‘Jennifer Buckley accepted her fate in the most gracious of ways, according to those that loved her,’ she deliberately squints in my direction to invalidate any notion I might have in belonging to that category. ‘She didn’t wallow in sadness at knowing her time was limited. Instead she decided to live what life she had left to its fullest. Our witnesses will tell you,’ her eyes flicker towards Sarah Barry, Jenny’s best friend. ‘That this bravery made her even more determined to achieve the things she could achieve…plan for the time that she would be here for, be there for her children for as long as she could.’ Her statement aligns every person on the jury together, all united in the commonality that parents would do anything for their children. But, I’m a parent too, does my sacrifice and willingness to do anything for my children not count?
I didn’t hate Jenny when I left, in fact I still loved her but only because of the history we had shared. She was the mother of my children and once upon a time, had been the love of my life. She had never done anything to offend me and I didn’t mean her any harm so when I first left it gave me comfort to know that Sarah had always been by Jenny’s side.
‘Our witnesses will attest to the fact that Jennifer Buckley focused on the things she could do rather than the things she couldn’t. We’ll hear how Jennifer Buckley liked to plan,’ there’s a collective sad sigh in the gallery. A wistfulness on the part of those of us who were reminded of Jenny and her daily planners with her deteriorating handwriting sprawled across them.
She had a head like a sieve and not because of the motor neurone disease either. She said it started when she was first pregnant with Josh, she and other mothers called it baby brain but for Jenny it never got any better. She used to joke that the baby brain grew up, sprouted hairs and an attitude and became teenager brain which was why she wrote everything down.
‘The evidence will show you Jennifer Buckley’s diaries,’ my eyes along with everyone else’s glimpse towards the prosecutions desk. Jenny’s diaries are stacked there like stage props, deliberately angled to draw the jury’s attention. The diaries were requested months ago and according to William there are general rules against hearsay and reputational evidence that might make the diaries inadmissible, at least that’s what I think he’s hoping for.
‘Ms Jennifer Buckley’s diaries and calendars are being asserted to prove what her intentions for her life were. They’ll give a present tense impression of where she planned to be, seeing as she is not here herself to tell you,’ she throws a reproving glance in my direction. ‘Every event, appointment, commitment and plan that Jennifer Buckley intended to achieve is held within.’ She points her finger in the air resolutely. ‘Her diaries will show you, contrary to what the defence would have you believe, that without a shadow of a doubt, Jennifer Buckley’s plans did not end on the 3rd of June when her life did.’ She turns a page in the file in front of her without looking. She doesn’t need to, she knows every word inside out. She knows the position of every letter on each line. ‘Jennifer Buckley’s plans continued way past the date of her death. They included seeing her first born through the most important exam of his career to date, his Leaving Certificate exam. Sadly, that didn’t come to pass.’ She shifts on her feet so her body is facing me but her head is facing the jury. ‘The defendant, her estranged husband, Mr Liam Buckley took that chance away.’ I alter my position and lean forward on the table uneasily and shrink a little more.
‘You will also hear from Sarah Barry,’ I bristle inwardly at the mention of her name. ‘Jennifer Buckley’s solicitor.’ She clarifies. Her reference to Sarah’s profession before her relationship with Jenny is deliberate, the extrapolation being that because she is a solicitor that her judgement far more trustworthy than if she had introduced her as Jenny’s best friend.
‘Our witnesses will also tell you,’ she throws a glance towards the bench where Sarah sits. ‘That Jennifer Buckley intended on taking a trip with her children once they had finished their state exams,’ I exhale a tad too loudly and cough to disguise it before William looks around. I was supposed to be going on that trip too. Jenny and I had talked about how it would be good for the children if we could take one last trip together. I had intended to book my flight, but I had wanted to talk to Alex about it first.
