Page 108 of The Girl You Left Behind
“Yeah? I thought you said these things were always black and white.”
“You want to back off, Greg? Or maybe I should stop by later and tell you how to run your bar. See how that goes.”
Greg and Jake raise their eyebrows at each other. It’s surprisingly irritating.
“High Court’s coming up.” Greg pulls up so dramatically that they all lurch forward. A taxi swerves past them, blaring its disapproval. “I’m not sure I should be stopping here. If I get a ticket you’ll pay it, right? Hey—isn’t that her?”
“Who?” Jake leans forward.
Paul looks across the road at the crowd outside the High Court. The open area to the front of the steps is packed with people. The throng has grown over the past days, but even shrouded in mist he can detect something different about it today: a choleric atmosphere, its participants’ faces set in expressions of barely concealed antipathy.
“Uh-oh,” says Greg, and Paul follows the direction of his gaze.
Across the road Liv is approaching the court entrance, her hands tight around her bag, her head down as if she is deep in thought. She glances up, and as she understands the nature of the demonstration before her, apprehension crosses her face. Someone shouts her name: “Halston!”The crowd takes a second to register, and she picks up speed, tries to hurry past, but her name is repeated, in a low murmur, which swells, and becomes an accusation.
Henry, just visible on the other side of the entrance, walks briskly across the pavement toward her, as if he can already see what is happening. Liv’s stride falters, and he leaps forward, but the crowd surges and shifts, splitting briefly, and swallows her, like some giant organism.
“Christ.”
“What the—”
Paul drops his files and leaps out of the car, sprinting across the road. He hurls himself into the mass and fights his way to the center. It is a maelstrom of hands and banners, the sound deafening. The word “theft” flashes in front of him on a falling banner. He sees a camera flash, glimpses Liv’s hair, grabs for her arm, and hears her shout out in fright. The crowd surges forward and almost knocks him off his feet. He spots Henry on the other side of her, pushes toward him, swearing at a man who grabs at his coat. Uniformed officers in neon tabards appear, pulling the protesters away. “Break it up. GET BACK. GET BACK.” His breath catches in his chest, someone thumps him hard in the kidneys, and then they are free, moving swiftly up the steps, Liv between them like a doll. With the crackle and whistle of a police radio, they are ushered in by burly officers through the security barriers and into the muted peace and safety of the other side. The crowd, denied, yells its protest from outside, the sound echoing off the walls.
Liv’s features are bleached white. She stands mute, one hand lifted in front of her face, her cheek scratched, her hair half out of its ponytail.
“Jesus. Where were you?” Henry straightens his jacket angrily, shouting at the officers. “Where was security? You should have foreseen this!”
The officer is nodding at him distractedly, one hand raised, the other holding his radio in front of his mouth as he issues instructions.
“Are you okay?” Paul releases her. She nods, steps blindly away from him, as if she has only just realized he is there. Her hands are shaking.
“Thank you, Mr. McCafferty,” Henry says, adjusting his collar. “Thank you for diving in. That was...” He trails off.
“Can we get Liv a drink? Somewhere to sit down?”
“Oh, God,” says Liv, quietly, peering at her sleeve. “Somebody spat on me.”
“Here. Take it off. Just take it off.” Paul lifts her coat from her shoulders. She appears suddenly smaller, her shoulders bowed, as if by the weight of the hatred outside.
Henry takes it from him. “Don’t worry about it, Liv. I’ll tell one of my staff to get it cleaned. And we’ll make sure you can leave via the back entrance.”
“Yes, madam. We’ll get you out the back later,” the policeman says.
“Like a criminal,” she says dully.
“I won’t let that happen to you again,” Paul says, taking a step toward her. “Really. I’m—I’m so sorry.”
She glances up at him, her eyes narrow, and she takes a step backward. “Why should I trustyou?”
Before he can reply Henry is at her elbow and she is gone, shepherded down the corridor and into the court by her legal team, blind to the fact that her ponytail is still half out of its band.
•••
Paul walks slowly back across the road, straightening his shoulders in his jacket. Greg is standing by his car, holding out his scattered files and leather briefcase. It has started to rain.
“You okay?”
He nods.
