Fault (Define Book 3) Read online

“Mark, the solicitor, can argue insanity or something called diminished responsibility.” I could see Dad watching her intently as she explained. “If they can prove she was insane, she gets put in a mental institution indefinitely. If they can argue diminished responsibility, she can get a shorter sentence but will still be in prison for years.” I watched her crumble into herself as realisation overtook her, but didn’t know what to do. Nothing I could say would stop her family being broken apart forever.

  “So it’s definitely a murder charge?” The little I knew of the law meant I at least understood the significance between murder and manslaughter—and what that meant for Andrea’s chance of release.

  “Apparently the CPS lawyer is a real bastard. Mark said he has prosecuted, and won, cases against women who have been victims of domestic violence for years. He is gripping onto Mum’s admission and refusing to consider anything other than a charge of murder.”

  “Shit. What does Mark think of his chances of convincing a jury otherwise?”

  Grace’s face told me more than her words. “He’s a really nice guy and everything but the way he talked about it, I think he’s already given up.” She took a deep breath. “How on Earth do I tell Josh about this? Like me, he’s believed that we needed only got to get to the trial and then it would be over. We would all be back together again.”

  A part of my heart withered at that thought, even though I knew it was wrong to be feeling in any way glad that it was no longer going to happen.

  “Do you need to tell him? See how the case preparation goes. If it looks as bad as it does today, you can tell him just before the trial. Have they set a date yet?”

  “It’s being confirmed next week, along with the charge. Mark says it will probably be late November or early December.” She stood and stretched. “I’m going to take a shower and then go to see Josh.” I watched her leave, aware that I wasn’t the person she needed right then.

  Dad’s grunt pulled me back from wondering how I could ease some of her pain.

  “You okay?” He seemed agitated and manoeuvred himself out of his chair. “What do you want?” His only reply was another grunt as he made his way to the corner storage unit. With his one hand, he opened drawer after drawer, seeking something. Gripping a pen and notepad in his hand, a determined smile on his face, he made his way back to his chair. This was the first time he had sought to do anything new, to challenge the limits he had accepted, in months. I was uncertain of what to do and could only watch as he slowly found a clean page and clasped the pen in his left hand. Like a toddler struggling to write their first letters, his forehead clenched in concentration as he slowly turned lines into shapes that made sense.

  Loss of control.

  Those three words seemed to take a lifetime to write, yet I didn’t know what they meant. Loss of control? Who had a loss of control?

  “What do you mean? Andrea lost control? Is that why the solicitor is talking about diminished responsibility?”

  Research it.

  “Okay. Do you want dinner first?”

  Now.

  Somehow we had gone from no formal communication to him ordering me around and, as happy as I was with this development, there was a part of me envious of Grace’s power. He had picked up that pen and paper for her but had refused to do so for me so many times. But was I really in the position to judge him for falling under her spell too?

  I collected my iPad from the kitchen and sat next to him. It didn’t take long for Google to show me what he meant, that there was an alternative defence of loss of control. As I read through pages of legal jargon, it seemed like Dad might be right. Maybe this could help Andrea’s case. His grin told me of his pride at still being able to see the crux of a story.

  “Once a journalist, always a journalist, eh? I’m going to sort dinner, and then we can look at this again later.” I high-fived him and left him feeling smug.

  Grace joined me in the kitchen, and I told her about what Dad had said. She went to the lounge to get my iPad so she could read it for herself, but came back and silently beckoned me to follow her. Dad was sat in his chair, iPad balanced on his table, using his left hand to scroll down whatever he was reading. Tears burnt at the backs of my eyes at what this meant, and Grace’s arms wrapped around my waist as we watched him battle frustration but determined to succeed. We crept back to the kitchen before he spotted us.

  “I can’t believe it. After all this time.” That mix of pride and anger was still clouding my mind. It was completely different to him using the Kindle. This was a way for him to connect to the real world instead of hiding in fictional ones.

  “I know. But this could make such a difference, Noah. There are apps you can get to help people with physical disabilities. You can even get ones that talk what you type! Imagine your dad being able to communicate fully again.”

  I could imagine it but, whilst it might have all seemed hunky-dory to Grace, it worried me. We had created a life that worked. Could we cope with such a change as this? More to the point, could I? God, I knew it was a selfish reaction but I couldn’t stop myself thinking it.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “When you told me about your dad’s therapy after the stroke, I looked it up and found some forums. I was going to suggest giving it a try, but you were so convinced that he wouldn’t be willing.”

  “He wasn’t when it was only him and maybe me who could gain from it. This was about wanting to help you, so it was worth the effort, I suppose.” There it was again, that little green flicker of jealousy. But she saw it and called me on it.

  “That’s bullshit. This isn’t about me. He wants to make you happy by helping me. That’s all he ever wants, Noah—you just don’t always see it. Don’t make me the bad guy here.” She took a step back but refused to break eye contact. I both loved and hated the strength she was able to draw on.

