Part Fifty Five
Right at the end of the Friday afternoon, Jo had nipped back into the courtroom once the initial surge of people heading for home and hearth had expended itself. She sought permission to extract from the bundle of original documents, Ritchie's letters to Yvonne and Lauren. They belonged to Yvonne, so Jo's sense of doing justice argued, and it was only the necessity of court proceedings that had held them from her for as long as was necessary. Despite her brave words to Yvonne, her hopes were like a blind step in the dark to keep Yvonne's spirits up and, by extension, her own. She leafed her way through the very familiar order of the evidence in the box files and found the right polythene enclosure and slid out the two very ordinary notes of scribblings on prison issue paper. Yet these had gone to the heart of the tragedy that had overtaken the lives of so many. They had even drawn in herself, George and John himself in knowledge of actions, which all three knew they should never have possessed in advance of public knowledge. She realised that all of them had reacted to that primal fear of being caught on the wrong side of the wire, and that logic and reason had nothing to do with it.
Jo carefully folded them up inside the polythene wrapping and tucked them in the safest part of her handbag for safe keeping. She stared round the empty court and smiled fondly at the vacant space in the gallery once occupied by that very remarkable female support group. She had glimpsed them from afar for the last two weeks and had been privileged to spend lunchtime being among them. It was a very new experience to her. She couldn't define it but it felt good. A feeling of sheer exhaustion overtook her as she made her way to her car and she battled her weary way homewards through the bumper to bumper traffic gridlocks of London.
One of Jo's few lotus-eating indulgences was lying in bed on a Saturday morning after a long hard trial which this one had been. Life was easier as she got older as in past years, she was 'mum' from the moment her two lively little boys woke up in the morning and somehow she summoned the energy to rouse herself out of bed and that other Jo Mills took over from her. The hundred and one activities that children will demand of the parent was something that the relentlessly and conventionally minded colleagues in the chambers would never understand. In every unguarded syllable was the dimly sensed shape of the female nestmaker who ensured that every perfectly turned out male barrister could singlemindedly devote himself to his career with the occasional reference to the family outings which 'he' had taken the wife and children to. That kind of smugness about them irritated her as much as she solidly disapproved of the professional ethics of two of their kind like Neumann Mason-Alan and Brian Cantwell. True, she had once been like one of those consorts when she was younger, when she had married. He had been a good man and had been all the world to her. Sharing his bed, going everywhere with him and the natural physical intimacy that marriage brings had been natural, part of her life, as had been the physical flowering of motherhood. She had taken to both like a duck had to water with no thoughts that life could map out anything different.
At that age, the modern Jo ruefully reflected, you never know the twists and turns life can take and when you are young, you are more confident and less aware of the pitfalls that you can step into.
She stretched out for her cigarette packet and her lighter for her first thing in the morning cigarette. That was one of her indulgences, which she sacrificed when she slept with John. Well, John Deed, you are not here to silently disapprove of me, she smiled to herself as she blew smoke into the air. She had as much unfettered space to stretch out in her double bed as to feel unconstrained in what she did on a sunny Saturday morning, to read a newspaper if she wanted to, and to get up whenever she liked. She knew Mark was asleep in his bedroom next to hers, but he had reached the teenage years when he would respond to any friendly move into his space by that suspicious grunt of annoyance and the sort of inarticulate frozen atmosphere by which he hoped that his mother would get the point. At that age, he was defiantly and insecurely trying to establish himself as other than the son of the famous barrister. There was an unspoken agreement that he would go his way and she would go hers so long as he kept up with his studies and she wouldn't interfere. Therefore, on a Saturday morning, both of them blissfully whiled away the morning with a whole weekend to unwind before them.
Sunday morning for Jo was a different matter, as she bustled round the house early to make way for what she had in mind to do.
"Hello Yvonne, it's Jo Mills." "To what do I owe the phone call, Jo?" her faintly mocking tones could be heard with an underlay of real pleasure of friendly and welcome human contact.
