What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

I risk a glance at the jury, who are studying Theo with contempt, and inside I allow myself a big smile. A courageous smile.

  The prosecutor continues asking questions for another couple of hours. When he finishes, we break for lunch. I keep my eyes on Ben as I step down from the witness box and walk towards him. He takes my hand in his and leads me from the courtroom in hurried strides so we don’t bump into Theo and his cronies.

  ‘You were brilliant, Grace.’ Ben stops in the street and pulls me into his arms.

  ‘Really? I was so nervous.’

  ‘You were amazing. I was watching the jury. I think they’ve already made their minds up.’ He kisses the top of my head.

  ‘But the defence questions me after lunch. His mum is sitting at that table right in front of me. It’s going to be horrible. They’re going to attack my background and reputation. You know they’re going to drag you into this, too.’ Panic rises in my voice.

  ‘It’s not as easy as it used to be to pin the blame on the rape survivor, Grace. He won’t get away with trying to bring your life into disrepute. All you can do is tell them exactly what happened. He can’t run away from the truth. Believe me, I know. I’ve tried it.’

  I lean into him and rest my head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall against me in a rhythm as old as time. ‘Thanks for being here. I couldn’t do this without you.’

  ‘Yes, you could, but I’m always going to be here for you anyway.’ He laces his hand through mine. ‘Come on, let’s get something to eat. You didn’t have any breakfast.’

  But it turns out I can’t actually eat, and neither can Ben. My guts are too busy cramping. I nurse a cappuccino instead as Ben picks at a jacket potato. We don’t talk about it; we don’t need to. Communication is all done with our eyes and the way we hold hands over the table.

  ‘I’d like to remind you that you’re still under oath,’ the judge says to me. ‘Do you understand?’

  I sit forward and rest my hands in my lap. ‘Yes, Your Honour.’

  The judge nods at the defence barrister. ‘You may proceed.’

  He stands up and walks around his desk, thumbs in his pockets. I try to look at him and not at Elaine, who’s staring at me with a pinched frown etched on her face and venom in her eyes. Maybe she thinks the jury is swaying in their favour and she’s told Theo over lunch, because his arrogance is back. It’s in the way his mouth curls in an amused smile, as if we’re not in the middle of a rape trial at all but watching a play and he’s expecting few funny one-liners.

  ‘On the night of the alleged rape, you went to the defendant’s house willingly, did you not?’ the defence barrister asks me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, he didn’t force you to go there?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And there was no struggle?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You weren’t frightened at all, were you?’

  His questions are ambiguous. Does he mean before the rape or after? I know what he’s trying to do, because the CPS warned me. He’s trying to trip me up, make me flustered, but I’m not going to let him.

  I look at Ben, who’s nodding encouragement at me. The pride in his face relaxes the knot of tension in my stomach. I know what he’d do if he was up here, because I’ve seen him do it a lot. He doesn’t talk for the sake of it. He thinks before he speaks. He pauses, rolls things around in his head before saying something precious, meaningful. Words that have an impact.

  So I do the same. I take my time before I get the words out so I don’t say something wrong, something that might get Theo off.

  I raise my hand to the necklace Ben bought me and touch the delicate butterfly wings for courage before I speak. ‘When he was raping me, I was frightened. Scared to death. So scared I froze and couldn’t fight him off.’

  ‘Your Honour, please direct the witness to answer just the questions put to her.’ The defence barrister looks at the judge with exasperation.

  The judge peers over his half moon glasses at him. ‘I’ll allow it. Perhaps you should rephrase your questions?’

  Theo’s barrister clears his throat and carries on. ‘So, before the sexual intercourse, were you frightened?’

  ‘It wasn’t intercourse.’

  The defence barrister sighs loudly. ‘Was there, in fact, any sexual intercourse at all?’

  ‘No. I can’t call it intercourse. I was raped.’ All my muscles clench so tight it sends fiery pins and needles shooting everywhere.

