Chapter Text
"And you stop looking so smug." Jocelyn is faintly aware that the whole time she has been explaining her problem to Ben, Maggie has been watching her. The look of affectionate amusement is warm in her eyes, and as she meets that gaze, something turns a somersault in Jocelyn's stomach. If anyone else had even attempted to engineer the conversation that has just taken place, she would have shut them down with the same flare that she is known for in court. But Maggie... Jocelyn thinks she would let Maggie get away with many Carbonaras, just to see that expression on her face.
"You're welcome." Maggie holds out her hand for Jocelyn's dish, and as she passes it over, the natural domesticity of all of this aches in her heart. Jocelyn cannot remember a time when she was with Maggie and not in love with her. To be sat here, in her own house, with Maggie presiding in the kitchen and at the top of the table, is so fitting it’s on the verge of painful. If she squints a bit at the history between them, Jocelyn can almost imagine that this is them, an old married couple entertaining her colleague. For that is how it would be, she has no doubt. Had she been strong. Maggie would be the cook for working meals; she would take over for the occasional dinner party. Ever practical, Maggie would be the one who could make something out of nothing; even now, Jocelyn is sure by the enticing smell from the kitchen that she's managed to throw a dessert of sorts together as well. Maggie would be the one who would keep her paperwork from overflowing; Jocelyn might return the favour with Maggie's stack of newspapers. They would both officially discourage each other from buying more books, whilst each would quietly egg the other on. Had she been strong. Maggie hands her back the plate, now laden with the creamy pasta, and Jocelyn nods her appreciation.
"Bon appetit!" Maggie starts into her own meal without further ado. Ben, like a hungry puppy, is already half way through his, apparently completely oblivious to the undercurrents between Jocelyn and Maggie. As she eats, Jocelyn continues to watch Maggie out of the corner of her eye, smiling at her obvious ease in the role she has taken on. It's the one good thing to have come out of her problem, this awareness of her peripheral vision; allowing her to privately take in sights she wouldn't have otherwise been able to see unnoticed. That said, when Maggie looks directly at her, she quickly pulls her gaze back to her food and feins complete absorption in the meal.
"So, what do you think?" Maggie addresses them both, her head turning back to Jocelyn.
"About the food? It's delicious."
"Mm, it is. Thank you, Maggie," Ben adds, once he swallows his mouthful.
"No, about the trial?" Maggie shakes her head. "Will you be able to persuade the judge?" Again, her gaze rests on Jocelyn, who lifts her eyes to half smile at Ben. His face is open and clear to read, worry written in his forehead, in the slight downturn of his lips. He raises an eyebrow at Jocelyn, and she twitches a finger, inclines her head, indicating he may answer the query.
"I hope we can. From a point of law, yes, we should be able to. The evidence wasn't compromised, Mark was witnessed at all times; he didn't gain close proximity to Joe. It was a reckless incident brought about by a grieving father and an unwise officer. We have all of that attested to, hopefully it's enough. Whether the judge will see it that way..." He looks directly at Maggie. "It will be up to Jocelyn to persuade her."
Maggie nods, glancing briefly at him before turning back to her. "Well?"
"Well what?" Jocelyn knows exactly what Maggie is asking, but she enjoys pulling the question out in full.
"Are you prepared? Can you persuade her?" The concern, coupled with belief, is clear in Maggie's voice, and not for the first time, Jocelyn marvels at how important the people of Broadchurch have become to this woman, a non-native who has made this place her home. She's not sure she would ever feel that way about, say, Oxford, from her time there as a student, or even London, from the years she spent living and working there. Maggie has an ability, somehow, not only to be so at home here herself, so connected to the people and the place, but also to make others feel that same level of connection too. And that, Jocelyn muses, is a real gift.
"I'm not worried." That's a lie, of course. She is. That the judge is fair, she has no doubt, but that said, she has shown an inclination to defer to Sharon so far. And so, Jocelyn is worried. But she is not going to show that to Ben, not at this juncture. "We have that sworn statement, we can provide proof that the defence's claim is overstated... I will clearly and concisely pull it apart, and I have no doubt the judge will agree that the course of justice can still be followed." Jocelyn nods to Ben. "He's put in good work today, getting hold of that officer, and the recordings." She flashes him a rare, twinkling smile, and is amused to see a light blush form in his cheeks. Maggie eyes her for a long moment after she finishes speaking, and Jocelyn knows that this conversation is not over yet. However, all her friend does is nod and glance round the table.
"All finished? Hand me your plate, Ben." Carefully, Maggie stacks the two, and then holds out her hand expectantly for Jocelyn's. "Now, who would like apple pie and ice cream? It's not much, but it'll do."
Ben nods with delight. "That would be lovely. I can't believe it takes you to be here to get such treatment!" He glances apologetically across at Jocelyn. "I mean," he falters, embarrassed, "it's been a long day, and I'm very grateful." Maggie grins broadly, and Jocelyn can hear her wordless repetition of 'you never change'. This is not the first time she has cooked for Jocelyn during a case, although it has been a long while.
She hands her plate back to Maggie with a smile, and observes: "It takes a journalist to make something from nothing. I didn't realise I had apples in the house."
"You didn't." And now Maggie really does look smug. "I know you. I came prepared." She lifts the stack of plates. "Come on then, make yourself useful and bring that dish in." Jocelyn does as she's told, leaving Ben at the table.
In the kitchen, Maggie sets the plates down by the dishwasher, and Jocelyn slips past her to put the casserole into the sink. Hands free, Maggie sidles up behind Jocelyn, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"I'm not going to apologise, because he needed to know." Her head shifts in to Jocelyn's ear. "But I hope you don't mind too much."
"Trust you to be ever begging forgiveness rather than asking permission...interfering hack that you are." But Jocelyn's tone and smile belie her words. She glances fondly back at Maggie. "Anyway, if that's the price of a good meal, I might forgive you, just this once. But don't do it again." She smirks, moving to open the dishwasher, feels Maggie's hand slip off her shoulder and fights back the urge to touch her fingers to the spot where it lay. Compartments. That's the key. And she is technically still working. As she loads the plates away, she hears Maggie removing a dish from the oven, scents the freshly baked pastry with pleasure. Apple pie was her mother's favourite, and Jocelyn has never tasted as good as she made it. Perhaps, if there's some left, she might bring it in to her in the nursing home tomorrow evening.
"I put the ice cream in the freezer, will you bring it through?" Maggie calls to her from the doorway. Jocelyn nods absentmindedly. She finds the tub, and the serving spoon laid on the counter by the dessert plates. Maggie has managed all of this evening without once asking her where something lives, nor yet sounding like she had to search each utensil out. Almost as if she were at home here. Jocelyn shakes her head. She can almost hear Maggie accusing her of marinating. Ha! If only she knew. Carrying the dishes through, she finds Maggie and Ben in animated conversation.
