she needed treatment and was now much better. He apologised to the court on her behalf for what had happened, the legal advisor read out the letter from Dr Treadwell and, without retiring again, the bench gave her a fairly hefty fine and banned her from driving for twelve months which ‒ apparently ‒ could be reduced by three months if she agreed to attending a drink-driving awareness course over the coming year.
We emerged from the courtroom into the maelstrom of a Friday lunchtime pre-Christmas panic, relieved that it was all over: delighted that, although she wouldn’t be able to drive for nine months, Grace was free to go home to Jonty.
Grey skies and a wet precinct vied for attention with the unrestrained vulgarity of neon-lit shop windows while dayglo pink and yellow announced various stores’ sales, even though we were only in mid December and still had the festivities to get through. I felt restless and, although it would have been better to go straight home from the madness of slippery floored precincts and determined shoppers, suggested Grace and I go for a drink.
Grace laughed. ‘A drink? As in alcohol? Hardly.’ She laughed again. ‘God, no. I just want to get home to Jonty. I thought you’d want to do the same.’
When I didn’t say anything, she peered at me from under her umbrella. ‘Hat? What’s the matter? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
I wasn’t. I didn’t want to go home to the kids squabbling, to a sitting room littered with jigsaw pieces and the paraphernalia of Barbie dolls, to Kit’s music blasting through the house and Libby’s moods. I’d a pile of ironing to do, a shower plughole to clear of hair and gunge before it flooded the shower tray once more and a massive supermarket shop to get through if I was to feed my lot over the weekend.
I wanted to keep my little black suit and heels on and sit in a wine bar with the Christmas crowd.
I wanted Alex.
‘Come on,’ I said to Grace. ‘Let’s get you home. You’re right ‒ I’ve got a ton of stuff to do at home.’ I attempted humour to lighten my mood. ‘The bloody Christmas cake is still at the fruit-soaking-in-alcohol stage: I just keep adding more rum or whiskey to it in the hope it’ll eventually get so paralytic it’ll wander off, find the other ingredients itself and turn itself into a cake.’
‘I can’t wait to make mine,’ Grace said cheerfully. ‘That’s on my list of things to do. Honestly, Hat, I can’t believe how much better I feel. I want to live, want to sort out the farmhouse, want to enjoy Christmas. Want to get back to Jonty…’ She chattered incessantly as we made our way through the crowd towards the car park. ‘And now that this court case is over and done with, I feel even better. I didn’t realise just how much it was hanging over me…’
I wanted Alex.
‘And it will be Jonty’s first Christmas, and I’m so looking forward to us all coming over to you on Christmas Day, especially since Rebecca is going to be there…’
I wanted to see Alex.
‘And Dad has bought Jonty this gorgeous little red outfit for Christmas Day…’
I really wanted to see Alex.
‘And the health visitor said to me the other day she’d never seen a happier, more contented baby than Jonty. and…’
Be careful what you wish for. I should have listened to Granny Morgan’s wise words.
As we turned into Midhope’s main high street, I gazed wistfully at the entrance to BarBaric, the wine bar in which Rebecca had tried to do a deal with the barman all those years ago.
Alex, looking divine as ever, was shaking the raindrops from a huge umbrella which had been protecting not only himself but the tousled head of the tiny brunette, whose hand he now took before disappearing down the stairs at the entrance to the bar.