‘OK, we seem to be getting somewhere.’ A cautious smile returned to Hassan’s face. ‘Mr Turner, Miss Fitz-Amobi, could we get your thoughts on those terms?’
‘Well,’ Roger began, ‘I think the –’
‘No deal,’ Pip said, pushing her chair back from the table, the legs screaming against the polished floor.
‘Pip,’ Roger turned to her before she could get to her feet. ‘Why don’t we go discuss this somewhere and –’
‘I will not retract my statement and I will not lie and say the audio file was doctored. I called him a rapist because he is a rapist. I will be dead before I ever apologize to you.’ She bared her teeth at Max, the rage curling her spine, coating her skin.
‘MR TURNER! Control your client, please!’ Epps slapped the table.
Hassan flapped, unsure what to do.
Pip stood up. ‘Here’s the thing about you suing me, Max.’ She spat out his name, unable to bear it on her tongue. ‘I have the ultimate defence: the truth. So, go on then, file the lawsuit, I dare you. I’ll see you in court. And you know how that goes, don’t you? It will have to prove whether my statement was true, which means we get to re-do your rape trial. All the same witnesses, the victim testimonies, the evidence. There won’t be any criminal charges but at least everyone will know what you are, forever. Rapist.’
‘Miss Fitz-Amobi!’
‘Pip –’
She planted her hands and leaned across the table, her eyes ablaze, boring into Max’s. If only they could start a fire in his, burn up his face while she watched. ‘Do you really think you can pull it off a second time? Convince another jury of twelve peers that you’re not a monster?’
His gaze cut back into hers. ‘You’ve lost your mind,’ he sneered.
‘Maybe. So you should be terrified.’
‘Right!’ Hassan stood and clapped his hands. ‘Perhaps we should have a break for some tea and biscuits.’
‘I’m done,’ Pip said, shouldering her rucksack, opening the door so hard it ricocheted into the wall.
‘Miss Fitz-Amobi, please come back.’ Hassan’s desperate voice followed her out into the corridor. Footsteps too. Pip turned. It was only Roger, fumbling his papers into his briefcase.
‘Pip,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I really think we should –’
‘I’m not negotiating with him.’
‘Wait a moment!’ Epps’ bark filled the corridor as he hurried over to join them. ‘Just give me one minute, please,’ he said, re-neatening his grey hair. ‘We won’t file for another month or so, OK? Avoiding a court case is really in everyone’s best interest. So, have a few weeks to think it over, when things aren’t so emotional.’ He looked down at her.
‘I don’t need to think it over,’ Pip said.
‘Please just…’ Epps fumbled in his suit pocket, pulling out two crisp ivory-coloured business cards. ‘My card,’ he said, offering them out to her and Roger. ‘My mobile number is on there too. Have a little think, and if you change your mind, call me any time.’
‘I won’t,’ she said, reluctantly taking his card, stuffing it into the unused pocket of her jacket.
Christopher Epps studied her for a moment, eyebrows lowered in an approximation of concern. Pip held his gaze; to look away was to let him win.
‘And maybe just one word of advice,’ Epps said. ‘Take it or leave it, but I’ve seen people in a self-destructive spiral before. Hell, I’ve represented many of them. In the end, you’ll only end up hurting everyone around you, and yourself. You won’t be able to help it. I urge you to turn back before you lose everything.’
‘Thank you for your unbiased advice, Mr Epps,’ she said. ‘But it appears you have underestimated me. I would be willing to lose everything, destroy myself, if it also meant destroying your client. That seems a fair trade. Now you have a good day, Mr Epps.’
She shot him a smile, sweet and acidic, as she turned on her heels. She quickened her pace, the clicking of her shoes beating almost in time with her turbulent heart. And there, just beneath her heartbeat, under layers of muscle and sinew, was the sound of a gun going off six times.
He caught her staring: at the fall of his dark hair, at the dimpled line in his chin where her little finger fitted, at his dark eyes and the flame dancing inside them from her mum’s new Autumn Spice candle. His eyes were always bright somehow, dazzling, like they were lit from within. Ravi Singh was the opposite of dead-eyed. The antidote. Pip needed to remind herself of that sometimes. So she watched him, took him all in, left none of him behind.