"Thanks, petal." Maggie tilts her head up, brushing stray hairs out of the way. "Ben was just saying he was going to give you a lift to the court tomorrow morning, but I could do that if you want? It's senseless to have him come all the way back here only to drive back into town." She makes no comment about the reason Jocelyn needs a lift, and for a moment, Jocelyn entertains the idea that she doesn't even know. But of course she does, even if Ben hasn't told her. She has an uncanny knack for finding out these things. "It seems daft," Maggie presses her point, "when I'm here, and going that way anyway." Jocelyn glances at the both of them as she sets the dishes down, and nods.
"Since you seem to have worked it out between you, I have little choice in the matter! You don't mind?"
"Why should I mind?" Maggie's laughter rings out. "And it gives Ben precious more minutes with his family, not that you'd think of that." The rebuke is gentle, teasing, and Jocelyn accepts it with a nod.
It's true, she doesn't give thought to the home life of colleagues, any more than she ever gave thought to her own, when she was Ben's age. Her own mentor at the time had high expectations of her, though not as high as Jocelyn's own, and had pushed and pushed until she thought she could give no more. But then, home life and work life had always been combined for her, the daughter of one of the premier QCs of his time. She was studying law from her father's books when the other teens of her age were listening to the Beatles. When they were emulating silver screen idols, Jocelyn was memorising turns of speech, hand movements and how to throw a verbal punch into an opposing witness statement. Even when they went out to relax, fishing off the coast, just the two of them, the conversation would be around points of law; how to argue for or against any particular determination, how to bring a judge round to your side. She was never more gratified than when she saw her father's pride during her first closing speech. And then he had died, younger than she is now. Suddenly, a massive stroke in his sleep.
After the first shock wore off, she swore to be to others the mentor he had been to her, to keep his presence and belief in the legal system alive. In a sense, when Hardy had asked her about children, she could have said that each junior she had taken on through her long career had been a child to her, and she the strict, uncompromising parent. Ben is the latest in a long line of Jocelyn's children, but certainly one she likes more than most. Perhaps she is getting soft in her old age.
"Pudding." Maggie's voice breaks through her reverie, and Jocelyn smiles.
"Sorry, I was miles away." She accepts the proffered dish with a nod and a swift sideways glance at Maggie. "Ben," she turns to him, eyes open, and, she hopes, caring. "Maggie's right."
"Ha! There's a first!" But Maggie hushes as Jocelyn waves a hand at her.
"We've got this covered, I think. How about you have the night off when we've finished the meal? Go home, see your family..." She can't think what else to say. "Have a rest. Hmm?"
Ben looks like Christmas has come early. He tries to hide it, but Jocelyn is too quick, too observant to miss the delight that lights his eyes. "That… Well, thank you very much, I'm... If you're sure, that is? Do you need other files recorded? I could bring them with me."
"No!" Jocelyn laughs at his willing, and repeats herself, softer this time. "No, if I say have a rest, I mean it. Anyway, Maggie can read to me if needs be." She glances toward her friend, who raises her eyebrows in mock displeasure.
"I can, can I?" But her tone is light, rippling with amusement.
"Yes, you can. Make up for your bribery earlier." Jocelyn turns back to her junior. "I mean it, Ben. Make the most of it, get an early night. I'm not often so accommodating, as Maggie can tell you." Jocelyn grins broadly, tipping him a wink, and in his befuddlement, Ben is hard put to stammer his thanks. To her left, Maggie nods appreciatively, before attending to her pudding.
"You're a great cook, Maggie." Ben observes, when he has his breath back. "Don't tell my wife, but this is the best apple pie I've tasted."
She smiles at the praise, but her eyes turn to Jocelyn. "The real question is, does it come to Mrs Knight's standard? I've been working at this for fifteen years..." Maggie's eyes twinkle, and she's clearly making the comment tongue in cheek, but Jocelyn thinks she notes a glint of concern under the light tone. "Well?"
"I'd say you're getting there." Jocelyn smirks and quirks an eyebrow, glancing at Maggie under hooded eyes. "Perhaps a touch more ground almond in the pastry, and a little ginger in the spice?"
"High praise. You mark my words, Ben, I'll perfect this yet." Maggie chuckles as she scoops up the final crumbs and dregs of ice cream.
"Seems like you missed your calling. Did you never think of becoming a cook instead of a reporter?" Ben turns his head to Maggie.
"Not my scene, really. Not enough people and far too much pressure." She fingers her fringe out of her eyes. "Besides, if I'd done that, I'd never have come here, and then where would you be?"
"Underfed and overworked, obviously." He grins sheepishly, and continues, "but surely there's more pressure in a newspaper? Deadlines and so on?"
"Mm, different type of pressure though. Especially on the Echo. The Herald was different, I admit. Much more cutthroat, less respect for the people whose lives we report on... And that's a fairly decent paper, not like the rag I started out on. I hated that job with a passion, nearly made me give up journalism." She pauses, eyes cloudy, then brightens again. "But the Echo is nice. Well, obviously, I set the deadlines! And I try and steer the moral compass..."
Jocelyn barks a laugh. "Try telling that scrap of a lad Oliver! He seems like he'd be right at home on one of the tabloids."
"Don't I know it." Maggie groans and shakes her head."I don't know what I'm going to do with him, I really don't. I mean, he has a good eye for a story, but he's so indiscriminate, and goodness knows, he wouldn't recognise a scruple if it hit him in the face. D'you know, I sometimes think he's more concerned about the story of this trial than he is about the people - his own family, for heaven's sake!" She sighs, and looks at the empty plates. "But enough of me moaning. Tea or coffee?"
"Actually, I think I'm fine as I am, thank you. And if Jocelyn's certain..." Ben looks from one to the other.
"I am."
"Well then, maybe I might get on. I might even be home in time to read the kids' bedtime story." He blushes again. "I like to do that, when I can."
"Awww. What age are they, Ben?" Maggie sounds genuinely interested, and Jocelyn watches her, fascinated. In the couple of months she's worked with him, she doesn't think she's ever inquired about his family, other than the odd 'all okay? Good...' without pausing to hear more than the first word of his response. Not that she doesn't care for his health and happiness, exactly - and of course that extends to his nearest and dearest... It's just, well, it doesn't have any bearing on the work in hand, providing everything is fine. Anything that doesn't relate to the case is only a cause for losing focus. And Jocelyn doesn't do that. So it never occurs to her to ask colleagues these kind of questions outside of work, to have this curiosity about people she doesn't know, who aren't involved in a trial.
