Unforgotten (10 page)
Hugh wished he could ignore the letter, but it was too late for that. There was no way to un-read these words, no way to
un-learn their message. To know them was to know them for ever.
In a plunge of despair he saw the case unravelling beyond repair. Desmond would have to be told, and he in turn would be duty-bound to go to the judge and admit that Tom had been playing a double game. The other side wouldn’t be able to believe their luck. Tom would be recalled to the witness box for a mauling cross-examination, the judge would decide that the diagnosis of post-traumatic stress was less convincing than he’d been led to believe, and Tom’s damages would be slashed.
As the train drew into Paddington and Hugh joined the crowd streaming along the platform he went through the options once again, as if the exercise might conjure up some miracle when he knew there was none. The only hope was that the judge would appreciate that damaged men did stupid self-defeating things, particularly when it came to their children, and that trauma rather than any defect of character had caused Tom to make such a serious mistake.
Hugh reached Court 12 just before ten and waited outside. Isabel was the first to appear, swathed in a long coat, scarf and woollen hat. She said her cold was better, though her blocked nose, watery eyes and rasping voice told a different story.
‘Listen,’ Hugh said, ‘I have to have a long, hard talk with Tom. We may get into court late. If you could hold the fort?’
‘Is there a problem?’
‘You could say that, yes.’ Seeing Desmond and Sanjay coming round the corner, he added, ‘But no time to tell you now.’
‘Just let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ she said, and went into court.
Desmond wore an indolent smile. ‘Morning, Hugh. Tom here yet?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘But we’re expecting him?’
Christ, I hope so
, Hugh thought in momentary panic. ‘So far as I know, yes.’
‘I’ve got a query about the leave he spent with Price when
they were stationed in Germany. I’d like to know if they
intended
to take their leave together or if it just happened. Did Price tag along or did Tom invite him? You understand what I’m getting at?’
‘I’ll ask him as soon as he gets here.’
‘And Tom’ll be around later in the week, won’t he?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Because I’ll probably put him into the witness box first thing on Thursday. But best not to say anything just yet. In case things change.’ Then Desmond made one of those gestures that were so characteristic of him, a raising of his eyebrows, an upturning of one hand, as if to suggest that everything of importance was now settled.
‘Desmond, something’s come up,’ Hugh plunged in unhappily. ‘I need to talk to Tom first but it’s almost certain we’ll have to ask for an adjournment.’
Desmond was very still. ‘For what reason?’
‘To have a conference with Tom.’
‘It won’t wait till lunch?’
‘No.’
‘Something serious?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re making me nervous, Hugh.’ But if Desmond was hoping for reassurance he was disappointed. ‘You’ll let me know as soon as possible?’
‘Of course.’
‘Bearing in mind that any significant delays will run us out of time on Friday.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
When Desmond had gone, Hugh paced along the passage to the stairwell, then to the balcony overlooking the Great Hall and back again several times. Finally he saw Tom on the stairs, climbing steadily, head jutting forward, the rucksack high on his back. A few steps from the top Tom twisted round and looked over his shoulder directly at Hugh, almost as if he’d expected to find him there.
‘Managed to survive the train,’ Tom announced, walking straight past so that Hugh was forced to fall in beside him. ‘It was crowded as hell. But I did what my therapist told me. Concentrated on this woman. Oh, not in
that
way.’ He gave a derisive snuffle. ‘She was fifty if she was a day. But I spent the time trying to imagine what her life was like. You know, the job she did, where she lived, that sort of stuff. And it worked. Took my mind off the fact that we were packed in like bloody sardines.’
‘Good. Tom, we need to talk.’
Tom shot him a questioning look which Hugh ignored as he led the way to a window at the end of the passage. The window, tall and arched in the Gothic style, had a seat below, but neither of them sat down.
Hugh began with the simpler of his two tasks. ‘Desmond wants to know about the leave you and Price took together in Germany. Did you invite him to join you? Or . . . how did it happen?’
