by Harriet Tyce
Have they arrived yet? Is she home?
I can’t reply. It’s too much. I start running again, but I have to stop, the stitch building up once more, and I lean back against the wall and wail NO, NO, NO, THEY HAVEN’T.
A touch on my shoulder. I jump, shrinking back before I see it’s a community police officer, his high visibility jacket jarring yellow in my eyes.
“Is everything all right?” he says. “Are you feeling OK?”
I don’t have time for this. I can’t waste breath reassuring him when everything is not OK, not OK at all. I shake my head.
“She’s gone,” I say. “She’s gone. I have to find her.”
I take in a deep breath and the stitch has gone so I shrug him off—“Fine, I’m fine”—and then I’m off again, at the end of the road and turning the corner before he has a chance to react.
29
Finally, it begins. Jeremy takes his seat in the dock, prosecution and defense barristers to left and right, Barbara at the front, me in the middle, Zora at the back, nearest to Jeremy in case he needs to consult her during the course of the proceedings. On the other side, the prosecutor, Edward Kayode. He’s on his own, no junior, no CPS representative. But I know that the lack of backup on the prosecution side won’t be an issue to him. Nearly twenty years’ experience and deeply competent, he’s described in the Legal 500 as a “highly charismatic advocate, with an in-depth knowledge of his cases that is second to none.”
We all rise as the judge enters. We bow toward the front of the court. The judge bows back, and we all take our seats. As proceedings begin, ripples of noise from the public gallery start to make their way into the body of the court. I look around at the teenagers who have taken up seats in pole position at the front of the public gallery. Alexandra is sitting at the other end of the front row, her face a mask of disapproval. I can’t see anyone who could be Jeremy’s father at this point.
Jeremy is looking distracted, his attention caught by the activity at the back rather than where it should be, on the judge. I wonder if he might be looking for his father. The clerk of the court has to call his name out twice before he reacts, leaping up to confirm his name and address.
Zora opens her notebook and starts scribbling a note, ripping out the page and handing it to me. I am finding the father impossible, it says. He keeps emailing me, telling me what to do. Then he can’t even be on time to support his own son.
I read this, turn and catch Zora’s eye. We raise our eyebrows at each other. I know it’ll be a lot easier for the defense team if he isn’t there, drowning us with his expertise, but I worry that it’ll have an adverse effect on Jeremy. I take another glance at him. He’s staring down in front of him—pale, drawn.
Out of nowhere the thought comes into my mind—he is good-looking. In his suit there is something attractive about him. And he’s young. Very young. As I look at him, I start to get the strangest feeling that I’ve met him before, his face suddenly familiar against his white collar and dark jacket, his hair slicked over neatly to one side. He looks up and catches me staring at him, one corner of his mouth raising in a smile. The sense of familiarity fades. I smile back, return to my notes.
The jury panel files in. Time to pay attention to proceedings. Their names are read out, and, in turn, they take their seats. Zora is looking at Jeremy to check that he has no reaction to any of them—he gives a small shrug at each one in turn. He doesn’t know them, evidently. The jurors are told that the case will last a little under two weeks, and that it relates to a school in central London, giving its name and precise location. If any of the jury members have any connection to the school, they must declare it now. They all shake their heads. The jury is set.
As they are sworn in, I look hard at each of their faces. It’s the right mix for the purposes of a trial like this. Eight women, covering a range of ages and ethnicities, four men. Given it all hangs on the credibility of the complainant, this is a good balance; women are harsher on female complainants, at least in my experience. Harsher on other women, full stop.
Administrative procedure out of the way, Edward Kayode, the prosecutor, gets to his feet, and lays out what he says the prosecution case will be to the jurors. They’re looking alert, all except one man to the far left of the back row, whose expression is less than enthralled. He perks up noticeably when Edward comes to the specifics of the indictment, the three occasions on which he says the prosecution will be bringing evidence that the defendant had sexual intercourse with the complainant. Even the dispassionate way in which the details are laid out, clinical in terminology, isn’t enough to slake the hungry look on the juror’s face.
My throat tightens and I turn away, trying not to show the repulsion I feel. It’ll be to Jeremy’s benefit. Well played, my son, words I can hear that juror saying the moment Freya turns up in the witness box. It’s horrible. But if it helps the defense…
I keep taking notes.
Jeremy is even more pale by the time the court rises for the day.
“It sounds appalling,” he says as we walk out of court. “They’re going to convict in an instant.”
“Don’t panic,” I say. “It’s meant to sound like that. They’re bound to put it in the strongest terms they can. They have to set up their narrative. This is probably their best moment, before any witnesses come along to spoil their neat little story.”
“I suppose,” Jeremy says.
“And the jury aren’t against you. I can tell that.”
“I didn’t want to look at them,” he says.
“Well, you should. A couple of the older ladies were smiling at you. And the bloke at the back is very much on your side. He looks almost approving of what they’re saying you’ve done.”
“God, people are awful,” Jeremy says. “But what if Freya is convincing? The police obviously believe her—they wouldn’t have charged me otherwise. What if the jury believes her too?”
“Have faith,” I say. “OK, the prosecutor is damn good. But Barbara is good too. She’s one of the best. She’s been doing this for years longer than he has. She’s like a Rottweiler when it comes to cross-examination. You’ll see.”
