A Form of Justice Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  A FORM OF JUSTICE

  First edition. February 27, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Dawn Marsanne.

  ISBN: 978-1386933908

  Written by Dawn Marsanne.

  A FORM OF JUSTICE

  by

  Dawn Marsanne

  For Jonathan

  For your support, love and encouragement.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  Author’s note

  Part 1

  Canterbury

  June 2018

  Chapter 1

  ‘Hello, Melanie, come in and take a seat,’ offered Trish Webster.

  ‘Thanks. Oops, sorry,’ she replied, as she caught her leg against the low table causing a glass of water to wobble precariously. Melanie was always nervous before each weekly counselling session, and her state of mind manifested itself in her clumsy demeanour. On her way to the health centre this morning, she’d tripped several times on the uneven pavements and now her black trousers were mud spattered from an inelegant stumble through a puddle.

  ‘Don’t worry. Take a few minutes to settle yourself. It’s a dreadful morning out there, you must have had to practically swim to get here,’ said Trish solicitously.

  The heat had been building for weeks, and that morning the dry spell had been broken by a torrential thunderstorm which had made the atmosphere humid and unpleasant.

  Melanie frowned, ‘Oh, yes, I’m a bit soggy. Although, now it looks as though it’s brightening up.’ Her long, almost black hair was swept back and pinned up high on her head and had stayed remarkably tidy despite the heavy rain. Only a few errant strands had escaped and lay stuck to her temples. She ran her hand over her forehead, gathering up the annoying hairs and reuniting them with the rest of her thick mane. With her pale complexion contrasting with her black tresses, Melanie could be a natural beauty, had her attractiveness not been tempered by the pain and anguish which lay beneath her visage. Trish wondered how long had it been since her muscles had relaxed into a genuine beaming smile. Too long, no doubt.

  ‘Take your time, there’s no rush,’ said Trish. She looked through the folder in front of her so as not to put her client under pressure. She got up from her seat and went over to the desk to put her laptop to sleep. The familiar noises of the busy health centre punctuated the silence; doors closing, footsteps passing the room, a car beeping its horn at another in the small tightly packed car park. Trish returned to her seat at the small table and sat down, adjusting her beige linen trousers at the knee and pulling her blouse down slightly at the collar to make it sit more comfortably.

  ‘I’m OK now, better to get started,’ replied Melanie. The tension was clearly visible in her neck, and the tendons stood out, so taut they looked like they could be plucked to produce a tune. Her teeth were clenched together making her cheeks rigid, and her whole visage resembled that of an alabaster sculpture.

  ‘So, how have you been feeling generally during the last week?’

  ‘A little better, thanks. I’ve been doing the breathing exercises. I think they are helping.’

  ‘That’s excellent. In what way have you noticed them helping?’

  ‘They’ve helped take the edge off the anxiety at times, if I remember to do them.’

  ‘That’s great, you’re doing really well. It can be difficult to remember to do them when anxiety kicks in. Try to practise them at times when you feel calm too, as that can make it easier when you really need them’.

  ‘Yes, I keep forgetting, but I might try to do them each morning’

  ‘Good idea. So how often have you been experiencing the anxiety in the last week? Has there been any change?’

  ‘Most days, if anything, I think it’s getting worse’

  ‘Have you noticed what has been triggering it?’

  ‘It can come out of the blue but always when I think about my childhood. I just can’t get it out of my head, images just pop into my mind and won’t go away. I want to forget those years. I wish my childhood had never happened. I just want to start remembering at the age of eighteen.’

  ‘That sounds really upsetting, and wanting to forget is completely understandable, but as you know, sadly we can’t change the past. However, as we discussed last week, we can work together to find ways to help you to cope with the memories in a way that doesn’t cause you so much distress in the present.’

  Melanie nodded. ‘I know what you said last week but I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think I can do it, it upsets me too much to think about when I was a child, I just can’t talk about it.’

  ‘It is your choice of course, and we would only talk about what happened, when and if, you feel ready. At the moment the memories are popping up unexpectedly and causing you distress every day. Sometimes choosing to talk about memories can help people to feel more in control, with the potential benefit of reducing their power over you.’

  ‘I know you’re right and that does make sense, it’s just hard to contemplate at the moment. It’s not just about my parents and all the arguing, it’s got so much worse. That’s why I’m in a state today. Something has happened on top of those things we’ve already talked about. I wish she would leave me alone’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Do you feel able to tell me what’s happened?’ Trish wondered if her mother had been in contact but didn’t want to push her for answers if she wasn’t ready to talk. Her curiosity got the better of her, and after another tense silence, she followed up on this. ‘Did your mother contact you?’

