Chapter 26
On Thursday, I hired a carpet cleaner, and Lacey helped me tackle the floors and upholstery. Then, as soon as we’d dropped Kaylynn at nursery, we headed into Leicester city centre to Pinter, Martin and Pinter solicitors.
Hana Pinter was everything I’d have hoped for in a defence lawyer, and then some.
Composed, punctual to the minute, organised and eloquent, with a ruthless glint in her dark eyes and a laugh that rattled the window frames.
She had a jet-black, choppy bob, immaculate scarlet fingernails, and a pale-gold complexion whose glow belied her many years of experience.
Hana set a plate containing the three biggest chocolate eclairs I’d ever seen on a low table between us. We’d given our coffee orders to her assistant before he’d even shown us into the spacious office on the second floor of an old warehouse building.
‘Please, eat.’ She briskly handed us each a napkin and sat down, smoothing out a non-existent crease in her flowy orange skirt. ‘I find that discussing potential incarceration is a lot easier when accompanied with chocolate and cream.’
As Hana somehow managed to wolf down her eclair without requiring a napkin, despite simultaneously taking notes in a leather notebook, she asked Lacey a few background questions.
Her expression turned steely when Lacey described how the duty solicitor at the initial court appearance had called her Lucy.
I mostly let them get on with going over the basics, choosing to savour the wonder of my first choux pastry in over a decade.
‘Right. Enough of the chit-chat.’ Hana’s brusque change in tone brought my attention back to the meeting.
‘First serious question: this is a significantly more trivial case than my experience, expertise and, to cut to the chase, hourly rates are used to. I haven’t worked on something this minor for a long time.
How on earth can you afford me? If whoever you’re mixed up with is bankrolling this, then I’m going to decline my services. ’
‘I’m paying for it. And yes, I can afford it.’ I spoke for the first time since saying hello. ‘I’ve read the fee document.’
‘This is your sister?’ Hana asked Lacey. It didn’t take superior analytical skills to figure that out. We were both wearing white blouses and dark trousers, our hair tied back and lipstick on. I’m not sure Dad could tell us apart.
‘Yes. You probably don’t recognise her, but—’
‘I have a fifteen-year-old daughter. So, yes, I’m familiar with the memes. Very pleased to meet you…’
‘Alex.’ Hana had insisted we used first names.
‘My apologies. I’ve seen more than enough in this job to take an irritatingly close interest in my daughter’s online activity – equally irritating for both of us, as I’m sure you can appreciate, Lacey, having a teenager yourself.
However, at my age, it becomes increasingly challenging to recall the names of people I have no interest in.
Now, your duty solicitor was kind enough to send over the pathetically miniscule number of documents he’s amassed in relation to your case.
Those, I have committed to memory. Shall we get down to business? ’
One of the reasons I’d chosen Hana Pinter was because the barrister acquaintance I’d asked for advice said she was blunt to the point of brutal. I knew this was what Lacey needed, but, boy, was it rough.
Hana outlined in clear, concise language that Lacey was facing seven years as a maximum sentence.
The evidence was looking stark.
‘Let’s get real, shall we? If you were sitting on a jury and presented with all this, how would you vote?’
‘What are you saying?’ Lacey choked out. ‘I’m going to prison for seven years?’
Hana rapped her pen on the table. ‘Absolutely not. I’m saying you need to consider your plea very carefully. If you plead not guilty, I cannot guarantee a jury will agree with you. A guilty plea knocks up to a third off your sentence.’
‘That’s still almost five years.’
‘No. For a first offence, with three dependents at home, given your remorse, the mitigating factors and the outstanding barrister we’ll hire to represent you, I would be hopeful we can avoid a custodial sentence altogether.’
‘How hopeful?’ I asked, hopefully.
‘I can’t make any promises. However, my brother and I are worth every pound you will pay me.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Tom Ikeda is my twin. I can assure you that has nothing to do with me hiring him. Quite the opposite. It vexes me to admit how magnificent he is. Although I do take a chunk of the credit. Growing up verbally sparring with a frustratingly gifted sister provided the perfect environment to hone his craft.’
