The reality TV show to die for. Literally

by Kerry Drewery

  ‘I wouldn’t anyway,’ Eve replies. She reaches into her bag and takes out another packet of biscuits, custard creams this time.

  ‘Thanks,’ Martha says. ‘They’re my favourite but I don’t want to ruin my figure.’ She tries to smile again.

  Eve pushes them across the table. ‘Eat the whole damn lot,’ she replies.

  With incredible care Martha peels away the end of the packaging, takes out one biscuit and nibbles the edge.

  Eve watches her eat. ‘How long had you been in a relationship with Isaac Paige?’ she asks.

  For a second Martha’s mouth stops moving. As she watches Eve her whole body seems to tense.

  ‘Who’ve you been talking to?’

  ‘Isaac, Mrs B, Gus from the High Rises. Did you know there was CCTV pointing to the exact point where you claim to have shot Jackson?’

  Martha puts the rest of the biscuit in her mouth. ‘If you know that, then you know it’s pointless,’ she mumbles through crumbs.

  ‘They keep backup files of all the CCTV cameras.’

  She swallows. ‘Makes no odds. I don’t want to go through all this. I don’t want to think about it, talk about it or anything. Nothing. It’s done.’

  She takes another biscuit and bites it in two, watching as Eve pulls a mobile phone from her pocket and taps at the screen.

  ‘You’re not allowed …’ Martha says.

  Eve lifts a finger to her lips to quieten her, and as she holds the phone to her ear, she and Martha watch each other.

  ‘Hello, yes, it’s me. I’m here,’ Eve says into the mouthpiece. ‘Uh-huh. Yes, she’s in front of me. Eating the biscuits you sent. You were right, they are her favourite.’

  Martha’s face drops. Her eyes blink and blink.

  ‘I’ll pass the phone over. No, it’s fine, there aren’t any cameras in here, we’re OK.’

  She holds out the phone. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

  Martha stares, her mouth open.

  ‘Take it.’

  Martha shakes her head.

  ‘Take it,’ Eve hisses. ‘It’s Isaac.’ She pushes the phone across the table.

  With a trembling hand Martha reaches slowly out, touching the phone with tentative fingers, and with her eyes focused on Eve she grasps it and lifts it to her ear.

  ‘Hello,’ she whispers.

  She looks away from Eve, her shoulders hunching as she lifts her knees and hugs them to her chest with one arm, perching on the edge of her seat while she rocks back and forth.

  ‘I miss you too,’ she breathes.

  She nods her head and through her tears a smile cracks. ‘Did you see it? Did Mrs B? Yeah? Did she see his name?’

  A second longer and the smile fades.

  ‘I can’t. I’m not …’

  She rests her head on her knees.

  ‘I can’t,’ she says into the phone. ‘No … I can’t tell them that … I’m not going to …’

  She wipes a hand over her eyes.

  ‘Who’d believe me?’ she whispers. ‘I know … but evidence … the camera …’ She shakes her head again as Isaac speaks. ‘No, we talked about this … even with that … no, Isaac, please … I’m not going to change my mind …’

  For a second she glances to Eve, but her face crumples and her eyes fill with tears and she cowers into her seat with her head down low.

  Her breath comes in stifled sobs. ‘I love you too,’ she breathes.

  She turns off the phone and drops it to the floor. Eve walks around the table, and as Martha’s body trembles and her tears fall, she takes her in her arms and holds her tight.

  6.30 p.m. Death is Justice

  High-pitched theme music pounds with a rhythmic heartbeat thud. Dark blue screen, flecks of white buzz and crackle. The eye logo, the words ‘An Eye For An Eye For’, spinning around the iris.

  The music fades. The logo moves to the edge of the screen where the words stop spinning and the lights come up on a different studio – an old court room with oak panel walls, a raised wooden jury area crammed with the audience, large wooden tables and five ornate oak lecterns.

  Standing to the side of a table, flanked by upright wooden chairs and backed by engraved panels, is Kristina, dressed in an electric-blue trouser suit with a deep neckline and pinched-in waist. Mock glasses perch on the end of her nose and on her head she wears a long judge’s wig.

