She met him in the entrance hall, amid the throng of witnesses, security men and the general public. Sarah ran up to Simon quickly, her papers still under her arm.
‘Simon! Whatever brings you here?’
Simon shrugged. ‘Day off. Thought I’d see what you actually do.’
‘Well! What a wonderful surprise!’
Sarah looked up at her son in delight. He was six inches taller than her, with a handsome, broad-nosed face and a shadow of stubble on his chin. His reddish-gold hair was cut brutally short and he had the ring in his left ear that she hated. But he looked fit and relaxed, in jeans and a sleeveless shirt that showed off the muscles of his upper arms. He had always been a natural athlete, much fitter than Bob had ever been.
Simon touched her wig. ‘You look daft in that.’
‘I’ll take it off then. Wait there — have you got time for lunch?’
‘Maybe.’ He looked around apprehensively. ‘Don’t you eat here?’
‘No. We’ll buy a sandwich — sit by the river.’
‘OK then.’
She ran up the wide staircase to leave her gown, wig and papers in the robing room. She glanced hurriedly at the questions she planned to ask later, but there was nothing she needed to change. Anyway Simon was here, that was what mattered — her son whom she hadn’t seen for weeks!
As she came down she was surprised to see Simon talking to a witness, Graham Dewar. As she approached they moved apart. She took Simon’s arm and went out into the sunshine.
‘Do you know that man?’
‘Yeah, a bit. Met him on a building site.’
‘He’s a friend of Gary’s, you know. Witness for the defence.’
‘Yeah?’ Simon’s uninterested response forced Sarah to suppress a slight jolt of irritation. It was a mannerism which had provoked many quarrels between them over the years. But she had no intention of nagging him today.
‘What do you fancy? Sandwich? Pizza hut? Burger?’
‘A sandwich’ll do fine. I thought all you barristers ate posh. You know — fine linen, champagne, pass the port?’
‘Not my style. Anyway, you know what wine does to me, Simon — do you want to see me weaving into court all tipsy with my notes upside down?’
‘That’ll be the day. They’ll not catch you with your buttons undone, no way.’
‘I should hope not.’
They bought sandwiches, fruit and mineral water in Marks and Spencers. All the benches in the park by the river were occupied by tourists or shoppers, so they sat with their feet dangling over the quay, watching the river buses and rowing boats pass on the water.
‘So how come you’ve got a day off?’ she asked.
‘I just took it. Most o’t labourin’s finished, any road. It’s nowt but tidyin’ up today, so I mitched it.’
Sarah sighed. Everything about the answer depressed her. It was bad enough to have a son whose ambitions extended no further than labouring on building sites, but it seemed Simon couldn’t even manage that without skiving. And then he had to use this exaggerated broad accent, to emphasise how he was moving in exactly the opposite social direction from her.
But I won’t nag, she told herself. It does no good — that’s how we lost him before.
‘How’s Jasmine?’
Jasmine was Simon’s girlfriend, a startlingly beautiful young woman who he had lived with for the past ten months. Sarah had hated her at first, partly because she seemed to have no more ambition than Simon, but also in the way that all mothers find it hard to relate to the girl their son has chosen to replace them. But as time passed and she seemed to make him happy, Sarah had begun to resign herself to the situation and search for good qualities in the girl that she hadn’t noticed before. So his answer distressed her further.
‘She’s gone.’
‘What?’
‘Left me — weeks ago. Ran off with a bloody male nurse from the hospital. Namby-pamby little wuss who loves trees.’
‘Oh Simon, no!’ She touched his arm but he shrugged her off.
‘Oh Simon, yes. You’re too messy, Simon, your home’s a tip. I’m off to get meself a life.’
‘She said that?’
‘Summat like it, yeah.’ He slung the crust of his sandwich to a seagull on the water. ‘Course there was mess, I’d been painting. And putting up shelves.’
‘You, Simon, decorating?’ The squalor of Simon’s house was legendary in their family.
‘Yeah. I thought that’s what she wanted. What all women want, in’t it — a nice home?’ He looked at her sideways, as though this might be the answer he had come for. What is it women want, mum? How can I get Jasmine back? Of course he would never ask these questions so explicitly but that was what he wanted, she felt sure.
Sarah felt touched, flattered, and afraid. Touched and flattered that he should come to her, afraid that she had no idea of the answers. How could she know, who paid so little attention to her own home and marriage, these days? It was, she knew, somehow unsatisfactory despite all the efforts she and Bob had made over the years. Years in which Bob had put up shelves and units and wallpaper in every house they had had. And now Simon had for once tried to copy his stepfather, and Jasmine — his one spectacular achievement — had walked out on him. I could weep, she thought.
‘When did she go?’
‘Six weeks ago. I know where he lives. He takes her to them bloody protesters at fashion centre. Clowns — diggin’ holes and climbin’ trees.’
Like everyone, Sarah knew of the environmental protest at the designer centre. Emily might have supported it, but Simon hated things like that.
‘So Jasmine’s involved with the protest too?’
‘Probably. I saw her there once.’
‘Oh Simon.’ She touched his hand gently. ‘Is there no chance she’ll come back?’
‘Only when she fancies a bit of … you know. Then she comes back for an afternoon. But it’s not the same, is it?’ He flung the mineral water bottle viciously into the river, missing a duck by inches. She kept her hand on his but he wouldn’t look at her.