"Molly is three, and Hannah is five." He smiles with delight at the sound of their names, a real proud dad, Jocelyn thinks. "They're lovely. Hannah's quite quiet, but Molly's out going, like Laura, their mum. They're still mad on the Disney film, what d'you call it, Frozen. Laura says she's getting sick of hearing that one line from the song, over and over again." Maggie beams at him, enchanted.
"They're great at that age, aren't they?"
"Yeah. And they grow so quickly, too. If I'm away on a job for a few weeks, I come back and they've visibly changed. It's scary." Ben glances at his watch. "Well, I'd best hit the road. You're sure about tomorrow morning, Maggie?"
"Of course I am. Get on and see those girls!" Maggie rises from her seat in time with Ben. "I'll see to this one, get her to the court on time, never fear."
Jocelyn raises her eyebrows and glances at Maggie with amusement before standing herself, and nodding to Ben. "Thanks for your work today, Ben." She leads the way to the hall, where he's left his suit jacket, which she hands to him. "Be sure and get a good rest." He nods, a hasty smile, and looks back to Maggie, bringing up the rear.
"Thanks again for the food. I really appreciate it."
They follow him outside, standing on the doorstep until Ben's car pulls out of the drive. Then Maggie turns to Jocelyn, a warm, open smile on her face.
"Shall we have that tea, then? And you can practice your speech on me."
"I can, can I?" Jocelyn snorts. "How do you know I want to?"
Maggie smirks. "You always do. Come on." She ushers Jocelyn back in, closing the door firmly behind them.
"Actually, I rather fancy a glass of wine. Will you join me?"
"Ooohh, that's very tempting. Just the one, then." They go through to the kitchen, where Jocelyn turns to the wine rack, and pulls out a Pinot Noir.
"This do?"
Maggie barely looks at it. "I'm sure it'll be lovely, knowing your taste. You pour, I'm going to clear the table." She is as good as her word, loading the dishwasher then wiping down the counters. Five minutes later, she joins Jocelyn in the conservatory. The evening sun has fallen behind the house, but casts deep pink and orange hues against the mackerel clouds hanging over the cliffs opposite. Maggie breathes out a sigh of pleasure as she eases herself into one of the wicker armchairs. "Beautiful."
Jocelyn hands her a glass, and clinks it with her own, a smile playing about her lips. She stays standing, gazing out at the evening sky, running over the morning's speech in her mind. Without looking, she can feel Maggie's eyes on her, waiting. She places her glass on the window sill, and, without turning, begins to speak.
"My lady, the officer who let Mark Latimer in has been interviewed. Mark spoke to the defendant through the wicket only." Jocelyn flicks her hand upright, emphasising her point. Unwittingly, she begins to pace alongside the window, continuing. "At no point was he in close physical proximity to the defendant, nor did he have access to any information or evidence held by the police at that time." She pauses, turns to look Maggie directly in the eye. "He was escorted from the premises, having been attended at all times. The defence's argument is overstated and gives too much credence to the event that occurred." Jocelyn paces back up the room, stops in front of Maggie, continues to look straight at her. "No evidence was compromised, no physical intimidation occurred. We have a sworn statement to this effect from the officer who was present. My lady, it was an unfortunate incident, but the process of justice can still flow. This doesn't mean the defendant cannot have a fair trial." She leans back and picks up her wine, then stands eyeing Maggie. "Well?"
Maggie nods, slowly. "Good. Very good. Do you show the judge the statement?"
"It will be available to her if she wishes."
"Is 'to this effect' superfluous? Couldn't it be heard as a suggestion that you're not being accurate?" Maggie leans on her hand, considering Jocelyn, forehead wrinkled and mouth slightly open."Also, 'held by the police at that time' could be misread as Mark having access at other times, surely?" Jocelyn frowns at the criticism momentarily, before giving a brief jerk of her head.
"You're right." She runs through the speech again, without the phrases; practices her pauses, her inflections, the moments when she will look directly at the judge. This time, Maggie applauds.
"Well I'm persuaded."
"You're easily satisfied. Would that the judge were as partisan." Jocelyn lifts her cigarette case from the overflowing coffee table. "You don't mind?" As an afterthought, she proffers it to Maggie, who shakes her head, and reaches in her pocket for the odd-looking plastic replacement.
"Not in the slightest. I'm quite content with my own these days." Maggie takes a puff. "You sound good. But I got the feeling before that you aren't as certain as you were making yourself out to be?" Maggie's eyes sharpen as she looks at Jocelyn. "What weren't you saying?"
Jocelyn snorts. "The perils of speaking in front of a journalist. Will you ever leave the day job at the door?" She sits down in the wicker armchair, crosses her legs, folds her arms and rolls her shoulders as she glances at her friend.
"The day you do." Maggie retorts.
Jocelyn rolls her eyes. "Fair." She pauses to light her cigarette, inhales deeply. Turns the filter between her finger and thumb. "It's hard to know. I trust the judge, she comes across as impartial and unbiased. But..." She shakes her head, eyes distant. "She takes more from the defence than I like. Sharon is a Rottweiler; she's showy, and argumentative. She doesn't let things go." She pauses. "Like Prince Naseem in the boxing ring." Jocelyn glances at Maggie to check that she gets the reference. "They've worked together before, as well."
"You think that would affect her judgement?" Now Maggie looks worried.
Jocelyn considers, exhaling slowly. "No... Not as such. I have no grounds to think that. It's just..." She trails off, for once uncertain, unable to articulate her precise concern. "Unfortunately, the defence have a good point. The investigation was flawed. Procedure wasn't followed, to the extent that there are judges who would laugh it out of court. Everyone involved has been reckless, police and witnesses alike. It's up to me to do what I can with that, but I'll not lie, Maggie, it's an uphill battle." She sighs, before firing a warning. "And don't you dare quote me on that."
Maggie laughs and shakes her head. "I left the notebook at the door, if not my curiosity. I'll not write a word." She takes another puff. "It's difficult. None of us want to see this trial fall apart. We all want justice to be served." Her eyes darken. "The family need it. The town needs it. But..." Jocelyn watches her closely. "I can't forget what we learnt from Karen, the reporter from the Herald who came down during the investigation. Alec Hardy has always been a loose cannon, whatever reasoning he had for it, and I know he did have his reasons. But best practice is as foreign to him as it is to Oliver. If this trial collapses..." She faces Jocelyn, eyes tight, lips pursed. "It can't collapse, Jocelyn. We all need this. You must persuade the judge."
"You don't have to tell me that. I'll do what I can with what I have." The repetition of these words bring Hardy into the forefront of Jocelyn's mind, and his other comments surface in her thoughts. She gazes at Maggie for a moment, before dropping her eyes, lest they give her away. "But enough of the trial." She lifts the wine bottle from where she'd secreted it, by the radiator, and fills their glasses. "What have you been doing, these last few months, asides from reporting on the sordid minutiae of people's lives?" She takes a last pull at her cigarette and extinguishes it. "I haven't seen that much of you."
