by Kate Bradley
We even talked about my father. I started getting agitated at this point. Even at this early stage, I had started to accept that I wasn’t going to get out, that my life now had changed for ever and that I would no longer be a teacher, I would no longer have hard-boiled eggs for lunch every day with him, that I would no longer compete in the Ironman contests. I needed to tell him. My agitation may have become a bit much but I settled when she told me that I could call him whenever I wanted. She even thanked me for my cooperation.
‘Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of tea?’
‘Can I tell you something without you thinking me difficult?’
‘Of course.’
‘I love my tea really hot, which is really easy when you’re making it for yourself. Everyone here is so busy, they’re kind to bring me a cup of tea. But it’s always cold. I don’t like cold tea.’
DS Fields got up. ‘I’m going to make you a cup of tea myself.’ She didn’t offer anyone else – she left the room and came back after a few minutes. The whole time she was gone, nobody said anything.
She came back in with two mugs of tea and restarted the interview. Mine was served in a mug that said I love Disneyland Paris. I drank some. It was hot. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you so much.’ I even managed a smile.
Perhaps it was going to be all right. Sometimes people didn’t get prosecuted because they did the right thing – like killing a burglar to protect their children. Perhaps this would be like that.
Saturday
16:06
Jenni
After several hours of nothingness, we were back in the interview room. I had just decided to ring my dad, when the skinny constable came to get me with the custody sergeant. I was a touch irritated; I knew that I had got into the right mindset to speak to my father and now I wouldn’t be able to. Besides, I couldn’t understand why they needed to interview me again – I had admitted guilt and told them everything I knew. It had been a long interview, nearly two hours, so I wasn’t up to talking any more. I wanted to be charged formally.
I took my seat opposite DS Fields and waited for her to set up the interview tape again. ‘Are you going to charge me?’ I asked.
‘We are still continuing our enquiries at this stage.’ She sighed and met my stare with one of her own. ‘Jenni, we’ve spoken to Destiny.’
‘Why has it taken this long?’
‘We had to wait for an appropriate adult.’ She blinked, but did not speak immediately. Then she said, ‘Destiny has made serious accusations against you. She has said that you kidnapped her and held her hostage in a hotel room.’
Now I blinked. ‘That’s not true!’
‘She told us, that you,’ she checked her notes, ‘spilt your water bottle and for some reason, you thought the spilt water meant that that she’d wet herself. She said that you seem to have constructed whole conversations between you both in your head and that you would refer to those conversations as if they were fact.’
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t understand why Destiny was lying. I felt lost for words.
‘Destiny also said that you forced her into your car and drove her to an unknown destination. She said that she was forced to go along with your idea that she was being taken to an aunt – she says she’s never had an aunt – as she didn’t know how else she could get away from you when you refused to answer her requests to stop the car. She says the only aspect of what happened that she agreed to, was going to Hull. She admits she wanted to go there anyway, but by the time you agreed to take her there, she felt desperate.’ She paused. ‘Do you have a comment to make?’
I shook my head. I didn’t know what to say. I understood she must be in shock; I understood that she must be deeply traumatised and I could understand that she’d be looking for someone to blame. She’d clearly got confused about her relationships with her captors – maybe that’s to be expected. But to lie about me?
I remembered what someone had once told me about an idea held by many therapists – that in the end, all victims will turn against their rescuers and will persecute them. Destiny was the victim, I was her rescuer and now she was persecuting me. I put my head in my hands, feeling empty. I wished I could feel sadness, instead of this vacuum. But I did feel cheated. I could go to prison knowing I had done the right thing, but it felt different now. Now I felt robbed of my sense of strength and pride in having stepped up to do the right thing when so many people in my situation would not have. I had shown bravery taking on an armed gang on my own. Yes, two of them had died, but the right people – the young girls – had lived. It had felt like a success. Now I felt like a failure. What must Destiny think of me to turn on me this way?
‘In your statement,’ DS Fields continued, ‘you said that there was a young woman at the address in the basement room. You were concerned for her because,’ she looked down and consulted notes, ‘she was unconscious to begin with, and had handcuffs on her wrists and ankles. Is this correct?’
‘Just one wrist and one ankle.’
‘Wrist and ankle – noted. The woman was Caucasian, had long dark hair, was approximately five foot six tall, slim build and aged approximately sixteen; wearing blue jeans, no shoes and a grey sparkly top. Is that all correct?’
I nodded.
‘For the purposes of the tape, Jenni Wales has nodded. I have to tell you, Jenni, that in interview, Destiny has denied ever seeing a young woman at the property.’
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. ‘She didn’t see her. When she came down with Aleksander, I had already taken the woman to safety by removing the cuffs and getting her out of the basement window.’
‘Which you did,’ DS Fields said, again consulting the notes, ‘with the help of a Gary Bridges. Gary Bridges was found dead by police on entering the property, with the presumed cause of death, loss of blood from three gunshot wounds, one in each kneecap and one to his stomach.’