‘Didn’t have to invite him. He just tagged along like he always did. Most of the unit were away on long leave. The rest of us had twenty-four hours. I was heading for Hamburg with my mate Shortie when Price got wind of it and came and invited himself along. Then Shortie chickened out, so I got landed with Price.’
‘Did you ever invite Price to join you on any other leave?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Like I said, he tagged along sometimes. But ask him? Nope, I never asked him.’ He started to move away.
‘There’s something else.’
Tom paused, wary now and a little impatient.
‘I have to ask you, Tom – have you been to the family court and applied for custody of the boys?’
Tom turned his mouth down in an expression of exaggerated bewilderment. ‘Huh?’
‘Have you already been to the family court?’
Tom gave him a long stare. ‘I don’t get it. What’s the problem?’
‘Yes or no, Tom.’
‘But what’s it gotta do with anything? I mean what’s it matter?’
‘It matters.’
The bewilderment again. Then with a light shrug, a gesture of showing willing, Tom said, ‘It’s like I told you, Emma Deeds put in my application and we’re waiting to hear back. But nothing’s gonna happen till – I dunno – January, something like that.’
‘But has there already been a hearing, Tom? That’s what I’m asking. And did you offer new medical evidence?’
Turning slowly away, Tom elbowed one arm free of his rucksack, then the other, before swinging it onto the window seat. He stared out of the mullioned window, his bony features flattened and calcified by the light, so that for a fleeting moment, set against the Gothic battlements, he might have been a prisoner from long ago, looking out on his lost freedom. ‘So what’s the big deal?’
‘There
was
a hearing?’
‘Okay, there was a hearing,’ he said on a tense note. ‘But it’s like I said – nothing’s gonna be sorted till January.’
‘And did you get a medical report for this hearing, Tom? Something to say you were better?’
A pause, then Tom gave a snort of disbelief. ‘How would I do that?’
‘I don’t know. Go to another psychiatrist?’
‘Yeah? And where would I get one? Yellow Pages?’
‘I need an answer, Tom.’
Tom’s profile took on a haunted expression, and something harsher, like bitterness. Flicking Hugh a dark scowl, he said, ‘There’s nothing to answer. Okay?’
‘Do I have your word on that?’
‘You can have whatever you like,’ he muttered.
‘Just your word, Tom.’
Tom was shaking his head. ‘I still don’t get what this’s got to do with anything, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Well . . . it’s to do with playing it straight, Tom, with not saying one thing to one court and something different to another.’
Tom argued with sudden vehemence, ‘Jesus, if you think I’m gonna tell the family court I’ve still got raging post-traumatic stress, then you must be bloody joking. Christ, they’d turn me down quicker than look at me. And then the boys would end up in care.
In bloody care
. And then I’d never get another chance.
Never.
’
‘Tom, I understand how much you want the children—’
‘There’s no way I’m gonna risk my boys.
No way!
I love my boys. I
need
my boys. They’re all that keep me bloody going. No way I’m gonna give ’em up.’ He glared accusingly at Hugh. ‘So don’t even think about it.’
‘But this way you’re risking both cases, Tom. You’re risking having your damages cut and you’re risking’ – he almost said ‘losing your children’ but rapidly amended this to – ‘forfeiting the goodwill of the family court.’
‘But no one has to know,’ Tom argued. ‘The family court stuff happens in private. No one’s allowed to tell what happens in there. So who’s gonna find out? Who’s gonna know?’
‘
I
found out, Tom.
I
know.’
‘It was Emma Deeds, was it? The bitch.’
‘No, it wasn’t Emma Deeds. I don’t know who it was.’
Tom gave an incredulous frown. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘It was an anonymous letter.’
Tom rolled his eyes. ‘
Linda
.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Come
on
.’
‘The person didn’t give a name.’
‘But it has to be Linda, doesn’t it?’ Tom scoffed furiously. ‘The stupid cow.’