Lacey spun her coffee mug round in her hand a few times before looking up, her shoulders back. The defiance in her eyes had my hope slumping to the floor.
‘No. I can’t risk ending up inside. Alex is paying you to get me off, so I can go home to my babies.
’ She stood up, grabbing her bag off the back of the chair.
‘I’ll do whatever you want, say whatever you want, but I’m not pleading guilty.
You and Mr Magnificent do whatever it takes to have me walk out of there a free woman. ’
I held back for a moment, after Lacey had stalked out.
‘If Lacey goes to prison, the children will live with me. I just wondered, how long…?’
Hana’s face softened for the first time. ‘Kaylynn is three?’
I nodded.
‘If your sister pleads not guilty, she needs to accept there’s a reasonable chance Kaylynn will be taken to her first day of school by her auntie.’
Today’s advent challenge word was PEACEFUL. I gave that one a miss.
Lacey had badgered Dad into spending the afternoon assembling the loft furniture in return for a six-pack of beer, so between us it didn’t take long to get everything else in place.
Lacey had given the boys the top floor, so Kaylynn could have the boxroom once Bronte had moved in with Zendon.
We knew it could all be temporary, but we had to try.
We tucked them all in, kissed them goodnight and tiptoed downstairs, sent the boys back up again, then again, and one last time when Lacey finally gave in and said if Harley was genuinely scared on his own, he could sleep top to tail with Lennon tonight and tomorrow we’d squeeze their beds in together.
Bronte appeared while Lacey and I were making a late supper.
‘The place looks amazing,’ she announced. ‘Almost like a normal person’s house.’
‘The boys have decided to share one of the loft rooms,’ Lacey said, offering her a slice of cheese on toast. ‘If you wanted to stay, you could have your own room.’
‘Yeah, there’s still only one bathroom between seven of us. Zendon has his own en suite.’ She took a large bite of the toast, catching a string of cheese that dripped onto her chin. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on now, or what?’
Lacey froze.
‘Auntie Alex? I’m more stressed not knowing.’
I looked at my sister. I wasn’t a mum; I had no clue what was best.
‘Can I remind you I’m an adult? Who’s been contributing financially and co-parenting the little ones for years. I have a right to know.’
There was a taut silence while Lacey furiously grated more cheese, then fought for a moment with a slice of bread stuck in the toaster.
‘It’s Auntie Alex’s Christmas present to all of us,’ Lacey said, eventually. ‘I know things haven’t been easy lately. I’ve been feeling down, and letting things get on top of me, which only made me spiral further. Alex has plenty of time on her hands now, so offered to help.’
‘And you let her?’ Bronte narrowed her eyes.
‘Yes.’
‘Fine. Don’t tell me.’
Lacey sighed. She’d raised a smart daughter. ‘Look, there is a bit more to it, but can we enjoy Christmas first, then talk about it?’
‘Are you dying?’
‘No! Flipping heck, Bronte. No. Nothing like that. I promise.’
Bronte turned to me, the need for reassurance clear in her worried eyes.
‘We promise.’
What else could I say?
‘How about I take the kids back with me for the weekend?’ I suggested as I washed up and Lacey dried.
‘They’ve never even seen my house. I know we’re hoping for the best, but I think we should consider some preparing for the worst. They can cuddle Ernest, have fun in the country park, we’ll watch Christmas films and do baking and other auntie stuff. ’
Lacey took a wet plate from the rack. ‘If I’m going to be away for however long, I want to spend every spare second I’ve got with them.’
‘I understand that. But isn’t it better if the unthinkable happens, and someone has to tell them they’re moving to Auntie Alex’s because Mummy has gone away, that they know where they’re going?
If they’ve got lovely memories of a fun place with beds they’ve slept in before?
They’ll already know where the toilets are and which cupboard I keep the snacks in. ’
‘You, a snack cupboard? What are they going to find in there? Rice crackers and goji berries?’
