Fault (Define Book 3)

by Nicola Hudson

  “No further questions, Your Honour,” Anderson whimpered, tugging at his tie and collar as though struggling to breathe. His acting was worthy of a pantomime contract.

  “Court adjourned. I will see everybody in the morning for the psychological reports and my summing up in what I hope will be a calmer day.” We all stood as he left the courtroom, and Mum looked up at me with the same expression she would have on her face when I’d defied her as a child before turning away.

  THE PSYCHOLOGIST WAS a gentle, Scottish man whose melodic voice lulled me into believing every word he said. I hoped he had the same effect on the jury as he explained the impact seeing my attack would have on a parent, any parent, and suggested that a different reaction would have been more worrying. I knew the barrister had recommended him as a sympathetic expert, but he couldn’t have supported the defence any more than he did. Even Anderson couldn’t break his warm insight into what drives people to commit terrible crimes.

  The end of his testimony was the most hopeful I had felt to date, but I knew the judge’s summing up would have a significant role in the jury’s decision. His lack of intervention with Anderson until he had gone too far made me worry that he was less than sympathetic to Mum’s defence.

  When we all returned from the lunch break, there was an air of anticipation, like a theatre just before the curtain rises. With more than a whiff of Anderson’s tendency towards melodrama, the judge cleared his throat and pointedly waited for absolute silence.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have been witness to some emotional and emotive evidence this week. Now is the time when you have to put aside that emotion and make a decision based on the facts as seen under the jurisdiction of the law. The purpose of my summary is to signpost to you the key pieces of evidence that are subject to different interpretation, as those are the issues you need to reach consensus on as a jury.” My heart shrivelled a little at his instruction to leave emotion out of their decision-making.

  “The prosecution has given clear evidence that Andrea Dawson caused the death of William Hayden. She stabbed him eleven times, some of which took place when her daughter had managed to escape from the grip of the man who was attacking her. To find her guilty of murder, you must believe that she intended to kill the victim, that she knew her attack was likely to result in his death. Again, medical evidence supports this, as does Mrs Dawson’s initial comments to the police. This will be the first decision you have to make. Was Andrea Dawson guilty of murdering William Hayden?

  “The defence have argued that whilst Mrs Dawson did kill William Hayden, she was not in control of her actions because he was attempting to rape her seventeen-year-old daughter. There are several criteria you need to feel are present in order to support a defence of loss of control under the Coroners and Justice Act of 2009. Firstly, did the defendant’s actions arise purely as a result of her loss of control? That is to say, there was no intention to carry out the offence until she had the loss of control. The prosecution has not shown any pre-existing difficulty or tension between Mrs Dawson and the victim.

  “Secondly, was the act which caused the loss of control serious enough to trigger such a response? Therefore, you have to decide if returning home and finding one’s teenage daughter being sexually attacked by a grown man is sufficient enough to trigger picking up a nearby knife and trying to stop him continuing.

  “Finally, you have to agree that any other person, of similar age and gender to the defendant, with a normal degree of tolerance and self-restraint, might have reacted in a similar way. That means you need to feel confident that most other mothers, finding the same scene in front of them, might have done the same thing. The psychological evidence should be at the forefront of your mind in making this decision.

  “Please remember that, if you support this defence, you are not finding Andrea Dawson guilty of murder, but guilty of manslaughter, which also carries up to a maximum life sentence. It is my responsibility to decide upon sentencing if you return this verdict.

  “Serving as a member of a jury is a serious social responsibility and the consequences of your decisions have life-affecting impact, whatever you decide. The clerk will now take you to the retiring room and you will appoint your foreman. The foreman will share your verdict with me when you return. Please do not hurry your discussions. Time is not important here; delivering the right and proper verdict is. Court adjourned for deliberations.”

  We stood as the jury was escorted out of a side door I hadn’t noticed before. The judge left through his usual exit, and the rest of the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “How long will they take?” I asked Noah as we watched Mum be escorted out and Mark collect together his files.

  “Who knows? It can be days, weeks even, in a murder trial. But I think the judge’s summing up was helpful and should make the decisions more straightforward. I know what I would be arguing for—and not just because it’s you.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “Let’s see what Mark says.”

  We met him outside the courtroom, and his smile told me he was hopeful about the outcome too. “It’s already three, so there won’t be a decision today. I’ll go back to the office and see you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Mark. Whatever happens, I know you didn’t give up on her.” I reached out to hug him.

  “More importantly, neither did you, Grace. You’re the one who made her believe this was a fight worth having.” He tipped an invisible cap to me as he left.

  Noah took my hand. “Let’s go pick up some food, maybe a bottle of wine too, and go home. Yes?”

  “Yes.” I hoped the evening would end with us even closer too.

  We were putting the shopping away when my phone rang and Mark’s name flashed onto the screen.

  “You need to get back to the court now” was his greeting. “The jury have finished their deliberations.”

  “How—”

  “Just get there, Grace.” He hung up.

  Noah had already picked up the car keys. “Come on, this must be a good sign.”