‘Well, whoever it was, the fact is that I do know, Tom, and
I can’t pretend I don’t.’ But Tom was too busy fuming against Linda to take this in. ‘Listen,’ Hugh said when he was a little quieter, ‘don’t let’s get too worried till we see what Desmond says. You never know, there might be a way to limit the damage.’
He had Tom’s full attention again now. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Well, Desmond’s the expert, Tom, not me. He’s the one who can advise us on the best way forward.’
‘But this stuff – it’s just Linda playing stupid bloody games! It’s crap. It’s nothing.’
‘When you say
nothing
. . . ?’
‘It’s not true. Okay? It didn’t happen.’
Voices echoed in the passage, and Hugh glanced round to see two barristers emerging from the next-door court.
Hugh dropped his voice. ‘Look, Tom, whatever’s done is done. But it’s going to be far better to have it come out sooner rather than later. Believe me. Because something like this
will
come out, you know. It always does.’
‘I’ve just told you – it’s a non-event! It didn’t happen!’
‘Are you saying you didn’t get another opinion?’
Tom gave a sudden shiver. ‘For Christ’s sake, just drop it, will you?’
‘I can’t just drop it, Tom.’
‘You’re my solicitor, you’re meant to be on my side.’
Letting this pass, Hugh said, ‘Look, if we go to the judge and tell him the whole story, how you persuaded yourself you were well because you were so desperate to get custody of the kids, then he might take a lenient view.’
‘But we’re almost
there
, for fuck’s sake. We’re almost
done
.’
‘This is only the hearing, Tom. The case isn’t over till the judge hands down his judgement. That could be six weeks away, maybe longer. Till then he can consider any new evidence that comes his way. Recall us for an explanation. Change everything.’ Adopting a reasonable tone, he said, ‘Okay, he might knock a bit off our damages. But once he understands
why you did it – well, he might not clobber us that hard, Tom. With a bit of luck he might give us no more than a small rap over the knuckles, financially speaking. But if we say nothing and the opposition find out – Christ, Tom, they’ll tear us apart, they’ll take it to appeal, and then we could really lose out. I mean, a serious amount.’
Tom was staring at Hugh in a new way, as if he hated him. ‘No way.’
‘But it’ll be far better in the long run.’
Tom’s breath broke into ragged gasps, he lifted a trembling hand. ‘This is
my
claim.
My
illness. And I’m saying no deal. You got that?
No deal
.’
‘For God’s sake, Tom – you could be putting everything at risk.’
Tom’s face contorted, his eyes glittered, he seemed on the point of rage or tears or both. He gave another shiver, more violent than the last. ‘
No deal.
’
‘Maybe I’ve explained it badly . . .’ But Hugh trailed off, knowing he had explained it as best he could and that for the moment at least Tom was beyond reasoning.
Voices sounded again, much closer this time. It was the solicitors for the other side, studiously not paying them too much attention, in company with a burly man in a blue suit who, sharing no such qualms, was staring openly at Tom. Realising this must be Price, Hugh touched Tom’s elbow to turn him away from the other man’s gaze, but Tom jerked his arm free, and, his mouth drawn down into a grimace, cried again, ‘No deal!’ Then, the emotion still pulling at his face, the glint of fury in his eyes, he looked round to find Price watching him, and understood that his enemy had witnessed his anguish.
Price strode confidently into the witness box and took the oath as if it was something he did every day. He had the appearance of a travelling salesman too long on the road, with a broad
frame run to fat, a belly that stretched the jacket of his suit to its limits, and a plump neck that bulged over the rim of his collar. He was, Hugh supposed, forty-one or -two, but the roundness of his cheeks, the thickness of his hair gave him a deceptively boyish look.
Bavistock began with an unhurried smile, a collusive droop of the eyelids, as if to instil confidence in his witness. ‘Mr Price, you have stated that Mr Deacon became a friend of yours when you were both serving together in the Army. How would you describe your friendship? Was he one of a number of mates you had in the Army? Or was he a close friend?’
