‘One of the three has made an admission of guilt, a confession, and that’s enabled us to bring charges more quickly than we’d anticipated.
‘Oh God.’ A confession!
‘What?’ Ruby was mouthing, slicing her free hand with impatience.
‘The people involved are Thomas Garrington aged eighteen, a seventeen-year-old woman who cannot be named for legal reasons and Conrad Quinn, aged eighteen.’
She unscrambled the words, struggled to take it all in: the numbers, the unfamiliar name. ‘What legal reasons?’
‘Under eighteen.’
‘What happens now?’ Louise asked.
‘They’ll appear in the magistrates’ court in the morning, and then next week there will be a plea and case management hearing in the Crown Court. That will set a date for the trial.’
‘Thank you,’ said Louise, her voice breaking.
‘I think I can speak for the whole team when I say how pleased I am that the individuals have been apprehended and charged. I’ll be in touch soon. You are entitled to attend any of the court hearings if you wish.’
Did she want to? The thought of seeing them made her stomach turn.
‘I’ll call tomorrow,’ the detective said.
‘They’ve got them,’ Louise told Ruby. ‘They’ve charged them all.’ And she started to cry.
Emma
She showed the letter to Laura at work. Laura scanned it. ‘You’re going to be a witness?’ She glanced at Emma.
Emma nodded, miserable. ‘I wish I didn’t have to.’
‘It might fall through,’ Laura said. ‘It’s months away. I know someone who had to go, about their neighbours: the bloke had attacked his wife. Anyway, when my friend got there, all hyped up, they said it was off. The bloke changed his plea.’
Emma considered this, but knowing her luck, the thing would go ahead and she’d have to appear.
She’d had to go in to the police station, once they’d arrested the suspects. The police had called at work and she’d had to go and ask Gavin for the time off. He had no problem with it but she half hoped he might have some reason to refuse.
The people weren’t lined up like on telly. She just had to look at videos of different people and pick them out. It was easy, really. The Gazza guy with his red hair and staring blue eyes, the other one with that tattoo and his pokey face and the girl prettier than all the other girls in the clips shown to her.
Now, with it all being reported in the papers, Emma knew their names: Thomas Garrington and Conrad Quinn. The girl was just called Girl A because she was under eighteen. Conrad Quinn had confessed, he’d pleaded guilty so he’d be a witness like Emma.
‘Might be exciting,’ Laura said.
She doesn’t understand, thought Emma. Emma wanted to do the right thing – she still felt a sting of shame when she thought back to her silence on the bus – but she was bound to freeze up or get tongue-tied and make a fool of herself.
That weekend she went home to celebrate her mother’s birthday. They were having a meal on the Saturday evening. Emma had bought Mum a necklace, lovely rose-coloured beads interspersed with pearls, which would go with some of her clothes.
The restaurant overlooked the river and they had a table in the conservatory right next to the water. Emma waited until they had finished the meal, and she’d had three large glasses of white wine, before telling them about the witness summons. Her dad was on it like a hound on an injured fox.
‘You a witness! God help the prosecution. Tell them to give you a megaphone or no one will catch a word you say.’
‘Roger,’ her mum chimed in, on cue.
‘Well,’ he leaned back, belched softly, ‘you know what she’s like. Whispering Winnie.’ He made stupid sibilant sounds, angling his head to and fro, some ghastly impersonation, malice flickering in his gaze.
Emma dug her nails into her palms, felt the hate for him black in her heart. ‘Why do you always put me down, Dad?’ The directness of her question startled Emma as much as it did her parents. Her mum shifted and laughed awkwardly and her father stopped still.
‘Any more coffee?’ her mum said.
‘I asked you a question.’ Emma forced herself to keep looking his way, even though her face was aflame with heat.
He leant forward and lowered his voice. His eyes glinting. ‘You will not ruin your mother’s special night out with this silly attention-seeking claptrap.’
‘Roger… Emma…’ Her mum was flustered.
Emma pushed back her chair.
‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ he snapped.
‘Toilets,’ Emma said. ‘Something’s made me feel sick.’ As she turned, she caught her foot on the chair and stumbled.
‘Hah hah!’ he cackled, delighted. ‘See that! Hah! Nellie the Elephant.’
‘Oh, Roger,’ her mum said sadly, ‘that’s not fair.’
Emma didn’t cry; she wouldn’t cry. Nellie the Elephant, Whispering Winnie. Hateful. And what hurt worst of all was that he was right.
Louise
They had to set off early to allow for the traffic. Ruby was wound up with anxiety, chewing at her nails. ‘Stop it,’ Louise told her. ‘If you have to chew something, chew some gum.’
‘I haven’t got any,’ Ruby retorted.
‘In the glove compartment.’ Louise’s stomach was fluttering too – like a bird had got trapped in there – but she tried to act calm for Ruby’s sake.
Ruby fiddled with the radio, tuned it into Radio 1 Xtra. She sang along to the tunes she liked.
Louise concentrated on the road, negotiating the slew of commuter cars and heavy goods wagons. It was sleeting and the wipers were going at full tilt to clear the windscreen.
She hadn’t told Ruby about Dr Liu’s plans to move Luke from the hospital; hadn’t told anyone. Nothing would happen yet anyway. ‘In the next couple of months,’ she’d said. That could be March. They could get Ruby settled into a new routine by then. Travelling to Liverpool early on a Monday, back Friday night. They should be able to get help with her travel expenses.
‘Mum!’ Ruby yelped as a 4 × 4 swerved in front of them from the inside lane. Louise braked, cursed, sounded the horn. The vehicle flashed its lights in reply. A sarky thank-you. Louise flung a V-sign his way, shaken up.
‘I’d like to get there in one piece,’ Ruby grumbled.
‘Tell him, not me,’ Louise said.
They were just in time. The drama school was in its own grounds, a grand old Victorian villa with pillars at the entrance door and big bay windows. Trees thrashed their branches in the wind and icy rain as Ruby grabbed her holdall from the boot. Another heavy squall bounced off the car roof and the gravel.
One of the students took Ruby’s name, showed her where to leave her bag in the changing rooms and gave them a tour of the buildings. The house was warm and bright, with the former bedrooms now classrooms and downstairs rooms used as rehearsal spaces and offices.
Outside, behind the villa, a converted garage functioned as the dance studio, next to a purpose-built music centre. Ruby’s eyes roved hungrily over everything. There were plenty of students about, both boys and girls. Louise noticed the way they checked Ruby out as they passed and Ruby doing the same.
‘We’ve had loads more people applying,’ their guide told them. ‘The Glee factor.’ She mentioned the American TV series about a school choir and their ambitious musical routines. It had been compulsory viewing for Ruby when it started.
The student halls were a modern block. Canteen, lounge, showers and cubicle-style bedrooms. They were able to see inside one – it was smaller than Ruby’s bedroom at home, little more than a cell. But if all went well and she made friends, she’d only be in there to sleep.
Back in the main house, they were served coffee and biscuits and Ruby got changed and waited to be called. The auditions were in one of the rehearsal rooms. In the quarter of an hour until her slot, Ruby couldn’t sit still. Louise let her prowl about, working off some of her energy. She looked amazing: the glowing red wig framing her sculptured face, her eyes big and luminous with long lashes, her mouth generous. It was a face Louise never tired of looking at. The same with Luke. Ruby wore a red leotard and red and black striped tights, black boots. Her body was long and slim and fine. She stopped pacing and turned to Louise, panicking. ‘I can’t remember it! The poem. Oh Mum.’