7

Laura stared at the stranger in her bed. She reached out a tentative hand to touch his arm, but the needle marks on his arms brought to mind the advertising hoardings she had seen on every street corner, showing granite gravestones engraved with ‘RIP’ and warning of AIDS. Instead, she grabbed his bony shoulder through the covers and shook him. He rubbed his eyes. His fingernails were lined with dirt and bitten raw.

‘Hey! Cool it, will you?’

‘Who the hell are you? This is my bloody flat.’

‘I’m Rory, Luke’s mate,’ he said groggily. ‘You’re Laura, right? We met at the squat. Don’t you remember me?’

She stared at him. It was coming back to her. The day Luke had first taken her to the ‘commune’, as he called it, in a boarded-up terraced house in Stoke Newington Church Street. He’d introduced her to a couple of girls there, dressed in caftans and smoking dope at the kitchen table; they had eyed Laura with suspicion. Then she had met Ray, a West-Indian with an Afro, who’d leapt up to shake her hand and had greeted her with a public school accent. She had also met a fresh-faced boy there, who had sat cross-legged next to a rucksack in the corner of the gloomy room. He had looked as though he was dressed in clothes that his mother had bought him.

‘Rory here’s just back from Spain, Loz,’ Luke had told her, winking conspiratorially.

‘That’s nice. Did you have a good holiday?’ Laura asked, automatically polite.

Luke burst out laughing.

‘You’re so naive, Loz. That’s what I love about you! It wasn’t a bleeding holiday. He was hanging out with the Basque Separatists. Thought he was being cool. He didn’t realise they were fucking terrorists until he got back and I put him straight about it.’

Rory coloured and shrugged, but stayed silent.

‘Yeah. Well, you’ve got a lot of ground to make up for that particular fuck-up, mate,’ Luke said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

The wasted face she was looking at now scarcely bore any resemblance to the boy she’d met less than a year ago.

‘Luke said it was OK to stay,’ he mumbled. ‘We got chucked out of the squat a couple of weeks ago. They’re going to redevelop it. The landlord got a court order.’

‘That doesn’t give you the right—’

‘Luke didn’t think you’d mind. He said you’d be cool, that you were right behind the protesters at Wapping and you wouldn’t mind us using your place to sleep. We’ve been really quiet.’

‘He could have asked me,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway, where is he now?’

‘The bastards have got him in Wapping nick. They arrested loads of people this afternoon. I came back here to sleep. I’ve been on the night shift.’

‘Arrested? Why?’

‘For nothing. They just rounded guys up and put them in pig wagons. They were lashing out with truncheons. Loads of people were beaten up. You should have seen the blood. They had riot shields, the works.’

‘I’d better go and see him,’ she said.

‘You might be able to get him off. You’re a lawyer, right?’

‘Not that sort of lawyer,’ she said grimly, walking to the door.

She turned. ‘I’ll be coming back. I suggest you get up and get this place cleared up before I do.’

On the way to Wapping, Laura kept checking her watch. Dad would be awake by now. How could she have left him? He’d be expecting her to be there when he woke up. What excuse could she make? She’d have to admit that she’d gone to look for Luke, and that she was involved with him. She bit her nails and stared out of the window as the dark streets flashed past.

Ever since she’d taken Luke back to the house in Highbury the previous autumn and introduced the two of them, she’d had a feeling that Dad would disapprove of Luke. She could just tell by the way Dad had behaved that afternoon. Even though he’d been superficially polite and chatted amiably to Luke about politics, she’d known from the twinkle in her father’s eyes that he was mocking Luke. And the fact that he’d not said anything at all about Luke afterwards had proved that he’d been unimpressed.

She realised now that it had been a mistake to take Luke to the house while she was still supposed to be going out with Matthew. Dad had always liked Matthew. He might have teased him for driving a sports car and wearing a Rolex, but he’d often hinted that he’d be happy to have him as part of the family.

The taxi driver couldn’t get close to the police station. The road was blocked with riot vans parked bumper to bumper. Groups of angry people milled about.

‘I’ll have to drop you here, darling. You going to be alright? It looks a bit rough out there.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

She shouldered her way through the restless crowd, up the front steps and into the lobby of the station. People were shouting and pushing. The two officers at the desk were sweating, trying to keep control. Laura, taking advantage of being short and slight, ducked her way through the press of bodies and emerged at the desk in front of the officers.

‘I need to see Luke Goddard,’ she had to shout. The policeman smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. He held a hammy hand to his ear.

