Unforgotten by Clare Francis Page B

kids, then he might take a lenient view.’
    ‘But we’re almost there , for fuck’s sake. We’re almost done .’
    ‘This is only the hearing, Tom. The case isn’t over till the judge hands down his judgement. That could be six weeks away, maybe longer. Till then he can consider any new evidence that comes his way. Recall us for an explanation. Change everything.’ Adopting a reasonable tone, he said, ‘Okay, he might knock a bit off our damages. But once he understandswhy you did it – well, he might not clobber us that hard, Tom. With a bit of luck he might give us no more than a small rap over the knuckles, financially speaking. But if we say nothing and the opposition find out – Christ, Tom, they’ll tear us apart, they’ll take it to appeal, and then we could really lose out. I mean, a serious amount.’
    Tom was staring at Hugh in a new way, as if he hated him. ‘No way.’
    ‘But it’ll be far better in the long run.’
    Tom’s breath broke into ragged gasps, he lifted a trembling hand. ‘This is my claim. My illness. And I’m saying no deal. You got that? No deal .’
    ‘For God’s sake, Tom – you could be putting everything at risk.’
    Tom’s face contorted, his eyes glittered, he seemed on the point of rage or tears or both. He gave another shiver, more violent than the last. ‘ No deal. ’
    ‘Maybe I’ve explained it badly . . .’ But Hugh trailed off, knowing he had explained it as best he could and that for the moment at least Tom was beyond reasoning.
    Voices sounded again, much closer this time. It was the solicitors for the other side, studiously not paying them too much attention, in company with a burly man in a blue suit who, sharing no such qualms, was staring openly at Tom. Realising this must be Price, Hugh touched Tom’s elbow to turn him away from the other man’s gaze, but Tom jerked his arm free, and, his mouth drawn down into a grimace, cried again, ‘No deal!’ Then, the emotion still pulling at his face, the glint of fury in his eyes, he looked round to find Price watching him, and understood that his enemy had witnessed his anguish.
    Price strode confidently into the witness box and took the oath as if it was something he did every day. He had the appearance of a travelling salesman too long on the road, with a broadframe run to fat, a belly that stretched the jacket of his suit to its limits, and a plump neck that bulged over the rim of his collar. He was, Hugh supposed, forty-one or -two, but the roundness of his cheeks, the thickness of his hair gave him a deceptively boyish look.
    Bavistock began with an unhurried smile, a collusive droop of the eyelids, as if to instil confidence in his witness. ‘Mr Price, you have stated that Mr Deacon became a friend of yours when you were both serving together in the Army. How would you describe your friendship? Was he one of a number of mates you had in the Army? Or was he a close friend?’
    ‘A close friend.’
    ‘And you were in the same unit . . .’ Bavistock referred to the papers in front of him ‘. . . for over four years. That’s correct, is it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And at one point you served together in the same armoured vehicle?’ Bavistock asked.
    ‘A Warrior, yes.’
    ‘So it would be no exaggeration to say you served side by side?’
    ‘Correct.’
    Tom was sitting a yard away from Hugh, far enough to discourage communication but not so far that anyone would think there was a rift between them. Earlier, while waiting for the judge, he had stared darkly ahead, his arms crossed, his mouth tightly pursed, before methodically opening his rucksack and pulling out his notebook and pencil. Now, shaking his head at Price’s reply, he began to write.
    ‘You saw Mr Deacon under pressure?’ Bavistock asked.
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘In a variety of situations?’
    ‘On exercise and in combat,’ said Price, with an edge of pride.
    ‘When you refer to combat, you mean the Gulf War?’
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘And