‘Howard, listen. It’s ridiculous. He can’t possibly expect to walk in here and just demand—’
‘Terence! Please! Can’t you see the man is unwell?’
Howard drew closer. Jenny, as though startled by Leo’s reaction, wilted into the corner.
‘I’m fine,’ Leo said. He steadied himself. ‘I’m just… just tired, that’s all. I’m fine, really.’ He held off Howard’s outstretched hand. He stood straighter.
‘Would you like some water, Leonard? Or a hot drink? Some coffee maybe, or some—’
‘No! Thank you. Really, Howard. I promise you I’m fine. I’d like to… I wanted… I’m here to talk about Daniel.’ He felt an urge to look again at Jenny but resisted. ‘Just Daniel,’ he said.
‘Daniel? Daniel Blake?’
Leo nodded.
‘It’s being taken care of, Leonard.’ Howard smiled. ‘Really, there’s no need for you to worry. You obviously have more important—’
‘It’s my case.’
Howard looked to Terry. Terry looked knowingly back.
‘Of course it is,’ Howard said. ‘And you’ve done a fine job. But with everything that’s happened, no one’s expecting you to—’
‘Daniel is. Daniel needs me.’
Howard’s smile began to fray. ‘Leonard. Really. Terence here has your notes, he’s familiar with the case.’
‘He has my notes. He doesn’t have my relationship with the boy.’
Terry grunted. ‘A good thing too,’ he muttered.
Howard, caught between his two employees, seemed suddenly unsure of his bearings. He glanced about. ‘Let’s sit. Shall we?’
No one moved.
‘I just need the files, Howard. I’ll catch myself up and then go and see Daniel this afternoon.’
From her spot in the corner, Jenny took a step towards the door. ‘If it’s okay with you, I should probably…’ She pointed out her escape route but hesitated and lost her opportunity.
‘For pity’s sake, Howard,’ said Terry. ‘Just tell him. Can’t you?’
Leo glared. He turned to Howard. ‘Or if it’s a question of time. If you think we should try for a deferment…’
‘Deferment? Christ, Leo, what the hell do we need a deferment for!’
‘The Crown would agree,’ said Leo, ignoring Terry and facing his boss. ‘Surely. Given the circumstances.’
‘That’s not the point!’ Terry, too, appealed to Howard. They might have been advocates in a courtroom, their boss the sitting judge. ‘Howard. Really. Don’t you think—’
‘Enough!’ Howard raised his hands, lifting his palms close to his ears. ‘Gentlemen, please. That’s quite enough.’ He glared at Terry and only reluctantly, it seemed, addressed Leo. ‘Leonard. Listen. Things have moved on. Surely you can understand that. Your priority now should be your family. Don’t worry about Daniel Blake.’ He attempted another smile. ‘It’s being taken care of. Terence here—’
‘Terry doesn’t give a damn about Daniel! If it were up to him, the boy would have been strung up by now in his cell!’
Terry brandished a finger. ‘Now wait just a minute—’
‘Terence is a professional, Leonard.’ Howard’s expression set stern. ‘As, may I remind you, are you. There is no need for acrimony, particularly given that Terry has acted entirely properly since assuming your responsibilities. The boy’s parents are happy, the barrister’s happy, even your psychologist—’
‘Karen? You spoke to Karen? And Dale. You spoke to Dale?’ Leo swung his ire from Howard to Terry and back again.
‘Someone had to,’ Terry mumbled and Howard stung him with a look.
‘Naturally we did,’ Howard said to Leo. ‘The arraignment, as you know, is on… Let’s see…’
‘Friday.’ Leo and Terry spoke as one. They exchanged scowls.
‘Friday. Exactly. So obviously we didn’t have time to—’
‘What about Daniel?’ Leo interrupted. ‘You said his parents were happy, that Dale was happy. What about the client?’
Howard was content, this time, to let Terry answer.
‘The client,’ Terry said, emphasising the word just as Leo had done, ‘is happy enough too. I saw him this morning. That’s what I wanted to say to you,’ he told Howard. ‘He’s given me my instructions. He couldn’t have been clearer. He’s happy, finally, that someone has spelled out to him exactly what’s at stake.’
Leo faced him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Terry splayed his hands. ‘Just what I said. I’m not going to start criticising, Leo. Not given what’s happened to your kid.’
‘Don’t let it stop you, Terry! Criticise away, if you feel the urge!’
‘Gentlemen! Please! Let’s try and keep this amicable, shall we?’
Leo glared and Howard recoiled. Leo might have said something too but Terry’s words finally resonated. ‘What instructions? What did you do, Terry? What did you say to him?’
His parents are happy. The barrister’s happy. Even Karen…
‘Terry? Answer me. What did you tell Daniel he should do?’
Terry, though, did not reply. His expression said enough.
22
He had not planned to be here. He had been awake from three and in his car by five and here, from seven, only by an accident of his subconscious. For some time he had sat, in the cinch of his seat belt and with the engine mumbling, until he had overcome his reluctance to test the silence. At first it had been consuming – overwhelming, almost – but it fissured after a moment and the world outside became audible through the cracks: the sleepy groan of the sign on the roadside wall of the pub; gulls or gannets, not yet in full voice but clearing their throats once in a while as they sketched shapes against the pallid blue sky; the river, beyond the bank bordering the car park, bloated from the rain and spilling itself either side. And the cold. Leo could hear it, somehow. Scratching its icy fingers against the windscreen and beckoning him from the waning warmth of the car’s interior.
He released his seat belt, let it slide across his chest. He tugged his woollen hat below his ears and searched the car seat next to him for his gloves. Beneath the maps and the flyers and the half-eaten sandwiches wrapped in foil, he found only the left. The right was not on the floor either, nor tucked down the side of the seat, so Leo settled for wearing one.
The air, unexpectedly, was still. The sign continued to creak and the treetops continued to lurch but where Leo had stopped the car he was sheltered from the wind by the walls of the pub. It was as cold as he had feared, however, and he drew the zip of his anorak tight to his chin. He checked about, as though uncertain in which direction to walk, though he had known what route he would take, really, the moment it had registered where he had arrived. He drove his hands deep into his pockets and crunched across the gravelled car park in the direction of the river.
He suspected he was being watched. Not because he felt it, in the hairs on his neck or otherwise, but because it was inconceivable his presence was not being tracked. He had seen her every day, the landlord had said. Every school day, at least. From his morning spot by the window in the kitchen, he noticed everything that passed his pub between just gone seven until just about nine. Which was not a lot, as it happened. And if he had noticed Felicity on the day she was killed – if he knew, as he did now, that he had been the last person, but one, to see her alive – how could he fail to be watching on every day that followed?
Leo wondered what the landlord – Lodge? Loach? – would be thinking of him if he were watching. Whether he would assume Leo was a journalist, slower or more persistent than all the others, or some morbid breed of