Maggie raises her eyebrows. "You mean you think I have a life outside of the Echo? That's news to me." She smirks. "Not much really. The cutbacks from head office have been a right bugger. I haven't done so much unpaid overtime since my early twenties, and honestly, I'm beginning to feel a bit too old for it, some days, at any rate." Maggie laughs at herself, rueful. "And the refurbishment of the old offices has only added to that - not that I mind the damp finally being dealt with." She pauses, looking like she's debating what to say next. "You know I split up with Lil?" Maggie glances over at Jocelyn, a sharp, gauging look that she can't quite interpret.
"I didn't, no." Jocelyn wonders if she should sympathise. She'd never met Lil, they weren't together all that long, as far as she can recall. It's not as if she has encouraged visitors these last few years, and while Maggie tends to ignore all but the the bluntest, most scathing dismissals, she rarely brings anyone else with her. "I'm...sorry to hear that?"
"Don't be." Maggie shakes her head. "It wasn't working out, for either of us." She gives Jocelyn another of those sly looks. "We both wanted different things from life, and Lil certainly didn't want to live in a small seaside town, more fool her."
Jocelyn nods, understanding. Wonders what to say next. She could ask if Maggie has her eye on anyone else, but that's never been their style. Over the years, Maggie has had various partners, some Jocelyn has met, others she just heard about, frequently after the fact. None of them ever seemed to be the right fit for Maggie; either they loathed the locale, or were completely disinterested in the people - and Jocelyn knows Maggie loves Broadchurch for its people as much as its beauty - or they had differing cultural tastes. Either way, there's always been a reason for them to depart. Maggie never seems that bothered - or if she is, she doesn't share the emotion with Jocelyn.
Outside, the light is failing. The clouds have gathered in, and the sky is heavy and dark. Jocelyn watches it for a few moments, sipping her wine. The quiet is comfortable between them; easy and weightless. She glances back at Maggie, curled in her seat, head propped on her hand, eyes thoughtful. How many times have they sat like this, over the years? Sometimes chatting about work, other times about the books they've read recently; still other times wordless, as they are now. She could watch Maggie take in the world around her for nights on end, and not be bored. As the shadows grow deeper across her friend's face, a question that has been floating in the periphery of Jocelyn's mind comes to the fore.
"Why didn't you tell me about Susan Wright? Before, I mean. When it happened?" She watches as Maggie processes the question, worries that it's too forthright, too accusatory. Finally, moments after Jocelyn has begun to feel really concerned that she sounds like she's prying, or that she somehow deserved to know, Maggie answers.
"I..." She stops, momentarily struck for words. "I suppose I thought you had enough on your mind." Maggie shoots a direct glance at Jocelyn, eyes wide open at first, then blinking rapidly. "I mean, it was only a few days before Jack..." She flounders again.
Jocelyn nods. She knows what Maggie isn't saying. They had disagreed about her friend, prior to his death. Maggie had come looking for information, which Jocelyn wouldn't give, and sharp words had passed between them; about privacy, about the morality of the press, about what the public should or shouldn't know. When Jack's body was found, it was Maggie who had walked up the hill to Jocelyn with the news, wearing metaphorical sackcloth and ashes. She had wanted Jocelyn to hear it from her, personally. After the first horror wore off, Jocelyn had accepted her friend's heartfelt apology, and had even come to realise that Maggie's own role in the tragedy was not as instrumental as she first thought; but that Maggie felt the guilt of it nonetheless.
"And honestly, things were hectic round then. I mean, the paper was so busy, I was in the office most nights till midnight, and back first thing." Maggie sighs. "That probably had just as much to do with Lil leaving as anything. She said I was married to my work." She cracks a resigned grin. "Which is true, but it still hurts to be accused of it."
Jocelyn gazes at her, heart sore for the sting she can hear in Maggie's account. She knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of that particular phrase.
"I see." She pauses, debating whether she should apologise; for not having been there, for not being the friend to Maggie that Maggie is to her. But the words won't come. Instead, an admittance. "I should have realised."
"What? Why?" Maggie looks startled.
Jocelyn composes herself. "I mean, I should have known you had that much going on. Should have been more aware. I've spent too long lately being so...locked up in myself. It's made me rather blind." She laughs, a bitter, sarcastic sound. Maggie shakes her head.
"Well I'll not disagree that you've spent far too much time brooding, you know my thoughts on that, and it's a delight to see you so alive again petal, it really is. But don't carry my failures of communication as well, there's no need for that." Maggie smiles at Jocelyn, who feels relief for a tension she didn't even realise she was holding. She reaches for the bottle and tops their glasses up, leaving it empty. Maggie continues, regardless. "So how about we say no more about it?"
Jocelyn nods, turning the stem of her glass in her fingers, thoughtful. There have been times when Maggie has landed up with her, that she could have cursed her, for disturbing her peace, her privacy. And yet, it is through Maggie that she gets the clearest vision of herself. She, Jocelyn, who thought herself so self-aware, requires a friend to give her clarity. Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone else. It's difficult even to show Maggie. She feels so vulnerable when she does, so open to attack. And Jocelyn fears feeling vulnerable even more than she abhors failing. That's why she stopped taking cases, really; it's why she has shut herself away from people in general. Bizarrely, she realises, these actions have only served to give her more of a horror of being cornered by situations she hasn't prepared for. She looks up to find Maggie watching her.
"How're you doing? Jocelyn? Really?" The concern in her voice is apparent. "Outside of the courtroom, how're you coping with being back in the world?" Maggie rests her cheek on her hand, gazing at her, unblinking.
Jocelyn sighs. Trust Maggie to ask the most prescient question; to have noticed the cracks.
"Why ask when you already know?"
"I don't!" Maggie remonstrates.
"Well you wouldn't ask if you didn't have a fair idea." Jocelyn casts a sharp look at Maggie, who tilts her head, considering.
"Mm, maybe. But I'd rather not jump to conclusions."
"I..." Jocelyn finds herself drying up. "I'm enjoying it. Well, mostly." She thinks of the crashed car, having to field concerned questions from Ben that night, and the morning after. "There are...adjustments I need to make. But on the whole, yes." She pauses, and watches Maggie's face. Clearly, she's waiting for more. "I admit, the noise is taking a lot of getting used to again. That's probably the hardest bit. That and dealing with impromptu...situations...where people want answers and reassurances that I can't give." Jocelyn takes a large sip of wine, holds it in her mouth, then swallows hard.
Maggie nods. "It's difficult for you, I know."