  He doesn’t pause for a beat but carries on. ‘You could have walked out of the defendant’s house at any time, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Before the rape, yes. During it, no, I couldn’t move. I was—’

  ‘Just answer the questions I put to you, Miss Elliot,’ he cuts me off. ‘Now, during the alleged rape, you say the defendant hit you.’

  ‘Before,’ I say, my voice shaky.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Before the rape, he hit me.’

  He waves a hand casually through the air as if he’s swatting a fly, as if the details aren’t important. He leans over his desk, reading from his notes. ‘According to your testimony, he hit you and threw you on his bed, is that correct?’ He looks up at me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you didn’t struggle?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘You didn’t scream?’

  ‘I couldn’t breathe and—’

  ‘You didn’t call out “no”?’

  ‘No. Like I—’

  ‘You didn’t tell him to stop?’

  ‘No, I told you, I froze and—’

  ‘He didn’t threaten you?’

  ‘Not in words. He—’

  ‘And you’d had sexual intercourse with the defendant before the night in question?’

  ‘Objection, Your Honour!’ The prosecutor is on his feet. ‘He’s badgering the witness.’

  ‘Sustained.’ The judge points a finger at the defence barrister. ‘Give the witness time to answer.’

  The defence barrister hardly acknowledges the judge before saying, ‘I put it to you, Miss Elliot, that you went to the defendant’s flat willingly with him and had consensual sexual intercourse. You were not terrified. You did not cry out, you did not scream, you did not say no, and you did not attempt to fight him off. Therefore you were, in fact, a willing participant, weren’t you?’

  ‘No!’ I cry, the nausea rising in my stomach. I swallow back the queasy feeling.

  You can do this. You can do this.

  I take a few deep breaths. ‘That’s not what happened. I was so terrified that I couldn’t do any of those things. I’ve learned that when someone is faced with overwhelming terror, people might think the obvious thing is to run or scream or fight, but they’re incapable.’

  The defence barrister is telling the judge to direct me to be quiet, but I won’t. I know the jury can’t disregard something after it’s been said, even if they’re told to.

  ‘The freeze response leads to a complete inability to move,’ I carry on as the judge looks at me.

  ‘Objection, Your Honour!’ the defence barrister complains again. ‘Miss Elliot is not a medical expert.’

  ‘Please answer the questions put to you, Miss Elliot, and no more,’ the judge says.

  My cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow, so I take another sip of water. Try to breathe to keep calm.

  I look at Ben. He smiles back, and inside that smile, he’s sending me a secret message: You’re doing great. I love you. Be strong.

  ‘Had you been drinking alcohol that night?’ the defence barrister asks.

  ‘Yes. We’d been to a party, and I’d had three glasses of wine.’

  ‘Three glasses of wine,’ he repeats, pacing slowly in front of his table. ‘So, it’s possible you were drunk and don’t remember the exact course of events as they actually happened?’

  I clear my throat. ‘No, I do remember clearly.’

  ‘It’s not possible to be drunk on thre
e glasses of wine?’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘Thank you. Had you eaten anything that day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you have to eat before you consumed the alcohol?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘So, it’s entirely possible you didn’t actually eat, and the alcohol affected you more than it usually would, and you were, in fact, drunk, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’ I hold onto the front of the witness box to stop the dizziness from engulfing me.

  The defence barrister stares at me for a moment, hoping to unnerve me. ‘I put it to you, Miss Elliot, that you are only now making an allegation of rape because you’re upset and angry that the defendant ended his relationship with you, aren’t you?’

  ‘No!’ I gasp, wiping my clammy palms on my trousers.

  ‘If the alleged rape did happen as you say, why didn’t you report it for a year and a half?’

  ‘I was scared and traumatized, and I didn’t want to relive it. I didn’t want anyone to know what had happened, because I was ashamed and blamed myself.’

  ‘You blamed yourself because it’s not true, is it? It’s a complete fabrication, and you feel guilty for telling lies?’

  ‘No. It is true.’

  ‘It’s your word against the defendant’s, though, isn’t it, Miss Elliot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And why should we believe your version?’

