Can’t believe how fast time is flying! Anyone else’s YP staying in St A’s and looking for a summer job? My DD is working in a local café, and they seem to be hiring if anyone is interested.
Hell yes! Keep him from under our feet. Can you send details?
I’ll DM you.
Co-op is also hiring if anyone is interested.
Mine is! Thank you. I’ll tell him to keep an eye out.
JUNE
Chapter 36
SCOTT
Lorraineedgesintotheparking space and pulls on the handbrake.
‘So remember. Keep an open mind. Say your bit and listen to what he has to say.’
Scott can’t look at her; he stares out the window at the Victorian bank-cum-office-block he is about to enter as if he’s a teenager and it's exam day and they both know he’s not prepared.
‘I’ll come in for the second bit, okay? You’ve got this bro.’
Scott doesn’t think Lorraine has used the term “bro” her entire life. He reaches across and squeezes her hand. He wouldn’t be here without her and they both know it.
He gets out of the car and stands by the entrance of the building.
Lorraine has done it. Brianna has done it. Now it’s his turn.
He takes the steps one at a time. Previously he would have sprinted up them. He’s somehow slower since his accident. His left knee aches in a way it never has done before.
The lady on the reception desk, dressed in navy, so not quite funereal, takes his name and directs him to a row of four utilitarian grey plastic chairs. A screen at slightly above eye level broadcasts morning TV on mute with the subtitles running. Scott closes his eyes as news about war zones, paedophiles and environmental catastrophe plays out. At least there’s nothing about wife killers; that would probably be enough to make him stand up and walk straight back out again.
‘Mr Reynolds?’ He opens his eyes when a gentle voice in an Eastern European dialect says his name.
Ursula, the mediator, is small, bespectacled and around his age. Her face is a refuge of calm reassurance. Her hand extends towards his own. He stands and accepts it. Her hand is so tiny he almost needs to counsel himself not to crush the bones under his terror-induced grip.
‘Shall we go into the interview room?’ she asks. He follows her down a long beige corridor and through a chipped grey door.
The room assigned to family mediation is cold and sterile, containing four wooden chairs with dark green cushioning and a low coffee table. The plastic covering of the two furthest away chairs is ripped slightly and the dull foam interior springs from its encasement like a wart.
Scott sits on the chair closest to the window, furthest from the door. A poster on the wall showing the Lake District curls at the edges and does little to lift the mood. A box of tissues sits on the table. If ever there was a place to signal you were going to pouryour guts out and be diminished into an emotional wreck, it’s here.
‘So let me take you through what to expect,’ Ursula’s voice is gentle, her eyes drip with empathy. ‘In a few moments, if you’re happy, I’ll go and get Leon. You won’t shake hands. I’ll ask him to sit down straight away. As the victim, you’ll talk first. I’ll ask you about the night of the accident, how it affected you, and how you’re currently coping with things. I’ll ask Leon not to respond to your comments. Today is for opening up and beginning the dialogue. The conversation will happen later, if at all. After you’ve spoken, then it will be Leon’s turn to talk. I’ll ask him the same questions. We’ll give him a chance to reply and as before, it won’t be a conversation. Just a simple sharing of information, thoughts and feelings.’ Ursula pauses and scrutinises his face. ‘How do you feel about that?’
How does he feel? Panicked? Traumatised?
Like he wants to run out of this room and never come back?