‘This trip had been planned booked and paid for,’ she drops her head sombrely. ‘Jennifer Buckley had intended to go.’ She glances at me without talking and the jury’s eyes follow hers to land on me too. ‘Jenny won’t get to take that special trip,’ she rests her words momentarily letting the devastation seep in. ‘Because her life was taken from her,’ she shakes her head and raises her voice a tad. ‘She didn’t take her own life… Jennifer Buckley was murdered.’ You can taste the thickness of the shock as it reverberates across the room. There’s a brief hiatus while she lets the shock sink in. She shifts her position slightly as though she’s making a new point. ‘Jennifer Buckley’s doctors will tell you that she knew her limitations and that while the nature of her disease was somewhat unpredictable, there were markers in her deterioration that she knew to look for. Those markers, in Jenny’s own words, were the point at which she would, if it came to it, make a decision to end her own life.’ There’s a hushed intake of breath from the gallery. ‘The defence will try and tell you that Jenny had reached this point… that there is no other explanation but that for Jennifer Buckley, the time had come. But without a shadow of a doubt, the evidence will refute this claim.’ I still don’t look up but I don’t need to, she has the jury in the palm of her hand, their eyes snapping from her to me and back to her again. ‘Her doctors will tell you that Jennifer Buckley wasn’t afraid of dying…she was only afraid of dying too soon and that while she still could, she wanted to have every possible experience with her children before she became too ill.’ She glimpses at the diaries intentionally reminding the jury of everything to which she’s just referred. ‘On June 3rd, the day Jennifer Buckley’s life was taken… she still could.’ She stops to sip from the glass of water on the bench, clears her throat and waits for her subliminal catchphrase of she still could to seep into the jury’s subconscious. William throws me a look, he’s copped it too.
‘The expert pathologist will tell you how Jennifer Buckley died. He will explain what sodium pentobarbital does to a body when administered in the dosage that was found in Jennifer Buckley’s system. The evidence will show that Liam Buckley was the only other person in the house when the substance was administered. The evidence will also show you how Jennifer Buckley experienced a bout of muscle weakness in her upper limbs and a severe muscle spasm in her right hand which would have rendered her unable to have to have the dexterity that would have been required to draw the sodium pentobarbital from its vial and inject it into the muscle at the angle that it was done. Somebody else did this, this wasn’t part of Jennifer Buckley’s strategic plan, it was against her will.’ I steal a look at Abbie, the tears are flowing fast and furiously down her face and Josh has his arm around her. ‘Jennifer Buckley is never coming back,’ I want to stand up and scream at her, make her shut up. ‘She is not coming back as a mother to her two wonderful children… not as a friend… not as a wife… not even as a pilot. She was ripped away from her family abruptly and not in the dignified strategic way that she had fought and planned for. Jennifer Buckley’s death was an act of murder… and murder is an act of violence, there’s no other way it can be viewed. Violence,’ she points her finger in the air, ‘especially when directed at our most vulnerable in society, should never go unpunished.’
7.
2 Days Before Jenny Died
Josh threw a glance over his shoulder, fixed his hoodie on his forehead so that the fabric nearly covered his eyes and leaned across to undo the inside latch on the painted iron gate of Sarah Barry’s house at College Grove. At nine in the evening it was still bright but the hustle and bustle of the warm June day had evaporated and just like the summer drizzle, a stillness had descended on the shrubs and bushes
that lined the mature gardens that surrounded Sarah’s house. Everywhere looked different since his last visit but he had been much younger when he was last there, a direct contrast to the young man with a five o’clock shadow that a Gillette model would have been proud of.
The gate squealed as he pushed it open making him uncomfortable. The clatter of noise just as out of place in the relative silence of the settled street as he was. He closed the gate behind him quickly and made his way to knock on the front door. He knew it was unusual to be there on his own but according to the conversation he had overheard between Sarah and his mum yesterday when he had come home from school, Sarah was the only other person on the planet who seemed to think that his dad moving back into the family home was a bad idea. They – him, Abbie and their mum – had been doing just fine on their own.