‘I want them to know Auntie Alex loves to take care of them.’
Lacey sighed. ‘Are you sure Auntie Alex loves that? These kids are a lot.’
‘Yeah, well, recently I discovered I don’t mind a lot these days.
At the very least, I can figure out which doors need locks on, how to handle a lot, before I’m also having to support them through the trauma of what’s happened.
Plus, I think my incredible single-mum sister could really do with her first night off in eighteen years. Don’t you?’
She looked at me. ‘What will I do all weekend?’
‘Sleep. Get your hair washed and styled. Buy an outfit to show Trudy Barnes you’re taking her concerns seriously.’
‘Will you talk to Mum about seeing the doctor before you go?’
Ugh. Had I not done enough already? The thought of talking to Mum made my mouth turn dry as a rice cracker, insides shrivelling to the size of a goji berry. But I knew it wasn’t fair to my sister to not even try.
We spent the next day adding finishing touches to the house, including all the Christmas decorations, then went out for a late lunch after we’d dropped off Kaylynn.
It was beyond surreal, the Nixon sisters back on the same team again.
I still wanted to slap Lacey’s hand when she said no to fries, then grabbed a handful of mine the second the waiter put the plate down.
More than once I was subjected to rolling eyes and accusations of humble-bragging.
I told her about Amir and Gemma for the first time, and she confessed she’d snogged him right before getting together with Tad, so it was probably for the best, anyway.
We laughed, and cried, and bickered and cracked open our hearts a millimetre or two for the first time in far, far too long.
Then, I stacked three little overnight bags in the hallway and braced myself for battle.
‘When are you next seeing the doctor?’ I asked my mother, having brought a thick slice of Christmas stollen to sweeten her mood.
‘As if you care,’ she muttered, rescuing a raisin from her cleavage and eating it.
‘I’ve spent the whole week here, doing everything I can to help Lacey keep hold of her children. Your grandchildren. What have you done, Mum? Apart from gripe and whinge and make constant demands?’
‘What, you want a medal now for turning up twice a year and pushing a hoover around, rearranging a few cupboards?’
‘If it’s that easy, then why haven’t you done it?’ I knew this wasn’t helpful, but I was tired and scared and she’d just brushed the crumbs from her lap onto the floor I had vacuumed only that morning. ‘This house was a health hazard.’
‘I’m seriously ill, if you hadn’t noticed. Barely able to get myself to the bathroom, let alone start cleaning up after the Hell’s Angels.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, Mum. Everyone has noticed. If you’re so ill, then why are you skipping your doctor’s appointments? Why aren’t you doing what you can to get better? Or at least not keep getting worse. How can you expect everyone to help you when you refuse to help yourself?’
Mum finally looked at me, her mouth agape. I had never challenged her like this.
‘I can sort you a private doctor’s appointment tomorrow, see if they can make a proper, up-to-date diagnosis.
Make sure your prescription is still right.
Book an OT to see what equipment you need so you don’t have to rely on Dad for everything.
A physio to help you get mobile again. Do you want to spend the rest of your life on this sofa?
You will die here if you don’t do something about it. ’
She blinked a few times, mouth contorting as she clenched at her dressing gown.
For a moment, I genuinely thought I might have reached her.
I knew that beneath the apparent laziness, selfishness and victimhood was a terrified, vulnerable girl who had been dealt too many blows in life to dare confront another, but I didn’t know how else to convince her to face up to this.
‘Does that spiel work on those morons who pay you to fix them?’ she said with a sneer.
I slumped back, defeated.
‘It’s bad enough you and Lacey nagging me all the time.
Last thing I want is more know-it-all professionals patronising me with their faddy ideas on how I should live my life, like I’m a child needing a sticker chart.
If you want to help, Alex Nixon the famous fixer, try making a cup of tea I can taste next time, instead of this dishwater.
And I like butter on my stollen. It’s like being back in the orphanage. ’
I didn’t bother saying goodbye.