"I feel...ambushed, sometimes. Unprepared. Not in terms of the trial, mostly, but outside of it. It's so difficult to know how someone is going to react..."
"...When you haven't scripted your lines?"
"Yes, precisely. And that..." Jocelyn fades off, unable to articulate her frustration.
Maggie's eyes warm. "You're doing wonderfully, petal." Her reassurance sounds so genuine, Jocelyn almost believes it. She can feel her lips twitch into a half smile, and meeting Maggie's gaze finishes the job.
"Thank you."
Another pause, and Jocelyn is almost thinking of suggesting they retire to the sitting room, when Maggie asks another question that jolts her.
"How's your mum?" Maggie knew Veronica long before the Alzheimer's had become visible; in fact, it was Jocelyn's mum who had told her about this lovely, friendly journalist who had moved to the town. They had met over shopping trolleys in the supermarket, at first, before discovering a mutual passion for wild flowers, which led to Maggie accompanying Veronica on her daily walks. It had been Maggie who first noticed the signs of the dreaded illness; who brought them to Jocelyn's attention; who tried to console both mother and daughter as they fought against the reality of the diagnosis. And when Jocelyn was still in London, it was Maggie who visited Veronica regularly, first in her house, keeping an eye on the carers, and then in the nursing home. She would ring Jocelyn with updates, subtly trying to prepare her for the changes she would meet each occasion she came back after a time away. Sometimes, Jocelyn would joke that Maggie was more of a daughter to Veronica than she herself was, and perhaps that was why, when Jocelyn moved home, Maggie had lessened her visits. But her care is still evident by the tone of her voice.
"She's... Oh, Maggie. She's not the woman she was." Jocelyn hears the break in her voice. Her throat feels constricted, painful. "She's eating okay, so long as someone feeds her... I try and get in for breakfast most days, though it's been more difficult since..." She can feel her cheeks burning, and hurries on. "But it's just so hard. She's not my mum anymore. Her sparkle, her warmth...the way she could go from mid sentence about some character in a book she was reading, to pointing out butterflies in the garden, or noticing a flower that had just opened. I heard the first Cuckoo the other day, and when I told her, she just looked at me, so blankly..." Jocelyn surreptitiously wipes a tear away from her cheek, hoping the low light will disguise her need to do so. "She always used to phone me up, just to tell me, when she heard it." There's a definite catch in her voice now, and she doesn't trust herself to say any more.
"Oh sweetheart." Maggie's voice aches with compassion, as she extends her hand over to grasp Jocelyn's arm. "I'm so sorry."
Jocelyn nods, curtly, as Maggie removes her hand. The sympathy is soothing in a sense, but makes her own pain all the more real, because Maggie clearly recognises it for what it is. The guilt of a daughter who has not always been there; who didn't phone as often as she could, whose flying visits home were few and far between, who didn't want to spend mornings in the local cafe with her mother and friends. As she reminded herself the other day, it's easy to recognise mistakes in hindsight - impossible to fix these particular ones now. She takes a deep, steadying breath.
"I'm also not convinced by the home." Jocelyn glances over at Maggie, eyes veiled in the quarter light. "I...spoke to the manager the other day, and didn't get a straight answer out of him, which concerns me."
"How do you mean?" Maggie sounds curious.
Jocelyn tilts her head, considering. "Maybe it sounds paranoid, but I don't trust someone who doesn't answer a question properly. He made me think of a politician." She gives a short laugh, which Maggie echoes.
"You'll never change, will you? Once a lawyer, always a lawyer. What did he say?"
Jocelyn smiles, and sighs. "Perhaps you're right. But when I asked how he thought she was doing, his answer was to say that she's no bother." She imitates the irritating man, making quotation marks in the air. "No bother?" Jocelyn can hear the indignance in her voice. "Honestly Maggie, if I hadn't been in such a rush to get to the Court, I'd have taken him apart then and there. It's pretty basic, you'd think, answering a direct question truthfully." She watches Maggie nod, her expression difficult to read, but Jocelyn thinks she senses concern. "What would you do?"
Maggie takes a while to answer. "Well, I never had nursing homes to deal with, for my parents. Chances are he just hadn't looked at the nurses' reports, and didn't want to be misquoted - or he genuinely thought you were asking whether she was a bothersome patient. But I'd be inclined to press him, put him on the spot. You're the one paying the bills, after all. You deserve an honest answer. Cross examine him." Her eyes twinkle. "It's what you're good at."
"Hmmm." Jocelyn feels herself colouring, can sense her own discomfort. She does not want to admit just how difficult things are, but Maggie is too quick for her, her journalist's sixth sense must be tingling, Jocelyn thinks wryly.
"What?" Maggie edges forward in her seat a little. "Jocelyn. What aren't you saying?"
"For goodness' sake Maggie. Enough!" The words may be sharp, but Jocelyn can't find it in her to be annoyed at Maggie, not after the evening they've had. Maggie continues to gaze at her; eyes steady, concern apparent in the curve of her shoulders. Jocelyn sighs. "Oh alright. I'm..." She falters, hating herself for making the admission, more still for the fact that the problem exists in the first place. "The bill is rather steep. That's all. Easier now I have a bit of work, so I suppose I should thank you." She gives a bitter laugh, and hopes she's managed to appease Maggie's curiosity. However, a change of topic can't hurt. "How about we go through? It's getting cold in here." Jocelyn stands to emphasise her point. Maggie seems to accept that the subject is closed.
"Actually, I should probably get going... I've had far more than I meant to. I'll have to walk down, and leave the car here if that's ok with you?" Maggie looks up at her. "Bad influence you are, I was only going to have one glass!" She grins at Jocelyn as she stands up. "All my good intentions ruined."
"I think we both knew they weren't likely to last." Jocelyn returns. "But why bother going home?" She turns limpid eyes on her friend. "You know there's a spare bed, I can lend you a nightdress. Makes more sense than leaving now only to come back first thing." She tries to glance at her watch, eyes refusing to focus; gives up. "I warn you, I want to be at the Court for eight."
"And it's late enough as it is." Maggie yawns. "Well, if you really don't mind, that would be lovely. Much as a nighttime stroll is nice, I'd much rather an extra half an hour in bed!"
Jocelyn nods and turns to the door into the kitchen. "I'll get upstairs sorted. Make yourself a drink if you want. You know where everything is." She leaves Maggie to it. Up the stairs, across the landing, into the spare bedroom - she knows she left paperwork there the other week, but at least the sheets are clean on, if not at all recent - she changed them the last time Maggie stayed the night. A quick search in a cupboard and Jocelyn finds some spare towels and a facecloth. She lifts the files and takes them through to her own room; goes to her drawers and pulls out a nightdress. It might be a little long on Maggie, but it'll do. A thought strikes her and she goes through to the en suite. Yes, she does indeed have an unopened toothbrush. Good. That should be everything. She leaves the light on, and returns to the spare room, lays out the nightie, puts the toothbrush with the towels, and looks around. Nods. Yes, that will do.