He peered through the frosted glass panel towards the warm light to the back of the house with his hands cupped around his eyes against the glass. He stepped back when he saw Sarah’s silhouette move from the kitchen inside and make her way to open the front door.
‘Josh,’ Sarah crossed her arms in front of her in an attempt to cover herself throwing a glance at the top of his hood. Her voice was unusually high and by the startled look on her face and the fact that she was standing in front of him with nothing but a night shirt on, Josh knew that he was the last person she expected to see. ‘What is it, is everything okay?’ her voice was panicked but Josh knew by ‘everything’ she meant his mum. It was the same for all of them, an unspoken level of alertness and worry about Jenny that occupied their every waking thought.
‘Mum’s fine.’ Josh answered quickly. ‘And sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he exhaled and pulled his hood back from his head worried that his appearance might have unnerved her too. His mother had told him hundreds of times how threatening a young man in a hoodie could appear to a woman on her own. ‘I hope I didn’t frighten you,’ he tried to divert his eyes so as not to fixate on the fact that she was only half dressed in front of him and that her tanned, toned legs looked like they belonged to a twenty year old and not his mum’s best friend. ‘Mum hates hoodies, I…’ he hesitated stumbling through his words, ‘I should have pulled it down,’ he managed.
‘Yes, the invisibility cloak,’ Sarah replied with a warm smile. She had heard Jenny’s theory on boys and why they wore hoodies many a time too.
‘And before you ask it’s not because I want to be invisible to the Gardaí.’ Josh answered with a smile reciting the first theory his mum would offer if she was there. ‘Or as Mum would like them to be known,’ he smiled, ‘the disenfranchised proletarians,’ he offered with a snigger mimicking his mum’s voice.
‘Ah yes,’ Sarah beamed in amusement. ‘I don’t know whether I’m more impressed by the fact that you actually listen to your mother or the fact that you have an understanding of Marxism and social classes,’ she added.
‘Ah here,’ Josh kidded. Repeating his mother’s words was one thing but understanding their origin was another. ‘I can honestly say, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘At least you can’t be accused of not listening,’ she laughed. ‘What’s this she says about the other group of young men who wear hoddies?’ she scrunched up her forehead trying to remember. ‘Something about the invisible young men?’
‘Yes,’ Josh answered. ‘The group of young men that feel that they don’t have a voice and that they’re a burden on their community.’ It was as though he had absorbed his mother’s social commentary by osmosis. Her words felt like his own. ‘Or it could just be raining,’ Josh smiled and threw a glance behind him. ‘And we, the disenfranchised young men of society need to stay dry,’ he raised his eyebrows suggestively, eager to get inside.
‘Of course,’ Sarah smiled. She had heard him respond to his mother with the same line before and his quick-witted humour never failed to make her smile. She opened the door wide and placed her hand on his shoulder as he shuffled past her, making sure to wipe his size tens on the mat. ‘Come in.’ She closed the front door and waved towards the kitchen for him to go inside, her curiosity growing by the minute. ‘Are you sure everything’s okay, is your mum alright?’ She followed him into the kitchen, reached her hand up to his shoulder, feeling the dampness of his hoodie and guided him towards the island encouraging him to sit down.
‘Yes Mum’s fine, I promise, I just…’ he paused mid-sentence wondering what he should and shouldn’t say. He needed to talk to her, everything that was bubbling inside of his head need to come out before he exploded and as far as he was concerned, Sarah was the only one that would understand. There was no point talking to his mum, she had already made her mind up and as for Abbie, she was oblivious. She was still living in some alternative universe where happy endings were the norm, which surprised him considering she worried so much. Calling to Sarah was his last effort to stop what he thought was going to be the worst decision in his mother’s life. ‘And sorry if I gave you a fright. I didn’t know if you’d be home.’