‘A close friend.’
‘And you were in the same unit . . .’ Bavistock referred to the papers in front of him ‘. . . for over four years. That’s correct, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And at one point you served together in the same armoured vehicle?’ Bavistock asked.
‘A Warrior, yes.’
‘So it would be no exaggeration to say you served side by side?’
‘Correct.’
Tom was sitting a yard away from Hugh, far enough to discourage communication but not so far that anyone would think there was a rift between them. Earlier, while waiting for the judge, he had stared darkly ahead, his arms crossed, his mouth tightly pursed, before methodically opening his rucksack and pulling out his notebook and pencil. Now, shaking his head at Price’s reply, he began to write.
‘You saw Mr Deacon under pressure?’ Bavistock asked.
‘Correct.’
‘In a variety of situations?’
‘On exercise and in combat,’ said Price, with an edge of pride.
‘When you refer to combat, you mean the Gulf War?’
‘Correct.’
‘And how would you describe Mr Deacon during and immediately after the Gulf War?’
‘He was in good shape.’
‘How would you describe him in those days?’
‘Upbeat. Full of jokes.’
Tom put his pad down and, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, gazed intently at Price as though willing him to look in his direction.
‘And off duty?’ Bavistock went on. ‘You were close friends then as well?’
‘Correct.’
‘What, you socialised together?’
‘Correct.’
‘And this was how often?’
‘Whenever we had the chance.’
With a slow hiss of disgust Tom resumed his writing.
‘Now . . .’ Bavistock turned to another page in the statement. ‘Moving on to the Bosnian conflict, you served in a different troop from Mr Deacon, but met up again when you returned to the UK?’
‘Correct.’
‘And it was then that you noticed a change in him?’
‘I did.’
‘You’ve stated that he was “down”. In what way exactly?’
‘Well, he was in a bad mood all the time. Snapping people’s heads off. Keeping himself to himself. Not socialising.’
‘And he told you what the problem was?’
‘He did.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He said he couldn’t get all the stuff he’d seen in Bosnia out of his head.’
‘Did he explain what he meant by “stuff”?’
‘Yeah. Bad stuff. Mass graves. Men, lads, with their hands tied behind their backs. That kind of thing.’
‘He gave no other reasons for being down?’
‘No’
Tom flicked to the next page and wrote intently. As Bavistock came to the end of his questions, Tom tore the page out and passed it to Hugh. It read,
LIE
1
:
GOOD FRIENDS
.
LIE
2
:
SERVED SIDE BY SIDE
.
LIE
3
:
SAW ME IN COMBAT SITU
-
ATION
.
LIE
4
:
I NEVER TOLD HIM WHY I WAS DOWN
.
Hugh passed it forward to Sanjay, who read it with a brief nod before putting it in front of Desmond.
Desmond began his cross-examination by taking Price through his military service and recent employment, rolling out the questions in a perfunctory way, as if the whole exercise was tedious but necessary, establishing that Price was now a mechanic working on high-performance sports cars. Then, almost as an afterthought, Desmond added, ‘As a teenager you lived on an estate in Birmingham, is that right?’
Price clearly hadn’t expected the question. ‘Yes.’
‘How did you get on at school?’
Price shrugged a bit. ‘Didn’t like it too much.’
‘What didn’t you like about it?’
‘Couldn’t see much point.’
Desmond nodded understandingly. ‘But you stuck it out until you could leave at sixteen?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And how did you pass your time when you weren’t at school?’
Price hesitated before giving Desmond a sudden, knowing stare. ‘If you mean did I get into trouble – yeah, I got into trouble.’
‘Oh?’
Desmond instilled the sound with faint surprise, and the first doubts began to play over Price’s face. He said woodenly, ‘A bit of joyriding.’
