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“Do you have any comment to make on what Ms. Edwards has described?” Judge Wakefield asks when she’s managed to reach the end.
“Well.” Lucy touches her pearls. She looks anguished. “I wasn’t coaching him, not exactly. I just wanted him to do well. I mean, he only gets one chance with CAFCASS, doesn’t he, and it would be awful, just awful, if he didn’t manage to say the things I know he really wanted to. So I simply tried to give him as much help as possible.” She shoots Miles a desperate glance, but his face is impassive. “Because we do want his daddy to be proud of him, don’t we? Really, it’s no different from getting some private tutoring before you take an entrance exam.”
This time the silence seems to stretch out forever. Marion Wakefield doesn’t say no, it’s very different, it’s falsifying evidence and contempt of court and probably a whole bunch of other things, too. Neither does she ask a follow-up question. She just leaves Lucy sitting there, stewing, while she writes herself a lengthy note.
Eventually she looks at Anita. “Unless you have questions for Mrs. Lambert about this specific issue, Ms. Chowdry, I suggest we move on.”
* * *
—
IT MUST HAVE BEEN one of the nannies, I realize. Tania, most likely. Once Michaela had warned her about the nannycam, Tania must have found a way to access the footage. Perhaps initially it was just to make sure there were no incriminating shots of her drinking coffee or scrolling through Facebook. But when she was abruptly fired to make way for Jill, she must have started looking for something that would allow her to take revenge.
For her own sake, I hope she’s safely back in France.
The next part of the hearing is strangely subdued, as if nobody wants to start being bombastic when Lucy still looks as if she might burst into tears. The Lamberts’ barrister has clearly decided that the best thing he can do is to carry on as if nothing has happened. And after a while, it almost seems to work. Even I find myself wondering if what Lucy did really makes much difference. After all, trying to work out Theo’s wishes from one hastily scribbled drawing was always going to be a nonsense. And all the other factors—my drinking, the accusations against Pete, the fact Theo was thrown out of nursery on our watch—are still there.
But I can’t help feeling that, while things looked completely hopeless before, now we have a chance.
98
MADDIE
NEXT, MILES IS CROSS-EXAMINED by Anita. She’s good, but she makes little headway. He’s unflappable and courteous—the very model of a cooperative witness. And it’s hard to argue with the main thrust of his argument—that he and Lucy love Theo, and as his natural parents, believe they’re best placed to make decisions about his future. What loving parent wouldn’t want the same?
Then it’s Pete’s turn. The Lamberts’ barrister dives straight in. “Can you tell us why you became Theo’s full-time carer?”
“Because I enjoy it and I think I’m good at it,” Pete replies evenly.
“It wasn’t because you lost your job?”
Pete’s eyes widen slightly, but his voice stays calm. “No.”
“But you were made redundant soon after he was born? And then failed to find another position?”
Pete hesitates fractionally. “I went freelance.”
“And how many freelance commissions would you say you get each year?”
“Half a dozen?” Pete mutters.
“According to the National Union of Journalists’ database, last year it was three.” The barrister pauses for that to sink in. “Realistically, could the two of you afford for Ms. Wilson to give up her job?”
“Probably not,” Pete admits.
“So becoming Theo’s full-time carer was, ultimately, a decision forced on you by economic necessity?”
Pete takes a deep breath. “It was a choice I wanted to make, which also made economic sense. I’m aware I’m very privileged to be doing something I enjoy so much.”
“And yet,” the barrister says smoothly, “your privilege comes at a cost, doesn’t it—it deprives Theo of a full-time mother.”
“Your question seems to imply that a full-time father is inherently less competent than a full-time mother,” Pete says patiently. “I don’t think that’s the case. I think it depends on the individual.”
Good answer, I think.
The barrister smiles pleasantly. “What is your current ranking on the videogame Call of Duty?”
Pete blinks. “I’m not sure.”
“Let me refresh your memory. You are currently ranked number twenty-four thousand, two hundred and forty-seven of all players in the UK. Do you play often, to have achieved such a high position?”
Pete sighs. “Not often, no. I achieved that ranking before Theo came along. When I had a full-time job, incidentally.”
The barrister still looks skeptical. “Let me read a question you posted on the internet forum DadStuff, about the correct temperature at which to sterilize a baby’s bottle.” He reads out the post, then pauses. “That’s fairly basic information for a full-time parent, surely?”
“It was something I didn’t know. So I made sure I found out.” Pete grimaces. “Look, no parent gets everything right to begin with. Babies don’t come with a manual. But these days, they do come with the internet. And rather than assume I know all the answers, I think it’s better to check.”
He’s winning this exchange, I think. Against a professional inquisitor, Pete’s actually holding his own. I can’t help feeling proud of him.
The barrister says, “And speaking of the internet, do you look at pornography?”
Pete flinches. But he knows there’s no point denying something that’s now a matter of record. “I have, yes,” he says stiffly.
“And is that something the full-time parent of a small child should do?”
“I’m not proud of it. And I wouldn’t ever do it when Theo was in the house.”
“But the fact you might be tempted to rather defeats your argument that a mother and a father are interchangeable, doesn’t it?”
Pete opens his mouth to answer, but for a moment he can’t find the words. “It doesn’t make me a bad parent,” he says at last.
“What about child pornography? Would that make you a bad parent?” the barrister asks in the same reasonable tone.
Pete says icily, “If I looked at child porn, it would make me a monster. But I don’t.”
“But you have visited websites that feature sexualized images of children. And were interviewed under caution by the police as a result, isn’t that right?”
Pete explains that the image was an advertisement on an adult site, that the police were just trying to put pressure on him and no charges were ever brought. But his explanation sounds tortuous and self-justifying even to me. I steal a glance at the judge, trying to gauge her reaction. But she’s impossible to read.
“Thank you,” the barrister says, and just like that, it’s over.
Next it’s my turn. I’m ready for a repeat of the same attack on our parenting roles, but the barrister must think he’s already made that point, or perhaps he’s too clever to have a go at me for being a working mother in front of a female judge.
“How long have you known Mr. Riley?” he asks.
“Four years.”
“Would you say yours is a stable relationship?”
For a moment I just stare at him, outraged by the implication. Then I recover. “We own a house together. We had a child together. I left Australia to be with him. Of course it’s a stable relationship.”
“But you’re not actually married, are you?”
“What does that have to do with anything? It’s a personal choice.”
“Is it a choice you made because you don’t want to commit to this relationship for the long term?” the barrister asks mildly.
I look at the judge, furious. Surely he can’t be allowed to ask questions like these? But she only looks back, waiting for my answer. I take a breath. “No, it’s because I find the idea of marriage outdated and patriarchal.” My motives are actually far more complex than that, but I’m certainly not going to start unpacking them here and now.
“Has Pete ever proposed marriage to you?” the barrister asks.
“No, but…” I pause. “He knows my views, so he wouldn’t.”
“Or is it that he doesn’t want to commit to you?”
I blink. Strangely enough, it’s a question I’ve never actually asked myself. I’ve always taken Pete, and his commitment to me, for granted. “Being married wouldn’t make us better parents,” I say at last. “Or make our relationship more stable.”
“Have you and Pete been to a relationship counselor in the last two years?” the barrister inquires pleasantly.
I gape at him. How the hell does he know about that? Then I realize. Miles must have had his private investigator nosing around, digging up dirt. “We have, yes,” I say wearily.
“Why was that?”
“Theo’s premature birth was hard on us. We were never in any danger of separating, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yet the fact is, if you did separate, Pete couldn’t afford to go on being Theo’s carer, could he?”
“We’ve never done the sums, because it’s not going to happen.”