  ‘My mother? Oh, no, we hardly ever speak.’ Melanie’s voice began to waver. Suddenly she burst into tears which turned into sobs. Trish passed over a box of tissues and waited for a few minutes.

  ‘I was OK but then she contacted me, and since then I’ve been having nightmares.’

  Trish felt confused. ‘I’m sorry, who contacted you?’

  ‘Someone from my old school contacted me on Facebook, and it just brought it all back.’ Melanie started to sob again.

  Trish handed her another tissue

  ‘Sorry, it just comes over me. I wish I c
ould turn the clock back, I would have been alright if she hadn’t messaged me. I’d managed to push it all into the background.’

  There was another pause, but this time Trish waited until Melanie was ready to continue.

  ‘I was bullied, for years. I stopped eating. It turned into anorexia, and I nearly died. Oh, God. I can’t cope. It’s awful, you’ve no idea.’ The tears cascaded down her cheeks once more, causing the tissue to disintegrate as she wiped her face.

  Trish looked at the young woman before her. She was still painfully thin but not critically so. She felt genuine sadness for someone in her mid-twenties who had already suffered so much and was now overwhelmed and powerless in the face of these re-triggered experiences. Melanie was in no state to continue for the moment. Trish held out the bin for the shreds of tissues and offered the box to her to take more.

  ‘Thank you for telling me. I can see that was really hard for you to say’.

  Melanie nodded and was struggling to hold back the tears.

  ‘Would you like some water?’

  Melanie nodded again and looked grateful for the potential break from talking.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  As Trish stood up, she felt dizzy and had to hold on to the wall. A sudden hot flush spread over her face, and she could feel the perspiration breaking out on her back. How much longer would these awful menopausal symptoms carry on? Her loss of consciousness was fleeting, but as the present reclaimed her, some images of her own past loomed into focus.

  ‘Oh, God, no, please,’ she inwardly intoned. Taking some deep breaths, she hurried into the corridor, flapping her blouse away from her chest as she walked along. Thankfully, she wasn’t having one of her really heavy menstrual days or she would feel even worse. As she poured the water, she clung to the fact that at fifty-one she had now reached the mean age for menopause. Surely it couldn’t be much longer until she was over the worst?

  Before returning to her client she tore off a piece of kitchen roll and dampened it with cold water, then pressed it to the back of her neck. Her shoulder length hair was beginning to lose its natural ash blonde colour. Soon there would be more grey than blonde, but nature had dealt her some good fortune as the subtle change in pigment actually looked like highlights. As far as Trish felt, that was was about the only favourable part of the menopause, a small crumb of benevolence being bestowed upon her amongst a sea of unpleasant consequences. In her few solitary moments she managed to reassert control over her feelings. Her focus must be on her client, not herself.

  Poor Melanie. She was in a far worse state. It didn’t take years of training to notice her fragility. There was a heap of work to be done to give her some confidence to live her life to the full and help her out of this severe onslaught of anxiety and depression. Trish was aware that she needed to reassess risk with Melanie before the end of the session. It was her responsibility to evaluate whether Melanie was in danger of harming herself in any way, and at this moment Trish was not so sure.

  As she walked slowly back to the room, she mentally prepared herself for the difficult half hour ahead.

  Chapter 2

  Gina Overton was busily preparing for the long-awaited SEKare Inquiry which was scheduled to begin the following week. Her office at a barristers’ chambers in Canterbury was on the top floor of a building which dated from the Victorian era and had retained many of the original features, such as fireplaces, cornices and ceiling rose. After the early morning rain, the strong summer sunlight was now penetrating the sash windows, heating the already warm office. Gina opened the window a few more inches and adjusted the blinds to block out the sun’s rays. As she sat at her desk, a cacophony of young voices from a group of passing students filtered in through the six-inch gap. Gina listened, identifying them as Spanish voices, for a minute she had thought they might be Italian but she was sure she could discern the subtle difference.

  The inquiry would be the culmination of two years of lobbying by the relatives of care home residents who had died from neglect or suffered abuse at the hands of staff in a group of homes in South-east England. As a barrister, Gina had many years of experience prosecuting cases of medical negligence and had proved herself to be an accomplished and successful lawyer. Thus, she was the natural choice to represent the group known as Justice for SEKare.