"Is it all right if I call round and see you? I was going to return Ritchie's letters to you if you want them. "Well," came the dragged out response, "Victoria Beckham has just phoned me up and said that she's ever so sorry, she's jet setting off to the Algarve for a photo shoot and my extensive social life is a bit thin on the ground. Yeah, of course you can, so long as you're not just going to act as postman. You don't get away as easily as that." "I wouldn't expect any less, Yvonne." Jo's warm tones cheered Yvonne up as she had paced about the house like a caged tigress all morning. Yvonne had literally sweated out the longest weekend in her life by unbearable second after second of the clock, which had ticked away. When you have a daughter who could be banged up for life and your existence feels suspended, helpless, by the dangerously random fate of a jury and a judge, however sympathetic the guy might be. She liked the judge but she knew only too well that he has a job to do. Helen Stewart had taught her that one, both seen from afar at Larkhall and recently, from the steady drip by drip of conversations over the last two weeks. Of course, she wasn't the only authority figure who she knew but she firmly slammed the door on the train of thought on that one. She had quite enough on her bleeding plate. At that point, she'd ground out her cigarette and jumped to her feet. She had proceeded to hoover and dust the house from top to bottom all Saturday to keep herself busy so she wouldn't brood. When the terrifying prospect of that loomed up close, she went round the house and bagged up a lot of superfluous junk which she'd always meant to get rid of but never got round to it. That night, the house was immaculate and she was physically tired out but for a long time, her brain refused to shut down when it ought to. She had taken a long time to settle to sleep, even with more alcohol inside her than she normally drank. As she lay in bed that night, she thought bitterly that none of Charlie's old friends had found time to phone her up today and why should they act any different tomorrow? Even if it had been a long time since they'd spoken to her, surely they would have the guts to get past that one. What appealed to her least of all was the way they paraded around with guns in their pockets bragging to each other how tough and hard they were. It was a men's club and all they did was compete with each other. Women were just decorative adornments in their lives. When it came down to it, they were little boys, poncing around with their toys and they just didn't have what it took, not compared to the women she had known from Larkhall. As she woke up in the dark very early on the Sunday morning, half of her wished that she could transport herself in time to the Monday which would determine her life and the other half was more frightened to the marrow of her bones than she would ever let on to anyone, no matter how close she was to them. No one could take that fear away from her or could shoulder that burden. It was at that moment that Jo Mills had phoned and her unconscious prayer for something to get her way through the day was answered. She couldn't bleeding well untidy the house and tidy it up, that would be mad stuff.
Like others before her, Jo marvelled at the sheer expanse of Yvonne's house and the obviously large garden that lay at the back of it. All the trees were bare and winter's leaves lay scattered on the drive outside but Jo could see that summertime at Yvonne's would be a different affair. She knocked at the door and Jo was touched at the huge smile with which Yvonne greeted her. She could see the dark shadows under her eyes that even the expert touch of her makeup could not quite conceal. On her part, propriety held her back from giving Jo a big hug to express her gratitude at human company. You didn't do that sort of thing with female briefs. "Come in, Jo," Yvonne offered expansively.
Jo followed, wide eyed to see how much of a luxurious lifestyle was built on crime. She knew that phrase as one that she had used in court. It was just that she had never come across the reality of it.
"It's nice and quiet round here," Jo remarked conversationally.
"Too bloody quiet," Came the throaty answer putting a different spin on the word.
"I know what you said, Jo about if the jury is out for a long time, that's a good sign. But a sign of what? How many years does that mean, that's what's hammering at my brain. I'm more scared of this than anything else I've ever faced in my life." "Because it's your daughter and not you," Jo gently interposed. "…and because you can't do anything about it." A warm smile spread slowly across Yvonne's drawn features and she blinked back a few tears out of her eyes. This quiet woman dressed in a simple open necked blouse and a pair of casual trousers was a mile away from the court dignitary. That battling woman dressed in her formal gown and wig pitching it strong to that weasel of a brief should have been another woman altogether, yet there was no sense of artificial distinction.