  “That’s not what I’m trying to do, honestly. My mind is just all over the place. I’m sorry. We should be focusing on you and your mum’s case right now, not giving into my petty jealousy.” A smile warmed her face and she let me approach her. “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling her to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She smirked, giving me a girlfriend wave that looked too cute to make me do anything but smile in return. “You’re sorry. I’m over it. Your dad’s a genius. Now, what’s for dinner?”

  I gave her the world’s sloppiest kiss and went back to making fajitas.

  When we returned to the lounge, the iPad was back where I had left it, and we let Dad think we didn’t know his secret. I needed to think carefully about how I broached the subject of him trying to use it. However, as was becoming the norm, Grace beat me to it.

  She came home the next day after her shift at Stagestars with a bag from the electronics shop in town. Tipping the contents out onto the kitchen counter, the buzz of her excitement was contagious.

  “The guy in the shop was so helpful,” she gushed. I hated said guy in said shop and silently vowed never to darken their door again. “Look, this is an easy-grip stylus which should make it easier for him to navigate on screen. And this keyboard connects via Bluetooth but has bigger keys to make it easier to use. He could even use the stylus to press keys if he was struggling to make his movements accurate enough. Justin said that his nan uses one of these and they can’t get her off the Internet now!”

  I wasn’t convinced that Justin told every attractive female customer about his probably fictional grandmother but didn’t want to spoil her enthusiasm.

  “It looks great. How much did it cost? I’ve got some cash here but can drop by the cashpoint tomorrow if need be.”

  “I don’t want your money. It’s a gift. From me to your dad.” Her tone made it clear arguing wasn’t an option, so I conceded defeat.

  “Let me thank you on his behalf, then,” I said, leaning over and trying to convey how much she meant to me in a kiss. We drew apart several breathless seconds later.
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  “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. So thank you for your thank you, kind sir. Now let me tell you the plan.”

  I listened as she told me that she wanted to raise the topic with Dad and I had to agree with her that he was more likely to accept it from her.

  A few days later, I sequestered myself upstairs to deal with an impending deadline and give Grace the time to work her magic on Dad. By the time I came down for lunch, he was engrossed by the tablet, television all but forgotten. She smiled and said nothing. I smiled and told her I loved her.

  “I DIDN’T SPEND long considering a loss of control defence, Grace, as it is a much higher bar to pass than diminished responsibility. Case law tells us that, in the few years since the defence was introduced, it has been applied quite harshly by judges and, as such, legal precedent makes it unappealing as a defence.” Mark’s words extinguished the small flame of hope that had been burning since Max’s revelation.

  “I looked at the criteria and it seemed that Andrea met them,” Noah said, placing an anchoring hand on my thigh under the conference table we were sat at in Mark’s office. “I may not have a legal background, but it seemed to me that she met them quite comfortably.”

  Mark straightened in his chair. “The issue is that all three criteria have to be met. Whilst I agree that we can probably convince a jury that Andrea killed him due to a loss of self-control and that the nature of the attack on Grace constitutes a so-called qualifying trigger, the third point is my concern. We would have to get the jury to believe that, if they were in the same position Andrea found herself in, that they would do the same thing. Whilst they will undoubtedly empathise with her, especially any who are parents, nobody wants to believe that they are capable of murder. So most juries have not agreed with the defence. If they don’t, they have to find her guilty of murder, and she faces a lifetime sentence.” His words took that small wick of hope and trampled it into the ground, destroying any hope of it rekindling.

  “So you’re saying that she has better odds of the jury accepting diminished responsibility? What difference does that make to the time she will have to spend in prison?”

  “Both defences would mean that the jury returns a verdict of not guilty of murder but guilty of manslaughter. The sentence is up to the judge to decide on—usually a few days after the end of the trial and once the jury has been dismissed. There has to be a custodial sentence for manslaughter, but it can be any length, including life imprisonment.”

  “But what impact will it have on sentencing?” Noah persisted.

  “I don’t know. Possibly, and I stress possibly, a successful loss of control defence will make the judge more open to leniency. But as I said before, it’s a much harder fight to get the jury to give the judge that power in the first place.”

  “Have you discussed these options with Mum?” I believed the loss of control defence was a better option, but it wasn’t my choice to make.

  “Well, that’s the problem. Your mum is still refusing to engage with me. She says she is guilty and will, I quote, ‘take whatever she is given’.” His use of air quotes made her opinion sound silly and anger forced me to my feet.

  “Maybe the problem is that attitude! This is my mother we’re talking about. How dare you be so dismissive of her!”

  Noah pulled me back down to my seat, sensing that an emotional breakdown loomed on the horizon. “Do you think it would be worth us talking to her about it?”

  “It can’t do any harm,” Mark conceded. “I didn’t mean to upset or offend you, Grace, but it’s all very frustrating. I could be working with Andrea on her defence, bringing in medical experts to assess her, helping to prepare her for court and so on. But she refuses everything. I’m working in isolation and that won’t get us the verdict we want. I suppose the question is whether Andrea wants the same verdict we do.”

  That bombshell of a statement stuck with me, playing over and over in my mind as we left Mark and returned home. Did she want to come back to Josh and me? Why wouldn’t she?