‘Yes. That’s correct. I didn’t kill Gary. Aleksander did that. Did . . .’ I almost didn’t want to ask the question, ‘Did Destiny say I killed Gary too?’
‘No. She says she was unaware about what happened to Gary Bridges because he was already dead when she went into the basement. She said it could’ve been you, she didn’t know.’
I breathed out with something close to relief. The world I thought I was in, was no longer real. I started to see the news headlines. I’d never imagined them, but they would no longer be: Teacher saves pupil, but now: Teacher kidnaps pupil. ‘Do you believe me that I took Destiny for her own good?’
DS Fields didn’t say anything.
‘I had to take Destiny. She was in danger. If I didn’t, she would’ve been taken by bad people.’
‘Are you a bad person, Jenni?’
‘You don’t believe me.’ I thought for a minute. ‘What about the social worker? Social services will confirm that they didn’t send a social worker out to the school and my school will confirm that an imposter arrived and spoke to Destiny. If I have made all this up in my head, it doesn’t explain why that would happen.’ DS Fields didn’t say anything, but she did look at her colleague and write something down. ‘Also,’ I continued, ‘if I made it up, how come she met me outside the school in school hours? How would I have known to do that?’
‘She said she had already had permission from the school to leave early yesterday for a dentist appointment. She suggests you knew.’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps it was on the school computer system. We’ll check.’
I shook my head. ‘No, that’s not true. She came to me. She wanted my help. She said she didn’t have to go far and I thought I would be back at my desk by four thirty.’
‘Yet you weren’t back at your desk by four thirty. Instead you ended up with two dead men in a basement two hundred and fifty miles away.’
‘Because Destiny changed where she wanted to go. I’ve told you that. What choice did I have? I had made a commitment to save her by that point. I had to see it through. Sometimes
. . .’ I felt an ache in my throat, which for a second wrong-footed me, ‘Sometimes if you deliberate about something too long, the moment has passed and the decision is made anyway. Sometimes, to not decide to do something is the decision to do something.’
‘I don’t follow.’
I threw my hands up, frustrated. ‘If someone can’t make up their mind to stop smoking and they don’t make that decision, they are making a decision to smoke. If I hadn’t made a decision to save her, then the decision would be to condemn her.’ Nobody said anything. ‘I had no choice.’
‘Because she was in danger?’
‘Yes! Yes, we’ve been through this.’
‘But she wasn’t in danger.’
It was the way she said it that made me say nothing.
‘Those “strangers” were not strangers to Destiny. The man who you killed was her cousin.’ DS Fields paused. ‘Of sorts. It seems that social services were slightly misled by Destiny’s mother, Simone, who insisted Aleksander and Destiny were cousins. For an unspecified time, Simone was in a relationship with Aleksander’s uncle, and I suppose some people do apply these terms more loosely than others. Aleksander has known Destiny for years. She says that she asked him to get her and that they were going to go via her dentist appointment and then go back to the north-east area. Her social worker admits this is a regular occurrence for Destiny to go away at the weekends. They’ve tried to stop it, but have, albeit non-officially, given up. They recognise that as much as they don’t approve of her relationship with Aleksander, they acknowledge that she always returns on a Sunday night and that she’s started to do other things required of her, like treating staff better, doing her homework and other compliance issues that they’ve struggled with prior to the relationship becoming serious.’
‘Relationship?’
‘Aleksander was also Destiny’s boyfriend, Jenni.’
Sunday
09:09
Jenni
I’d barely slept. I sat on my bunk watching the door, expecting someone to come in. I was held in Iraq, briefly, but I didn’t want to think about that now.
I wasn’t going to think about that now.
Instead I watched the door.
And finally, after about ten minutes, someone came through it. They took me back to the interview room and told me that they wanted me to run through everything again. I did. Then I had a few questions of my own. I knew they didn’t believe me, and if they did some fact-finding, they’d realise I was telling the truth. I was still going to prison, but this wasn’t that – this was about the truth of what I’d done. ‘What about the girl I saved? The one from the basement? Have you found her yet?’
‘We’re still looking.’
‘Well, what about the school CCTV? It’ll show they were hanging around the area, that Aleksander came right up to the door – it might even show his gun.’
‘We have contacted the school but recognise that it may not be possible to speak with the facilities manager until Monday.’
I sunk in my chair. ‘So George knows?’
‘George is . . . unavailable. We spoke instead to the deputy head, a Steve Fullers.’ She stared at her notes as if they were entertaining. ‘He doesn’t like you much, does he? Your head of department as well, isn’t he?’
I said nothing.
‘It sounds like he couldn’t distance you further from the school if he tried.’ She paused. ‘He says that if you did take Destiny—’
‘I didn’t.’
‘—if you did, then you’re in breach of your contract. It sounds like you’re about to be fired.’
She had snares in her voice and I realised she was trying to goad me. She didn’t realise I’m not goadable; I just can’t feel it. She watched me for a few seconds and perhaps she saw this in me, because her face tightened instantly like someone’s turned a screw somewhere and everything has become more pinched.
