there’s bound to be a lot of attention. I just wanted you to know that… that it’s to be expected. That it’s nothing to worry about. That it might be uncomfortable for a while but it will pass.’
Ellie regarded him.
‘Honestly, Ellie, that’s all.’ Leo held his daughter’s gaze for as long as he dared divert his from the road ahead. Slowly, Ellie withdrew into her seat. She resumed her vigil of the passing pavement.
Leo tried to think of something else to say that was not a condescension or a cliche or in fact an outright lie. He opened his mouth but it was his daughter who spoke first.
‘Did he do it?’
Leo turned halfway, then fully. ‘What?’
‘Did he do it.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Dad.’
‘Ellie, I… You know I can’t…’
‘You must know. Right? You’re his lawyer. Right?’
‘I’m his solicitor. Which means that whether he did it or not, or whether I think he did it, is entirely beside the—’
Ellie rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady.’
‘I didn’t.’ She spoke to the window.
‘You did. I saw you. You just did.’
‘You weren’t answering the question.’
‘I was! I was explaining, if you’ll let me, the role a solicitor, in circumstances such as these, is obliged, by professional necessity, to—’
She did it again.
‘Ellie!’
‘You’re still not answering.’
‘I was, I—’
‘You sound like a teacher. You sound like Mr Smithson.’
Which, for a moment, flummoxed him. ‘Ellie. There is nothing wrong with explaining, when an explanation is needed, how things—’
‘You’re dissembling.’
It was a word he never thought he would hear from a teenager. ‘I’m what?’ He had to smile.
‘Dissembling. Don’t laugh. It’s a word.’
‘I know, but—’
‘It means talking shit.’
‘Eleanor!’
‘What? It does. Mum used it and I looked it up and basically it means you’re talking—’
‘That’s enough!’
‘– so you don’t have to answer.’ Ellie’s voice withered into silence.
Leo was open-mouthed. He gripped the wheel and emptied his lungs through his nostrils. Dissembling. Ha. He would have to remember that at the office this afternoon.
‘What’s funny?’
‘What? Nothing. I was just… Nothing. You shouldn’t swear, Ellie.’
His daughter watched him as they drove. The turn-off towards Ellie’s school was approaching and Leo signalled left. He hated this part of their journey. In the time it took him to make the detour, he would cede to his rival commuters all the ground he had worked so hard the past three miles to gain. It seemed so futile. Just like work, he had often thought. Every case, like every car, was as one-paced and nondescript as the next. If you managed to get past one, there would always be another. And another, just as long as you remained on the road. That, at least, is how it had been.
‘Dad.’
‘Mm?’
‘If he did it… I mean, okay, you’re his solicitor and whatever, blah blah blah. But if he did it…’
Leo was about to interrupt but was distracted by the brake lights on the car in front. They flickered and flicked off and then finally fixed on red.
‘… why are you defending him?’
The driver ahead seemed to have stalled. There had been a gap at the junction but he – she? – had changed his mind at the last moment. The car behind Leo’s blared its frustration. Leo glanced in the rear-view mirror, then dragged a palm across his eyes.
‘Dad?’
‘Ellie. Sorry. What did you say?’
‘I said, why are you defending him?’
Finally the gap became a chasm and the car ahead peeled right. Leo accelerated in its wake and the Passat lurched clumsily to the left.
‘Defending… What? No. I’m not defending him, Ellie – not in the sense you mean. I’m representing him is what I’m doing. There’s a difference.’ Leo took a breath. ‘One of the great things about this country, about our legal system, is that everyone, no matter how heinous the alleged crime, has the absolute, unimpeachable right to qualified representation, to trial before a courtroom. Habeas corpus, it’s called. It’s a question of process. Which means, in this case, that…’ Leo interrupted himself when he caught sight of his daughter’s expression. ‘Mr Smithson. Right?’
His daughter nodded. ‘I know he gets to have a lawyer. I’m not stupid. What I mean is, why does he get you?’
‘Me? He gets me because…’ Leo lifted a shoulder. ‘Because I was there. Because it’s my job.’
‘You could say no, though. If he did what they say he did, you should say no.’
Leo made a face. ‘It’s not that simple. I mean, there are other…’
‘You could, though. Couldn’t you? You should. I really think you should.’
Ellie wore an adult, earnest expression that did not sit easily on her fragile features. She looked pale, almost grey. She looked, in fact, as if she was close to tears – although these days it was often difficult to tell.
‘Look, darling. I don’t get to pick and choose who I represent. It doesn’t work like that. And anyway…’ He had not yet said it, not out loud. ‘I want this case. I really think I do. You might not understand that yet but one day, I promise, you will. This is a good case, Ellie. This is good for my career.’ And that was the point: for all his father’s misplaced pride, what had Leo really been doing with his life except mopping up the spillage from the high-street bars? This case was something more: a chance, as his father had put it, to make a difference.
‘Even though you said it would be awful?’ Ellie asked. His daughter’s tone was even but her expression was ominously rigid.
‘I didn’t say that. I didn’t say awful.’
‘You did. You said it would be awful and you said we should all be worried.’
Leo laughed. He could not help it.
‘Could you please pull over now.’
‘Ellie. Please. I didn’t say awful, I said uncomfortable – that it
‘Dad! Pull over. Let me out. Please, let me out.’
‘It’s raining, Ellie. We’re still a block away.’
‘Pull over. Just here. Please, Dad. Dad!’
‘Okay, okay!’ Leo braked, harder than he had intended, and swung the car to the kerbside. ‘Ellie, look…’
His daughter had unbuckled her seatbelt and her fingers were reaching for the door catch.
‘Wait,’ said Leo. ‘Ellie! Don’t I at least get a…’
But his daughter was already gone.