‘You’ll have to speak up, love.’

She repeated Luke’s name. The officer scanned his list. He took his time.

‘Ah, yes. Pretty boy Goddard. He’s one of our guests. You family, love?’

‘Not exactly. Please don’t call me love.’

‘Ah, I see. You must be his bit of skirt.’

He narrowed his eyes, leering at her. She stared back at him.

‘I would ask you to take a seat, love,’ he said with mock politeness, ‘but we seem to be quite busy tonight. I’ll see what I can do.’

Scowling at him, she moved away from the desk. She spotted a payphone on the far wall and pushed her way towards it. She dialled the number to her father’s house. The phone rang for a long time before she heard Ken’s voice.

‘It’s me. Laura,’ she said with relief, pushing a ten pence coin into the slot. ‘I’m really sorry, but something’s come up. I might be a bit longer than I thought. Is Dad OK?’

‘He’s still asleep. Are you in a pub? There’s a hell of a din over there.’

‘No. I’ll explain later. When he wakes up, please tell Dad I won’t be long. Could you get him something to eat?’

‘I’ll ask Marge.’ The bleeps cut in, and she had to hang up.

Laura leaned against the wall and waited. She watched as people were brought in, handcuffed between two officers, most of them kicking and shouting. Some had bloody faces. She felt a wave of nausea and realised she hadn’t eaten anything since the tasteless sandwich she had been served on the flight from Paris.

Occasionally, a policeman appeared through a door in the opposite corner and shouted out a visitor’s name. Each time the door opened she looked up eagerly. It seemed like an age had passed before he came through and called, ‘Visitor for Goddard?’

She made her way across the room and followed the policeman down a dingy corridor lined with grubby grey doors. At the end he opened one and held it open to let her through.

Luke was sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He looked up as she entered. She noticed a bruise on his right cheek. He was smoking, blowing white rings towards the ceiling. As she crossed the bare room towards him, she realised that she was feeling nervous.

‘Loz,’ he said, standing up and breaking into a broad grin. ‘How fantastic to see you! They said there was a young lady to see me. I didn’t realise it was you. What are you doing here?’

She went to put her arms around him, but noticed the police officer standing at the end of the room, glowering. She drew back and sat down opposite Luke.

‘I had to come back to London,’ she said. ‘Dad’s had a fall. Why are you in here? Why haven’t you phoned me?’

‘Yeah. Sorry about that. I meant to, but it’s just that I’ve been on the picket line every day.’

‘And what about that boy in my flat? Rory.’

Luke leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette. He looked her in the eyes.

‘The guy was homeless. I knew you wouldn’t mind. You said I could stay, Loz. One more person hardly made any difference.’

‘You could have asked me. The guy’s an addict. I saw the marks on his wrists.’

Luke leaned back and began to laugh.

‘He’s a diabetic, Laura. Give the poor guy a chance.’

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. How naive she must look to him.

‘I’m sorry. I just assumed …’

‘Well, you assumed wrong. All those AIDS posters have got to you. Have terrified you stupid, just like they’re meant to.’

‘You haven’t told me what you’re doing in here,’ she said, changing the subject. Luke lit another cigarette.

‘They’ve charged me with GBH. I’m up before the magistrates in the morning.’

‘GBH?’

‘Yeah. I’m supposed to have thrown a brick through the window of a TNT lorry. The driver’s in the hospital, apparently.’

‘That’s a serious charge.’

He shrugged. ‘The paperboys will trump up anything to get at legitimate protesters. It’s OK for them to beat up innocent civilians though.’

‘Paperboys?’

‘Murdoch’s lackeys. The boys in blue. They’ve got instructions from the top. They don’t care if the charges are bogus, Laura. Any bad publicity for the workers is good for Maggie, good for Murdoch.’

‘Now, now, Goddard. Take it easy,’ the policeman in the corner piped up. Luke glanced at him and narrowed his eyes. He looked as though he was about to say something but obviously thought better of it, and looked back at Laura.

‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Laura. ‘Did you have legal advice?’

‘No. No point. It wouldn’t have made any difference. I know my rights.’

‘But if you didn’t do it?’

He gripped her hand, suddenly serious.

‘Of course, I didn’t do it, Laura. Peaceful protest – that’s what I’ve always stood for. You know that.’

