I didn’t reply. It increasingly seemed to me that Miles wasn’t putting a foot wrong, while we were floundering. “What about St. Alexander’s? How did you get on?”

“Oh—they’re out of special measures, or whatever it was called. That spike in mortality was due to staff shortages, apparently. And Bronagh and Paula have both been reinstated.” Maddie shook her head. “On reflection, that was probably a bit fanciful, to think they might have had anything to do with it. After all, how much of a coincidence would it be if there was a psychopath and a rogue nurse on the same ward at the same time?”

“Which one did you speak to—Bronagh or Paula?” I turned and put my cup under the Jura’s spout. “I think I’ll have another cup.”

“Both. They’re friends, actually. Which reminds me—you didn’t tell me they came to meet the bike ride in York.”

“Didn’t I?” I pushed the button, and the noise of the grinding beans meant I had to wait a few moments before replying. “Greg did mention that some of the nurses turned up. But I wasn’t there by then. York was where I peeled off and came back here, remember? I got back on the Friday morning.”

“Oh.” Maddie thought. “Was it Friday? The days were a bit of a blur by then.”

I nodded. “So I gathered.”

“And when Bronagh told you about her suspension, when exactly was that? She messaged you, presumably?”

“Maddie, what is this?” I protested.

“I’m just trying to get a time line in my head. Unless you don’t want to tell me, of course.”

I shrugged. “I can’t remember the exact date. It was the morning after the Lamberts served the Notice of Proceedings—that day we both took Theo to their house, and Lucy offered to make us tea. And yes, Bronagh messaged.” My cappuccino was done now, so I took it out of the machine. “And I messaged back, but she wanted to meet, so we had a coffee at a Starbucks near the hospital.”

“I didn’t realize you actually met up. She implied it was just a text exchange when I spoke to her.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Look, I did a stupid thing, okay?” I said, exasperated. “I offered to help her out, and I probably shouldn’t have. You would have talked me out of it if you’d known. So yes, my bad. But considering everything else that’s going on, is that really the priority?”

“Probably not,” Maddie agreed.

We were both silent for a while.

“I think we should try to track down Tania next,” Maddie said thoughtfully.

“Why? Presumably she’ll have been handsomely paid off by the Lamberts.”

“She might be pretty angry, even so. She only had that job a few weeks, which doesn’t look good on anyone’s CV. And she lived in the house with them. I’ve a feeling she might be able to tell us something useful.”

“All right, then. But let’s do it quietly. I’d feel awful if she suffered the same fate as Jane Tigman and that whistleblower.” I went and put my coffee cup in the sink. “I’ll go and hurry Theo up. I want to read him his story before I head over to Greg and Kate’s.”

I took the stairs two at a time, relieved that our conversation about Bronagh was now over.

83

    MADDIE

THE PRELIMINARY HEARING TAKES place in a bland, 1960s building on Cricklewood Lane—it could be a public library, if it weren’t for the royal coat of arms outside. There’s a smaller version of the same crest on the wall of the courtroom, which otherwise looks just like any medium-sized meeting room in a slightly run-down office. The judge, a brisk woman in her fifties called Marion Wakefield, wears a gray suit and sits behind a desk on a slightly raised platform.

The Lamberts sit with their barrister and solicitor on one side of a row of chairs facing the judge, and Pete and I sit on the other with Anita. It’s all surprisingly informal—none of the lawyers wear a wig or gown, or get to their feet to speak. Lyn the CAFCASS adviser—who turns out to be a tiny, innocuous-looking woman with sharp eyes—sits on her own, in the second row of chairs.

Judge Wakefield begins by reminding us that this isn’t a hearing to consider evidence, only whether the case can be resolved without the court’s involvement, and if not, what evidence she’ll need at the second hearing to help her make a decision. She looks at the Lamberts, then Pete and me. “So my first question to you, through your legal representatives, is whether there is any possibility you could come to an agreement.”

