Too Charming (17 page)

‘And what’s wrong with that?’

The wrinkles deepened on either side of his eyes as he smiled back at her. ‘Nothing. But as you grow older you
realise that not everything is black and white. There are thousands of shades of grey. Not every man you charge is guilty, despite what the evidence seems to be telling you. Sometimes, not often, but crucially
sometimes
evidence can point you in the wrong direction.’

‘You’re starting to sound like Scott.’

‘All I’m saying is that there are two sides to every argument. A phrase that holds true in real life and in court. You need to hear both sides before you can really understand who’s right and who’s wrong.’ He kissed her on the cheek and rose from the sofa. ‘In court, it’s up to a judge and jury to determine that. In real life you have to work it out by yourself.’ He walked towards the door and then turned. ‘Sometimes you can both be right. You simply view things from different perspectives. Goodnight, Meg.’

She watched her father leave. The last thing she’d expected was for him to see things from Scott’s point of view. It made her think. If she wanted to continue a relationship with Scott, she had to get past his choice of career. She had to understand his side of things. The question was
, would she be able to do that? Megan wasn’t sure. But the thought of not seeing him again was too painful to even contemplate. In the few short weeks since they’d started to date, he’d become a hugely important part of her life. She loved his phone calls. His ability to make her laugh and take away the stress of the day. Then there was the way he looked at her like she was the most desirable woman he’d ever seen.

Unfurling her legs, she stood up. Perhaps she should talk to Scott again. To understand why he did what he did. What drove him? Everyone had a story, and hers was simple: she was following in her father’s footsteps. She wondered what’s Scott’s story was. It was about time she found out.

Chapter Eighteen

Scott hadn’t heard from Megan since their ill-fated afternoon tea two days ago. Not that he’d expected to hear from her. Hoped would be a better term. Call him a foolish optimist, but he’d taken to yanking out his mobile phone with incredible speed whenever it rang. None of the calls had been Megan.

He consoled himself with the thought that she’d probably been ringing on his door at home, and dropping into his chambers instead. Neither of which he’d know about because he’d not been around. Asked to defend a case in a court several hours’ drive away, he’d taken the option of staying the night. The way Megan had slammed the car door in his face the last time he’d seen her had pretty much told him there wasn’t much point in dashing home.

Now he was on his way back. The trial had been mentally draining. The guy he’d been defending kept changing his story at the last minute, and that made putting together a case pretty damned difficult. He’d lost, but Scott felt no personal slight. He’d done his best under very trying circumstances. Still, the whole two days had been exhausting, and he was grateful to be putting a lid on it all.

As he pulled off the motorway, his mobile rang again. And yes, his heart was suddenly leaping into life once more: clearly it wasn’t undeterred by the last forty-eight hours of non-Megan phone calls. Despairing of himself he pressed answer on the hands free set.

‘Armstrong.’

‘Scott, it’s Megan.’

Well knock him down with a feather. With a small smile of relief, mixed with a large dose of pure satisfaction, he relaxed the hands that had unconsciously tightened on the steering wheel at the sound of the phone.
‘DS Taylor. Good to hear from you,’ he replied with what he hoped she could hear as warmth and feeling. It really was great to hear her voice.

‘I’m not sure it will be.’

He frowned. Since when had Megan ever sounded hesitant? Not in his experience. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked instantly.

‘Nothing. Not really. It’s just …’

Again there was a pause. He shifted from uneasy to downright worried. ‘Spit it out, Megan.’

‘I’ve been informed by one of the uniforms that they’ve—’ She cleared her throat. ‘We’re holding your mother.’

‘My
mother
?’ Shit, now he was alarmed, getting near to panicked.

‘Yes. Apparently she was causing a disturbance, so they brought her in.’ Again there was a pause. ‘She’s sleeping right now, but before she crashed she asked them to call you.’

His hands clenched once more on the wheel, only this time they were in danger of snapping it in two. Jesus Christ. His mother. Drunk and disorderly. Megan hadn’t said the words out loud, but he could read between the lines. And now she was in a police cell. Bloody fantastic. ‘I’m in the car. Tell them I’ll be there in around an hour.’

‘Yes, okay. I’ll wait.’