She looked back into his eyes. She knew those eyes so well, hazel with dark flecks, and she knew all the little lines around them too. Looking at him she was reminded about why she loved him. There was an intensity in his look that made everything around her melt away. It was as if nothing in that moment except the two of them mattered.

‘It would have been different if you’d been here earlier,’ he said. ‘You could have helped me.’

She frowned. Where was this leading?

‘Now that you’re here, you could represent me tomorrow morning, couldn’t you?’

‘Me?’ she said, beginning to panic. ‘I don’t do criminal law.’

‘I’m sure you could do it. Wasn’t your old man a legal aid lawyer? A champion of the oppressed? It must run in the blood. Or perhaps he could come down and do it.’ He was smiling his mocking smile.

‘You don’t need to be unkind. He’s ill now, Luke. And he’s seventy-one years old. He doesn’t practice anymore.’

‘I was only kidding. But you could do it. You’re always saying how you missed your vocation, how you hate your work. You could do something really good for once, instead of just lining the pockets of the fat cats.’

‘I wouldn’t be the best person for you. You’d be better off with someone from the law centre. You know, where Dad used to work. He still keeps in touch with them, goes down there to help out sometimes. I could phone them for you.

’No. I don’t want anyone from the law centre. I want you.’

‘But I haven’t stood up in court for years. And even then it was only for simple stuff. I really think …’

‘You can do it. If you love me like you say you do, you wouldn’t hesitate.’

‘Of course, I love you. You know that,’ she lowered her voice, acutely aware of the hostile presence of the policeman rocking to and fro against the wall.

‘Have faith in yourself, Loz.’

His eyes were on her face. She knew he was testing her.

‘OK, I’ll do it,’ she said finally, meeting his look of challenge. ‘I’ve got some textbooks at Dad’s. I’ll also speak to someone at work tomorrow morning and see if they can help me. What time’s the hearing?’

She saw triumph flash in his eyes.

‘I knew you’d do it, Loz. Two o’clock. Thames Magistrates.’

It was almost midnight by the time she returned to Highbury. One of Marge’s cats was howling in the side passage. She crept up the front steps and let herself into the chilly hall. Silently, she opened the door to the back living room. She heard her dad snoring in his corner of the room. The reassuring sound brought a smile to her lips. The lamp beside the bed was switched on; a tray with dirty dishes lay on the floor.

Relieved, she left him sleeping and tiptoed upstairs to her old bedroom at the front of the house. She shut the door behind her and kicked off her painful shoes. She realised she hadn’t stayed the night in her room since she’d bought the flat in the city two years before. But Dad always kept the room ready for her in case she should want to stay.

The room was still furnished with the cream-painted matching set he had bought for her fourteenth birthday. She remembered her delight when it had been fitted, and how special she’d felt sitting down at the dressing table for the first time. It looked like something out of a doll’s house. On the walls hung the posters she had stuck up of David Bowie and the Stones, and photographs of her and her school friends. A few of her law books stood on the shelves, gathering dust.

On the dressing table, encased in a silver frame, was the last picture taken of her mother: she was standing in the front garden, before a rambling white rosebush, holding Laura’s hand in her own. When her mother had died, Dad had hacked down the rosebush to its roots with an axe, wincing as if with each fall of the axe he was cutting himself. She had stood and watched, dumb with shock. It was only years later she’d understood that he didn’t want to see the roses bloom without her mother there.

The picture was fading badly, the features on the two faces melting away. How she’d studied her mother’s face in this picture as a teenager. How she’d envied her mother’s natural blonde hair and perfect features, comparing them unfavourably with her own straight dark hair and quirky looks.

She picked up the photo now and stared at it as she had done so many times before, as if doing so would give her some connection to the woman she could barely remember. Only by screwing up her eyes and concentrating hard could she recall the details of her mother’s face, the tone of her voice, the comfort of sitting on her warm lap and snuggling in her arms and playing with the silver cross her mother wore round her neck.

She wondered how different her own life would have been if her mother had lived. It was a pointless train of thought, as she had learned years ago. She didn’t want to return to that emptiness and frustration she’d often experienced while growing up.

She put the photo back on the dressing table and drew the floral curtains, then undressed quickly, shivering in the unheated room. Rummaging in a drawer she found an old pair of pyjamas. But as she slid between the sheets and stretched to switch off the lamp she noticed a book on criminal procedure on the bookcase. She remembered her promise to Luke. She got out of bed to fetch the book. Then, fighting back the urge to fall sleep, she turned to the chapter on committal proceedings.