  ‘Because it’s the truth.’

  He sucks in a breath. ‘The truth?’ he says in a tone that clearly implies he doesn’t believe it.

  ‘The defendant is a lawyer and an upstanding member of the community with no prior criminal record. Who are you, Miss Elliot?’

  ‘Objection, Your Honour!’ The prosecutor rises.

  ‘I’m going to allow you a little leeway with this.’ The judge nods at the defence barrister. ‘But don’t overstep the mark here.’

  He looks at me. ‘Where do you work?’

  ‘At Imogen’s Coffee Shop.’

  ‘You work in a coffee shop.’ He raises his eyebrows, as if it’s the worst job in the world, and maybe it is. To him.

  ‘I’m the manager,’ I add.

  ‘Tell us a bit about your background. Any college education, university?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Move along,’ the judge says to the defence barrister, who pauses for a moment before looking down at his notes.

  ‘How many sexual partners have you had, Miss Elliot?’

  ‘Objection, Your Honour!’ The prosecutor is exasperated now.

  ‘I’m losing patience with you,’ the judge says to the defence barrister, who looks like he couldn’t care less.

  ‘You employ a man named Ben Hardy, with whom you are now involved in a relationship, at the coffee shop, is that correct?’ He tries a different question when he can’t try and paint me as promiscuous.

  I glance over at Ben. We expected this. And maybe I should thank Theo’s dad for showing us his hand before we got to court.

  Ben’s smile has evaporated, but the silent message in his face is the same. You’re doing great. I love you. Be strong.

  ‘Answer the question, please, Miss Elliot,’ the defence barrister presses me.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, what?’

  A bubbling anger rages inside, and I’m not prepared to make this easy for him. ‘Yes to the question you just asked,’ I say as calmly as I can manage.

  Some of the people in the jury titter, but I daren’t look at them.

  ‘You employ him in your coffee shop, and he’s currently your boyfriend, yes?’

  ‘Objection! Already asked and answered!’ The prosecution barrister stands. ‘This line of questioning is irrelevant.’

  The judge waves his pen impatiently at the defence barrister. ‘Move along. The witness has already answered.’

  ‘I’m just making it clear to the jury,’ he says.

  ‘I think it’s pretty clear by now,’ the judge says in a bored voice. ‘Move on.’

  ‘Did you know Mr Hardy has a criminal conviction for involuntary manslaughter?’

  Someone on the jury gasps, and I try to drown it out. I gather every ounce of courage I have.

  ‘I’m sorry, your question is a little unclear.’ I say it with a calmness I don’t feel. ‘Do you mean did I know this when the defendant raped me, or afterwards?’

  The prosecutor stands again. ‘Objection! Mr Hardy’s relationship with the witness has no relevance to the rape.’

  ‘I’ll allow it, briefly,’ the judge says, glaring at the defence barrister. ‘And you’d better make it very brief.’

  ‘How long have you been involved with Mr Hardy?’ the defence barrister asks.

  The prosecution objects again, and the judge overrules.

  ‘Six months.’ I say.

  ‘And you’re aware that Mr Hardy is a convicted killer?’ he asks.

  The prosecutor is on his feet again. ‘Objection! Mr Hardy and Miss Elliot are not on trial here, and this has no relevance to the case.’

  ‘It goes to the credibility of the witness, Your Honour,’ the defence barrister insists.

  ‘You’re walking a thin line.’ The judge narrows his eyes at the defence barrister. ‘I won’t allow this line of questioning anymore. Move on.’

  Having made his point to discredit me, the defence barrister says, ‘No further questions,’ and sits down.

  ‘Any redirect?’ the judge asks the prosecutor.

  ‘Yes, Your Honour.’ He asks me a few questions, trying to counterclaim some points the defence has raised.

  The judge turns to me. ‘Thank you, Miss Elliot. You’re excused.’

