by Jenny Colgan
‘There’s someone in,’ said Cormac. ‘Is it urgent?’
‘Fuck off,’ said the girl.
There was a slightly awkward standoff. Cormac stood up carefully.
‘Could you just give us a minute?’
‘No,’ said the girl. ‘I’m gluten-intolerant?’
‘Oh,’ mumbled Cormac. ‘Oh, okay, I see . . .’
On the other side of the door, Lissa struggled to hear what was going on outside. She had been so caught up in the moment. She stood up and threw some more water on her face.
Oddly, she felt better. She’d said it. Aloud. She’d said it; seen it in her head as she spoke aloud.
Even talking to a stranger – or perhaps exactly because she had been talking to a stranger. It had let her say the words out loud, the words she needed to say; to prepare to point the finger she needed to point, to get justice for the Mitchells; to see justice be done without letting anyone down.
She decided to open the door, thank the odd chap who’d been there, start to move back . . . Roisin must be wondering where she was; she’d left her phone on the table. And her bag. She couldn’t decide if your handbag would be safer in a crown court or much less safe.
She took a deep breath and moved towards the door. Which was the precise second the fire alarm went off.
Chapter Twenty-five
WEEEEEEEEEE!
The round girl eyed Cormac crossly.
‘Did you just set the fire alarm on me?’ she said, looking murderous.
‘What? No!’ said Cormac in consternation. If Lissa burst out now . . . well, awkward didn’t quite cover it . . .
There was a vast, pummelling noise full of shouting barrelling down the corridor and as Cormac stepped towards it, he realised what he was looking at.
The hallway was full of fighters – gang members – the boys who were there as witnesses, and the huge and intimidating family of the defendant himself.
The court was specially set up to avoid this kind of thing happening; to keep families and gangs apart.
Cormac didn’t know what had broken down today, but something obviously had.
The woman waiting for the bathroom turned around.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ she yelled. ‘I told you all to stay in your rooms!’
Ah, well, that explained a lot, thought Cormac, as the melee bowled ever closer, and a high-pitched squeal burst from someone. Cormac didn’t hesitate: he headed straight towards the trouble.
Chapter Twenty-six
Violence had burst out in the constrained space of the corridor: a mass of youths against a family of mixed ages and sizes, many blond. Screams and curses filled the air. Cormac saw one boy unleash a huge fist and start punching a man full in the face, not immediately pulling back his hand or breaking his fingers, which was unusual. He obviously had boxing experience. The smaller and older man beneath him was cowering, his nose squashed to a pulp. As the huge boy raised his fist again, Cormac jumped on him from behind, took his arm and tried to twist it upwards in a restraining position.
‘Come on, lad,’ he said in as reasonable a tone as he could manage. ‘Settle down.’
There was considerable swearing from all sides at this. Someone glanced Cormac with a blow on the ear but he didn’t let go of his grip on this chap who was far too big for him. Terrible tragedies were caused by young men who didn’t know their own strength; who didn’t know they could fell a man or break a neck with one punch. They could spend the rest of their lives in jail for one fatal, white-hot moment. The man on the other side of him, with the jelly nose, was whimpering and trembling and didn’t seem able to move at all. Cormac had seen a million fights in the Army and in hospitals. They were always like this, never like the movies: slightly pathetic, very noisy and completely confusing for everyone involved.
‘Come on!’ he said, as the big youth spun around trying to dislodge him, and one of his other mates grabbed Cormac’s ear even harder, which, ridiculous though it was, also hurt like hell.
‘GERROFF!’ shouted Cormac in what would have surprised him to learn was an exceptional London cabbie accent.
They stumbled backwards, hitting the wall, and Cormac was about to give up, hissing at the man in front to move out the bloody way before he got punched again, when the worst thing happened.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Lissa unlocked the door, and as soon as she did, the other woman pushed her way in and locked it behind them both.
‘It’s kicked off,’ she said.
