A Form of Justice Read online

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go, chat later, love you.’

  ‘Love you too, phone me tonight.’

  ‘Will do.’ She blew some kisses down the phone and ended the call.

  ‘Come in!’

  ‘Special delivery!’ announced Carly, one of the administrative assistants. She was in her thirties and had worked at Barker and Hinds since leaving school at the age of eighteen, gaining some legal qualifications through part-time study. Gina could not have hoped for a more pleasant and efficient assistant whose forte was multi-tasking whilst maintaining a sunny disposition whatever the workload or crises which inevitably arose from time to time.

  ‘Oh, those are lovely! Thank you,’ said Gina, admiring the hand-tied arrangement of flowers which Carly placed on her desk. Gina quickly opened the small envelope attached to the display. ‘Marcus, my son.’

  ‘And some post for you, Ms Overton.’

  ‘You can call me, Gina, it’s perfectly OK.’

  ‘Oh, er thanks. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?’

  ‘Er, yes, tea, thank you.’

  Carly left and Gina felt slightly tearful, caused by her recent phone call from her husband and also from the tender sentiment on the card.

  ‘To a fantastic Mum and hope these brighten your office. Love you loads.’

  She fiddled with a couple of the blooms and inhaled their beautiful aroma. Marcus had remembered not to include the lilies, as she could not tolerate the pungent scent and annoyingly they could cause staining on furniture and clothes. Gina typed a quick thank you and told him she would call that evening.

  Prior to taking up her position at Barker and Hinds, she’d made frequent trips down to Canterbury to meet with the Justice for SEKare group, staying for a couple of days at a time. It was fortunate that the inquiry had been scheduled just after her relocation and now it wouldn’t be long until Will joined her.

  Despite the upheaval, she felt it was the right decision. That was what she needed to affirm to herself, particularly in the small hours of the morning when self-doubt and anxiety needled its way into her brain. This would be her final move though, in another ten years she would be considering retirement.

  She was sure that Will was genuinely happy about the move south and she couldn’t wait for the time when they would be living together properly as a couple. For a couple of weeks since moving to the new job, she had been living with her mother in her bungalow in Broadstairs about half an hour away by car or train but for this weekend she had taken a hotel room in the city so she could have some private time with Will, without them having to entertain her mother for the whole weekend.

  Carly returned with a cup of tea and Gina turned her attention to the distasteful video footage which was to be shown to the inquiry. It made for uncomfortable viewing, nobody could deny that, and after the third excerpt, she sat back in her chair with her eyes closed. Suddenly she felt light-headed. The room swam, and she clutched at the edge of the desk. She took some deep breaths and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. For a few seconds, images zoomed in and out of her consciousness. They were the same images which had troubled her in the small hours of the morning, ever since she had begun preparing for this assignment.

  Uncertainty was beginning to chip away at her confident persona, burrowing its way in through any small fissure it could find. Should she have agreed to take on this role? It was high profile and could open many doors in the future but did she really need that publicity? Will had encouraged her, unaware that she had lost some of her confidence and from time to time anxiety was a force with which her inner psyche had to grapple. It lurked in the background waiting for the slightest stimulus and opportunity to reassert its presence. The fact that many middle-aged women suffered the same feeling was some consolation, yet at the same time did little to help her own problem. Internet forums were full of personal accounts of sudden panic attacks that had caused them to stop driving until the paralysing waves of fear had passed. For Gina, the sensation of panic had taken on a human persona, stalking her two steps behind, invisible to everyone but ready to tap her on the shoulder and announce its presence as if to say, ‘I’m here, I’m watching, I’m following.’

  Gina reached in her bag and took out a bottle of herbal Rescue spray and administered three squirts under her tongue. Usually, the calming effect was enough to tip the equilibrium in her favour and to redress the balance. At times like this, she longed for a cigarette. She had managed to give up the disgusting habit after marrying Will. She’d not really had any choice about eschewing her cancer sticks, as her husband called them. As a heart specialist, he knew only too well the toll that her twenty a day habit was having on her body. Recently, she’d taken up vaping to help her periods of anxiety but tried to limit her sessions to three times a day. Whilst her comforting spray took effect, she brought up the news websites as a distraction and read the latest shenanigans in the Brexit saga.

  Chapter 3

  ‘I thought I’d find you out here,’ said Tom Webster, upon his return from work. He went over to kiss his wife who was busy in their large garden.

  ‘I’m a bit hot and sweaty,’ Trish said, returning his kiss.

  ‘You look like you’re wearing warpaint,’ he said, rubbing at a smear of soil on her right cheek. ‘It’s looking lovely as always,’ he said, scanning around their largish garden. ‘Very neat. That bed is amazing, it’s really coming into flower now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘The rain this morning freshened everything up, but it’s all dried off quite quickly now with the heat.’ She paused to cast an eye over the garden. ‘The lawn still looks like straw though.’

  ‘Lawns always recover, remember the drought of seventy-five?’

  ‘Not very well, I wasn’t interested in gardening then, I was nine. Shall I get us a drink and we can sit for a while unless you want dinner straightaway?’