In the two hours since Sarah had left work earlier, she had done a quick shop in the Tesco Extra around the corner, microwaved some left over lasagne she had in the fridge from the night before and had a quick shower to wash away the clammy stickiness of the day. There had been a prospect of a date with a guy she had met on Tinder but after the first encounter with him, she hadn’t been that keen. Instead, she decided to have a relaxing night by herself in front of the TV. She had a box set lined up and two bottles of her favourite South African Chardonnay a bottle in the fridge. She was just about to pour herself a second glass and open the Doritos, when she heard the knock on the front door. Her hair still hung damply on her shoulders and she tugged on the hem of her night shirt, conscious of how she must have appeared. ‘I was talking to your mum yesterday, she was okay then,’ she added.
‘Yeah, yeah, Mum’s fine, her carer just arrived before I left,’ Josh fumbled with his phone, sliding his finger back and forth on the screen trying to avoid the banners of the missed calls. There were three from Abbie which wasn’t surprising considering what he had said to her before he had stormed out, one from his dad and a text message from his mum that said to ring her as soon as he was free. ‘But she’s fine,’ it took all his willpower to stop his eyes from wandering down her bare legs to her red painted toenails and undressing her with his eyes. He clasped his hands together forcing himself to look elsewhere.
‘Oh, okay.’ Sarah answered glancing at the kitchen clock behind Josh’s head. ‘So why are you really here?’
‘I didn’t know where else to go, I wanted to talk to you about Dad moving back in,’ he dropped his head feeling awkward that he had said it out loud.
‘You do?’ Sarah scratched her head, ‘does your mother know that you’re here?’
‘I’m not a child Sarah.’ Sarah was perceptive, always had been and when the notion first entered his head to call and talk to Sarah about what was on his mind, he had thought it a good idea, now, he wasn’t so sure.
‘I’m not saying that you’re a child, Josh, I’m just wondering if she knows that you are here, that’s all.’
‘I just…’ Josh shook his head and exhaled into his hands. ‘Jesus, it’s warm in here,’ he took up a place mat from the countertop and fanned himself trying to cool down. He wasn’t sure whether it was the temperature of the kitchen, the fifteen-minute walk he had just taken or the fact that he was beginning to feel embarrassed that made his cheeks redden.
‘Yeah, the heat’s been building up all day,’ she pointed to the window over the sink referring to the humidity. There had been an unbroken spell of much needed dry and warm weather for the previous three weeks which had given Dublin an almost Mediterranean feel. ‘Will you reach that window?’ she asked, conscious that if she reached for it herself that her night shirt would have ridden up her leg even further showing Josh a sight that she didn’t want him to see.
‘No, it’s grand,’ Josh said,
I’ll just take my jumper off instead.’ He hadn’t wanted to cause a fuss so crossed his arms over his body, unfolded the hoodie over his head and hung it on the stool beside him, the T-shirt he was wearing underneath clinging to his own sticky skin.
‘Anyway,’ Sarah asked drawing Josh back to where he had left off. ‘You were saying, you just what?’
‘I just wasn’t thinking, I realise now that I shouldn’t have called unannounced,’ his eyes scanned her up and down. ‘And I should just go back home, check on mum.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re here now, it’s fine.’ Sarah crinkled her forehead. ‘I just wasn’t expecting anyone, that’s all,’ she looked at him for a moment trying to decipher what was going on in his head. The frown line across his forehead seemed almost too deep for someone of his age. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she attempted a smile. ‘You don’t need to leave,’ she opened the fridge and took out the bottle of wine to pour herself a second glass. ‘Can I get you a coke or something?’ she asked after she had taken the first gulp.
‘A coke?’ he sniffed, the reference to him being a child annoying him once again. Even his mum thought of him as older, allowing him to drink a couple of cans with the rest of the boys at their house parties. ‘You do realise that mum knows I drink at sessions and stuff.’
‘Sessions?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, house parties, free gaffs,’ he explained. ‘I’m practically eighteen.’
When the Time Comes (ARC) Page 18