  THE PUBLIC GALLERY was almost empty as nobody had expected this outcome. Noah and I sat in the front row where Mum could see us. Whatever happened, she needed to know we were with her.

  The judge called the foreman to the bench and glanced at the piece of paper he was given.

  “Members of the jury, you have reached your decision, and your foreman will now share your verdict with the court. In the case of the Crown versus Andrea Dawson, how did you find?”

  The foreman cleared his throat and Noah tightened his grip on my hand.

  “We, the jury, find Andrea Dawson not guilty of murder, but guilty of manslaughter by reason of loss of control.”

  I looked at Mum, certain she would be able to hear the sound of my heart beating its joy. Her face was calm, resigned even. She knew that the sentence could still mean she wouldn’t be an active part of our lives.

  “Thank you,” the judge said to the jury. “You have fulfilled your civic duty and are now asked to leave the courtroom.” The jury filed out, several of them smiling in Mum’s direction. Still she remained impassive.

  “Now, it is the usual practice to research sentencing guidelines during a trial and this is what I have done. As such, I am ready to pronounce my sentence. Counsel for the prosecution, do you agree to sentencing being delivered today, subject to the usual appeals period?”

  “Yes, Your Honour.” Anderson had done his job and looked like he just wanted it to be over.

  “Counsel for the defence, do you agree to sentencing being delivered today, subject to the usual appeals period?”

  “Yes, Your Honour.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Mrs Dawson, a jury of your peers has found you not guilty of murder, for which there is a mandatory life sentence, but guilty of manslaughter, by reason of loss of control. The sentencing guidelines provided by the Sentencing Council stipulate aggravating and mitigating factors I have taken into account in deciding on an ap
propriate sentence.” I fought through the legal jargon for clues as to what his decision would be, as his face gave away nothing.

  “I do not feel the public needs to be protected from you. This was an isolated crime in an otherwise criminally blameless life. On the day in question, when you returned home, you saw something which provoked such an intense reaction you lost control over your actions. You picked up a general kitchen knife from the worktop and used it to attack the man attacking your daughter. The weapon used is a mitigating factor. You were not carrying a weapon; you picked one up after the loss of control had taken place. You did not search for a weapon, time which may have made you pause and realise what you were doing.

  “I must also consider the victim in sentencing. William Hayden was not acting innocuously when you killed him. He was sexually attacking your teenage daughter. He was a convicted criminal who had served two custodial sentences for aggravated sexual assault. Indeed, he was a registered sex offender. As such, he was not somebody making an active, positive contribution to society.” I’m ashamed to admit that I felt a moment of anger towards Mum at this revelation. She had allowed someone like him into our home. The feeling dissipated when I looked at her and saw the horror on her face.

  “I then have to take into account your post-offence behaviour. Your admission of guilt immediately following the attack helped the investigation. Your behaviour on remand has been excellent, according to this report from the prison governor. You have shown remorse and an understanding of the impact of your crime.

  “Finally, I must consider the impact of the length of custodial sentence on your family. You have one child still at school and a daughter new to adulthood but still coming to terms with her own role on the day in question. There is no other parent and the family has had to be separated whilst you have been in custody. These are all factors I have considered.” My legs shook. He sounded like he cared.

  “But, ultimately, you took a life on that day and all life is sacred. As such, I have no choice but to impose a custodial sentence.” I started to cry.

  “I hereby sentence you to a one-year custodial sentence, with a second year suspended, subject to you not committing another offence.” Okay, one year was better than two. I could see Mark smiling and guessed that this was better than he had hoped for.

  “Now, with a custodial sentence, providing their behaviour has been good, prisoners are released on licence halfway through their sentence. You have already served twenty-three weeks on remand and your behaviour has been excellent.” Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh, my fricking God. I knew then why Mark was smiling.

  “By my calculation, Mrs Dawson, Andrea, that means you need to serve three more weeks and you can then be released. That would bring us to the week before Christmas.” He paused. “I wish you and your children a happy Christmas and a wonderful New Year. Together.” He stood and smiled up at me before leaving the room. Mark looked up and motioned for me to come down.

  Within seconds, Noah was holding the courtroom door open for me so I could run straight into Mum’s arms.

  “It’s over,” I cried, finally able to feel again.

  “It is,” she said, stroking my hair. When my shaking had subsided, she took my face in her hands. “But Gracie, there’s something you need to know. I would do it again if I had to. I promise I will always be there to protect you, whatever the cost. I won’t let you down again. I love you.” She kissed me as the guard coughed and signalled it was time for her to leave.

  “I love you too, Mum.”

  Noah held me as she proudly walked out of the courtroom, in many ways already a free woman.

  “Let’s go home.”

  IF THE MANY NOVELS I’d read over the years had taught me anything, it was that there should be a happy ever after. Should I have got down on bended knee outside the courtroom and proposed marriage? Reader, I didn’t. Ours is a real-life love story, and I don’t want to think that we’re anywhere near the end of it yet.

  But I do want to move us forward, which is why I’m nervous as hell about picking Grace up from work. We have settled into a good life in the six months since Andrea’s release. Grace had a course of counselling about the attack and, whilst she hasn’t discussed it with me, I can see the impact it’s had on her confidence and self-belief.