Back downstairs, Jocelyn finds Maggie peering at one of her book cases, her hand on the spine of an old John Mortimer.
"You can borrow something if you like?" Jocelyn always reads a few pages before bed, no matter how tired she is, and she is aware Maggie does the same. "You know there's more upstairs."
"Thanks, but I think even Rumpole is a bit much tonight." Maggie puts the book back. "I've got a travelogue in my bag, might be nearer the mark." Jocelyn raises her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head.
"That would wake me up rather than send me to sleep!" She laughs, and Maggie joins her. For a moment they are so lighthearted and gentle together that Jocelyn almost forgets that what has drawn them into this situation is the murder of a young boy. Then the realisation gives her pause. "Well, I had better turn in too." She sighs. "I don't have to show you where you're going. So..." Maggie nods.
"See you in the morning then." She passes by Jocelyn, stops to rest a hand on her shoulder, a brief, warm touch. Glances at Jocelyn's face, and opens her mouth, then closes it again. For a moment, Jocelyn debates lifting her hand to Maggie's in some sort of reassurance. Whether it's for herself or for Maggie she's not sure - but the moment passes, and she hears Maggie murmur "sleep well," followed by her footsteps through the kitchen. A quiet clink tells Jocelyn she's taken a mug of something upstairs with her. It's a good idea. She can't afford to have a wine head in the morning either. She waits to hear Maggie go upstairs, her heart pulsing far faster than it has a right to.
Jocelyn makes herself a cup of cocoa, the familiar action of heating the milk and stirring the powder in grounding her again. She puts the pan in the dishwasher, casts around the kitchen for anything else, and sets the machine to start. Sets up the morning's porridge to soak. Does her nightly round of checking the doors and windows. Once satisfied, she brings her drink upstairs, stepping precisely over the floor boards that squeak, closing the bedroom door softly behind her. Puts the drink down on the bedside table, turns on the reading lamp, and goes to close the curtains. Pauses, looking out at the view.
The clouds have cleared around the moon, letting its pale light shine through, down on to the sea below. There's a fair breeze, south easterly, blowing waves against the harbour wall. The water heaves, tumultuous white horses rolling in and breaking on the beach beyond. For a moment, she feels one with her environment. She said she could never escape her home, and nor would Jocelyn want to - it is as much a part of her as the law. And right now, the sea knows how she feels.
Jocelyn lifts her fingers to feel the spot on her shoulder that Maggie's hand touched. Imagines it had stayed there, and that she had actually had the temerity to add her own then. How Maggie's hand might feel below her own, how it might slide gently off the curve of her shoulder, down onto her chest, lingering on the silk of her blouse. How those fingers might have rucked the soft material back, edged underneath to stroke her skin. Unwittingly, Jocelyn's hand follows the track of her mind. How gentle Maggie's touch would be on her breasts; how pleasant her fingertips would be to feel - featherlight movements that would make Jocelyn's heart tremble. How Maggie might lean in and kiss her. How she would kiss back, unafraid...
A creak and the sound of the spare room's door shutting springs Jocelyn back to reality. She tuts at herself, smooths her top, and, with one last longing look at the night sea, closes the curtains. Returns to the side of the bed, takes out her nightdress from under the pillow. It is short work to get changed, to lay out this evening's clothes to wear again, and to go through to the en-suite. Jocelyn brushes her teeth, washes her face; pauses to consider the reflection looking back at her for a moment, before a frown creases her brow and she grasps for the towel. She fills her hot water bottle from the hot tap; it's not a cold enough night to warrant traipsing back downstairs to boil the kettle. Satisfied, she returns to her bed, draws back the covers and sets the bottle in. Turns the main light out, and sits herself on the edge of the mattress, before easing her legs in under the sheets. They feel blissfully smooth. A small moan of contentment escapes her, as she reaches for her bedtime reading: she's halfway through Middlemarch for the second time. But a couple of pages are all she manages tonight; not even Dorothea's woes can take Jocelyn's mind off her guest in the room next door. She lays it aside and, settling her pillows down, flicks the bedside light off. Lies down, her eyes doing their best to adjust to the darkness.
It's not hard to bring Maggie's face to her mind's eye. Ever since the macular degeneration was diagnosed, Jocelyn has honed her visual recall to perfection. The knowledge that one day, all her vision would be lost to that black hole has been enough to make her cast her most loved sights to memory. She can imagine Maggie now, sat up in bed; the pillows plumped against her back, book in hand. Her glasses will be slipping down her nose. She might have her eCig in hand. In a few minutes, she'll take her specs off, and put all three things on the shelf above her. She'll turn the light out, and snuggle down in the covers. Does she sleep on one pillow or two? Jocelyn doesn't know, and the thought bothers her.
Lying on her side, Jocelyn can almost picture Maggie in the space opposite her, facing in. Can envision how she would stroke a finger down Maggie's cheek; curl her hand around her neck. Perhaps she would lean in, in the darkness, her nose bumping Maggie's, until lips found lips. How she would slip her arms under the covers, rest a hand on Maggie's side, her waist, her thigh. Then she might pull Maggie gently towards her, canting her hips in until they met, pressed hard together. The imagined warmth of Maggie's body against hers is near tangible, and Jocelyn smiles in the dark.
For so many years, work had been her passion, and Jocelyn had, for the most part, ignored any other desires, channelling them into energy for a case. Occasionally, that intensity would have broken out; once after a long, heated trial, she and the defending QC had ended up in a hotel room for a night, before agreeing that it was best left there. They were both highly acclaimed barristers, hugely successful women with their own chambers. It wouldn't do to have rumours circulating about either of them. And anyway, Jocelyn didn't love her. They were just well matched for sex. There had been other such encounters, sometimes with lawyers, sometimes with general acquaintances, but they had been few and far between, and with no emotions attached. Then Maggie had come on the scene.
Jocelyn had felt her heartbeat hasten the first moment she saw Maggie, before she even knew that this was the same woman her mother had talked fondly of. She had never really thought about herself in terms of sexuality: as sexual, yes, but not in terms of orientation. Until Maggie. From that first meeting, she had subconsciously known, and if her commuting back home became more regular after that, well, Jocelyn had told herself it was because she wanted to keep an eye on her mum's failing health. It certainly had nothing to do with the blonde journalist who could regularly be found visiting the house on Clifftop Way. Nothing at all to do with the way Maggie looked in a swimsuit that hot summer; Veronica Knight having invited her new friend to use the pool any time she liked. Everything had been perfect. For the first time since her father's death, Jocelyn had found someone in Broadchurch who she could talk to about anything. No matter the subject, Maggie had an opinion. Together they would pull apart literature, law, journalism, music, politics and generally set the world to rights. They didn't always agree, but enjoyed the heated yet respectful debates. Those summer evenings spent in and around the garden, or out walking on the beach, remain some of the happiest of Jocelyn's memories. Being with Maggie had felt like the most natural sensation in the world. And then Jocelyn had realised.