"I'm a mother too, and it doesn't take rocket science to work out how you're feeling." Yvonne warmed to this unpretentious woman who was turning out to be very relaxing company.
They both heard a soft padding sound and a large black Alsatian trotted eagerly up to them. All day yesterday, he had been vaguely disconsolate as he sensed his mistress was upset and was bustling about. He had managed as best as he could till some kind fate provided him with a new visitor. "This is the famous Trigger," Yvonne introduced him with a grin as was his due.
Jo immediately made friends with this large black soppy dog who clearly didn't have an ounce of harm in him.
"So this is the dog who supposedly terrified the life out of that idiot policeman?" Jo laughed.
"Yeah well, frightening the life out of policemen was part of his training," Yvonne grinned.
Yvonne nipped off to make two cups of steaming hot coffee in her pristine kitchen. Sometime yesterday, she must have blitzed her way through it though she could not remember when.
Presently, they sat at ease facing each other and chatting away more comfortably. The thought that she was deviating away from her normal professional custom in socialising with clients drifted past her like a gust of cold wind outside the living room window as of no significance. With a huge feeling of relief, Yvonne grasped in turn at the company she was being offered and she kept the conversation light.
"You're pretty close to the judge, Jo." "Only so far. It's complicated." "Try me." "There's the matter of professional ethics of a barrister appearing before a judge. Ex-wives and ex-partners are fine. Current wives and current partners are a definite no no. They think there's a risk of pillow talk." Jo's studied distancing of herself from the code of conduct was not lost on Yvonne. This was a new world to her but she's never too late to learn.
"So that hasn't stopped you any more than you came close to doing over that brief of theirs, after he tried to ruin Karen." In turn, the repressed anger with which Yvonne spoke conveyed a peculiar flavour to Jo. It was half directed at Karen and half protective of her.
"You're still very fond of Karen, aren't you." "She's with George now," Yvonne said non-committally. "That's been bleeding obvious through the trial, but she's been there when all Charlie's friends have done bugger all." "I found that out when I spotted a very indiscreet George, who blushed a very delicate shade of pink when she noticed me." Yvonne couldn't help a faint smile at Jo's delicately drawn mental portrait. When she lost her sense of humour, that's a sign that she's really down and out, mentally and physically. The way they had drifted into this conversation brought the barriers down on something she'd turned over at the back of her mind since the trial started. Until now, the fierce rush of events had prevented her from properly thinking about it apart from that one conversation with Karen when she had tried her best not to appear a jealous cow. "Karen's got the right to see who she wants. It's not as if she's handcuffed to me, it's just that…….." "I know." Jo's simple words might have seemed banal from anyone else but not her. Yvonne could see that Jo spoke from her heart quite as much as she spoke from her head. More than ever, Yvonne could tell that Jo was way beyond that offhand description of a brief. In her past life, talking to a brief and having your collar felt by the Old Bill went together like fish and chips. Not any more.
"You're as loyal to Karen, admit it, in the same way that John and I are loyal to each other in our fashion, despite outward appearances." "Tell me more, Jo." "I don't know if it helps, but John and I have loved each other despite the many times he has strayed." "Like with Karen." "How did you know?" "No man blows up like a landmine over a woman even over what that bastard of a brief did to Karen." Jo smiled to herself. So, Yvonne had spotted that one too and with far less knowledge of john than she had. Yvonne certainly spotted things that her pompous colleagues in chambers would have missed by a mile. "You're right, but don't underestimate that very real, very chivalrous side of John. That was the very first thing that attracted me when I first knew him, attracted me at a time when I was comfortably married to a good man. I was happy and settled up till then. I might have married him if only……." Yvonne couldn't get her head round this one. The judge clearly played away from home when he had the chance, acted just the same way as Charlie did in this respect. Yet her regard for him was not that of her attraction despite herself for the 'all men are bastards' club. This bloke was different, decent in his way and stood between her Lauren getting a long stretch. She carried on chatting to this friendly woman who, in turn, resolved to give Yvonne the letters from Ritchie later in the day. That was the reason she had come to see her, after all.