  The harrowing subject of the inquiry had given her many sleepless nights due to the testimonies of relatives who discovered their loved ones to be the playthings of cruel and callous care workers who had shown not a jot of benevolence towards their patients. Some tech-savvy relatives had taken the initiative to set up webcams to capture concrete evidence of the treatment which they suspected was being meted out to the defenceless occupants of the SEKare Homes. The purpose of the inquiry was to ensure that similar incidents would never be repeated by making recommendations for the monitoring of the standard of care and to root out any bad apples in the system. Several workers and carers had already been prosecuted, the majority pleading guilty to the irrefutable charges and thus receiving more lenient sentences from the court. None would ever work in the care system again.

  Gina’s normally immaculate appearance had taken a knock over the last few weeks probably due to the stress of the move south and the burden of disparate tasks on her mind. Since the menopause, she had fastidiously limited and monitored her calorie intake as her small frame easily betrayed any slight weight gain, resulting in an unattractive paunch around her middle. Her stylishly cut, tailored suits were unaccommodating to any excess fat and each day was a constant battle to resist the temptation of calorific food.

  To others, she still looked perfectly smart and professionally turned out, her appearance suggesting she was at least ten years younger than her fifty-two years. However, Gina was a perfectionist and felt that her hair needed a boost. Using the selfie function on her phone, she could see that it looked lifeless, lacking shine and vitality and as it was now four weeks since its last trim, her layered style was in need of a general tidy up, just a few millimetres off the length and some thinning of the crown would make all the difference. Hopefully, she could delay having her highlights replenished for a few months as it meant several tedious hours in the salon. She was contemplating phoning for an appointment when her mobile vibrated.

  ‘Hi, Will,’ she answered. ‘How’s your day going?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, darling. Very well, actually. I’ve made some progress and have finally agreed on a transfer date. That’s why I’m calling.’

  ‘Wow! At last!’ she replied to her husband. ‘How did you manage that? Violence? Threatening behaviour?’

  ‘Ha! Almost. I’ll tell you the full story tonight, but I thought that you’d want to know so you can start to look for a house to rent.’

  ‘So, when is it?’

  ‘July 1st.’

  ‘Gosh, that’s soon. I thought you were going to say six months.’

  ‘Well, we’ve been discussing things for ages, and they’ve had my notice in writing for a while. It was just a case of ensuring my replacement could start, and everyone was happy.’

  ‘What about your private practice?’

  ‘That’s not quite finalised, but it will probably start the following month. It’s all agreed so no need to worry. Anyway, it’s probably better to stagger the two.’

  Gina was quiet as she doodled on her legal pad.

  ‘Gina? Are you OK, you’ve gone quiet.’

  ‘No, it’s just now it’s been finalised it’s, well, it’s a big change. I hope you’re happy with this.’

  ‘Look, we’ve been through this before, I’ve lost track of how many times. We can’t go back on our decision now.’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s just, well, Mum won’t be around forever and we were happy up in Manchester.’

  ‘Yes, but she could live a long time yet and just think of having to make frequent trips up and down from Manchester. What about emergencies? It can be a dreadful strain on people separated by such a dista
nce.’

  ‘I know. I just feel I’m piling all the stress on to you.’

  ‘I fully understand that you want to be nearer to her, I don’t know how to convince you other than by what I’ve already said.’

  ‘OK, OK, I just have these moments of indecision, perhaps I’m over thinking the situation.’

  ‘I’m fine about it, trust me. Besides, it’s nice for you to be back on your home turf, so to speak. I love Canterbury, and it’s no further from Marcus.’

  ‘It’s just with your parents already having passed away it seems a bit one-sided.’

  ‘Well, it’s not, so let’s not waste time going over the same ground. OK?’

  ‘OK, I’ll have a look at some estate agents’ sites this evening. It will give me a break from my work.’

  ‘I thought you’d be visiting all your old drinking haunts in the evenings. Clubbing the night away.’

  ‘Ha! Very droll. So much of the city centre has changed, and from what people tell me you need to be careful at night.’

  ‘Really? That bad?’

  ‘Well, yes, and I also read a report online which claimed that Canterbury is one of the worst places for alcohol-fuelled violence.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe that!’ replied Will. ‘Surely it’s no worse than most cities or Manchester?’

  ‘I was shocked too and it seems there’s been a big increase in the number of bars which stay open late.’

  ‘Well, we won’t be out in the city centre in the early hours, will we?’

  ‘No, that’s true.’

  ‘Anyway, how’s the preparation for the inquiry going?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. They are a good set of people here at Barker and Hinds. I’ve got a nice office, and if I stand on tiptoes I can just see the Cathedral.’

  ‘Sounds great. By the way, I’ve booked my train ticket for Friday, and I don’t have to go back until Monday so I can come along and watch you in action!’

  ‘You’ll be able to catch up on your sleep, it can be quite tedious, don’t expect too much.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I miss you, Gina. The nights are so lonely.’