  KRISTINA: Good evening and welcome to Judge Sunday!

  The audience applaud.

  KRISTINA: As always on Judge Sunday we’re coming to you live from this historic building in central London – the Old Bailey – which has stood on this spot since the late seventeenth century, and has seen the likes of the Kray brothers and Oscar Wilde on trial. Following the phasing out of courts, it’s been saved from closure by being transformed into television studios for our very own show Judge Sunday and now also playing regular host to the brand-new show – Buzz for Justice – on air twice daily, seven times a week.

  She pauses to smile at the camera.

  KRISTINA: Here at An Eye For An Eye Productions we are so excited to bring this new concept to you. If you’ve yet to see the trailer or tune in, you will not be disappointed. This is an opportunity for you, ordinary members of the public, to be part of a panel seated in front of the accused as they tell you their stories. Think they’re guilty? Press the buzzer! With three of you on the panel, only a majority is needed to send them to prison. Want to be on the panel? Then go to their link on our website for details on how to purchase tickets. This is bound to be over-subscribed so hop on over as soon as you can!

  The audience applaud. Kristina’s teeth and her diamond necklace glint in the studio lights.

  KRISTINA: Joining us again on tonight’s programme is our lovely roving reporter, Joshua Decker.

  Wearing a blue designer suit with waistcoat and tie, Joshua bounces into the room, his hand up to wave to the audience as they clap and whistle him. He winks at a few as he passes, takes the hand of one and kisses it with a smile.

  KRISTINA: Thank you for joining us, Joshua. Not too much roving today, I take it?

  JOSHUA: Roving only from your side to our lovely audience!

  A murmur echoes amongst the women.

  KRISTINA: Of course, Joshua, in our court on Judge Sunday, you must wear the wig.

  She passes him a white judge’s wig – shorter than her own. He smiles, puts it on his head and turns to the camera.

  JOSHUA: What do you think, viewers? Does it make me look dapper?

  Wolf whistles sound. Joshua strikes poses for them.

  KRISTINA (loudly over the whistles): On a serious note, viewers …

  Joshua raises a hand to calm the audience.

  KRISTINA: Tonight, exclusive to our channel, we are bringing you a panel of experts discussing teen killer Martha Honeydew’s case, and helping you to make an informed decision on how to cast your votes. Is she truly guilty as she claims she is? Did she truly steal one of our national treasures from us?

  The studio falls quiet. The camera zooms in on Kristina’s face – wetness to her eyes, a tremble to her mouth.

  JOSHUA: Let’s get them on!

  Joshua and Kristina step towards the empty lecterns.

  KRISTINA: At lectern number one we have psychologist to the stars, Penny Drayton!

  The audience clap as a stocky woman steps out from backstage, waving to the camera as she takes her place at the far lectern.

  KRISTINA: From the City’s serious crime squad – Detective Inspector Hart is at lectern number two.

  A broad man in a crisp, blue uniform, shiny epaulettes and a row of medals strides out and takes his place. His expression is blank. His eyes are cold. The applause from the studio audience quietens slightly.

  JOSHUA: Bestselling author of Why Teens Kill, at lectern number three is Ian Chobury.

  Applause picks up slightly as a middle-aged man steps out, the lights reflecting off his bald head and his thick glasses as he briefly nods and waves and stands at t
he next lectern.

  KRISTINA: And finally, at lectern number four, is a face already known to our viewers, and a last minute addition to our panel today, ex Supreme Court Judge, Mr Cicero.

  Cicero pushes his glasses up his nose as he shuffles out and takes his place, his moustache twitching as he tries to smile. His hands rest on the lectern, his fingers clasped together. If the camera zoomed in on him, it’d see the beads of sweat gathering around his shirt collar.

  The applause dies. At either side of the lecterns, Kristina and Joshua take their places at what were once raised witness stands. Each holds a gavel.

  KRISTINA: Cicero, if we could come to you first. This is your second time visiting to discuss the case of Martha Honeydew. Why the interest?

  Cicero wipes a hand through his greying hair.

  CICERO: I am interested in justice for all. For the victims, yes. The families left behind, but also the accused.