  “I’VE GOT TO visit the head office in London in a couple of weeks. Do you fancy coming with me? I’ve only got one meeting, and we can spend the rest of the day playing tourists.” Noah’s question was spoken into my hair as I lay spooned into his chest that night.

  “That sounds great. Will Max be okay?” We’d had to confiscate the iPad earlier as he had become almost as obsessed with it as he had been with the news channels. I swear he had barely looked up from the screen since I’d kitted him out with the stylus. He was making slow progress with the keyboard, but he was certainly finding his way around the wonders of the World Wide Web without any trouble.

  “Yeah. He can stay for dinner at the centre or Bob might be willing to come over for a few hours. I’ve done it before without any problem. We can get the early train down and be back before eight.” His hand stroked across my stomach before inching its way closer to my breast. “What do you fancy doing? A museum? Hyde Park? We’ve probably got time to catch a matinee show if you wanted.”

  I tried to ignore the circles he was skating with his fingertips so I could think of an answer.

  “I don’t mind. I’ve only ever been once and that was when Jake… well, when it happened. We hadn’t even visited anywhere before we had to go down to Brighton.” I shuddered at the memory of that horrible night, and Noah’s hand stopped and pulled me closer instead. “You choose.”

  “Okay. It’s a date.”

  “A date date?”

  “Yes, Little Miss Inquisitive. A date date like you’ve never experienced before.”

  Thinking back to the other official date we had, I knew Noah would make the day special. I changed position to face him.

  “Will I have to be virtuous again?” I dragged my nails down his chest, eliciting a shiver from him that cursed into me too.

  “Well, we will be in public,” he replied, tugging my head back so my mouth angled towards his.

  “That’s going to be hard.” I emphasised my point with a slight rotation of my hips. It was definitely hard. It seemed like we would both need more practice at being virtuous if the next hour was anything to go by.

  Whilst we still hadn’t had sex, most nights were spent driving each other and ourselves as close to that line as was humanly possible. We hadn’t talked about why the next step hadn’t happened; I sensed that Noah was waiting for me to make it clear I was ready. I was ready, but I wasn’t in any hurry. Before Noah, sex had happened pretty early in my few relationships with boys. There was little genuine emotion involved so there was no risk and low expectation. This time it was different. This time it was love. It was everything.

  Noah was everything.

  I COULDN’T GET Noah added to the VO form without Mum’s agreement, so I went to visit her alone but determined to tell her all about our relationship. Mum sat at our usual table, a silent ghost. Walking across the room to her, I understood why these visits were so emotional. It was like Dad and Jake all over again. I mourned her. I grieved for her. Not for the faded spectre in front of me, but for the mother she had once been. The wife. The young woman hoping to become an art teacher. Who could blame her for thinking there was no hope left?

  “Hi, Mum,” I started, reaching across the table to take her hand in mine as soon as I was seated. It sat limp in mine, but I was grateful that she didn’t pull it away. “We need to talk.” Understatement of the century. “By that, I don’t mean me talk at you until I leave. I want a conversation, your input.” She looked up at me but maintained her silence.

  “Can you remember when you told me the facts of life and periods? We sat on my bed, holding hands like this, and you told me how important it was to ask any questions I had, that you wanted me to feel like I properly understood everything you were telling me.” A dim light appeared in her eyes. She remembered. “This is like that time. I want you to ask any questions you have. I need you to ask them. Okay?” She squeezed my hand in response and hope started to grow.

  “You k
now I’m living with Noah and Max? Well, I’m kind of going out with Noah. No, let me rephrase that. I’m in love with Noah, and he loves me back. Can I tell you about it?”

  “Yes.”

  The tears that threatened to fall were as much for her agreement as they were for having my first opportunity to talk about everything Noah meant to me, everything he had done for me. As much as I tried to avoid gushing, I couldn’t help myself and my emotions poured out of me.

  “How do you know you love him?” Her question surprised me, and I took a moment to consider my answer, keen to make her understand.

  “You know that photo of you and Dad where you’re pregnant with Jake and he has his hand on your tummy? And the sunset is casting that perfect glow around the two of you?” Her eyes glistened as she visualised the photo, and probably the day itself. “Light surrounds me when I’m with him, even if everywhere else is dark. Just the touch of his hand anchors me, helps me to pause and see the truth around me.”

  “It sounds like he might be good enough to deserve you,” she said, taking my other hand. “Just don’t forget who you are and what you can be. You have such a wonderful life ahead of you. I know it.”

  I hadn’t believed that I would hear such words from her again; I couldn’t remember the last time she had given me such advice, such thought. However, I knew I couldn’t wallow in the moment. I had to exploit it.

  “If you think I have a wonderful life ahead of me, why don’t you want to see it?”

  She pulled her hands away from mine, even more surprised by my question than I was by my courage in asking it. “What do you mean?” The tone of her voice had lost its softness but remained clear.

  “I’ve been to see Mark, and he says you aren’t interested in preparing a defence, even though that means you could spend the rest of your life in here. Why, Mum? Don’t you want to see me and Josh grow up? Get jobs? Get married? Have kids? I just don’t get it.” Leaning back in my chair, I waited to hear what she had to say, knowing it was unlikely to make me happy.