Right at the end of the Friday afternoon, Jo had nipped back into the courtroom once the initial surge of people heading for home and hearth had expended itself. She sought permission to extract from the bundle of original documents, Ritchie's letters to Yvonne and Lauren. They belonged to Yvonne, so Jo's sense of doing justice argued, and it was only the necessity of court proceedings that had held them from her for as long as was necessary. Despite her brave words to Yvonne, her hopes were like a blind step in the dark to keep Yvonne's spirits up and, by extension, her own. She leafed her way through the very familiar order of the evidence in the box files and found the right polythene enclosure and slid out the two very ordinary notes of scribblings on prison issue paper. Yet these had gone to the heart of the tragedy that had overtaken the lives of so many. They had even drawn in herself, George and John himself in knowledge of actions, which all three knew they should never have possessed in advance of public knowledge. She realised that all of them had reacted to that primal fear of being caught on the wrong side of the wire, and that logic and reason had nothing to do with it.
Jo carefully folded them up inside the polythene wrapping and tucked them in the safest part of her handbag for safe keeping. She stared round the empty court and smiled fondly at the vacant space in the gallery once occupied by that very remarkable female support group. She had glimpsed them from afar for the last two weeks and had been privileged to spend lunchtime being among them. It was a very new experience to her. She couldn't define it but it felt good. A feeling of sheer exhaustion overtook her as she made her way to her car and she battled her weary way homewards through the bumper to bumper traffic gridlocks of London.
One of Jo's few lotus-eating indulgences was lying in bed on a Saturday morning after a long hard trial which this one had been. Life was easier as she got older as in past years, she was 'mum' from the moment her two lively little boys woke up in the morning and somehow she summoned the energy to rouse herself out of bed and that other Jo Mills took over from her. The hundred and one activities that children will demand of the parent was something that the relentlessly and conventionally minded colleagues in the chambers would never understand. In every unguarded syllable was the dimly sensed shape of the female nestmaker who ensured that every perfectly turned out male barrister could singlemindedly devote himself to his career with the occasional reference to the family outings which 'he' had taken the wife and children to. That kind of smugness about them irritated her as much as she solidly disapproved of the professional ethics of two of their kind like Neumann Mason-Alan and Brian Cantwell. True, she had once been like one of those consorts when she was younger, when she had married. He had been a good man and had been all the world to her. Sharing his bed, going everywhere with him and the natural physical intimacy that marriage brings had been natural, part of her life, as had been the physical flowering of motherhood. She had taken to both like a duck had to water with no thoughts that life could map out anything different.
At that age, the modern Jo ruefully reflected, you never know the twists and turns life can take and when you are young, you are more confident and less aware of the pitfalls that you can step into.
She stretched out for her cigarette packet and her lighter for her first thing in the morning cigarette. That was one of her indulgences, which she sacrificed when she slept with John. Well, John Deed, you are not here to silently disapprove of me, she smiled to herself as she blew smoke into the air. She had as much unfettered space to stretch out in her double bed as to feel unconstrained in what she did on a sunny Saturday morning, to read a newspaper if she wanted to, and to get up whenever she liked. She knew Mark was asleep in his bedroom next to hers, but he had reached the teenage years when he would respond to any friendly move into his space by that suspicious grunt of annoyance and the sort of inarticulate frozen atmosphere by which he hoped that his mother would get the point. At that age, he was defiantly and insecurely trying to establish himself as other than the son of the famous barrister. There was an unspoken agreement that he would go his way and she would go hers so long as he kept up with his studies and she wouldn't interfere. Therefore, on a Saturday morning, both of them blissfully whiled away the morning with a whole weekend to unwind before them.
Sunday morning for Jo was a different matter, as she bustled round the house early to make way for what she had in mind to do.
"Hello Yvonne, it's Jo Mills." "To what do I owe the phone call, Jo?" her faintly mocking tones could be heard with an underlay of real pleasure of friendly and welcome human contact.