  DI HART: The accused? The accused forfeited their right to justice when they committed their crime!

  CICERO: You’re assuming she’s guilty when all she is, is accused. What happened to innocent until PROVEN guilty?

  DI HART: She’s as guilty as they come. My men caught her. She’s admitted it. What more do you want?

  CICERO (shouting): EVIDENCE! I want EVIDENCE! Proof, for God’s sake!

  Joshua taps his gavel gently on the wood. The guests stop and turn. He smiles.

  JOSHUA: I think our panel are getting a little overexcited there, don’t you, Kristina?

  KRISTINA: Indeed. Perhaps if we could bring the focus to our guest at lectern number three, Ian Chobury. Ian is the author of several best-selling crime novels, writing from the perspective of both killer and detective, and so is well placed to offer insight into the minds of both …

  CICERO (interrupting): It’s fiction!

  KRISTINA:… both our accused and our victim, Jackson Paige. Tell us, Ian, how important is this notion of evidence?

  CHOBURY (quietly): Thank you, Kristina. I do believe it’s important to remember what in fact evidence is, why it would be necessary, and what it would be used for. In cases our learned friend here, Mr Cicero, presided over during his career, evidence would indeed have been paramount, as it was for him to instruct on what the jury would see in order to aid their understanding of the crime and their subsequent decision. However, our justice system has evolved from this to a far superior, fairer and more democratic system. We are all judge and juror. We all have equal voice –

  CICERO: No, we don’t!

  CHOBURY: Your respect, please, Mr Cicero, to allow me to share my opinion.

  JOSHUA (interrupting): Outspoken as always, Mr Cicero, but let’s turn now to our resident expert, psychologist Penny Drayton. Nice to see you again, Penny.

  He winks at Penny and she giggles back.

  JOSHUA: What do you think could be this young lady’s motivation to kill Jackson Paige?

  DRAYTON: One does not need to reach far back in time to discover what is most likely Miss Honeydew’s motivation for such an act. If we examine her childhood we can see the chaos she has had to endure. A father who disappeared before her birth, a mother who left her to fend for herself day after day, night after night, claiming to be working when in fact she was out meeting men.

  CICERO: That’s bullcrap! And you know it is!

  DRAYTON: All leading to a tremendously unstable young lady. Let’s not forget the death of her mother, too. How all these events must have affected her personality is fascinating. I believe her motivation was jealousy and envy. There is no disputing that she has had a hard life – no money, no love, no attention or compassion – she saw the lifestyle of the rich and the famous and focused her attention on them. She lured Jackson Paige there to his death.

  CICERO (shouting): WHY? WHY would she lure one of the richest and most famous men in the world to kill him, and then admit to it? WHY would she do that?

  Cicero slams his fists onto the lectern.

  CICERO (shouting): This makes no sense at all and you are not trying to find out!

  Kristina thunders her gavel against the wooden post.

  KRISTINA: Order, Mr Cicero, please, order! Or I’ll have you ousted from the court!

  DI Hart laughs at Cicero.

  DI HART: She said she was guilty, Cicero, you dumb ass. Why would she say that if it wasn’t true?

  CICERO: Well, as you’re an inspector you could do something radical such as going and inspecting! Ask questions! If you’re so convinced she did it, find out why! DO YOUR BLOODY JOB!

  DI Hart turns towards Cicero, finger raised, jabbing at the air.

  DI HART (shouting): I’ve done my job, you moron! I’ve arrested a killer! I’ve got the gun she used and a signed confession. I’ve got her on death row where she belongs and I’ll be there in two days’ time watching the electricity ripping through her and frying her brain like she deserves. If you had done your job properly all those years ago then we wouldn’t have killers on the streets now. You let killers go; we don’t do that. We make the streets safe.

  He takes a step from behind the lectern and towards Cicero.

  DI HART (voice hissing with anger): Martha Honeydew is as cold-hearted as they come and she deserves to die!

  Cicero leaps from behind his lectern, storms across to Hart and grounds him with one punch. Security men rush past. Chairs fall. People scream. The camera turns back to Kristina and Joshua now standing together, wigs askew.