It had been a hot day in the Old Bailey, the temperatures in London had reached over thirty degrees. It was humid and sticky, especially under her wig. Hard enough to keep focus at the best of times. During the middle of her impassioned closing speech, all Jocelyn could see in her mind's eye was Maggie, the night before, smiling in the evening sun, sitting beside the pool.
Her feet were dangling in the water; languidly splashing Jocelyn, who stood before her, looking up. She could have kissed Maggie in that moment. Desperately wanted to. And Maggie's legs had stopped moving; her eyes, half covered by a messy fringe, were cast down on Jocelyn's face; she seemed to almost stop breathing. The sun had fallen a little lower, casting Maggie's hair into a reddish tinge. The light breeze seemed to die away for a moment, as Jocelyn had taken Maggie's foot in her hand, stroking her ankle bone; moved closer. And then her mum had come out of the French windows, with a tray of homemade lemonade; had called out something, Jocelyn couldn't remember what. The opportunity passed.
Jocelyn had lost her focus. She slipped up on a couple of words. The speech, though good, did not sparkle. The Jury didn't respond well. Two days later, the verdict came back as Not Guilty. The sisters of the murdered woman were in bits as the man who raped and mutilated her walked free, and Jocelyn felt appalled at herself. She had let her personal emotions invade her workspace, and a murderer had walked free because of that. She swore to never again let her feelings jeopardise a trial, even if that meant cutting off the cause. Not that she had been able to completely split herself from Maggie: Jocelyn had too much invested in the friendship for that. But the long evenings spent by the pool were banished; she found good reasons to stay in London on hot summer days, and brought enough work home to limit their time spent together. 'Maggie, I'm working' became an all too often used refrain, until her friend could recite it back at her. Sometime later, Maggie had introduced her to Kate, a Doctor working in Wessex General. She seemed happy, and Jocelyn had pushed her jealousy into a small mental box and hidden it away. Had been able to return Maggie's friendship more easily, knowing she was out of bounds romantically.
It had only been during her self-imposed period of isolation that Jocelyn had let herself realise that it was not her speech that had caused the Jury's verdict. She had revisited the evidence in her mind, critically. Had opened herself to the concept that the case had not been as strong as she might have liked it to be. Had accepted that the verdict was not her fault. But it was too late to set right the consequences now.
The image of Maggie in her bathing suit lingers in her mind. Her figure hasn't changed much over the years, and the sight of her still makes Jocelyn's tummy flutter, even though she's always fully dressed. She's learnt to cover it by smiling; doesn't want Maggie to know that, after all these years, she's still turned on by her, still in love with her. Jocelyn knows she probably shouldn't bring her to mind at times like this, when the darkness closes in around her, and she longs for the alternate universe in which she had been brave enough, and self aware enough to act on her feelings. But she does, and she has long since quashed the sense of guilt it used to give her. Her hand slips down to her tummy, and lower, 'til it rests above her heat, one finger pressing down through the thin material of her nightie. She doubts Maggie ever thinks of her like this, but even the possibility that she does sends waves of desire through her; the possibility that, even right now, in the next room, Maggie might be… But she's being ridiculous.
Jocelyn can sense the moistness between her legs now, and puts all thoughts of propriety out of her head. Hitches her nightdress up so she can feel herself. A sigh escapes her as she dips her finger in, moving swiftly to the tender nub. For a moment, she imagines what it would be like if it were Maggie's hand, not her own, touching her. The thought makes her pulse race, and she moans quietly. It doesn't take long to bring herself to the peak of her longing; images of Maggie, past and present, float in front of her mind's eye. Then she comes, shuddering under her fingers, her heart beating wildly. As she falls back into the soft pillows, Jocelyn fancies she hears a groan; but whether it is her own, or coming from the spare room, she doesn't know. It's probably her imagination. Lying back, she closes her eyes again, her heart rate becoming more measured. The pillow is soft and cool against her cheek, and Jocelyn shifts until she is comfortable. Remembers Maggie's smile over dinner; her fond glances, her gentle touch. These little things keep Jocelyn's heart aglow. Slowly, she begins to drift into sleep.
***
Jocelyn wakes for the umpteeth time at four thirty in the morning. For all her weariness by the end of last night, she has not slept well; the trial looms in her mind, suffusing her dreams with an anxiety she wishes she didn't feel. This time, she doesn't bother to turn over, sitting up instead. It will be better use of her time, she decides, to get a cup of tea, some breakfast, and listen to those files Ben finished off recording yesterday. With care, she pulls herself out of bed, into her slippers. Pads across the room, picks up the blouse and skirt; grabs some underwear from the drawer and moves to the en-suite. She can have a shower later, when she changes into her work suit, but for now a quick wash suffices. Ten minutes later she heads downstairs, avoiding the creaks in the old floorboards as best she can. A lifetime of experience has told her that this is more worthwhile than tiptoeing, when trying to make sure the rest of the household doesn't hear one's movements.
In the kitchen, Jocelyn puts the kettle on to boil, and the porridge to cook. Sets the teapot ready. She's in the process of pouring her tea when Maggie's voice interrupts and makes her jump.
"You're up early." She's leaning against the door frame, dressed but hair still sleep tousled and her cardigan loose around her shoulders.
"Couldn't sleep." Jocelyn replies. "Hope I didn't wake you?" She can hear the concern in her voice. "I did try to be quiet."
Maggie smiles, soft and reassuring. "I wasn't asleep either." Flicks her fringe back off her forehead. "Thinking about the trial...and you keep this house far too hot." She moves into the kitchen. "Is there enough in that for two?"
"Yes, but I've coffee if you'd prefer?"
"Angel." Maggie grins, and begins to yawn. "I think I need industrial strength caffeine at this rate."
"Go have your smoke, I'll bring it out." Jocelyn nods towards the conservatory. As Maggie passes her, she extends a hand to lightly brush Jocelyn's arm.
"Thanks petal." She makes her way through, not bothering to turn the light on.
By the time Jocelyn has made a pot of strong coffee, and refilled her own tea, the light is beginning to break in the east. Maggie sits in the same wicker chair as last night, legs crossed and eCig in hand.
"You. Are a gem." She says, as Jocelyn hands her the mug. "A precious, precious gem."