The two women in the loo looked at each other rather awkwardly as the shouting and fighting continued beyond the bathroom door.
‘Weird sort of panic room,’ said Lissa in a wavery voice, attempting to break the ice.
The fire alarm was still going off, but nobody was moving. Lissa assumed, correctly, that someone had set it off on purpose to get everyone out in the corridors. Certainly, you couldn’t smell anything. The woman had her phone out and was tutting loudly.
‘Sorry,’ said Lissa. ‘Did you really need to use the loo? I can stand in the corner if you like.’
‘You don’t look very disabled,’ said the woman crossly.
‘I know,’ said Lissa. ‘I’m sorry about that. I was having a panic attack. I know that doesn’t count.’
The woman shrugged.
‘Oh. Well. Maybe that should count.’
‘Not if other people need it.’
‘I’m gluten-intolerant.’
‘Oh!’ said Lissa. ‘Oh well, I am sorry to hear that . . .’
Their voices tailed off.
‘Why were you panicking?’ said the other woman eventually, giving up tapping on her phone.
‘I . . . I’m meant to be giving evidence. It’s scary to think about it,’ said Lissa. She couldn’t believe she’d even managed to say that out loud. ‘I never used to be frightened about stuff. Then I saw a horrible accident and it really knocked me over.’
She paused. This was . . . this was exactly what Anita had told her to do. Talk about it, over and over. Relive it till she couldn’t be scared of it any more. That guy too.
‘The guy outside . . . the guy I was talking to. He said I should just talk about it.’
‘He’s probably right,’ said the woman. ‘Mind you, he went off to have a fight, so God knows.’
‘I know . . . Bit weird taking advice from a bloke on the other side of a toilet door.’
‘Take it where you can get it, I say,’ said the woman, looking at her face in the mirror and adjusting her carefully painted-on eyebrows. ‘I have some advice for you. If you’re meant to be sitting with five lads in a jury situation, don’t go to the toilet.’
It took Lissa a minute.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Is this . . .?’
The woman looked at her.
‘Sssh,’ she said. ‘I’m a youth worker, yes. But I really did have to go.’
Her brow furrowed.
‘Not so much now.’
‘I mean, please do . . .’
‘I can’t now; I’m too uptight.’
The alarm stopped going off.
‘Phew,’ said Lissa, feeling oddly better now she was comforting somebody else. ‘How about now, without the alarm?’
‘Nope,’ said the woman. ‘Still not feeling it. It’s like all the pee has hopped back up me.’ She frowned. ‘This is going to do nothing for my gluten intolerance.’
‘Well, no,’ said Lissa truthfully.
They both approached the door. The noise seemed to have died down.
‘Do you think it’s safe?’ said Lissa.
‘Well, either that or they’re just a pile of corpses out there,’ said the woman. ‘I’m joking! I’m joking! Wish me luck!’ She paused. ‘And listen. I know they sound rowdy. But they’re just lads. Tell the truth and shame the devil, and it’ll all be fine.’
‘That’s what toilet guy said,’ said Lissa.
‘Well then.’
And they smiled tentatively at each oth
er, and Lissa turned the handle on the door.
Chapter Twenty-eight
‘But I was just passing by!’ said Cormac uselessly as the two policemen marched him into the van.
‘That is what they all say,’ said a slim, bespectacled police officer with a wispy moustache.
‘I know!’ said Cormac. ‘But I’m a medical professional.’
‘And I am the uncle of a monkey,’ said the policeman, unnecessarily, Cormac thought. The local copper in Kirrinfief knew every single person in the village and spent a lot of time posing with tourists and trying to stop toddlers escaping from the nursery.
There was a paddy wagon ahead. Surely not, thought Cormac. This was a joke. But there it was. He was being arrested, as was everybody else.
He remembered back a few short hours when he had woken up with the sun on his face, full of happiness and feeling like singing out loud. What a wonderful day he had planned. Surprising Lissa at the courthouse and seeing her lovely face beam the same smile on him as he’d seen in the photo . . .
