What I saw made my stomach curdle.
He was smirking. Leaning forward intently and drinking in the lurid descriptions. Something lit up his face: enjoyment.
Daryl must have spotted me frozen to the spot and gawping at him in horror, and realised what was going on because he suddenly rearranged his features into a look of sympathy. Sighed and shook his head sadly and even pretended to wipe a tear away.
Maybe he did wipe away a tear. Maybe I imagined this scene? I’ve a horrible feeling I didn’t…
Right at that moment though, I was convinced by what I’d seen – and it sickened me, my stomach doing a rollercoaster drop. I remember that day, March 2 last year. Daryl and I had a row and he told me to eff off and slammed the phone down on me. I was repeat dialling him for hours but it just rang out. What exactly had he been doing for all that time?
See, I hate myself for even asking questions like that, even in the privacy of my own head, but the expression in my husband’s face had made me doubt him for one horrible second. Until I talked myself down, reminding myself of the irrefutable evidence of his innocence: his cast iron aeroplane alibi on the night of the murder.
All these thoughts flashed through me in the blink of an eye. Still I couldn’t take my eyes off Daryl. Then I wondered: had the jury noticed his slip up? I stared keenly at the twelve members of the public whose job it would be to decide Daryl’s fate, but if they’d spotted anything they gave nothing away. All were rapt by the evidence still being given.
‘When it was over, as he stood over me and pulled his suit trousers up, all I could do was lie there. The pain…’ The woman’s voice caught, but she gathered herself enough to continue. ‘Then he looked straight at me. His eyes, they were a very cold blue; I’ll always remember that, I’m haunted by them. That, and the smell of him. Sorry.’
Tears flowed down her face, and she wiped constantly at her nose, desperately trying to hold it together.
‘He...he said: “I hope you realise that was your fault, you fucking whore. Never forget you’re just a cunt, nothing more,” and: “I’m going now, but if you scream, if you move, if you try and get help, I’ll know. I’ll come back, and then things will go very badly for you. Very badly indeed.” Then he picked up his briefcase and walked away. I, umm, I didn’t dare move.
‘I don’t know how long I lay curled up on the pavement, but I-I-I think it was about, umm, ten…ten minutes or so. I only found the strength to move because I suddenly thought he might come back anyway. Don’t know how I did it, it’s a bit of a blur, but I forced myself to sit up. There was…God, there was so much blood…between my legs…and… My hands were still taped together in front of me… I remember putting my hands to my face and it feeling really sticky. When I looked at my hands in the half- light they looked black with the sticky stuff – I didn’t…didn’t realise it was blood too, couldn’t figure it out.’
She looked lost, head down and shaking slightly as she looked this way and that as if back on that dark, deserted side street. Mouth working constantly, while voice dropped to almost a whisper. ‘I couldn’t stand up. My legs were sprawled out in front of me and I couldn’t seem to make them work. Doctors said afterwards it was severe shock and trauma that had temporarily shut my body down…’
‘Objection! Hearsay. The witness is not a medical expert.’ The words came out like bullets, making us all blink in shock. I’d almost forgotten we were in court as I’d imagined what that poor woman had been through.
‘Sustained,’ agreed the judge. ‘We will be hearing from medical experts on this matter later though,’ he added in the direction of the jury.
Given the go-ahead to continue, Mrs D took a deep, shuddering breath. But I wasn’t watching her; I was looking at Daryl again, trying to gauge his expression. All I saw was genuine sadness and concern.
‘I, umm, I scooted forward on my bum and got my handbag and shoved my stuff back into it; it had burst open when it fell to the ground, and everything had gone everywhere, see. I don’t, I don’t even know why I did that. Automatic,’ said Mrs D, words tumbling out now as she neared the end of her story.
‘Then I pulled myself forward, dragging my legs behind me, reached the main street and carried on going, sort of pulling myself along on my elbows, which was easier than using my hands because they were still taped up.’ She held her wrists together and bent her arms to demonstrate. ‘Knew I had to keep going otherwise I’d die, or he might come back or something and then I saw headlights and…and I remember screaming and screaming and screaming because I thought it was him…but it was a cabbie…I was saved…’
I’d say she was lucky to escape with her life, but how can you call someone lucky when they’ve suffered such horror?
Her words had been so powerful and affecting that when Daryl’s defence team started questioning Mrs D, I felt sorry for her. Instead of wanting to cheer at every hole they pulled in her evidence, I felt uncomfortable. Instead of feeling annoyed when the Crown’s barrister asked the defence to tone down their questioning because they were being too aggressive, and were backed by the judge, I felt secretly pleased.
This is so messed up and wrong. I’ve tried so hard not to let these women in; I don’t want to feel for them because although I know they are victims of terrible crimes it is easier to think of them almost as the enemy. They must be beaten, because the alternative is that Daryl goes to prison for something he simply didn’t do. Yet here I am, softening towards them and almost rooting for them, and imagining things about my husband.
If only a judgement on one’s side favour didn’t brand the other side liars and worse.