‘No.’ That was the last thing he needed, Megan to witness his humiliation. That she’d heard about it was bad enough. ‘You go home.’

He ended the call before she had a chance to argue. Jabbing at the radio, he found a station that played heavy rock and turned up the volume to try and drown out his thoughts. It didn’t work.

Back at the station, Megan sighed and glanced up at the clock on the wall. Only five minutes since she’d last looked, but fifty minutes since Scott had put the phone down on her, telling her to go home. As if she could. She rose out of her chair, turned off the computer and walked back down to the police cells. The officer on duty gave her a sympathetic smile as she went to look into the cell where Scott’s mother was being held. Catherine Armstrong was still fast asleep, sprawled out across the bench. On Megan’s insistence, they’d given her a blanket and pillow. It was, she thought to herself, the least she could do for the poor lady.
And for Scott.

From the instant they’d phoned her to tell her that a drunk they’d brought in was insisting she was Scott Armstrong’s mother, Megan had died a million deaths for him. She’d hated having to phone him, but had hated the thought of another officer phoning him even more. She knew he’d be mortified. That his mother was clearly an alcoholic must be hard enough for him to bear. She’d seen with her own eyes how cut up he’d been after simply hearing her voice on the answer phone. Now it wasn’t just his secret to endure in private. Now she knew. The whole station knew.

‘Where is she?’

She snapped her head round and saw Scott bearing down on her, his handsome face lined with fatigue, concern and no small amount of embarrassment.

Megan motioned towards the officer who nodded and went to fetch the key. She watched in silence as Scott pushed his way into the small room and darted towards his mother, cradling her in his arms. ‘Mum, it’s me,’ he told her, smoothing down her dyed-blonde hair. ‘Come on, wake up.’

‘She was three sheets to the wind when they brought her in,’ the officer told him. ‘Probably more than just alcohol pumping through her system.’

As Megan cringed for him, Scott remained with his back to them, gently holding on to the woman in front of him. ‘Mum, come on, I need you to wake up. I want to take you home.’

When there was no response, he finally turned to face Megan. It was as if he’d drawn a shutter over his eyes in a determined effort to keep at least something private from them, even if it was only his feelings. Usually clear and bright, right now his grey eyes were flat and expressionless. Just like the voice he used when he spoke. ‘Are you charging her?’

Megan looked sharply at the officer, who shook his head. ‘No. She was causing a bit of a fracas, but really we brought her in for her own safety. You’re free to take her home when she wakes up.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m taking her home now. I’ll carry her to the car.’

‘Fine. If you can just sign the paperwork?’

As Scott followed the officer out, Megan looked down at his sleeping mother. There wasn’t much of a resemblance, though she guessed if the cheeks hadn’t been puffy from alcohol abuse, the sharp bone structure was probably there. Perhaps, if the eyes had been open, they too would have been a startling light grey.

She turned as Scott came back into the room. For a fleeting moment she saw the anguish in his face before he once again controlled his expression. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she told him quietly.

About to bend down, Scott stopped and faced her. ‘Thank you, but there’s no need. I’ll take care of her.’

Megan wanted to shout. To cry. To throw her arms around him and comfort him. If they hadn’t argued the last time they’d met, if she’d phoned him earlier in the week to apologise, as she’d told herself to, she might have been able to do all of those things. Instead she was left watching as he gently lifted his mother into his arms and carried her out of the police station. She went ahead, opening the doors for him, determined to do whatever she could to help. As he eased his mother’s sleeping form into the back seat of the car, her heart went out to him. She would have understood if he’d been cross. If he’d shown signs of annoyance or anger towards his mother. Hell, if her mother had ended up in a prison cell, out of her head on alcohol and drugs, she would have been both. But if Scott was angry, he didn’t show it. He treated his mother considerately, tenderly. Lovingly. It was enough to melt any woman’s heart, never mind Megan’s already fragile one.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come home with you?’ she asked as he finally closed the passenger door and moved to the driver’s side.

‘What, and spend the evening babysitting a middle-aged woman with a raging hangover?’ He smiled tightly. ‘I think not.’ He was about to get in when he hesitated. ‘But thanks for the offer. And for making sure they didn’t charge her.’

