Leo had spent the entire day working on the cross-examination in a case involving a collision between a container vessel and an LPG carrier in the Gulf of Aden. The hearing was two weeks away, and so far the main stumbling block in the case was a conflict of evidence regarding the lights on the container vessel on the night of the collision. Leo’s phone rang at five o’clock. It was Robin Maudsley, the instructing solicitor.
‘Bit of a turn-up for the books. You know the Portuguese officer who was on watch on the night of the collision? We’ve tracked him down. He’s a crew member on a ship coming into Tilbury tomorrow afternoon. He says there was definitely no light on the container vessel on the night of the collision.’
‘My God.’ Leo jotted a hasty note. ‘That drives a coach and horses through their defence. Fantastic.’
‘Obviously it’s going to change your entire cross-examination, so you’ll want to speak to him after we’ve taken his statement. His ship sails the next morning, so if you get down there around six, that should be good timing.
Oliver’s concert. Leo’s heart sank. There was simply no way round this. This was the only opportunity he’d have to talk to the officer and go through his statement with him, and he couldn’t miss it. It was a miracle they’d tracked him down. It meant the difference between winning and losing the case.
‘I’ll be at your office within half an hour to discuss the witness statement,’ said Leo.
He rang Rachel on the way and explained the situation.
‘Poor Ollie,’ said Rachel. ‘He’s going to be gutted. He so wanted you to be there. I knew something like this would happen. I shouldn’t have got his hopes up.’
‘Don’t. I’m feeling bad enough.’
‘It isn’t your fault. These things happen.’
‘What time does the concert end?’
‘It’s only an hour long.’
Leo sighed. ‘There’s no way I can make it. Tell Oliver …’ He paused. ‘Tell him how sorry I am. Explain it. Tell him it’s a big case, a really important one. And that I’ll see him at the weekend.’
‘I will.’
Leo clicked off the hands-free and sighed. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d meant when he was talking to Henry earlier. Missing bits and pieces of Oliver’s life. It would go on happening over the next few years. And at the end of those years, when you put those bits and pieces together, there would be a great big gaping hole.
He made his decision as he wove through the evening traffic to Maudsley’s office. Enough of this. Enough of the stress and strain. As a judge he’d be working regular hours, able to see much more of Oliver and be a proper part of his life. And at the end of twenty years, when Oliver was grown up, he’d cop a nice, fat pension and retire. No more sitting on the fence, canvassing other people’s opinions. He would do it. He would download the application form first thing tomorrow.
After work Sarah went to Toby’s flat and let herself in. She’d been trying his mobile since mid afternoon, but he’d evidently switched it off. She’d stopped off at Waitrose to buy groceries, intending to cook them both a meal, over which they would talk through the situation calmly and rationally. All the time a thread of panic was running through her thoughts. How much did Toby have saved? How big was the mortgage on his flat? How quickly could he get another job? Toby might not be the most electrifying person in the world, but the flip side of that was that he was stable and dependable. She reassured herself with that thought. He wouldn’t let their dream future go to the wall. He’d find a way through.
But when Toby arrived home four hours later, it was all he could do to find his way through the front door.
‘Have you been in the pub all this time?’ asked Sarah, as Toby slumped on the sofa, his keys in one hand, his black plastic bag in the other. His tie was loose and his hair a mess. ‘You look like shit.’
‘Yup,’ said Toby, nodding slowly and emphatically.
‘It’s not the answer, you know.’ The panic she had been supressing all day began to rise to the surface. He didn’t look safe and dependable at that moment, or like a man ready to square up to his problems and find an answer. He looked like a big, drunken schoolboy.
He raised bleary eyes to hers. ‘And the answer is – what, exactly? ’Cos if you know, please tell me.’
Sarah had seen Toby drunk before, getting convivially sloshed at dinner parties along with other well-heeled, successful young brokers and bankers. But that was a bright, joyous kind of drunkenness, with the sheen of success about it. At this moment Toby looked wrecked and deflated, the prosperous glaze replaced by the dull, seedy misery of a man out of a job. She knew there was no point in reproaching him. Things were bad enough without a row.