So I have to harden myself to these women and their ordeals. I can’t show I care about them or the jury could misread it and think I doubt Daryl. I feel like a total bitch though. That’s why I’m hanging over the loo, feeling nauseous: because I know Daryl is innocent, and yet this stupid court case has made me question everything even when I know it is an absolute; has made me imagine nonsense; and because I’m having to hate rape victims.
The only consolation about today is that Daryl has no idea about the turmoil my head was in. Instead I must have appeared as solid as ever when we once again mouthed ‘I love you’ to one another as he was led away at the end of the court session. I spotted one of the jurors looking at us and smiling gently; that’s got to be a good sign.
Friday 8
There was a different atmosphere in court today. I could feel it as soon as everyone settled into their places (even I’ve managed to find a ‘usual spot’, always sitting in the same place. It’s nice, means Daryl always knows where to look for me). There was a sense of anticipation almost because today a victim was going to give her testimony in the stand rather than via a video link. We all knew this was going to seem way more real – sometimes it’s easy to kid yourself the person isn’t real, that it’s simply a programme you’re watching when it’s on the screen.
When the woman was called, I saw the back of her head as she walked over to the witness box directly opposite the jury and entered it…then gasped as she turned. It was her – the woman who looked like me.
There could be no doubting it now that she was right in front of me. We were a similar age and height, our hair the same colour and texture, though hers was slightly shorter and choppier; our lips, eyes, basic shape of face… We weren’t identical, but it was enough similarity to freak me out, and I heard whispers of surprise rustle through the courtroom as others noticed.
There was one very important difference between us though: she was heavily pregnant. I hadn’t noticed it when I’d spotted her briefly the other day because the crowd had hidden all but her face, but actually her stomach was huge and she looked ready to drop any day.
She was allowed to sit as she gave evidence and settled with one hand over her bump, the other just below, rubbing it comfortingly.
This is the woman who was raped in Turkey…
‘Please, Miss E, can you describe what happened to
you whilst on your holiday in Olu Deniz on Tuesday 2 June last year?’ asked the prosecution.
Olu Deniz. I’d know the attack had happened in Turkey, but hadn’t realised it was in the same resort we’d stayed in. Then I remembered – the day after Daryl and I had had a huge row I’d heard about a young woman being raped. Of course, I should have put two and two together.
I swallowed hard, trying not to show on my face the worry I was feeling inside. The fact that we were in the same place at the same time as this crime was going to look bad, very bad.
Miss E spoke in a calm manner; the only sign of anxiety was her hand constantly circling her tummy. ‘I’d gone on holiday with a group of girl friends. I’d just split up with my boyfriend and so getting away had seemed like the perfect way to relax and get over things. We spent several days at the resort and felt very comfortable there; it’s a wonderful place, with the turquoise sea, gorgeous beach, friendly locals, and it’s very family orientated too so none of us girls felt intimidated about going out at night. It wasn’t a meat market, like some resorts can feel, you know?
‘That Tuesday the four of us had spent the day relaxing by the hotel swimming pool, and that night there was some entertainment being laid on at the hotel too. Two of my friends wanted to stay and see it, but my other friend and I fancied a change of scenery so decided to go to the town.
‘We walked down to some of the seafront bars; it’s only a small place so we got there in about five minutes, and had a couple of cocktails and watched the sun set over the sea, then caught a dolmus – they’re like minibuses, that’s how everyone gets around – into Hisaronu, which is still fairly quiet but a bit livelier than Olu Deniz itself. We fancied having a bit of a dance, you see.
‘Some lads came over to chat to us. My mate really liked one of them but I wasn’t interested, so I decided to go back to the hotel alone. Like I said, we felt really safe in the resorts, there were dolmus coming every couple of minutes, so it didn’t feel like a reckless thing to do. I was more worried about leaving my friend alone in the club than me walking to the bus stop, and arranged to call her in half an hour to check she was okay – we even sorted out a word she could use to secretly tell me if there was a problem: we chose “inconceivable”.’
Miss E paused then, appearing to gather her strength. The courtroom seemed to hold its breath as we waited for the horror we knew was coming, and I realised I was on the edge of my seat, leaning forward. The hard wooden ledge was cutting off the circulation to my legs but I barely noticed. Everything she’d said had been so familiar to me that I’d imagined every step she’d taken…
‘I started walking to the dolmus stop. The main street is very well lit and there were lots of people around so I felt confident, although I did of course look around every now and again to check there was no one dodgy around. The stop I was walking to was on the edge of town, but still well-lit thanks to all the street lamps and lights from restaurants, bars and shops.
‘I was almost there when I suddenly became aware of someone behind me and as I turned my head to look over my shoulder, wham, I was punched in the face. I was totally dazed by it, but I tried to scream, but there was a hand over my mouth and an arm around me dragging me backwards. I remember being struck by how efficiently he moved, it was like he was well practised…’
‘Objection. Conjecture.’
‘Sustained.’
She took a steadying breath, apparently determined not to get flustered or phased – or at least not to let it show. ‘Where I was taken to was dark, and the noise from the street seemed very muffled somehow even though it had taken scant seconds to get there. I couldn’t see the man’s face because he was behind me, but sensed he was quite tall and muscular, powerfully built, and at one point I sort of saw the top of his head and realised he was bald.