"There's porridge when you're ready for it." Jocelyn lowers herself into the other armchair, and watches Maggie as she puts the eCig down and cups both hands around her coffee. Eyes closed, she breathes in the rising vapour and takes a sip.
"Perfect. As usual." Maggie glances across at Jocelyn and grins.
"Well I know you'll be unbearable if you don't get a decent cup to start with." Jocelyn rejoins, her lips twitching. Maggie doesn't rise to the bait, instead staring out at the slowly changing light. "It's beautiful." She murmurs.
"Yes. It is." Jocelyn gazes at Maggie, thoughtful. "If we have breakfast now, we'd be just in time to watch the sunrise from the bench on the cliff. I do that quite a bit when I can't sleep. Would you like to?"
"That'd be lovely." Maggie agrees. "I was thinking, on our way to Court, would you mind if we stopped at mine briefly? I'd rather put something clean on than wear this again. The heat in that courtroom is something else. I don't know how you cope under all your garments."
"Yes, we can do that." Jocelyn assents as she stands up again. "It's not that bad in there. Not half as bad as the Old Bailey could get." She smiles knowingly. "As you should well remember."
Maggie laughs. "That was a long time ago now. Feels like a different life."
"Do you miss it? Being on Fleet Street?" Jocelyn leads the way through to the kitchen, indicates the small breakfast bar by the window. "Sit. I'll get the porridge." She busies herself dishing up, and making sure they're supplied with ample milk and sugar.
"Not really. It was a different pace of life, a whole other ballgame in terms of work. And I certainly don't miss the hustle and bustle of London. No one ever looks you in the eye, everyone is running from meeting to work to drinks with people they don't really like. So impersonal. You?"
"Hmm?" Jocelyn is in the middle of brewing up a new pot of tea.
"Do you miss it? London?"
"Oh, utterly. I hadn't realised just how much until...this." Jocelyn pauses as she puts Maggie's breakfast in front of her. "I love being back here, being by the sea again, being able to go walking or fishing whenever I feel like it. But there was something beautiful about London. A...freedom. Privacy, even."
Maggie shakes her head, then smiles up at Jocelyn as she moves to sit down beside her, bowl in hand. They make quick and silent work of the porridge, and ten minutes later are donning coats against the cool morning air.
"I'm going to bring those audio files. I want to get a good listen to them before we continue today... Presuming we are continuing, that is." Jocelyn tries to keep the uncertainty she feels out of her voice. "Do you want to bring a book?" She watches Maggie dragging a hairbrush through her unruly mop.
Maggie casts around the sitting room. "Didn't I see yesterday's Guardian lying somewhere? I'll take that if you don't mind?"
"I'll get it." Jocelyn disappears into the dining room, and comes back a minute later with the paper, her iPad and earphones.
"Thanks petal." Maggie takes them from her.
"All sorted?" Jocelyn locks up behind them and puts the keys in her pocket. They're only going across the path, she probably doesn't even need to lock up at all, but better safe than sorry. Down the garden she follows Maggie, admiring the cut of her from behind; smiling as she stops to rub her fingers through the lavender bush. Maggie holds the gate for Jocelyn, her grin reaching her eyes.
"Just in time." She nods to the sun peaking above the horizon line beyond the cliffs. "Just look at that. Glorious." Maggie sits herself on the bench, and Jocelyn follows suit, eyes now fixed on the sunrise. The golden light makes the reddish cliffs more vibrant than ever, a contrast to the deep green of the far out sea. Below them, the tide rolls in, flecked with small white horses. Given the choice, she wouldn't be anywhere but here.
Maggie hands her the technology, and lays the paper on her knees. Jocelyn unrolls her headphones and plugs them into the iPad, but before putting them on, glances once again at Maggie, who has returned to being absorbed in the view.
"We met on this bench, do you remember?" The fact might have something to do with why Jocelyn suggested it this morning.
"How could I forget? I was walking up to visit your mum, and I wanted to have a smoke before I went in. My lighter had broken and I asked you if you had one. You were very snappy, as I recall."
"Well, you were interrupting my peace and quiet."
"Oh yes, I forgot!" Maggie scoffs. "You acted like this was your personal bench, and anyone stepping into the space was an intruder." She laughs.
Just like the laugh she gave when Jocelyn had snapped back 'don't you have your own?', all those years ago.
"Then you produced one, from somewhere about yourself, and told me to keep it, like you were dismissing me." Maggie smirks at the memory.
"So of course, you sat down. Taking a hint never was your strong point, was it?"
"Not in the slightest." Maggie laughs, as she pulls out her eCig. "Anyway, I had the advantage of knowing who you were. And I had no intention of being told to go away from such a beautiful view."
"I should have learnt then that you're the most stubborn person I'd ever meet." Jocelyn observes.
"Asides from yourself, you mean?" Maggie fires back, just as quick. Jocelyn opens her mouth to retaliate, then closes it again, as Maggie adds. "Nothing's changed, really. You're as much of a stubborn old mule as you always were, I still don't take no for an answer, and the view's as lovely as ever." She glances over at Jocelyn, eyes half covered by her fringe, hard to read. "But at least this time you invited me to join you." She smirks again, and opens the paper. Jocelyn nods, uncertain if Maggie is signifying the conversation as finished. When nothing more is said, she puts the earphones on and selects the appropriate file.
They sit in silence like this for twenty minutes. It's cool; even with her coat on, Jocelyn feels a nip in the air that will surely pass as the sun gets higher. To her right, the clouds are illuminated by the rising sun; to her left, Maggie studies the paper, shaking her head occasionally with something she disagrees with. Jocelyn finds herself watching Maggie, rather than the sunrise beyond her. She seems engrossed in her reading, sometimes lifting her head to stare out into the middle distance, as if considering what she's just seen. While Ben's voice sounds quietly in her ear, Jocelyn doesn't really hear him at all; instead her focus is on Maggie's cheek, the way her eyelashes sit when she's looking down, the way she she sighs at the articles. For once, her vision is behaving, and Jocelyn can see everything clearly; the small lines round Maggie's mouth and eyes that have developed over the years, the blush in her lips, the tilt of her nose. There isn't a sight she'd rather see, including the beautiful seascape before them.
It hits Jocelyn like the moment the sun's rays first touch the land. She's going to tell her.
She is going to tell Maggie.
She is going to put things right, no matter the cost. She can do this. Underneath her concern for the case, her compassion for Beth Latimer, and for all the people who had so much to say to Danny, but never did, Jocelyn feels a new sensation. A comfortable one. She is going to fix things, and maybe it won't be as hard as she has told herself it would be, over the years. Jocelyn gives herself a mental shake. She will tell Maggie. But not just yet. Best to get the closing speech out of the way first.