"Is it all right if I call round and see you? I was going to return Ritchie's letters to you if you want them. "Well," came the dragged out response, "Victoria Beckham has just phoned me up and said that she's ever so sorry, she's jet setting off to the Algarve for a photo shoot and my extensive social life is a bit thin on the ground. Yeah, of course you can, so long as you're not just going to act as postman. You don't get away as easily as that." "I wouldn't expect any less, Yvonne." Jo's warm tones cheered Yvonne up as she had paced about the house like a caged tigress all morning. Yvonne had literally sweated out the longest weekend in her life by unbearable second after second of the clock, which had ticked away. When you have a daughter who could be banged up for life and your existence feels suspended, helpless, by the dangerously random fate of a jury and a judge, however sympathetic the guy might be. She liked the judge but she knew only too well that he has a job to do. Helen Stewart had taught her that one, both seen from afar at Larkhall and recently, from the steady drip by drip of conversations over the last two weeks. Of course, she wasn't the only authority figure who she knew but she firmly slammed the door on the train of thought on that one. She had quite enough on her bleeding plate. At that point, she'd ground out her cigarette and jumped to her feet. She had proceeded to hoover and dust the house from top to bottom all Saturday to keep herself busy so she wouldn't brood. When the terrifying prospect of that loomed up close, she went round the house and bagged up a lot of superfluous junk which she'd always meant to get rid of but never got round to it. That night, the house was immaculate and she was physically tired out but for a long time, her brain refused to shut down when it ought to. She had taken a long time to settle to sleep, even with more alcohol inside her than she normally drank. As she lay in bed that night, she thought bitterly that none of Charlie's old friends had found time to phone her up today and why should they act any different tomorrow? Even if it had been a long time since they'd spoken to her, surely they would have the guts to get past that one. What appealed to her least of all was the way they paraded around with guns in their pockets bragging to each other how tough and hard they were. It was a men's club and all they did was compete with each other. Women were just decorative adornments in their lives. When it came down to it, they were little boys, poncing around with their toys and they just didn't have what it took, not compared to the women she had known from Larkhall. As she woke up in the dark very early on the Sunday morning, half of her wished that she could transport herself in time to the Monday which would determine her life and the other half was more frightened to the marrow of her bones than she would ever let on to anyone, no matter how close she was to them. No one could take that fear away from her or could shoulder that burden. It was at that moment that Jo Mills had phoned and her unconscious prayer for something to get her way through the day was answered. She couldn't bleeding well untidy the house and tidy it up, that would be mad stuff.
Like others before her, Jo marvelled at the sheer expanse of Yvonne's house and the obviously large garden that lay at the back of it. All the trees were bare and winter's leaves lay scattered on the drive outside but Jo could see that summertime at Yvonne's would be a different affair. She knocked at the door and Jo was touched at the huge smile with which Yvonne greeted her. She could see the dark shadows under her eyes that even the expert touch of her makeup could not quite conceal. On her part, propriety held her back from giving Jo a big hug to express her gratitude at human company. You didn't do that sort of thing with female briefs. "Come in, Jo," Yvonne offered expansively.
Jo followed, wide eyed to see how much of a luxurious lifestyle was built on crime. She knew that phrase as one that she had used in court. It was just that she had never come across the reality of it.
"It's nice and quiet round here," Jo remarked conversationally.
"Too bloody quiet," Came the throaty answer putting a different spin on the word.
"I know what you said, Jo about if the jury is out for a long time, that's a good sign. But a sign of what? How many years does that mean, that's what's hammering at my brain. I'm more scared of this than anything else I've ever faced in my life." "Because it's your daughter and not you," Jo gently interposed. "…and because you can't do anything about it." A warm smile spread slowly across Yvonne's drawn features and she blinked back a few tears out of her eyes. This quiet woman dressed in a simple open necked blouse and a pair of casual trousers was a mile away from the court dignitary. That battling woman dressed in her formal gown and wig pitching it strong to that weasel of a brief should have been another woman altogether, yet there was no sense of artificial distinction.
