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  We sat there for a few more minutes in silence, and I was just about to give in to my nicotine cravings when there was a knock on the door behind the judge's chair. The door opened, and a man dressed in black robes stepped into the courtroom and cleared his throat. He had an easy job as far as I could see. All I’d seen him do through the entire trial was what he was about to do. I was already halfway to my feet by the time he spoke.

  “All rise,” the man barked as the judge walked through the door and took up his throne. I looked at him as the courtroom settled back down. He was maybe in his mid-sixties, with a kind face. I could see him as a favourite grandfather, the sort of man who was loved by almost everyone. Except for the criminals he put away, I supposed. As I watched, he shuffled his papers in front of him and looked around the room, waiting for everyone to look at him which we all did. Right at the start of the trial, he’d explained that although this was a magistrate’s court, he’d been brought in as a county court judge owing to what he called “unusual circumstances” in the case.

  The door beside us opened, and Malcolm walked in and sat down next to Andy, nodding at the three of us as he did so. Just behind him, two serious looking men in suits also walked in. They sat down a couple of seats down from Malcolm, and I guessed that they weren’t with him. The two men looked like Old Bill to me, though. Short hair, both well built. But then as they sat down, I overheard them talking and realised they weren’t speaking English. I had no idea who they were, but they weren’t coppers.

  “Mr Wainwright,” the judge said, directing his gaze towards Robert who sat up straighter in his seat for a second before slumping back down. His lawyer nudged him and waved his hand upwards, motioning to Robert to stand up. My wife’s killer got to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. I concentrated on the back of his head, imagining putting an arm around his neck and strangling the life out of him. The judge spoke, his voice echoing around the courtroom. “Mr Wainwright, you have appeared before this court to answer to the charge of drink driving, for which you have pled guilty as charged.” The judge paused, looking down at his notes. “However,” he continued, “even after all the discussions in this courtroom, the pre-trial hearings, it is still beyond me why this is the only charge for which you have been brought to bear.” He had a way with words, and I had to concentrate to follow him. “It is often said the law is an ass, and in this case it most certainly is.”

  He directed his gaze towards the defence lawyer, and the stare he gave him was a long way from a favourite grandfather. “Mr Daniels, you have done a fine job defending the accused. You have applied the law in a way that has served your client well. However, speaking as one lawyer to another, you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.” The defence lawyer became interested in his notes, looking down at his lap. The judge looked up, and I realised that he was looking at us.

  “This case involves the death of a young woman in the prime of her life.” Jennifer. My wife, Jennifer. She wasn’t just a young woman, her name was Jennifer. As if he’d read my mind, the Judge continued. “Jennifer Dawson was cruelly cut down by your actions, Mr Wainwright. But she is not the only victim here. Her family,” he nodded in our general direction. “Her family are also victims of your actions and their pain must endure.” He was looking directly at me. “I suspect that for some it will endure for a very long time.” I could feel my throat tighten as he spoke these words.

  The judge turned his attention to Malcolm. “I feel the police must share some culpability in this case. Their inability to prove any form of intent, discover any useable forensic evidence, or provide the Crown Prosecution Service with anything that could bring a higher charge is, quite frankly, disappointing.” I glanced across at Malcolm who was looking very uncomfortable. I felt for him. We’d become friends of sorts over the last few months, about as close as a copper and a former burglar can be friends. I knew how frustrated he was. He’d confided in me once, on the understanding it was only between him and me, that he thought Robert should be on trial for murder. But, and this was an enormous but, the Old Bill couldn’t prove anything. No one had witnessed the accident, the rain had destroyed any hope they had of forensic evidence, and Robert hanging around a couple of times didn’t prove that he meant her harm.

  The entire defence had been based on what the prick of a defence lawyer had called “a hugely unfortunate series of coincidences”. Robert had, apparently, just happened to be driving down that particular road at the exact same time that Jennifer had run across the road in front of him. In the middle of a heavy shower. He hadn’t had time to do anything, the lawyer had said. Not even time to try to stop. Robert had hit Jennifer, my Jennifer, hard enough for her head to smash the windscreen of his BMW and when he had managed to stop, she’d been thrown straight onto the unforgiving surface of the road. That was the narrative that Andy had sat through when the coroner’s assistant had described Jennifer’s injuries. A terrible accident, the lawyer had said, but the only thing that his client was guilty of was driving while under the influence of alcohol. Not causing death by dangerous driving. Not murder. No proof. It was only a terrible accident, according to the law.

  The judge put his notes down on the desk in front of him. He stared at Robert.

  “Mr Wainwright, my intention is to sentence you with the maximum sentence available to me as a judge. I hereby sentence you to a driving ban of twenty-eight months. You will also complete one hundred and eighty hours of unpaid work during a twelve-month community order.” There was absolute silence in the courtroom. “You are also to pay eighty-five pounds court costs and an eighty-five pound victim surcharge.” My jaw dropped. Eighty-five pounds. Eighty-five fucking pounds. That’s what Jennifer’s life was worth. I stared at Robert as he turned to look me in the eyes for the first time in the entire trial. Then he made a huge mistake. He smirked.