‘You still see her then?’ Sarah could easily believe it. She had always suspected Jasmine of using her son for her own purposes, as an amusing sexual accessory. ‘Well, couldn’t you … I don’t know, discuss it with her when you meet? I thought you got on so well!’
The answer, when it came, was surprisingly loud and strong, a gale of sound that turned heads nearby. ‘Don’t you think I’ve tried that, mum? She just laughs at me. I’ve even followed her back to his house, to tell that little bastard to leave her alone. But it’s no good, is it? She wants it all her own way, the bitch!’
The strength of his emotion frightened her. If he showed this much anger towards Jasmine, she thought, the girl might be afraid to come back.
‘I … I don’t think that’s quite the way, Simon,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I mean …’
‘Oh forget it,’ he said suddenly. ‘There’s nowt you can do, I never thought there were!’
But he had, she thought. He’d hoped. ‘Perhaps if you tell me about it, the things you quarrelled about …
‘No, there’s no point.’ He recovered himself, patted her hand. ‘We didn’t really quarrel, mum, we just … fell out, you know. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. I’ll just have to live with it.’
Only I can’t, his body language said. He clenched his fists on his thighs, and slowly pressed them together until his arms tensed with the strain. It looked like an unconscious expression of all the violence and tension in his emotions. Then, suddenly, he relaxed.
‘Anyhow, what about you? You’re not going to get this sod Harker off, are you?’
‘I’m doing my best, Simon. You know me.’
‘Yeah. Leave no stone unturned. But what d’you reckon to him, eh? Hardly your sort.’
Sarah smiled ironically. ‘Criminals aren’t my sort, Simon, you know that. My job’s to defend them, not admire them.’
‘He’s a criminal all right. Nasty violent thug.’
‘He.. how do you know that?’An unpleasant sensation of shock squirmed in her stomach. Just those two sentences of Sharon in court yesterday about Gary’s criminal record, and here was her son parroting them back to her. It must be from last night’s Evening Press, which she hadn’t bothered to read.
‘Everyone knows who’s met him,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve seen him on building sites.’
‘You’ve met Gary Harker?’
‘Yeah. Ugly bastard, isn’t he? Thinks he’s hard but he’s scum really.’
And they probably say the same about you, she thought bitterly. You, my son, working with Gary Harker. She shook her head, trying to take it all in. ‘So you didn’t come just to see me? You came to see him!’
‘Both of you,’ Simon said. ‘I saw it in’t paper and thought, I’ve got a family interest here. I’ll go along and see what’s what.’
‘I see.’ Sarah sighed. ‘So what do you think, now you’ve seen it?’
‘I think you’re giving that woman a hard time. Does she deserve it, really?’
‘I have to, Simon, it’s part of the game. She says Gary raped her, he says he wasn’t there. I have to test the evidence — you know that.’
‘Yes, mum, but what do you really think? Did he do it, or not?’
‘I don’t know, Simon. It’s not my job to know.’ It was an old argument, but the rest of her family had never really accepted it. Like that detective, Terry Bateson, yesterday.
‘Oh, come on, mum — you must have an opinion! Hasn’t he told you?’
‘Yes. He’s told me he didn’t do it and I have to respect that. Isn’t that what you’d want, if I was defending you?’
‘Yeah, but I mean, Gary Harker! He’s a right hard case. And all that stuff with the knife and the mask and the little kid — if he did all that he should have his balls cut off!’
‘If he did it, Simon, yes,’ said Sarah sarcastically. ‘And if he didn’t? What then?’
‘He’s still a pillock. I’ve met him — remember?’
‘So have I. I’ll remember your views when I have to defend you. In the meantime …’ She stood up, looking for a litter bin for the sandwich wrappers. ‘… even pillocks need defending, so I’d better get back. Coming?’
‘Maybe, for a bit. Nowt else to do.’
Once again his answer irritated and pleased her at the same time. As they walked back, two young female backpackers, sunbathing in bra and shorts and heavy boots, glanced at Simon appreciatively, and for a moment Sarah saw him through their eyes and thought how attractive he was, this tall muscular young man who was her son. If only she could be more proud of him; but there was always this awkwardness between them. Impulsively, as they approached the court, they turned to each other and both began to speak at once.
‘Simon, would you like me to come round to your house after …’
‘How’s Emily?’
Recovering, Sarah spoke first. ‘Emily’s fine. Worried about her GCSEs though. I went to a concert of hers last night.’ She paused. ‘Would you like …?’
‘My place is a bit of a tip at the moment …’
‘I don’t mind. I could help you to clear it up.’
‘Not your scene really is it, mum? You’ve got books to read, pillocks to defend. I’ll see you around.’
She sighed. ‘All right then. Any time, Simon, really. Just drop round.’
‘Yes.’ Living near each other in the same city, separated by emotion rather than distance, they had never really solved the issue of whether to kiss or embrace at parting. Other people seemed to manage it well but they were not a family who touched much. So now she just gave him her hand. ‘See you then.’
‘I’m coming to watch, remember?’ Trying to make amends, he drew her to him briefly and kissed the top of her head as though she were a child. Then, going up the steps past Julian Lloyd-Davies who stood watching with his junior, Simon said loudly: ‘I’ll be in’t gallery then, mum. Ready to gob on’t pillock’s head if he interrupts again!’