Then Desmond made one of those gestures that were so characteristic of him, a raising of his eyebrows, an upturning of one hand, as if to suggest that everything of importance was now settled.
‘Desmond, something’s come up,’ Hugh plunged in unhappily. ‘I need to talk to Tom first but it’s almost certain we’ll have to ask for an adjournment.’
Desmond was very still. ‘For what reason?’
‘To have a conference with Tom.’
‘It won’t wait till lunch?’
‘No.’
‘Something serious?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re making me nervous, Hugh.’ But if Desmond was hoping for reassurance he was disappointed. ‘You’ll let me know as soon as possible?’
‘Of course.’
‘Bearing in mind that any significant delays will run us out of time on Friday.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
When Desmond had gone, Hugh paced along the passage to the stairwell, then to the balcony overlooking the Great Hall and back again several times. Finally he saw Tom on the stairs, climbing steadily, head jutting forward, the rucksack high on his back. A few steps from the top Tom twisted round and looked over his shoulder directly at Hugh, almost as if he’d expected to find him there.
‘Managed to survive the train,’ Tom announced, walking straight past so that Hugh was forced to fall in beside him. ‘It was crowded as hell. But I did what my therapist told me. Concentrated on this woman. Oh, not in that way.’ He gave a derisive snuffle. ‘She was fifty if she was a day. But I spent the time trying to imagine what her life was like. You know, the job she did, where she lived, that sort of stuff. And it worked. Took my mind off the fact that we were packed in like bloody sardines.’
‘Good. Tom, we need to talk.’
Tom shot him a questioning look which Hugh ignored as he led the way to a window at the end of the passage. The window, tall and arched in the Gothic style, had a seat below, but neither of them sat down.
Hugh began with the simpler of his two tasks. ‘Desmond wants to know about the leave you and Price took together in Germany. Did you invite him to join you? Or . . . how did it happen?’
‘Didn’t have to invite him. He just tagged along like he always did. Most of the unit were away on long leave. The rest of us had twenty-four hours. I was heading for Hamburg with my mate Shortie when Price got wind of it and came and invited himself along. Then Shortie chickened out, so I got landed with Price.’
‘Did you ever invite Price to join you on any other leave?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Like I said, he tagged along sometimes. But ask him? Nope, I never asked him.’ He started to move away.
‘There’s something else.’
Tom paused, wary now and a little impatient.
‘I have to ask you, Tom – have you been to the family court and applied for custody of the boys?’
Tom turned his mouth down in an expression of exaggerated bewilderment. ‘Huh?’
‘Have you already been to the family court?’
Tom gave him a long stare. ‘I don’t get it. What’s the problem?’
‘Yes or no, Tom.’
‘But what’s it gotta do with anything? I mean what’s it matter?’
‘It matters.’
The bewilderment again. Then with a light shrug, a gesture of showing willing, Tom said, ‘It’s like I told you, Emma Deeds put in my application and we’re waiting to hear back. But nothing’s gonna happen till – I dunno – January, something like that.’
‘But has there already been a hearing, Tom? That’s what I’m asking. And did you offer new medical evidence?’
Turning slowly away, Tom elbowed one arm free of his rucksack, then the other, before swinging it onto the window seat. He stared out of the mullioned window, his bony features flattened and calcified by the light, so that for a fleeting moment, set against the Gothic battlements, he might have been a prisoner from long ago, looking out on his lost freedom. ‘So what’s the big deal?’
‘There was a hearing?’
‘Okay,
‘Desmond, something’s come up,’ Hugh plunged in unhappily. ‘I need to talk to Tom first but it’s almost certain we’ll have to ask for an adjournment.’
Desmond was very still. ‘For what reason?’
‘To have a conference with Tom.’
‘It won’t wait till lunch?’
‘No.’
‘Something serious?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re making me nervous, Hugh.’ But if Desmond was hoping for reassurance he was disappointed. ‘You’ll let me know as soon as possible?’
‘Of course.’
‘Bearing in mind that any significant delays will run us out of time on Friday.’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
When Desmond had gone, Hugh paced along the passage to the stairwell, then to the balcony overlooking the Great Hall and back again several times. Finally he saw Tom on the stairs, climbing steadily, head jutting forward, the rucksack high on his back. A few steps from the top Tom twisted round and looked over his shoulder directly at Hugh, almost as if he’d expected to find him there.
‘Managed to survive the train,’ Tom announced, walking straight past so that Hugh was forced to fall in beside him. ‘It was crowded as hell. But I did what my therapist told me. Concentrated on this woman. Oh, not in that way.’ He gave a derisive snuffle. ‘She was fifty if she was a day. But I spent the time trying to imagine what her life was like. You know, the job she did, where she lived, that sort of stuff. And it worked. Took my mind off the fact that we were packed in like bloody sardines.’
‘Good. Tom, we need to talk.’
Tom shot him a questioning look which Hugh ignored as he led the way to a window at the end of the passage. The window, tall and arched in the Gothic style, had a seat below, but neither of them sat down.
Hugh began with the simpler of his two tasks. ‘Desmond wants to know about the leave you and Price took together in Germany. Did you invite him to join you? Or . . . how did it happen?’
‘Didn’t have to invite him. He just tagged along like he always did. Most of the unit were away on long leave. The rest of us had twenty-four hours. I was heading for Hamburg with my mate Shortie when Price got wind of it and came and invited himself along. Then Shortie chickened out, so I got landed with Price.’
‘Did you ever invite Price to join you on any other leave?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Like I said, he tagged along sometimes. But ask him? Nope, I never asked him.’ He started to move away.
‘There’s something else.’
Tom paused, wary now and a little impatient.
‘I have to ask you, Tom – have you been to the family court and applied for custody of the boys?’
Tom turned his mouth down in an expression of exaggerated bewilderment. ‘Huh?’
‘Have you already been to the family court?’
Tom gave him a long stare. ‘I don’t get it. What’s the problem?’
‘Yes or no, Tom.’
‘But what’s it gotta do with anything? I mean what’s it matter?’
‘It matters.’
The bewilderment again. Then with a light shrug, a gesture of showing willing, Tom said, ‘It’s like I told you, Emma Deeds put in my application and we’re waiting to hear back. But nothing’s gonna happen till – I dunno – January, something like that.’
‘But has there already been a hearing, Tom? That’s what I’m asking. And did you offer new medical evidence?’
Turning slowly away, Tom elbowed one arm free of his rucksack, then the other, before swinging it onto the window seat. He stared out of the mullioned window, his bony features flattened and calcified by the light, so that for a fleeting moment, set against the Gothic battlements, he might have been a prisoner from long ago, looking out on his lost freedom. ‘So what’s the big deal?’
‘There was a hearing?’
‘Okay,
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