  I was on my feet in an instant, shouting. I managed to get one leg over the barrier in front of me before Jacob grabbed one of my arms and Andy got the other. Malcolm got himself between me and the barrier, pushing me backwards, speaking words I couldn’t hear. All my attention was focused on Robert’s smirking face. I shook one arm free and pointed at him, screaming words that would come back to haunt the next time I was in this courtroom. Between them, Andy, Jacob and Malcolm manoeuvred me back toward the door of the courtroom. As they pushed me through the door, I saw the Judge looking at me, his hands flat on the desk. He’d not said a word, not banged his gavel and shouted “Order” like I’d seen on the television. He was just looking at me.

  “Please,” I looked him in the eyes as I shouted just before I was unceremoniously shoved through the door.

  “Please, this is wrong.”

  14

  Once Robert’s trial had finished, and he’d been led into one of the back rooms to sort out his sentence, such as it was, Andy, Jacob and myself went to the pub next door to the courtroom. I guessed that no one who worked in the court went anywhere near the pub, as it would be full of people visiting the court. Just like we were. I ordered a round of drinks for all of us, and sunk the first pint in about twenty seconds before going back to the bar for a refill.

  “Gareth, slow down, mate,” Jacob said as I sat down. I stared at him as I drained half the pint glass.

  “Why?” I replied, not even trying to hide the rage in my voice.

  “It won’t help,” he replied. I knew he was right but really didn’t care. I sat there, waiting for the gas in my stomach to disperse so I could drink some more when Andy joined in.

  “Jacob’s right, Gareth,” he whispered, sipping at his lager. “It’s not going to do anything, change anything. The only thing it’ll do is make you even angrier than you already are.” I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to control myself. I didn’t want to lose it in front of these two, the only connection I had left to Jennifer. The next thing I knew there were tears streaming down my face and I was blubbing like a baby. Jacob just looked at his pint glass while Andy put a hand on
my shoulder for a moment. Without a word, I got up and walked out of the back door of the pub, ignoring the look that the barman was giving me. I figured I wasn’t the first person to break down in his pub given its location, and wouldn’t be the last either.

  I sat on the bench outside in the smoking area and lit up a cigarette. As the nicotine kicked in, I felt myself calm down. That was bloody embarrassing. Not that long ago I could walk into a pub and look around, seeing people glance my way and then avoid my gaze as if I wasn’t someone to be messed with. Now I just walked in and started crying. I heard the door to the pub open behind me and, hoping it was Andy, turned to see Jacob walking across to join me.

  “You okay, mate?” he asked, a look of genuine concern on his face. I could feel the tears well up again.

  “No, I don’t think I am,” I replied a few seconds later. “This whole thing, it’s bollocks. He’s got away with it, Jacob.” I looked at Jacob for confirmation. “Hasn’t he?” Jacob didn’t reply straight away.

  “I think he has, yes,” he said, the sadness obvious in his voice. “Times like this, I wish I smoked.” He looked at the packet of cigarettes I’d thrown onto the table.

  “Help yourself if you want one,” I nodded my head in the direction of the packet. He smiled wryly.

  “No, I’m good thanks.”

  “Do you know what really gets to me, Jacob?” I said a moment later.

  “What?”

  “We’d had a bit of a barney that night, me and Jennifer. I’d forgotten she was going out, and she got the arse on with me about it.”

  “Yeah,” Jacob said. “She was good at that sometimes.”

  “So I sent her a text after she’d left, just to say I was sorry, she looked great, that sort of thing.” Jacob didn’t reply, but just looked at me. “And then after she’d died, the Old Bill gave me back her phone in a plastic bag. It was all smashed up, covered in stuff.” It was blood, but I didn’t tell Jacob that. Someone had tried to clean it up, unsuccessfully. “I could see she had one unread text message. The one I’d sent her to say sorry. I never even got to say sorry.”

  I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. As the sobs racked my body, Jacob shuffled his way up the bench and put an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me tight. God knows what anyone would have thought if they’d seen us, but at that moment in time, I couldn’t have cared less.

  We both sat like that in silence for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. I started to get a grip, helped by just having him sitting with me. He’d not said a word, just sat there with his arm around me while I cried, and I loved him for it.

  “I was talking to Dad last night, Gareth,” Jacob said eventually, moving away so he could look at me. “About everything.” He looked at me. “About you.”

  “What about me?” I replied, not liking where I thought he was going.

  “Well,” he continued, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “We both wanted you to know, that no matter what, you’re still family. You’ve got us, and we’ve got you.” I was on the verge of welling up again, so I kept quiet and waited for him to continue. Jacob just sat there, silent. I reached forward to pick up the cigarettes and shove the packet back into my pocket.

  “You sure you don’t want one, mate?” I asked, trying to smile as I did so. To my relief, he smiled back.

  “Nah, thanks. Bit late for me to be starting, really.” Another silence, this one a lot more comfortable, sat between us before I decided to ask him something I’d been wondering about for ages.

  “Can I ask you something, Jacob?” I said, tentatively.