Miles’s barrister says, “My clients have tried to explore every avenue for compromise, madam, including becoming Theo’s godparents and inviting Theo to share David’s nanny. But ultimately, Theo is their son and, like any parent, they want to make the day-to-day decisions regarding his care.”

The judge nods. “Ms. Chowdry?”

“My clients have also tried to compromise—the suggestion that the applicants become Theo’s godparents actually came from them,” Anita says. “They regard Theo as their son, and believe it is in his best interests not to be removed from them at this important stage of his development.”

“Thank you,” Marion Wakefield says briskly. “This is clearly an unusual and difficult case, and for that reason alone, a fuller hearing seems necessary. I’m going to accept CAFCASS’s recommendation that there should be a more detailed report on the safeguarding issues. I’m also going to direct that Theo is assessed by a psychologist to see what impact changing families at his age might have on him.” She looks straight at me. “Ms. Wilson, I’m going to direct that you must not travel abroad without the court’s permission. And as there has been a question raised about your alcohol intake, I’m going to order that you give blood and hair samples, to be assessed for current and past alcohol intake respectively.”

An alcohol test. Anita warned me this might happen, given what Lyn said in her safeguarding letter, and also that there’s no way of disguising the amount I’ve been drinking—although the blood test will only measure what’s in my system at the time, the hair sample will show how much I’ve been drinking over the whole of the last year. I feel my cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and shame.

Anita says calmly, “Madam, we’d like to request that Mr. Riley be allowed back into the family home. While my clients absolutely refute the suggestion that Ms. Wilson could be unfit to care for Theo, it seems illogical to raise that possibility and at the same time bar his primary carer from caring for him.”

“I accept that argument,” Marion Wakefield says. “Accordingly, I will make no direction about Mr. Riley at this time. But since the present situation is a voluntary one, by arrangement with CAFCASS, it will be up to Ms. Edwards whether she is satisfied with that.”

“I am satisfied if the court is satisfied,” Lyn says meekly.

“We would also like to ask that the court consolidate all the proceedings in Theo’s case,” Anita says.

“Mr. Kelly?” The judge turns to the Lamberts’ lawyer.

“I was going to suggest the same thing, madam.”

“Then we will have one hearing for Theo, in approximately twelve weeks’ time, and another at a later date for David.” The judge makes a note. “Is there anything else?”

There isn’t. The lawyers start shuffling papers together and the judge turns back to her computer. It seems incredible that such a momentous case can be dealt with so quickly, but of course it hasn’t been, not really. This is only the opening salvo. And thanks to CAFCASS, Miles has achieved almost everything he wanted. But Pete’s allowed to come home. That’s something.

Marion Wakefield stays at her desk, making notes, while the rest of us leave. There’s a bottleneck at the door, with both sets of parents and lawyers reaching it at the same time. “After you,” Miles says politely, just as Pete says firmly, “After you.” It’s all bizarrely civilized. Eventually Pete waves Lucy through and follows behind, and Miles gestures for me to go ahead of him. I realize he’s very close behind me—I can even feel his breath on my neck. No, not just his breath: The bastard is actually blowing on me. I’ve worn my hair up, and the sensation on my nape is unmistakable. I stop dead, outraged.

“Such a pity about the hair test,” he murmurs. “Some people shave their heads, I gather. But then the doctors use one from down there instead. Do you wax down there, Maddie? I hope not. I picture you with curls.”

As he speaks, something insinuates itself between my buttocks. His fingers. I jump forward as if stung, and hear—feel, almost—his chuckle. Furious, I look around. His face is the picture of innocence. All three lawyers, and the judge, are looking at me. I open my mouth to say something. But what? It might look like the act of a desperate woman who didn’t get what she wanted at the hearing. A drunk, even. And who would believe that Miles Lambert was reckless enough to grope me in a courtroom?

But I can’t do nothing. So I say sharply, “Don’t do that.”

Miles only grins, the smile of a man who knows he’s winning.

84

    MADDIE