‘Ah . . .’ Desmond made a vague discomfited gesture, as if he had never intended to delve into this area. ‘So you enjoyed cars?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see, I see . . . And, er . . . this joyriding . . . it was a group of you, was it?’
‘No.’
‘You took the cars on your own?’
Price had the resentful look of someone who has been tricked into overplaying his hand. ‘That’s right.’
‘So you were something of an expert mechanic even then?’
Price wasn’t sure how to take this. ‘Yeah.’
‘And everyone looked up to you for that, did they?’
With an air of having spotted the trap, Price declared, ‘Never bothered me what they thought.’
‘So you didn’t take cars to make an impression – you took them for the pleasure of driving?’
‘Well . . . Yeah.’
‘And did you take passengers?’
‘Never.’
Desmond nodded slowly. ‘How else did you pass your time?’
If Price had been wary of Desmond’s earlier questions, he looked openly puzzled now. ‘I don’t follow . . .’
‘Well, did you watch TV? Play computer games? That sort of thing.’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘And sports?’
‘No chance. Nothing in the way of sports grounds, not for miles.’
‘So what did you do by way of recreation?’
Still puzzled, Price gave a shrug. ‘I did a few weights at home. Or went down the canal.’
‘Ah.’ Desmond’s tone brightened, as if they had stumbled over a common interest. ‘Fishing?’
‘Yeah.’
‘A bit solitary, though?’
Price frowned. ‘Didn’t bother me.’
‘Difficult to fish in a group of course,’ Desmond conceded, with the air of having asked a stupid question.
During the cross-examination Tom had come alive, listening intently, giving occasional snuffles of approval. Now he slid Hugh a quiet look of excitement, as though he knew exactly where Desmond’s questions were leading and could hardly wait to see Price’s discomfort once the knives were out. Watching him, Hugh realised with a plunge of dismay that Tom had taken none of their conversation on board, that as far as he was concerned it was business as usual.
Desmond leafed through his notes. ‘So, Mr Price, you joined the Army at seventeen. And was it all you’d hoped it would be?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘What was the best thing about it?’
‘Doing my job.’
‘You qualified as a mechanic?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what else did you like about the Army?’
Price gave this some thought. ‘Serving my country.’
‘Anything else?’
Keeping on the same track Price said, ‘The challenge.’
‘Indeed.’ Desmond nodded sagely. ‘And your army record . . . how was that?’
‘All right.’
‘It’s army practice to make every soldier aware of his shortcomings, though, isn’t it? So that each man can work on them. What were your shortcomings so far as your superiors were concerned?’
Price’s gaze flicked down to one side and back again. ‘Nothing special.’
‘Come now, Mr Price, wasn’t the main criticism that you found it hard to work in a team?’
A pause. ‘It might have been mentioned once.’
‘I put it to you that it was mentioned more than once, Mr Price. I suggest it was seen as a problem throughout your army career.’
Price looked towards Bavistock, as if for rescue. ‘No.’
‘I put it to you that you were seen as a loner, not just by your superiors, but by your comrades as well. Isn’t that right?’
‘No,’ Price said without conviction.
‘You’ve already told us that you spent your spare time on your own when you were growing up, that you went joyriding alone, weight-lifting and fishing alone. In effect, that you much preferred your own company. It was the same in the Army, wasn’t it? That you were far happier taking an engine apart than talking to your comrades?’
‘No.’
‘Isn’t it true that you found it hard to make close friendships, even with the men in your own troop?’
‘No. I had some good mates.’
‘But close friendships, Mr Price? That’s what I’m asking.’
‘I had plenty,’ Price said defensively.
Desmond left this comment to settle. ‘You say you regularly went drinking with Tom Deacon, but you were nearly always in a larger group, weren’t you?’
‘Sometimes we were, sometimes we weren’t.’
‘In fact, the only time you and Tom Deacon went drinking on your own was when everyone else was on long leave, in fact just twice in all the years you served together. Isn’t that so?’
‘It was more times than that.’