  “Of course you can mate, you know that,” he replied with an earnest look. I paused, not sure quite how to continue.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking. You and Jennifer being twins and all. The night it happened.” I paused, lost for words. How could I ask this?

  “Did I feel anything?” he replied. “Did I know something had happened to her? Is that what you’re wondering?” I nodded in reply. “No,” he said, almost under his breath. “I went to bed, and when I woke up the next morning, she was dead.”

  I considered telling him about waking up on the sofa, unsure why I’d woken up, at what I now thought was the exact moment Jennifer had been hit. Was it a crack of thunder from the storm, or was it more than that? But I thought better of it. He was her twin brother and might wonder why he felt nothing. Knowing someone else might have wouldn’t help him, would it? I finished my pint and added another cigarette butt to the overflowing plant pot on the table before standing up at the same time as Jacob. We stood there for a couple of seconds before he stepped toward me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a bear hug. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and I squeezed him back as the tears reappeared in my eyes and streamed down my face.

  It was probably ten minutes later when I felt together enough to walk back into the pub. Andy saw us walking in and stood up, collecting his empty glass from the table and walking towards the bar. I diverted to the toilet to get some tissues to blow my nose and make sure I didn’t look like too much of a mess. I needn’t have bothered. Confirming I looked awful wasn’t going to help. As I looked at my red-rimmed eyes in the mirror, I felt some of the sadness fade away, to be replaced by what was going to become a very familiar friend. Cold, hard, anger.

  We only stayed for one more pint in the pub before leaving. Andy called a taxi, and he and Jacob dropped me off at my flat on the way past. I still couldn’t get used to the idea it used to be Jennifer’s and mine, and now it was just mine. Standing on the pavement, I watched the taxi as it drove off. As soon as it was out of sight, I turned and walked in the opposite direction to the off-licence at the end of the road. A few minutes later, I was unlocking the door to my flat with a bottle of cheap whisky in my hand. I knew it wouldn’t solve anything, but I couldn’t help myself. I walked into the flat, wrinkling my nose at the musty odour inside. Maybe I should open a window or something?

  I made my way into the lounge and took up my usual position in the middle of the sofa, ignoring the half-empty containers of Chinese food that littered the floor. As I prodded at the remote control to turn the television on, I nestled the bottle of whisky between my thighs and opened it. No point creating any more washing up, I thought as I took a long slug from the bottle. The television came to life, and I started up the DVD that had been in the player since Jennifer’s funeral. As I watched David’s home movie of our wedding day start up, yet again, I took another much longer drink.

  I don’t know, was it one hour, two hours, or six hours when I came to on the sofa. I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying desperately to recall the dream. Jennifer was in it, we’d been at the beach or the park, or somewhere. I was running after her, and she was laughing as she skipped away from me. Her laughter pealed in my head as she stayed just out of my reach, my arms reaching toward her but always staying just out of range. My chest ached as I realised I’d been dreaming, and then she died all over again. I sat on the edge of the sofa, my mouth suddenly full of saliva. I slipped off the sofa and onto to my knees, knocking the almost empty bottle of whisky over. As the last remnants spilt on the carpet, I leaned forward, and a vile jet of half-digested whisky and bile splattered over the rug in front of me. Eyes watering, I looked up at the television to see the DVD player stuck on the last frame of the movie. Jennifer’s face looked down at me, the smile on it reminding me of the happiest day of our lives.

  Then I threw up again on her favourite carpet.

  15

  Thinking back, I don’t remember the exact moment I decided that I wanted to go after Robert. It wasn’t as if I woke up in my flat one morning, looked in the mirror, and thought “Right, that’s it. I’m going to kill the fucker”. It was much more gradual than that. It had started with idle daydreams about how I could track him down, hurt him really badly. These daydreams had got more frequent, almost to the point of being intrusive thoughts. They also got increasingly complex as I planned various w
ays to hurt him. To teach him a lesson he’d never forget. To punish him for what he’d done to Jennifer, to me, to all of us.

  Over time, the thought of just hurting him became not enough. No matter how badly I hurt him, he’d still be walking around. Jennifer wasn’t, so why should he be? The drinking wasn’t helping either, and back then, I was getting through a massive amount. Every night. I knew why I was drinking. It was a futile attempt to block everything out, to make the pain go away. To somehow make Jennifer come back. Except that I knew that wasn’t going to happen, so I drank even more.

  There wasn’t an epiphany where I decided to pull myself together and quit the booze. I didn’t go to Alcoholics Anonymous. I didn’t go back cap in hand to see my doctor, there was no mutiny amongst my few friends to make me see sense, and the closest I came to rock bottom was the night I’d thrown up on Jennifer’s carpet. My business had suffered, and I noticed little things like clients taking subtle steps back from me when I met with them first thing in the morning. I’d even tried to reorganise my meetings for the afternoon to give myself time to sober up from the night before. Tommy’s face was full of concern when I turned up for work still half-cut from the night before, but he never said a word. I think he thought I’d punch him in the face if he had said something. The only person who came close to getting through to me was Andy.