The Girl You Left Behind

things
     were always black and white.’
    ‘You want to back off, Greg? Or maybe
     I should stopby 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.
    Paul swivels in his seat. ‘Jake,
     I’ll call you once we’re out of court, okay? We’ll go to the pictures
     or something tonight.’
    ‘But we’re doing that this
     afternoon. Greg just told you.’
    ‘High Court’s coming up on the
     right. You want me to do a U-turn?’ Greg signals left and pulls up so dramatically
     that they all lurch forwards. 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 upspeed, tries to hurry
     past, but her name is repeated, a low murmur, which swells, becomes an accusation.
    Henry, just visible on the other side of the
     entrance, walks briskly across the paving towards 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
     centre. 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 towards 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.
    ‘This is simply not
     acceptable!’
    ‘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 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