Rather than of course what had actually happened, when he’d ended up kneeling down in a dirty corridor doing a fake accent while she sobbed uncontrollably. Not exactly what he’d had in mind.
Oh, and now he had handcuffs on.
It struck him that this wasn’t remotely funny, and also that he should probably let her know that he wasn’t coming for lunch. He scrabbled around in his back pocket for his phone, which promptly fell on the floor.
‘I’ll have that,’ said the young officer, taking it peremptorily and putting it in a bag.
‘What! I need to call someone!’
‘You’ll get your call at the station. Until then, all phones are confiscated.’
There were general growls of annoyance all round. Cormac blinked. If he had only one call . . . could he call someone he’d never met to come bail him out? That really was an almost worse introduction to someone than meeting them for the first time when they were collapsed sobbing on a dirty bathroom floor. Oh God.
‘Seriously, I’m not involved!’ said Cormac in desperation.
‘This is why we had to pull you off someone in an affray,’ said the constable. ‘Okay. Got it.’
Cormac winced. This could be bad.
And who the hell was he going to call?
Chapter Twenty-nine
Once order had been more or less restored, Lissa crept back to the witness room. Roisin was waiting for her, arms folded.
‘Well, you’re here now,’ she sniffed.
‘Sorry,’ said Lissa.
‘I’m sympathetic,’ said Roisin, sounding anything but, ‘but you’re lucky it got delayed. We can’t do this without you. You’re the only witness who wasn’t involved!’
‘I know,’ said Lissa, breathing deeply. ‘But I think . . . I think I’m all right.’
‘Good,’ said Roisin as a number flashed up on the wall. ‘Okay, that’s us. Let’s go.’
The courtroom – a windowless room with a stained, cheap carpet and pinboard walls, that smelled of stale coffee and dusty lighting – was not remotely impressive. The judge sat looking half asleep, not a flicker of interest on her face, as Lissa entered.
The big group of Kai’s friends had all gone, likewise the family of the defendant. He stood, defiant in a cheap suit and a razor-sharp haircut, swaggering in the dock facing the judge’s podium. The room was filled with computer screens. A stern-looking lawyer was sitting behind him, scribbling. There was also a hodgepodge lineup of people sitting expectantly to the side which Lissa realised of course would be the jury.
‘Lissa Westcott called to the stand,’ said a bored-sounding woman on the side.
Lissa took a deep breath. She wished, suddenly, that she’d asked her mum to be here – or even, she thought suddenly, Cormac. He would have come. Still, she would see him afterwards. All she had to do was go through with this and . . . She checked her mobile phone. She hadn’t heard from him, but that was okay. She’d message him when they were out and then – well, she’d probably better redo her make-up and Christ, her hair. But then . . .
‘Phone off!’ hissed a court clerk and she immediately passed it on to Roisin.
But she still held on to the idea as she walked slowly up the stained carpet towards the chair with the microphone, where she swore an oath, her hand a little shaky on the faded bible they offered her. Just think of what happens next, she told herself. Just think about what happens next.
‘Can you tell us what happened on the fourth of March of this year?’ said the busy-looking woman.
And slowly, haltingly, Lissa told the story all the way through, even though the man with the razor-cut blond hair stared at her, slowly and menacingly, as if he could beam malevolence and fury towards her, while she avoided his gaze; even when Roisin asked her very clearly in her experience did the car slow down or speed up as it turned the corner. She answered slowly so she could not be misunderstood by the jury, the judge or anyone else.
‘Yes. He sped up.’
‘And can you see the driver in this courtroom?’
‘Yes. He’s over there in the box.’
The man hissed at her, actually hissed, and was immediately disciplined by the police officer standing to his left. Lissa was suddenly very relieved none of his family were in the room to see her.
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘But the car was going quickly,’ said the defence lawyer, when it came time for questions. ‘You can’t have got more than a glimpse.’
