Chapter 40

She worked.

This was what she did when things were too large to sit with. She worked. She had been doing it since she was twenty-two and had learned that the best way through something difficult was to keep moving, keep building, keep her hands on something that had clear parameters and a definable outcome.

The closing argument had clear parameters.

Seven days had a definable outcome.

She worked.

—

The morning after the courtyard she arrived at seven thirty and went into her office and did not close the door all the way. Not open – not the way it had been before. But not fully closed either. A few inches. Enough that she could hear the office.

Enough that she could hear Freen arrive at seven fifteen.

She was already there when Becky came in. Of course she was. Seven fifteen. Same as always. Becky had walked past her desk without stopping and gone into her office and that was that.

She worked on the closing argument for two hours without coming up for air.

At ten she reached for her water glass.

It was full.

She hadn’t filled it. She had come in with an empty glass – she had noticed it on her desk and thought vaguely that she should fill it at some point. It was full.

She looked at it.

She looked through the glass partition at Freen’s desk. Freen was reading something. Head down. Not looking at Becky’s office.

Becky looked at the water glass.

She drank some and went back to the closing argument.

—

At twelve thirty the catered lunch arrived.

The firm did this occasionally during heavy trial periods – someone ordered from a nearby restaurant and it appeared in the kitchen and people helped themselves. Today it was Thai. A spread of dishes on the counter, labels on each one.

Becky went to the kitchen at one.

Most of the dishes had fish sauce. Three didn’t.

The three that didn’t had small cards in front of them that said – in Heng’s handwriting, which she recognised after four years – no fish / no fish sauce.

Heng had not arranged this. Heng had been in a client meeting since ten and had not been near the kitchen.

Becky stood in front of the three dishes.

She put food on her plate and went back to her office and closed the door and ate at her desk.

She was furious.

She was furious at the water glass and the three dishes with small cards and the fact that she had walked into the firm for six weeks and been cared for in thirty different ways she had only half noticed and had put them all in the box and managed them from a professional distance.

The box was open.

She ate her lunch.

It was good. The curry especially.

She was furious about the curry too.

—

The afternoon went.

She worked through the last section of the closing argument and got further than she had in a week – three full paragraphs that were right, actually right, the kind of right she could feel when it happened. She stopped at four and read them back and they were still right.

She saved the document.

She looked through the glass.

Freen was at her desk. She had been at her desk all day – no courthouse run today, no witness prep, just at the desk working on whatever Freen worked on when she wasn’t pretending to be a junior associate. The threat assessment probably. The operational picture.

Seven days.

She thought about Surat and Jeff and three interceptions she hadn’t known about. She thought about someone sitting in a building across the street with eyes on her office for six weeks.

She was furious about that too.

She was also – other things.

She picked up her pen and kept working.

—

Thursday Irin came for lunch.

The cafe two streets over. Small table by the window. Irin ordered the green curry. Becky ordered the same and then looked at the menu for another minute as if something might have changed.

“How are you,” Irin said.

“Fine,” Becky said.

Irin looked at her.

“What,” Becky said.

“You said fine in the voice that means the opposite of fine.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s two fines.”

“Irin.”

“I’m just counting.” Irin put the menu down. “How’s the case.”

“Good. Seven days.”

“And otherwise.”

“Fine.”

“Three.”

The food arrived. Becky picked up her fork. She ate some curry.

“It’s good today,” she said.

“It’s always good.” Irin ate some of hers. “You want to tell me.”

“I already told you. On the phone.”

“You told me the facts. That’s different.”

Becky straightened her fork on the table. It had been straight. She straightened it anyway.

“She lied to me for six weeks,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Every day. From the first morning.”

“Yes.”

“And she’d do it again.” Becky looked at her plate. “She didn’t say it. But she didn’t not say it either.”

“I know,” Irin said.

“To keep me safe.” Becky said it the way she said things she was still deciding what to do with. “She would lie to me every day to keep me safe.”

Irin drank her coffee. She didn’t say anything.

“You know what I think,” Becky said.

“Do I.”

“You have the face.”

“What face.”

“The face you have when you’ve already decided something and you’re waiting for me to catch up.”

Irin put her cup down. “You want to know what I think.”

“No,” Becky said.

“Okay.”

A pause.

“Yes,” Becky said.

Irin looked at her. “I think you’re angrier at yourself than at her.”

Becky straightened her fork again. It was very straight now. She straightened it anyway.

“I noticed things,” she said. “All along. Things that didn’t fit.”

“Yes.”

“I kept filing them away.”

“Yes.”

“I chose to keep going.”

“Yes,” Irin said. “You did.”

“So I’m-” She stopped. Started again. “Part of this is on me.”

“Part of it,” Irin said. “Not all of it.”

“But part.”

“Part.” Irin ate some curry. “You trusted your sister. You trusted the woman Charlotte put in front of you. That’s not stupidity. That’s not even naivety.” She paused. “You’re angry because you’re very good at noticing things and this time you noticed and you chose not to pull the thread.”

Becky looked at her plate.

“Because you didn’t want to,” Irin said. Not unkindly. Just factually.

The cafe went on around them. The lunch crowd, the noise, someone at the next table laughing at something.

“Don’t,” Becky said.

“I’m just-“

“Irin.”

“-saying what I see.”

Becky picked up her fork. Put it down. “The curry is good today.”

“It is,” Irin said. “You’re still angry at yourself.”

“Thank you for lunch.”

“Any time.” Irin picked up her own fork. “How’s the closing argument.”

“The last section is almost there.”

“Almost.”

“Seven days.”

“You’ll get there.” Irin ate some curry. She looked at Becky over the table. “Can I say one more thing.”

“No.”

“She refilled your water glass.”

Becky looked at her.

“You mentioned it on the phone,” Irin said. “The water glass and the lunch cards and the lift.” She held her gaze. “She’s been doing those things this whole time. Before the courtyard. Before you knew anything.”

Becky said nothing.

“When it was just a mission,” Irin said quietly. “She was still doing those things.”

The cafe. The noise. The lunch crowd. None of it particularly relevant.

Becky looked at her plate.

“The curry really is good today,” she said.

Irin smiled. She didn’t push it further. She went back to her food and the conversation moved and by the time they were done they had talked about Irin’s property case and a film they had both seen and a restaurant Irin wanted to try and none of it was about Freen.

But walking back to the office Becky thought about when it was just a mission she was still doing those things.

She walked faster than usual.

—

Back at the office she went to her desk and opened the closing argument.

She read the last section. The three paragraphs from this morning that were right.

She read the next part. Still not right. She knew what it needed – she had known all week. It needed to land differently. The evidence was there and the argument was there but the last turn wasn’t quite making it.

She looked through the glass.

Freen was at her desk. She had a file open and she was writing something – not typing, writing, in the small notebook she always had. She was focused completely on whatever she was writing.

She had not asked Becky for anything today. Had not knocked on her office door. Had not appeared in the kitchen at the same time. Had not done anything except be at her desk and do her work and refill the water glass and arrange three dishes at lunch.

Becky looked at the closing argument.

She knew what the last section needed.

It needed to sound like a person, she had said that weeks ago – not a legal argument but a person making a case for something that mattered. It needed the feeling underneath the structure.

She thought about the water glass.

She thought about Irin saying when it was just a mission she was still doing those things.

She thought about the anger and the thing underneath the anger that was becoming harder to keep separate.

She put her hands on the keyboard.

She wrote four sentences.

She read them back.

They were right.

She kept going.