Then he lowered himself into the driver’s seat and disappeared out of view.

Scott was livid.
With his mother, with himself, with life in general. How had it come to this? How had he come to be picking her up from a police cell, with heaven only knew still circulating round her blood stream? How had she got herself into this state? More to the point, how had he let her? He was her son, for God’s sake. He should be there to protect her. Help her. He thumped his fist on the table in front of him, noting that even that didn’t disturb her from her slumber on his couch. He’d failed in his duty as a son. He could only hope he hadn’t found her too late. That there was some way back for both of them.

It was several hours later before she finally stirred. Scott, who’d been reading a brief while watching over her, heard the moment she woke up. He immediately put down the file and sat down on the coffee table, gently putting an arm on her shoulders to stop her as she tried to sit up.

‘Mum, you’re at home. Don’t make any sudden movements. Try to get up carefully while I fetch you a glass of water.’

Slowly she came round. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked as he tucked a pillow behind her back.

‘Like death,’ came the whispered reply.

She looked like death too, Scott noted. Her skin was sallow, her grey eyes dull,
her hair lifeless. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, knowing it was the last thing he should say, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know what she’d been doing to get herself into such a mess.

As he’d expected, she turned away from him, unwilling or unable to meet his eyes. She wasn’t about to tell him where she lived, or what she did with her life in between the occasional visits home.

He sighed. ‘When did you last eat? Are you hungry?’ When was it that he’d turned into the parent in their relationship? He couldn’t remember. It felt like it had always been that way.

She shook her head.
‘Not yet. Maybe in a while.’

‘Okay. Why don’t you head on upstairs and I’ll run you a bath. Perhaps after that you’ll feel more like eating.’ And talking, he hoped.
Because soon his patience was going to grow very thin. He couldn’t take seeing her like this. Gradually she’d been getting worse. Her visits home more infrequent. When they did happen she looked older, more fragile. That was why he’d sent her back to the rehabilitation centre. Fat lot of good it had done her.

Having bathed, changed and eaten some toast, she was at last looking a bit better. Well enough, Scott considered, for a serious conversation. ‘You know we can’t go on like this, don’t you?’

She eyed him warily.

‘You’re in a mess, Mum. I don’t know where you disappear to, who you’re hanging out with, but wherever it is, I don’t want you going there again. It’s killing you,’ he told her bluntly.

‘I know,’ she replied, her voice heavy with regret. ‘I seem to have lost my will power.’

‘I’ve got enough for both of us.’

She shook her head despairingly. ‘It doesn’t work like that. I have to do this on my own.’

‘You’re not on your own, Mum.’ He almost shouted the words, but at the last second held himself in check. Yelling at her was not the way forward. Softly, gently, that’s what she responded to best.

‘I know, darling. I know.’ She smiled weakly at him. ‘You’re a good man, Scott. I always knew you would be. Just like your father. He was a good man, too.’

‘Yeah.’ She’d always believed in his father, even when others hadn’t. ‘But he isn’t around to help. He hasn’t been for a long time. I want you to let me help you, instead. If it was him telling you to go into a clinic, dry yourself out, wean off the drugs, get your life back, you’d do it.’

That had been the one solid throughout his whole, sorry childhood. Scott had always known how much his mother had loved his father. If anything, it had been too much. When he’d left, it had broken her. Since that day, she’d never been the same. Scott had tried. God how he’d tried to make it up to her. To make her smile. To make her see that life was worth carrying on. That there was still someone there who needed her. Who loved her. Sadly, it hadn’t been enough. From the day his father had disappeared from their lives, it was as if his mother had, too. At least in spirit. Only her sad body had remained, going through the motions of living, nothing more. His love for her hadn’t been enough to make up for the loss of her husband. It hadn’t been when he was a small boy and he knew it wasn’t now. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

He looked up and saw that she’d fallen asleep again. Cursing, he got to his feet. What a
marvellous few days this had turned out to be. Damned by Megan for his choice of career, losing his case, and then picking up his drunk, spaced out mother from a police cell. In full view of the girlfriend he’d been hoping to spend the evening making up with. Sometimes life could be a real bitch.