  ‘No, I’m not very hungry, it’s so hot and humid.’

  ‘Gin and tonic?’

  ‘Why not? Perfect drink for a summer’s evening.’

  Trish dropped her garden gloves on the lawn and went inside to get the drinks. Tom flopped down into one of the chairs on the terrace and stretched out his legs. The evening was still warm, but the sun had now moved over to the west leaving the terrace in the shade. He’d already removed his tie on his way home, and he rolled up his sleeves a bit further to cool himself down. He sighed and rubbed his greasy forehead. It had been a stressful day, but then that was what most days were like in his job as Practice Manager at a recently formed GP super-hub surgery. The new surgery had only been in operation for about six months and had been largely successful, providing many more services in a centralised location. With nearly twenty doctors on one site, the administration was a huge task, and the responsibility for efficient management was Tom’s although he had two part-time assistants.

  ‘Ah, lovely,’ he said as Trish brought out a tray with the drinks. ‘Cheers to happy gardening,’ he said, and they clinked glasses.

  ‘So, what’s been happening in the world of medicine today?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I do, it’s good to talk about things. I can see the tension in your shoulders, they are all hunched up.’

  ‘OK, well, don’t blame me for depressing you,’ he said sipping his drink. ‘The GP we were hoping to recruit has now changed his mind and is going to Leeds instead. We were banking on him, and now we have to start the process of advertising all over again.’

  ‘Oh, no, that’s a blow.’

  ‘Yes, and Pete Summerhayes has announced that as he’s now sixty he wants to reduce his hours to two days a week which will put more pressure on us,’ he paused. ‘Do you want more?’

  Trish nodded. ‘Why not?’

  ‘A patient has gone on social media slagging us off and claiming that she can never get an appointment, says she has been refused treatment with us and had no choice but to go to A&E
. Not only that, she has said that the receptionist swore at her, which I find very hard to believe.’

  ‘Have you contacted her?’

  ‘I tried, but she didn’t pick up my calls. Then on top of that, we’ve had a problem with the firm which did some of the building work, a large crack has appeared in one of the treatment rooms, and it’s been deemed to be unsafe to use. The builders are refusing to come back as they are busy with work up in London.’

  ‘Another G and T?’ asked Trish.

  ‘I shouldn’t but sod it. It’s one thing after another, and it means I can’t get on with other things which need my attention. I’m counting down the days to retirement.’

  His wife went back into the house and returned with another drink for Tom.

  ‘Not having another one?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  ‘I should go for a run this evening but it’s just too hot. I’m really going to struggle in that 10 K race at the weekend. God, I hope it cools down by then.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be taking up a less strenuous hobby? I’m worried about how it’s affecting your knees and joints.’

  ‘Like bowls, you mean?’

  ‘Not bowls, no, perhaps we should do more walking. Aren’t we designed for walking long distances and just running for short bursts?’

  ‘Look, I’m going to carry on running for as long as possible. It gives me a buzz. We’ve had this conversation before, and I don’t want to start arguing again.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said his wife, realising she’d touched a nerve. Perhaps Tom’s body would tell him when it was time to stop and relieve her of the task. She just hoped he wouldn’t push himself too hard and end up having a hip operation before he reached sixty.

  ‘So, how’s your day been?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, the usual. Nothing special really.’

  ‘You sure? You seem a bit flat.’

  ‘Well, I had a difficult morning, that’s all, and the weather is so hot and stuffy, but I’m OK.’

  Trish looked into the distance as she replied and Tom began to worry that she was downplaying her depressed mood. In truth, Trish did feel dispirited, but she felt reluctant to open up to her husband, it would cause him to start being overly concerned which usually led to him pressurising her to give up her job. A job which she needed for her own self-esteem.

  ‘Is your arm OK? It’s looking redder than usual. Do you think you should put some cream on it?’

  Trish looked at the inside of her left arm.’

  ‘It’s OK, probably the heat.’ She looked again. ‘Or, I might have brushed against something, rue, for example, can be an irritant. Ruta graveolens to give it its proper name.’

  ‘Show off,’ replied Tom, joking. ‘I don’t know how you remember all the names of the plants.’

  ‘Maybe I’m just naturally gifted?’

  Tom laughed. It was good to hear his wife joking, but it seemed unnatural and forced. Beneath the surface, he could sense a fragment of unhappiness.

  ‘But seriously, you should be careful about rubbing against the plants, you know how sensitive your skin is.’

  She looked at him with a slight pull of her mouth to express her displeasure.

  ‘I know, you aren’t a child, I shouldn’t lecture you.’

  Trish patted his knee and remained silent. The tension seemed to have dissipated.

  ‘You don’t have to work so many hours you know, you can reduce and spend more time at home if you want.’

  ‘I know, but it’s good for me. Keeps me occupied, although I have to admit I’d like to do more gardening. That’s my exercise regime.’

  ‘Sure it’s not putting too much strain on your back?’

  ‘Touché,’ she smiled.

  ‘If you did reduce your hours you could do a course or something practical, it doesn’t have to be something academic. That might be fun?’

  ‘Like pottery?’