  Andrea left Jim, saying that she could never forgive him for what had happened. Maybe it was the only way to forgive herself. She rents a flat in a different part of town and Josh has moved back in with her. Every Sunday we have lunch together, intent on becoming a different family to what each of us had before.

  “Hi, babe,” Grace says as she gets into the car, leaning over to kiss me. God, I love this girl.

  “Hi, beautiful. Ready to go?”

  We are a mile or two out of town before she realises we’re not going home and looks at me quizzically.

  “It’s a surprise,” I tell her.

  “Okay, I can cope with surprises.”

  “You can cope with anything,” I say, kissing her hand. “You’re Wonder Woman.” Her laugh makes me smile and I start to feel less worried about what I’m going to show her.

  Twenty minutes later, I park outside a waterside development in the centre of Birmingham.

  “Are we going for dinner?” It’s an obvious assumption, as we regularly visit the bars and restaurants in this area.

  “Later.” I take her hand and walk to the gated entrance. “Noah Carter, here to see 40B.”

  Grace drops my hand. “Noah! What—”

  “Don’t say anything. I’ll explain when we get there.” I lead the way to the reception desk and take the key I’m given. Grace stays silent as the elevator takes us up four floors. She is still silent as I open the door to 40B.

  “Oh my God, it’s amazing!” Her reaction to the apartment and the view in front of us is all I had hoped for. The view she then ignores by turning and looking at me.

  “What is going on here, Noah?”

  I take both of her hands in mine. “I’ve had an offer on the house. It’s a young family and it feels right.” Knowing that neither of us would want to live there, I had put the house up for sale, wanting a fresh start somewhere that could become our home. As it is, we spend most of our time in Grace’s minuscule flat and even smaller bed. I want us to have more.

  “That’s great news. And we are here because…?”

  “Because I think the next stage of us could be here. We already know that we like it round here, that there’s more going on. I want us to feel like we’re living life, not just getting through it.” Her eyes shine with understanding. “We’ve both had to make compromises through no fault of our own. Now’s the time that we can stop. I don’t want to live in the same place forever. I want to be able to spend more time in the office at work—I need to if I’m going to progress. I also want you to do the same.”

  I lead her to the large picture window that overlooks the city skyline and point. “Birmingham City University is a fifteen-minute walk in that direction. Or you could be at one of five other universities within an easy commute. If that’s not what you decide to do, we’re only a short train journey from home. You could carry on working for Lauren as long as you want to.” Her silence starts to unnerve me. I had planned this as a way to help her fulfil her dreams, but hoping they wouldn’t take her away from me. Does she have different plans?

  “Grace?” The smile on her face tells me to continue. “Or I was thinking that you could branch out on your own. Set yourself up doing the same as Lauren but close to here. The second bedroom is big enough to use as an office and have a sofa bed for when your mum or Josh want to stay.”

  The way she tiptoes up so she can kiss me is my undoing, and I pull her to me, my hands on her hips, joining us. “There’s even enough parking for my car and your scooter. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re amazing.”

  “No, really. About the apartment? About moving? About creating a new life together?”

  “Amazing.
Amazing. Amazing.” When she pushes her fingers into my hair, I know I need to stop or I’ll be taking her against the grey marble kitchen counter. It’s probably wrong to christen the flat before we’ve even bought it.

  “Let me show you the rest of it,” I say, distracting her into moving away. The appreciative noises she makes in the large bedroom do little to calm me down.

  An hour later, we are sitting on the terrace of a canal-side restaurant, enjoying the view of what will hopefully be our new home.

  “I hope you didn’t mind me doing this today.” Whilst neither of us has said anything to each other about today’s date, we both know its significance. A year since the attack. A year since our lives were irrevocably changed.

  Grace brings my knuckles to her lips, and I feel the usual shiver I get when she does this, as she well knows. “Not at all. You’ve given the day new meaning.” The glimmer of tears in both our eyes are the seams in Kintsugi pottery, turning our faults into beauty, making us whole again.

  “I’m glad you see it like that. I have something else too.” Her eyes grow uncertain at my words, and I know I’m not the only one not yet ready to declare our happy ever after.

  I open my bag and take out the gift I have been keeping a secret all week, knowing this was the day to deliver it. Grace takes it from me and does the weigh, shake, and squeeze action children do with Christmas presents.

  “Is it a book?”

  “Open it and find out!”

  She carefully peels away the sticky tape and opens the paper before her hand covers her mouth. “Oh!” Her eyes shine as she takes the book in her hands and pores over the cover. “I’m so proud of you! Having A Word with Dad by Noah Carter. It’s beautiful, Noah!”

  As overcome with emotion as she is, I feel the same. Many of the photos on the front cover collage are ones that had meant so much to me during those last weeks with Dad. When the newspaper had suggested collating the columns into a book after Dad’s death, I had been unsure. Grace had persuaded me to agree to it, knowing how much printed words meant to Dad. It seemed like an appropriate way to honour him.