Relieved, she left him sleeping and tiptoed upstairs to her old bedroom at the front of the house. She shut the door behind her and kicked off her painful shoes. She realised she hadn’t stayed the night in her room since she’d bought the flat in the city two years before. But Dad always kept the room ready for her in case she should want to stay.
The room was still furnished with the cream-painted matching set he had bought for her fourteenth birthday. She remembered her delight when it had been fitted, and how special she’d felt sitting down at the dressing table for the first time. It looked like something out of a doll’s house. On the walls hung the posters she had stuck up of David Bowie and the Stones, and photographs of her and her school friends. A few of her law books stood on the shelves, gathering dust.
On the dressing table, encased in a silver frame, was the last picture taken of her mother: she was standing in the front garden, before a rambling white rosebush, holding Laura’s hand in her own. When her mother had died, Dad had hacked down the rosebush to its roots with an axe, wincing as if with each fall of the axe he was cutting himself. She had stood and watched, dumb with shock. It was only years later she’d understood that he didn’t want to see the roses bloom without her mother there.
The picture was fading badly, the features on the two faces melting away. How she’d studied her mother’s face in this picture as a teenager. How she’d envied her mother’s natural blonde hair and perfect features, comparing them unfavourably with her own straight dark hair and quirky looks.
She picked up the photo now and stared at it as she had done so many times before, as if doing so would give her some connection to the woman she could barely remember. Only by screwing up her eyes and concentrating hard could she recall the details of her mother’s face, the tone of her voice, the comfort of sitting on her warm lap and snuggling in her arms and playing with the silver cross her mother wore round her neck.
She wondered how different her own life would have been if her mother had lived. It was a pointless train of thought, as she had learned years ago. She didn’t want to return to that emptiness and frustration she’d often experienced while growing up.
She put the photo back on the dressing table and drew the floral curtains, then undressed quickly, shivering in the unheated room. Rummaging in a drawer she found an old pair of pyjamas. But as she slid between the sheets and stretched to switch off the lamp she noticed a book on criminal procedure on the bookcase. She remembered her promise to Luke. She got out of bed to fetch the book. Then, fighting back the urge to fall sleep, she turned to the chapter on committal proceedings.
8
‘You’ve got your smart suit on again. Are you off somewhere?’ Dad looked up as she walked into his room. Weak winter sun filtered through the dusty window, making him look faded and pale.
‘Yes.’ She hovered by the door. ‘Would you like me to bring you anything before I go? I didn’t wake you before. You looked so peaceful.’
‘Where did you go last night? Ken said you had to rush off.’
‘I’m sorry. I nipped back to the flat while you were asleep.’
She looked down at the threadbare carpet. She had to tell him now.
‘And I needed to see someone.’
He turned to look at her. His eyes were watery, the skin underneath them smudged with dark shadows.
‘No need to explain,’ he said.
‘It was Luke.’
For a moment he looked confused, then he blinked and his face cleared. He smiled mischievously.
‘Ah, yes. Our militant friend.’
‘No need to be sarcastic, Dad,’ she said sharply. ‘I thought you agreed with his views anyway.’
‘There’s no need for you to be so defensive, Laura. What was it you said he did for a living?’
‘Nothing at the moment. He’s out of work. Does that matter?’
‘You’re entitled to see whom you like,’ he said, shrugging and turning away. ‘I knew you liked the fellow when you brought him round.’
‘Well I knew, too, that you didn’t approve of him. I could just tell.’
‘Don’t let’s argue, Laura. I’m tired. I haven’t got the strength.’
‘The thing about Luke is,’ she went on, ‘he’s got the bottle to stand up for what he believes in. That’s what I admire about him. He’s not like other people.’
Her father didn’t reply.
‘I’ll get you some breakfast, and then I’ll have to go out,’ she said stiffly. She wasn’t going to tell him about where she was headed or what she was going to do. Not now.
‘Don’t worry about the breakfast. I don’t feel like anything at the moment,’ he said.
She hesitated at the door. It was just like him to be stubborn.
‘It’s up to you. I’ll see you later.’
The court lobby was thronging with people. She approached an usher with a clipboard. He turned to her and nodded officiously.
‘You here to represent one of them?’ He cast a disapproving eye in the direction of a group of men wearing ‘Don’t buy the Sun’ stickers.
‘No. My client was charged yesterday and remanded in custody. He should have been brought to the cells by the police.’
The usher scanned the list on the clipboard, taking his time.
‘Only two. Let me guess. Is it Goddard?’
She smiled. ‘How did you know?’
‘Instinct, my dear.’
As the usher turned round to lead her to the cells, she noticed that a ‘Don’t buy the Sun’ sticker was stuck to the back