  JOSHUA (low voice): Some strong emotions for a very delicate case.

  Kristina, mouth open, frowns at him.

  JOSHUA: And never a dull moment here on Judge Sunday, viewers!

  KRISTINA: Absolutely, Joshua! Always excitement, and often some scandal! Join us again after this short message from our sponsors – Cyber Secure – with those all-important voting numbers.

  The screen fills with blue, the sounds diminish. A fluffy white cloud appears; strings of blurred text run through it. As a padlock clamps onto its corner, the text disappears and instead, underneath it, runs a list of all the accused and their voting numbers.

  Eve

  The open fire crackles and spits, and the orange light reflects on the faces of Eve and Isaac sitting opposite each other with their heads deep in concentration.

  On the coffee table are the files and documents Gus had hidden, alongside notebooks scrawled with information taken from them, and empty coffee mugs and plates with left-over sandwich crusts and food wrappers.

  Max sits in the corner of the room with his laptop across his knees, looking from his mother to Isaac and back, tutting from time to time and glancing at his watch.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what’s happening?’ he says.

  Eve runs her fingers through her hair but doesn’t look up. ‘No,’ she says. ‘It’s better if you don’t know.’

  ‘You’re treating me like a child.’

  The doorbell rings.

  ‘You’ll be expecting me to answer that, though?’

  As he stands and leaves the room, Isaac turns to Eve.

  ‘You should tell him,’ he says.

  ‘I’m trying to protect him.’

  ‘Because of what happened to your husband?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand you’re putting him in more danger by not telling him.’

  Cicero wanders into the room and slumps down next to Eve. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a set of keys and throws them on the coffee table. Eve, Isaac and Max stare at them.

  ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ he asks, rubbing the cuts and bruises on his knuckles.

  ‘Yes, but …’ Eve whispers.

  ‘You were great on the TV today, Justice,’ Max says. ‘When you slugged that police officer … that was … wow!’

  Cicero turns to him, his moustache stretching in a bleak smile. ‘Thanks, it wasn’t the thing to do in normal circumstances.’

  ‘It was,’ Max replies and he takes a few steps fo
rward, focusing on the keys. ‘Is that …?’ His eyes fall on a security fob, a familiar crest. ‘You took his keys?’

  Cicero looks to Eve and back to Max. ‘Well …’ He shrugs. ‘They fell out of his pocket.’

  ‘Did they hell,’ Max replies, picking them up. ‘Did you start that fight on purpose to get these?’

  ‘I can’t condone violence, Max, but sometimes things are necessary.’

  ‘You did, didn’t you? What exactly are you planning?’

  Eve stands up and looks at her son. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone …’

  ‘Trust me, Mum.’

  For a moment she pauses, watching him. ‘The camera,’ she says. ‘At the underpass. It was working that night, and the night her mother was killed. All the camera feeds are backed up.’

  Max turns the key fob over in his hands. ‘You know, you don’t have to go to the police station to get to the computer files. You didn’t need to steal his keys.’

  Martha

  This window in the cell is so small I reckon I could cover it with my hand if I could reach up there. There’s no glass and the wind howls through like some wolf or crazed beast trying to get free from something. There’s no light switch in here. No light bulb, just like the others, but it’s so much darker. I checked for one when the sun started to set and then I just watched as everything got blurrier and the edges of everything melted into each other.

  Is that what dying will be like? Will everything fade away? Will my eyes get heavy and it’ll be like falling asleep? Will it hurt? It’s electricity, it’s going to hurt. How long will it take before I pass out? Will I pass out and then die or will the passing out bit be the dying bit too?

  God, it’s cold in here. That wind’s biting.

  I wish I could die by chocolate cake instead. Eat it and fall asleep. Drift off. Not poisoned because that would be painful. Drugged, maybe.

  I can’t remember the last time I had chocolate cake. Probably at Mrs B’s. She bakes a good cake.

  Mrs B believes in God. She prayed to Him after Ollie was arrested, asking for his release, but it didn’t do any good. She said so. She said God had lost the round but not the fight, but she knew that He’d look after Ollie well until she saw him again.