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‘
et tu Brute
’ expression. She had tried to explain that she was not abandoning him or doubting his integrity, merely acceptingwhat she was powerless to change. She had clung to the belief that he had understood this even as Sergeant Talith had lifted the case from her. ‘I’ll see he gets what he needs,’ he’d said and she knew he would check its contents before letting her son have it.

    She felt even more weary as the radio alarm clicked on at six-thirty – far too early. But she showered anyway, had two cups of coffee and an orange juice, put on her smartest black skirt, knee-high boots, a white long-sleeved T-shirt and pressed Callum’s one and only smart jacket – apart from his blazer which was now bagged up and heading for forensics. She consoled herself with cups of tea until at eight-fifteen she drove to the courthouse. Wesley Stephenson greeted her on the steps. One of her newfound friends. Silently she handed him the bag of clothes.
    It was hard not to cry out as Callum was brought to the bench, flanked by the same two police officers as yesterday, Talith and Roberts – two more names which would become more familiar. Shelley looked at her son anxiously. His face was white, his eyes sunken into his face and she knew that he had not slept through the long hours of the night either.
    There were three magistrates, one a chairwoman, tall and thin with sharp, angular features and a brisk, jerky manner, squaring up the papers noisily. Before speaking she eyed Callum up severely over the top of a pair of very large and heavy-looking glasses which had sunk down her nose leaving a permanent dent and some thin, blue, broken veins.
    Briskly she explained to the police, his solicitor and to him, that Callum Hughes was charged with attempted murder andthat his case would be heard at Shrewsbury Crown Court in due time. In the meantime he was refused bail and would be taken on remand to Stoke Heath Young Offenders’ Institute until his case was heard. She advised the police and Stephenson that they should assemble their cases for both defence and prosecution with great care and minimise this first offender’s time spent in such uncertainty. Fifteen minutes later it was all over; efficient, brisk and businesslike with a complete absence of emotion.
    Shelley was almost breathless with the speed of it all. By ten-thirty her son’s immediate fate had been sealed. Callum shot a desperate look at his mother.

    She was powerless. There was nothing she could do to help him. He was led from the courtroom.
    Wesley Stephenson had set aside a room for her to spend some time alone with her son before his transfer and the minute she entered the dingy room Callum’s desperation touched her. He was sitting in the corner, looking out of the window which overlooked a brimming car park full of drivers cruising for a space.
    ‘What’ll happen to me, Mum?’
    She sat very close to him so she could speak very softly. ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘How long do you think they’ll bang me up for?’
    She knew that the slang phrase was his attempt at bravado but instead of reassuring her it had the effect of making her want to cry. The words sounded pathetic coming from his lips. He was not a tough boy. He didn’t look one and he couldn’t act one and this made her fear for him.
    ‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ she said. ‘If they say what DreadNought was really like maybe it won’t be for long.’
    ‘What’ll happen to you,’ he asked next. ‘People’ll talk.
You
might have trouble.’
    She made an attempt at a smile. ‘Now that’s one thing I can deal with. I’m used to trouble, Call. Me and trouble are old friends.’ The way he looked at her made her think that her attempt at bravado was no more convincing than his.
    Paul Talith stuck his head round the door. ‘Delays on the Group 4,’ he said. ‘Van won’t be here till late on this afternoon. You can stay till lunchtime, Mrs Hughes, but after that we’ll have to