When the nurse is all done fixing me up, she pushes past the

curtain and Landry pushes his way in. He is expressionless, as if he can’t be bothered being angry with me any more. It’s worse.

‘Of all the people to be drunk and driving,’ he says.

‘I don’t need the lecture.’

‘What were you thinking, Tate?’

‘I don’t know’

“I tried to warn you.’

“I know’

‘Jesus, don’t you have anything else you can say?’

‘I … I don’t know. I wish I did. Jesus, I feel so numb. So

numb.’

‘The girl’s in a coma,’ he says. ‘It’s serious. Four broken ribs, a punctured lung and her jaw was dislocated. You’re lucky she’s not dead.’

I’m lucky.

My heart starts to flutter. ‘I… I thought she was dead.’

She’s lucky.

Luck.

;er.

“I know. Only nobody felt like telling you.’

I’m too angry at myself to direct any of it towards him.

‘She’s going to be okay?’

‘You better pray, Tate. You better fucking pray’

Nobody comes to see how I’m doing over the next hour, and

nobody has made the effort to feed me any painkillers, though

the throbbing in my head and from all the wounds is becoming

unbearable. Nobody cares about that. They all care about the

woman I hurt, and so they should. I want to go and see her. I

want to speak to her family and tell them how sorry I am. I can’t, of course. I’d simply be making myself the punching bag for their anger.

Eventually two officers come to get me. They don’t cuff me.

With a bare minimum of words and gestures they escort me out

to a police car. I sit in the back for the short drive to the station.

They don’t put me in an interrogation room. Instead they escort me to the drunk tank full of other people who’ve made similar

fuck-ups tonight.

I find a small piece of real estate I can call my own, a piece of bench between one guy already passed out and another guy on

his way to passing out. I take my jacket off and ball it up so I can lie down and rest it behind my head. I’ve never been in jail before — not one I couldn’t freely leave at any time — and even this is only a waiting room for the real thing. The smell is overpowering and the moans coming from the other drunks irritating. The floor is covered in piss and the toilet looks about as bad as toilets can possibly get. The cream cinderblock walls spread a chill into the room. I wonder which side of things luck would fall on now.

I stay awake all night. Occasionally our numbers go up, and

in the end we all make it through to the morning. As they lead me from the cell I think about Bridget and Emily and what they would think of me now. I remember having the same thought

yesterday.

I’m led through to the same interrogation room I sat in

yesterday. Everybody looks at me on the way. Yesterday it was

with pity. Today it’s contempt.

chapter thirty-one

‘Driving under the influence. Reckless driving. Jesus, you’re in some real trouble,’ Landry says. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night. They’re all wrinkled up, which means he probably slept in them. He looks even more tired than the last time I saw him.

‘How’s the girl?’

‘Stable.’

‘Is she going to make it?’

‘Maybe you should have been concerned with other people’s

safety before getting behind the wheel drunk.’

‘Is she going to make it?’

“I don’t know. Probably’

‘Probably? Don’t you care?’

‘I care, you son of a bitch.’ Landry bangs his fist down on the table. ‘I’m the only one in this room who does, and what you did last night proves that.’

I look away.

‘What in the hell were you doing?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re doing nothing at that time in the morning? Come on,

Tate. You were at the church again.’

“No, I wasn’t.’

‘In fact you were. I saw you there. Lots of people did See

it was on TV That reporter of yours showed it. She did a great job of it, showing you right outside the church breaking your

protection order.’

“I was getting my car.’

‘You were breaking the law.’

‘Come on, Landry, you could probably see me climbing into

the damn thing. And I left straight away’

‘Then what? You go back a few hours later and decide to

watch Father Julian? What’s the big plan here, Tate? Are you that desperate to kill yourself?’

I wonder if Father Julian heard the crash. I wonder if he looked in his rear-view mirror and decided he had more important things to take care of.

‘What’s going to happen now?’

‘Two things. We’re going to talk to Father Julian. We’re going to ask him if you were there last night, and if he says you were, you know what happens: we’re going to take his word for it.

We’re going to ask him once and let him think about it, and if he says yes we’re not even going to ask him if he’s sure about it. You get my point?’

“I get it.’

‘But first you’re going to be charged with DUI. You’ll be

escorted down to court later this morning. I’m going to do you a favour and let you wait here rather than back down in the cells. But it’s the last favour I’m ever going to do for you.’

He leaves me alone. I rest my head in my arms and manage to get two hours sleep before the same two guys who brought me upstairs take me out to a patrol car and drive me to the courts. The day is wet and cold and grey. I’m kept in the holding cells with a whole bunch of people whose futures are about to be determined by the same people about to determine mine. My headache hurts and so do the wounds. I’m given a court-appointed lawyer and We get to speak for about two minutes before my arraignment.

In court I stand in the dock with my head down and listen to

the charges. I plead guilty. I know how it all works. This is the same thing that happened to Quentin James. The judge sets bail and says that if it can’t be paid they will hold me until sentencing, which is set for six weeks away. I can’t pay the bail. I’m taken back to the cells, the plan being that sometime in the middle of the afternoon I’ll be transferred to prison. Christ I need a drink.

I don’t know how much time passes before one of the court

security officers opens up the holding cell and tells me to follow him.

‘Your bail’s been made.’

‘Made? Who by?’

‘Your lawyer.’

‘I don’t even know my lawyer.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not the same guy’ he says, shrugging. ‘You got a new lawyer now. Means you might have a chance at a real legal defence.’

A guy in an expensive-looking suit comes to greet me. The

suit is so sharp it’s hard to believe he’d dare sit down for fear of it wrinkling, but it isn’t as sharp as his smile.

‘Theo,’ he says, stepping forward and pumping my hand so

vigorously it’s suspicious. ‘Glad to finally meet you.’

‘Glad?’

‘Well, of course the circumstances are awkward. Not dire, but with your past they shouldn’t be anything we can’t handle.’

‘I’ve already pled guilty’

‘Yes, of course you have, and that was perhaps a mistake,’ he

says. ‘But the sentencing is what’s important. Your history, the reason you were drunk, will go a long way towards having them

reduced.’

He introduces himself as Donovan Green. He stands over my

shoulder as I sign a series of forms before I can go. The officers hand me over my wallet and my watch and my phone. The phone

is flat.

Green walks me outside towards a black BMW in the far corner

of the parking lot between a high concrete wall and a dark blue SUV with tinted windows and mud splashed up the sides. The