‘What about my boss, George. Why isn’t he available?’
‘He’s in hospital.’
‘Why?’
She paused, stretching the moment out like a fish takes a line. ‘Apparently, he was beaten up so badly, he has been in a coma since Friday evening.’ She stared at me without blinking, waiting for my reaction.
‘I’m really sad for George.’ I didn’t sound it, I thought, but I knew this was the type of thing I was meant to say. ‘Who beat him up?’
‘Reports say it was a random attack at a service station. Apparently there’s still the risk of permanent brain damage.’
I thought of the way his chin wobbled when he laughed; the way he tried to keep it jolly on a Monday morning. He was a good man. I knew I would never work with him again and I wished things were better for him.
I thought about the call I had finally made to my father. How I’d heard him answer in a bright manner, pleased to get a call during the day. I know he’d been in the sitting room watching the racing. ‘Hello?’ he’d answered, giving his telephone number as he did. I’d tried to get him to change that, but he never had. I’d said: ‘Hello, Dad,’ and with that he’d known that something was wrong. I don’t know how, as I sounded the same, but he simply said, ‘What’s happened?’
Then I’d had to tell him about the arrest, what I’d done and why I’d done it. It’d felt ugly, brutal and I knew as I said it, things would never be the same again.
He’d listened silently throughout it all and at the end, had only the perfect words of support. But when he spoke, he sounded so old, the frailty in his voice broke the strength of his words.
So my dad knew, but there was no hero’s tale to give him. And there would be no gratitude lighting Destiny’s face in return for breaking his heart: instead just accusations, recriminations and condemnation.
I wouldn’t answer any more questions, I just insisted on going to my cell. I had some thinking to do. I needed to know what I was going to do next. And that wasn’t easy given my options were so limited.
I felt beaten.
Sunday
13:22
Jenni
Earlier, my solicitor asked for some time.
I agreed.
He asked if he could have my consent for a psychological assessment. He explained in detail what it was for and what it would mean, but I stopped listening.
He obviously didn’t know that the reason I left the army was because I had refused to have a psychological assessment. Instead, I said I would consider it. Then I asked to go back to my cell.
Now I was here, I didn’t know what to do. I placed my hands on the painted breeze-block wall. It was cold under my palms and it calmed me.
I breathed in and out.
I ran through the facts. I could cope with the future. I could cope with going to prison. As soon as I started on this path, I engaged with the reality that this is where it might end. I’m not concerned by this.
What did concern me, I realised, was this question, again, of my mental health. This question that refused to go away. I didn’t know why this was.
I did two hundred sit-ups and felt more in control. Panting, sweating, I felt better. Even though I was running out of options, I still felt better. I had never been afraid of consequences; I’d lay down my life for the right cause, but this nothingness, this nowhere to go, the possibility that I’d let Destiny down was hard to accept. Was it possible I’d got it wrong? I couldn’t accept it, because I knew my own mind, I knew what had happened – I was there.
I had to hold on to the truth.
I found a way of gripping the air brick that was only inches from the ceiling. With a good grip, I could do twenty chin-ups.
Afterwards, I felt exhilarated, until I realised that two of my nails were ripped and bleeding. I stared at them, sucking on the blood and wondered why I hadn’t felt the damage.
Monday
11:04
Six months later
Jenni
I understand now: I imagined it all.
Sunday
14:36
Now
Destiny
I hang my legs over the cliff edge and look over so I can imagine your broken body lying on the beach below. I never tire of sitting here. I come even in winter, when the storms seethe, forcing me to grip the scant grass, because I feel that I could die here too. I like that. I watch the crashing waves below, beating against the bluff, pushing and pulling the flotsam and jetsam, relentless, relentless, relentless.
Then I do my own falling. I uncork a bottle and for a while feel the raw pain of my loss.
Walkers have approached me in the past; they see my solo picnic of wine and the inches between me and certain death, and think I’m going to jump. The police have been here too. Twice they’ve arrested me under section 136 of the Mental Health Act, determined to get me assessed. But my last psychiatrist intervened. He said that I push all of my grief and guilt onto the clifftop, as a way of maintaining my real world. He’s wrong. I told him nothing about what happened. I go to remember because no one else cares.
As I sober up at home, I spend the night staring at my bedroom ceiling while the world sleeps. I stare and think about my choices, questions writhing like worms in my mind. I replay everything, everything I did and didn’t do. What it caused; about the people who got hurt. Who died. I remember blue eyes locked on mine, eyes filled with the pain and the nearness of death. Then the peace, after.
I know I am guilty.
And then, when I tire of my self-hatred, I wonder what would’ve happened if we hadn’t come together like a planet spun from its orbit into the path of the other. How different my life would’ve been. And that’s what I can’t get over – that’s why I cannot know peace.
I turn over what happened to us in my mind, the memories getting no less worn through the constant re-examination. Relentless, relentless, relentless.