"I'm a mother too, and it doesn't take rocket science to work out how you're feeling." Yvonne warmed to this unpretentious woman who was turning out to be very relaxing company.
They both heard a soft padding sound and a large black Alsatian trotted eagerly up to them. All day yesterday, he had been vaguely disconsolate as he sensed his mistress was upset and was bustling about. He had managed as best as he could till some kind fate provided him with a new visitor. "This is the famous Trigger," Yvonne introduced him with a grin as was his due.
Jo immediately made friends with this large black soppy dog who clearly didn't have an ounce of harm in him.
"So this is the dog who supposedly terrified the life out of that idiot policeman?" Jo laughed.
"Yeah well, frightening the life out of policemen was part of his training," Yvonne grinned.
Yvonne nipped off to make two cups of steaming hot coffee in her pristine kitchen. Sometime yesterday, she must have blitzed her way through it though she could not remember when.
Presently, they sat at ease facing each other and chatting away more comfortably. The thought that she was deviating away from her normal professional custom in socialising with clients drifted past her like a gust of cold wind outside the living room window as of no significance. With a huge feeling of relief, Yvonne grasped in turn at the company she was being offered and she kept the conversation light.
"You're pretty close to the judge, Jo." "Only so far. It's complicated." "Try me." "There's the matter of professional ethics of a barrister appearing before a judge. Ex-wives and ex-partners are fine. Current wives and current partners are a definite no no. They think there's a risk of pillow talk." Jo's studied distancing of herself from the code of conduct was not lost on Yvonne. This was a new world to her but she's never too late to learn.
"So that hasn't stopped you any more than you came close to doing over that brief of theirs, after he tried to ruin Karen." In turn, the repressed anger with which Yvonne spoke conveyed a peculiar flavour to Jo. It was half directed at Karen and half protective of her.
"You're still very fond of Karen, aren't you." "She's with George now," Yvonne said non-committally. "That's been bleeding obvious through the trial, but she's been there when all Charlie's friends have done bugger all." "I found that out when I spotted a very indiscreet George, who blushed a very delicate shade of pink when she noticed me." Yvonne couldn't help a faint smile at Jo's delicately drawn mental portrait. When she lost her sense of humour, that's a sign that she's really down and out, mentally and physically. The way they had drifted into this conversation brought the barriers down on something she'd turned over at the back of her mind since the trial started. Until now, the fierce rush of events had prevented her from properly thinking about it apart from that one conversation with Karen when she had tried her best not to appear a jealous cow. "Karen's got the right to see who she wants. It's not as if she's handcuffed to me, it's just that…….." "I know." Jo's simple words might have seemed banal from anyone else but not her. Yvonne could see that Jo spoke from her heart quite as much as she spoke from her head. More than ever, Yvonne could tell that Jo was way beyond that offhand description of a brief. In her past life, talking to a brief and having your collar felt by the Old Bill went together like fish and chips. Not any more.
"You're as loyal to Karen, admit it, in the same way that John and I are loyal to each other in our fashion, despite outward appearances." "Tell me more, Jo." "I don't know if it helps, but John and I have loved each other despite the many times he has strayed." "Like with Karen." "How did you know?" "No man blows up like a landmine over a woman even over what that bastard of a brief did to Karen." Jo smiled to herself. So, Yvonne had spotted that one too and with far less knowledge of john than she had. Yvonne certainly spotted things that her pompous colleagues in chambers would have missed by a mile. "You're right, but don't underestimate that very real, very chivalrous side of John. That was the very first thing that attracted me when I first knew him, attracted me at a time when I was comfortably married to a good man. I was happy and settled up till then. I might have married him if only……." Yvonne couldn't get her head round this one. The judge clearly played away from home when he had the chance, acted just the same way as Charlie did in this respect. Yet her regard for him was not that of her attraction despite herself for the 'all men are bastards' club. This bloke was different, decent in his way and stood between her Lauren getting a long stretch. She carried on chatting to this friendly woman who, in turn, resolved to give Yvonne the letters from Ritchie later in the day. That was the reason she had come to see her, after all.