‘I could smell him too, he was wearing the same body spray as my ex-boyfriend had worn, Lynx Africa, but there was something else as well, something that seemed almost ingrained into his skin. I knew that every detail I could remember about him would be important afterwards, so I concentrated on staying calm and trying to identify it. It was diesel.
‘I tried to scream again, but he got me in some sort of choke hold and told me to keep quiet...’
The Crown Prosecutor stood up for a moment. ‘Can you remember the exact words he used?’
‘Yes, definitely. He whispered right into my ear: ‘Dirty whores like you need to be taught a lesson. I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.’ As he spoke, he squeezed my throat until I could barely breathe and my vision went black around the edges and finally I lost consciousness.’
There was no sense of uncertainty or fear about her at all as she spoke. Despite her inner steel though, she looked vulnerable as her hand circled round and round her pregnant belly.
‘When I came round I was in an ambulance. Apparently some locals had heard my mobile phone ringing and followed the sound until they’d found me down a back alley; my friend was calling me, worried when I hadn’t contacted her as arranged. When they saw me, unconscious, they’d called for help and I was rushed to hospital where it was immediately obvious that I’d been raped.’
‘Can you tell us about how the brutal assault has changed your life?’ asked the QC.
For a moment the hand stopped its circular motion, then started again as she spoke. ‘My life was turned upside down that night,’ she said, still sounding strong and sure. ‘At first I blamed myself, thinking that I must have done something terrible to somehow deserve what had happened to me, wondering why I was picked out over countless others. Then I discovered I was pregnant by my rapist.’
I gasped, stunned. Judging from the hiss that rippled through the courtroom I wasn’t the only one.
‘At first I wanted to get rid of it…the thought of having something growing inside me that was anything to do with that man…I even though about killing myself…’ Her voice juddered with emotion for the first time. She took a moment then continued.
‘I was raised a Catholic though, and in my time of need I turned again to my religion. With my parents’ support, I made the decision to keep my baby – I have an innocent life growing inside me, one that shouldn’t be punished for the horrific way it was conceived. It wasn’t easy at first, but as time has passed I’ve realised I can love this child. She is mine and will never have anything to do with the monster who fathered her.
‘That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to give evidence in person today, rather than have my testimony read out or give it in a different room. I want to face my attacker and for him to see the consequences of his actions. And to know he will never have anything to do with his child.’
‘Objection!’ said Daryl’s lawyer, jumping to his feet. ‘The witness is talking as though her attacker is in the room when in fact she didn’t see him and is unable to identify him.’
‘Sustained,’ agreed the judge.
The defence soon got their chance to tear into Miss E though. I settled back into my seat, back aching from having spent so long leaning forward, and tried to push down any pity I felt for her. It was time for us to score some points…
‘When you went on holiday you were getting over the break-up of your relationship, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘With some other single female friends?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘All single ladies together, having a few drinks and a holiday romance or two; that would be fair to say, would it not?’
‘I can’t speak for the others, but I wasn’t interested in having a holiday romance.’
‘Oh come, all girls together, what happens in Turkey stays in Turkey…’
It reminded me of when I’d been questioned by the police about my sex life, and DS Chapman had tried desperately to get me to admit to stuff that plain wasn’t true. All misleading insinuations and pathetic attempts to create a fake connection to get me to ‘open up’. Seeing it happen to someone else now was infur
iating; despite myself, I could feel anger rising.
Miss E wasn’t falling into their trap any more than I had though. She answered every question calmly. I don’t know how she did it; she stayed far stronger than I had.
They threw it all at her, implying she was a party girl who’d got drunk and had sex with anything that moved on holiday, despite there being no evidence of this. They sank to an all-time low though when they basically said that she was lying about her pregnancy. She was using the rape to cover the fact that she was actually pregnant by her ex-boyfriend, the barrister said, and that she’d been forced into such desperate measures because, as a Catholic, her parents would otherwise have disowned her for becoming pregnant out of wedlock.
How dare they? Hasn’t she been through enough already? Could I have kept a child conceived in such a way? I don’t think so. No one knows for certain how they’ll react until they’re actually in a situation of course, but I think I’d look at that baby and feel disgust. I’d see its father, relive that horrific attack every time, and be scared it had inherited his bad blood. I felt she should be applauded not vilified.
This was my team attacking her now though. They were the people I was supposed to be rooting for. Instead I felt horrified. I wanted to jump up and defend her.
At least Daryl looked as thunderstruck as me by what was happening. After her cross-examination had ended and she was told she could leave the witness box, he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked from court. Still, at the end of the session he gathered himself as his guards led him away, looked over at me and, as had become our little ritual, we mouthed ‘I love you’ to one another.
Outside, the news that the Port Pervert had fathered a child seemed to have driven the crowd into an even greater frenzy. The noise was almost ear-bleeding as faces and cameras were shoved at me. Beside me one of the protection officers stumbled, almost going down as he tried and failed to absorb the ebb and flow of the storming mob.
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