‘He stared straight at me,’ said Lissa. ‘I remember everything about it. I’m a trained A&E nurse. We see a lot of potentially dangerous situations. Sir, he grimaced at me. Just like that. It was him. He drove round the corner, he sped up and he drove straight towards . . . Kai. He knocked his phone out of Kai’s hand, then Kai went straight up in the air and landed on the concrete. Then he sped off.’ She took a deep breath. ‘That’s what happened.’
The defence lawyer looked at her. A young nurse, calm, clearly telling the truth, who had absolutely no reason to lie and absolutely no reason to be here except for justice. He could sense the waves off the jury of how much they approved of her. He looked at Lissa one last time, looked at the jury, cast his client a slightly apologetic shrug and stood back.
‘No further questions.’
Chapter Thirty
Leaving the courtroom, unable to quite believe she was free, Lissa walked slowly down the aisle. At the end she caught sight of a face she recognised. Quickly and without ceremony, Mrs Mitchell, Kai’s mother, nodded briskly.
Lissa felt chastened, but relieved; glad that she had managed to do what she needed to do, and overwhelmingly guilty because she was feeling happy now that she was in a position to get on with her life. And Mrs Mitchell never, ever could. She gave a half-smile of apology and regret, but she had to leave, and the court had to carry on with its work, as human misery spilled out from courtroom after courtroom, in town after town.
It felt like a breath of liberty as Lissa pushed through the doors of the sour-smelling court, the security guards wired and buzzy after the fight that morning, everyone twitchy and tired and stressed.
The sunshine hit her full in the face, dazzling her. She had headed back inside – into the shared ladies bathrooms this time – to reapply a whole face of make-up, and curled her eyelashes right out, something she almost never did. Her eyebrows were a mess, as she did not trust Ginty with them, but she’d done the best she could, adding a pretty, rose-coloured lipstick to her lips and a little blush to her cheeks, and letting down her hair, then laughed at herself for being so over the top. Then she squirted on some more perfume just in case.
Still nothing on her phone from Cormac. She frowned. Well, it wasn’t far to Borough. Maybe he thought court would run later. She’d been surprised herself how quick it had been in the end. She’d been a good witness, Roisin had told her, which had felt so good.
Or perhaps he’d be waiting
there . . . sitting in the sun. She reminded herself that he might be five foot tall and three foot wide, then wondered how much that would really, really matter, as to much as how much she looked forward to talking to him; how his messages were the highlight of her day.
And so she practically bounced along the South Bank, cutting through side streets to avoid the crowds, walking straight past the police station Cormac was currently being held in.
Chapter Thirty-one
Cormac sat in the holding cell with two other kids from the courthouse, both of them cursing and swearing.
‘We were just there to support Kai,’ complained one, whose name was Fred. ‘Just to show him he isn’t forgotten.’
‘By kicking the lumps out of some guy?’ said Cormac. ‘Come on, lads. You must know that isn’t helpful.’
‘Are you Scottish?’ said one of them. ‘I thought Scotch folk loved kicking lumps out of people.’
‘He was doing a good job with Big Al,’ pointed out the other boy, who presumably had a name that wasn’t Nobbo, but Nobbo seemed to do.
‘So you were,’ said Fred.
‘I was trying to stop him accidentally really hurting someone. And ending up in prison,’ said Cormac.
‘We’re in prison now,’ said Fred.
‘I realise that,’ said Cormac.
Borough Market was absolutely heaving in the summer sun. Every stall was rammed. And Lissa didn’t know who she was looking for. She looked around. What kind of thing would Cormac like? She didn’t even know that, she realised. She knew so little about him.
Finally, right at the back, she spied an empty table at a little tapas hole-in-the-wall. That looked absolutely perfect. She slipped into it, smiling at the man serving, who showed her to it with a wave of her hand.
‘For one?’
‘Two,’ said Lissa, beaming nervously. ‘I’m waiting for someone.’