  ‘It could be but there are loads of other things on offer. What’s that thing called where you can go to talks and learn new skills?’

  Trish thought, ‘Oh, you mean U3A, University of the 3rd Age?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I could have a look, but I don’t think I want to get back into studying.’

  ‘But aren’t they sort of talks by people who have an expertise rather than studying?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘You could do a talk on gardening, don’t you think?’

  ‘No I don’t. It’s not as if I’m a gardener at a stately home or something.’

  ‘I bet you know just as much.’

  ‘Well, anyway, for the next few weeks I will be reducing my hours as I’m going to accompany Beth to the inquiry when she needs me. I’ve told my clients I’ll not be available for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘That will hardly be a break though, it could be so distressing.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, but I want to help her.’

  ‘But it might be too much for you. I don’t want it to,’ he paused, ‘well, to depress you too much.’

  ‘Look, I’m fine, don’t keep on about things,’ she snapped and turned away, avoiding his gaze.

  The evening was deteriorating, and they had both ended up bickering.

  ‘You just seem a bit down and I want to do anything I can to help you. It’s important we don’t let things,’ he paused again, ‘well, don’t let things get out of control.’

  ‘I’m not a child! I am perfectly capable of monitoring how I am emotionally! I’ve had enough practice, haven’t I? Enough episodes? Don’t you think?’

  ‘Hey, love, don’t get agitated. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said quietly, putting up his hands in a defensive gesture.

  Trish remained silent. Her heart was pounding, and she was soaked in sweat. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck and she felt grubby and dishevelled. She stood, knocking back her chair which toppled over, just missing a pot containing begonias.

  ‘Look, what’s for dinner? I’ll get it ready, and you can go and have a cool bath, forget the gardening you’ve done enough.’

  Trish smiled. ‘I just got some deli things as it’s so hot and salad. I wasn’t going to cook.’

  ‘You go upstairs, and I’ll set things out. Go on. You’ll feel better,’ he tapped her knee.

  ‘OK, thanks. Don’t let’s fight, I hate it.’

  ‘I hate it too. I’ll have a rummage in the fridge and see what there is, OK?’

  She collected the glasses and went inside.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Tom. ‘When I went out this morning I noticed a dead squirrel on the lawn. I’ve never noticed a dead one in the garden before.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I saw it and buried it.’

  ‘Well, that will be one less digging in your flowerbeds,’ he joked.

  ‘Well, that’s true,’ agreed his wife as she climbed the stairs.

  Chapter 4

  Gina felt like a teenager waiting for her date to arrive as she paced around the small, uninspiring ticket hall at Canterbury West Station, willing the time to pass. The high-speed train from St Pancras International was on time, due to arrive at 18.12 p.m. and Will had texted regularly during his journey from Manchester to let her know that he was on schedule.

  Finally, the recorded voice announced the train’s arrival on Platform 2. In a couple of minutes, she would be reunited with her husband, and they would once more be a couple, albeit for only three days. Passengers started to pass through the barriers and Gina scanned the procession of people. Suddenly, she spotted Will’s raised hand, and she waved back excitedly. Frustratingly, there was the usual hold-up as people struggled with tickets which failed to work in the automatic barriers.

  ‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ she muttered to herself.

  Will’s ticket opened the barrier and was swallowed by the machine, releasing him from the confines of Southeastern Railway and into the waiting arms of his wife. They kissed and hugged.


  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ they both said, almost simultaneously, then laughed and stood back to look at each other.

  ‘You look well!’ said Will. ‘Your hair is different.’

  ‘Not really, I went for a tidy-up, and the girl suggested this slight change, it’s a bit shorter at the sides. I hope you like it?’

  ‘Very sexy, it makes you look younger. Even younger, I mean.’

  ‘Flatterer,’ she said, punching his arm.

  ‘I’m looking forward to getting it all tousled! You might have to go to the hairdresser again after tonight!’

  ‘Ha! Promises, promises,’ she replied.

  They walked out of the station and into Station Approach Road.

  ‘I expected to be picked up by car!’ said Will.

  ‘This is Canterbury, not New York,’ she replied. ‘Do you want to drop your bag at the hotel before we go for dinner?’

  ‘Sounds good. I hope you’ve found a good place to eat?’

  ‘Wait and see! Fingers crossed you’ll like it.’

  ‘How’s your Mum?’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask. Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘She phoned me six times at work yesterday. I was in the middle of speaking to the group that lobbied for the inquiry. She’s definitely getting worse. Anyway, you’ll see for yourself on Sunday.’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. Is she safe at home?’

  ‘Well, she’s got her carer going in each day, and I’ve arranged for someone to go in each evening as well. I don’t think she’ll burn the place down, but she’s getting more confused.’

  ‘Time for a care home?’

  ‘It won’t be long, but I just hope I can find somewhere suitable. It’s all a bit raw with the experiences from the inquiry.’

  ‘Look, they can’t all be bad. Hopefully, things will have improved already due to the publicity about the inquiry.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so. You wouldn’t believe the videos I’ve had to watch. Sickening.’

  ‘Look, let’s not talk about that tonight. We both need a break from work.’