‘Three times then?’
Price hesitated. ‘I can’t remember.’
Desmond waited for the judge to finish taking notes, but also, it seemed to Hugh, to let Price reflect on how badly he was doing.
‘You say you became friends with Mr Deacon when you ended up in the same troop, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why then, if Tom Deacon was such a good friend, didn’t he invite you to his wedding the following year?’
Tom gave a faint chuckle under his breath and, rocking forward, hunched over the table as if to contain his delight.
The movement caught Price’s eye, he flicked a glance in Tom’s direction before looking rapidly away.
‘Because I couldn’t make it.’
‘He invited two of his army friends – Shortie Thomas and John Potter – but not you. Why was that?’
‘There was no point in asking me, not when I couldn’t make it.’
Desmond tilted his head doubtfully. ‘What made you decide to give evidence in this case, Mr Price?’
Price was ready for that one. ‘Because I was asked what happened, and I told it like it was.’
‘No other motive, Mr Price?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing to do with getting even?’
Price gave a nervy contemptuous snuffle and glanced at the judge. ‘No.’
‘Didn’t you fall out over a girl quite early on in your acquaintance?’
‘No.’
‘A girl called Kristina, whom you met in 1990, and who went off with Mr Deacon?’
Price shook his head. ‘It was no skin off my nose. She was a—’ He paused as if to find a suitable word. ‘A slag.’
Desmond glanced at the judge, who murmured, ‘I know what the word means, thank you, Mr Riley.’
‘My Lord.’ Then to Price: ‘So what was the bad feeling about?’
‘There was no bad feeling.’
‘What I’m seeking to establish, Mr Price, is why you should choose to give evidence against a former comrade who was, according to you, a close friend?’
Tom breathed, ‘
Yes!
’ and jammed his fist against his mouth as if to prevent himself from shouting it aloud.
‘Because it was the truth,’ Price said self-righteously.
‘But you could have chosen not to make a statement, couldn’t you?’
‘When I did the statement I thought I was helping him out.’
‘Helping out Mr Deacon?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come now, Mr Price, you can’t have been in any doubt as to which side of this case you were giving evidence for – the side
contesting
Mr Deacon’s claim?’
‘I wasn’t clear. Not then, I mean. Not at the start. I thought I was helping Tom.’
‘But the solicitors told you who they were acting for, didn’t they?’
‘An insurance company, that’s all I knew.’
‘But the insurance company acting for the driver of the other car?’
‘I wasn’t clear,’ Price repeated sullenly.
‘I see. And when you
did
finally become clear as to which side they were acting for, what made you persist with your statement?’
‘I thought I had no choice.’
‘In what way, Mr Price?’
‘Well, being the law, I didn’t think I could go back on what I’d said.’
‘So you went ahead with your written statement?’
‘No, I’d already done the statement,’ Price corrected him. ‘That’s why I thought I couldn’t go back on it.’
‘I see. But the written statement was something you came to regret?’
‘Well . . . Like I said, it was too late by then.’
‘But if you could wind the clock back, Mr Price, if you had known at the outset what you know now, that far from helping your friend’s case you might actually hinder it, would you still have made the statement?’
Price hesitated. ‘Well, I. . . . I suppose not, no.’
‘So, if the statement was a mistake, what brought you here today, Mr Price?’
‘Like I said, once the truth was out, I thought I should stick to it.’
‘Though by appearing here today you would be making matters worse for your old friend?’
‘I didn’t think there was anything I could do about it.’
‘Isn’t loyalty almost the first thing instilled into you in the British Army?’ Desmond enquired. ‘Loyalty to your comrades and your regiment? Isn’t that at the very core of what soldiering’s about?’
A gleam of sweat had appeared on Price’s temple. ‘The truth’s the truth.’
‘But to give evidence that could harm your former comrade’s case – why would you want to do such a thing, Mr Price?’
Another pause. ‘I didn’t think about it that way.’