  I take a breath to compose myself then stand up, lightheaded and wobbly. Maybe it’s the lack of food but more likely a build up of adrenaline, and I don’t realize how much I’m shaking until I try to walk on legs that are like feathers. It takes every effort to put one foot in front of the other as I head towards Ben, who’s waiting with that proud smile on his face, mouthing the words ‘I love you’. The eyes of the courtroom are burning into me. I try to hide and control the shakes coursing through me as I walk, but by the time I reach Ben, I don’t care. Let them see. I hold my head up high, proud of myself for doing the right thing. The most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  Ben takes my hand and leads me outside again. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I think so.’ I let his words wash over me. The same words he’s been asking me constantly since I poured out my heart to him all those months ago.

  ‘You were so calm and composed up there. I’m so proud of you.’ He slides his arm round my shoulder as we walk, rubbing it to try to calm me down.

  ‘Really? I was worried when they kept going on about you and me.’

  He kisses me on the head as we walk. ‘I don’t think the jury fell for the lies he was trying to portray.’

  I allow myself a huge smile of joy because I have a feeling Theo’s going exactly where he belongs.

  But it’s more than that. I’ve just released the last fragment of hold he has over my life. I have finally cleansed him from my body, my soul, and my mind.

  From now on, I’m free.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Ben

  It’s too early to celebrate yet, even if I am convinced about the outcome of the trial. It’s not just the trial we should celebrate, though. Grace and I need to celebrate us, too. I’m hoping the jury will decide the verdict tomorrow and it will finally be over. Then we can get back to starting the rest of our lives together.

  I make us a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich, since neither of us has much of an appetite. Grace grabs two bottles of beer out of the fridge as her doorbell rings. We look at each other for a second. We’re not expecting anyone, and the last time someone came uninvited it was Edward.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ I stride towards the door and look through the peephole. Grace appears in the kitchen doorway, biting her thumbnail. �
��It’s Rebecca,’ I say over my shoulder.

  Grace’s face relaxes with relief, and I pull the door open.

  ‘Hi.’ Rebecca stands on the doorway looking frail and tiny, as if a strong wind could knock her off her feet. My heart breaks for her. I know she’s got a long, painful road ahead of her, and I’d do anything I could to wave a magic wand and make it all right again.

  But I can’t. I can only do what I’ve learnt how to since Mia.

  I step back to give Rebecca space as Grace hugs her and brings her into the kitchen. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ Grace asks.

  She shakes her head. ‘I can’t eat until this is over.’

  ‘Hopefully they’ll finish the summing up tomorrow, and the jury will go out to deliberate,’ Grace says.

  ‘Shall I leave you two alone?’ I hover in the doorway.

  Grace stands at my side and takes my hand. ‘This is Ben. He’s the counsellor I told you about who helped me. He can help you.’

  ‘OK,’ Rebecca whispers, nodding slightly. ‘After the trial’s over.’

  I pull a card out of my jeans pocket. ‘This is a phone number for the Women’s Centre. There are several rape crisis counsellors there, so you don’t have to see me.’

  ‘It will help you, Rebecca. It really will,’ Grace says.

  ‘I know it will, because I read this.’ Rebecca pulls Grace’s journal from her bag and holds it out to her. ‘I can’t tell you how much reading this made me feel like what I was going through is normal. It’s given me the courage and inspiration to get help with moving on.’

  Grace steps forwards and envelops Rebecca in a hug. Rebecca rests her head on Grace’s shoulder. ‘I’m so glad it helped you.’

  ‘How did the trial go today?’

  ‘It was tough, but it’s over now. We can both put it behind us.’

  ‘Listen, are you sure you don’t want something to eat?’ I ask Rebecca. ‘I can make you something, no problem.’

  ‘No. My mum’s waiting for me in the car downstairs. I just wanted to give you the journal back and find out what happened today. And to say thank you.’ She gives Grace a ghost of a smile, then turns to me. ‘I’ll ring and make an appointment.’

  The full moon filters through the gap in the curtains in Grace’s bedroom, casting a shadow of patterns across our naked skin. She’s nestled in the crook of my arm as I trace random shapes on her hip with my fingertips.