Page 68 of Maybe Tomorrow

Jennifer pulled up on the drive next to her home on Upgang Lane. She felt like crying on the drive as she remembered Anthony’s face when she left him that afternoon. It was a look of fear of the unknown. Pauline had worn the same look when she said goodbye less than fifteen minutes ago. They were putting their hope, their future, into Jennifer’s hands. She’d only defended one murder case before and lost. She couldn’t lose a second time.

She opened the front door and stepped into the warm, bright house. She placed her briefcase by the table in the hallway, hung up her coat and walked into the kitchen where she found her husband, Malcolm, standing by the patio doors overlooking the back garden. He had a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Jennifer had forgotten all about his candidacy today.

From somewhere deep inside her, she managed to find the excitement and joy that went with celebration. ‘You won!’ she exclaimed, a huge smile on her face.

Slowly, Malcolm turned around. His face was ashen. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘What? But… who?’

‘Neville Jordan.’

Jennifer’s face was one of confusion. ‘Neville… surely you’re joking? There’s no way they’d choose Neville Jordan over you.’

‘Well, they have.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged his shoulders. He looked on the verge of tears.

Jennifer went over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, meaning every word.

‘Let me pour you a glass of champagne,’ Malcolm said, pulling himself away. ‘It tastes absolutely foul, but I feel like getting pissed.’

‘He’ll win as well, won’t he?’ she asked, sitting down and taking off her shoes.

‘We have a high majority. The by-election is almost a certainty.’

‘We’re going to have to move. I don’t want Neville Jordan as my MP.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said, handing her a glass of champagne.

She took a long swig, and it went straight to her head. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.

She looked at her husband. Malcolm was three years older than her. He had neat, dark hair with a perfect side-parting down the right-hand side. He was tall and slim; he cycled and ran most days. He had a firm jawline and was always clean-shaven. He had intense dark eyes that looked playful when he smiled and compassionate when he cried. Jennifer loved him so much. He deserved to have all the success in the world. He worked so hard for it.

‘Was the vote close?’

‘It was, actually. Not close enough to ask for a recount, but close enough for me not to feel like a complete failure.’

‘You’re not a failure. Look, we both know Neville Jordan is a spineless idiot. He’ll be a terrible MP. He’ll mess up somehow before the next general election, then you can step in.’ Malcolm didn’t say anything. He drained his glass and refilled it. ‘Will you stay on at the council?’

‘I’ve got no choice, have I?’ he said, looking despondent.

‘I’ve got those steaks in the fridge. I was going to make us a slap-up meal.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Well, no offence, Malcolm, but I’m starving. I need to eat something.’

Jennifer stood up and went over to the fridge. She took out the steaks and set them on the countertop while she lit the grill.

‘How come you’re home so late, anyway?’ Malcolm asked.

‘Oh, I’ve had a day and a half today,’ she began. ‘I’ve been drafted in to defend Anthony Winstanley.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘The police arrested him yesterday for Alice Patterson’s murder. You know, the girl with Down’s syndrome who was killed on the night of that big storm? Anyway, it’s obvious they’re up a gumtree and haven’t a clue who killed her, and as Anthony is a bit… well, he’s a bit slow. I’m convinced they’re targeting him.’