Jeremy laughs then stops, his face solemn again. “It’s very sad. I feel awful that it’s come to this. I hate to think what Freya must be suffering.”
“That’s a laudable sentiment,” Barbara says as she catches up with us. “But think about what she’s putting you through. That’s pretty unforgivable.”
“Nothing should be unforgivable,” he says. “We should always strive to see both sides of the story.”
I’m struck by his understanding, but Barbara does not look convinced, one eyebrow raised. She starts to say something, stops. “Let’s see how this all pans out,” she says in the end. “Then we can start thinking about forgiveness.”
Jeremy nods. By this time, we’re at the door of the robing room. Zora appears and we stand in a tight circle at the side of the corridor. At least we’re not being crowded by hormone-struck teenagers. They have all left, as Jeremy predicted.
“Your father called, Jeremy,” Zora says. “I told him where we were up to.”
Jeremy’s face twitches. He takes out his phone and looks at it. “He hasn’t been in touch with me,” he says. “I guess he must have been busy. And I suppose there wasn’t that much to see yet.”
“No,” Zora says. “This was just the opening, and we all knew what would be said. Given he’s funding the defense, I’m sure he’ll come to see that his money is being properly spent.” She pauses, before continuing. “And be there for you, too.”
Jeremy leans against the wall next to him, shutting his eyes briefly before rolling them up to the ceiling.
“I’m sure he will,” he says. “He must feel under a lot of pressure. It’s hardly an ideal position for him to be in, his son being prosecuted for something like this.”
“At least the press hasn’t got hold of the connection yet,” Zora says. “In some ways it might be better
if he doesn’t come into court at all. There’s already publicity enough around this.”
Jeremy nods. He and Zora say goodbye, Alexandra too, and Barbara and I go into the robing room. We don’t discuss the case. There isn’t much to say. No surprises yet. I hope there will be no surprises at all.
Barbara leaves first. I’m a few minutes behind her. I text Julia to see how everything is and receive a reply almost immediately. All good here—getting on with homework and about to eat pasta for tea. Such a lovely girl! She’s welcome any time J xxxx. I text back to thank her before gathering up my things.
The courthouse is closing for the evening, the corridors now deserted, only a faint whiff of the stew the canteen served for lunch remaining. I’m distracted, thinking about Robin, hoping her day has been better, hoping her new friends are there to stay, when someone takes hold of my arm from behind me and my heart leaps into my throat. A man’s voice says, “Sadie.” I don’t recognize him at first; my hair has fallen over my eyes, obscuring my vision as I turn toward him.
“Sadie,” he says again, and now I realize it’s Jeremy. Even though I should be relieved, the fright he’s given me lingers. I smooth back my hair and take a breath.
“Jesus, you nearly scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry,” he says, stepping back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
I laugh, a little awkward now the fear has passed.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. “I wanted to see how you thought today had gone.”
“Barbara would have been happy to talk to you. Or Zora,” I say.
“I know,” he says. He pauses for a moment, laughs. “I have to be honest, Barbara scares me a bit. I don’t like asking her questions in case she thinks I’m being stupid. Also, I think she’s going to pass it on to my dad.”
I smile. “She can be a little imposing, I guess. But she would answer any questions, stupid or not. And she would respect client confidentiality.” I start walking toward the exit of the building.
Jeremy’s shoulders are slumped. “I suppose I should ask her,” he says, all laughter gone from his voice. “It’s difficult, though. She’s being very professional, but she must think I’m an idiot to have ended up in this situation.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t,” I say. “You’re bound to think the worst because this is all so stressful for you. But at least it’s started. It’s better than all that awful waiting. It must be.”
“It is,” he says. “I just want this to be over. Whichever way it turns out, to be honest.”
We leave the court building and walk down the steps at the front. I wonder if he wants to go for a drink. I imagine the evening now, chat about the case, about the entrance exam, about his father and my mother and how hard it is to live up to a parent like that. Jeremy has the same air of being a disappointment to his family that I’ve always felt. I can almost taste the wine on my lips, the easy camaraderie of a decent claret. But I hold back.
“I have to go,” I say. “I need to collect my daughter.”
Even though dusk is falling, I see his smile fade. “Of course,” he says. “It’s late.”
“It is. At least it means the journalist has fucked off.”
He nods. “Thank God. And he wasn’t here this morning, either.”
“Though don’t be too excited about that,” I say. “There was a journalist from the Press Association in court. Barbara pointed him out to me. It will be reported.”
“I know,” he says, “At least they’re not door-stepping me… yet. It could be worse.”
“It could. Anyway, I must go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember court is sitting at ten, not nine thirty. Though the earlier you are, the more likely you are to avoid the press.”
“True,” he says. I’m about to start walking away when suddenly he launches himself at me and hugs me, his cheek against my neck, skin to skin. I don’t relax into the hug; I feel very aware of myself, my hands big and clumsy as I reach behind him and pat him firmly on the back, once, twice, three times until he lets go. I back away, one arm held up as if in salute, and walk fast round the corner to the tube.
Later that night, when Robin is asleep, I call Zora. We’d exchanged texts about Julia, but so far I haven’t had a chance to tell her about Andrew’s visit. Now I fill her in.
“What did he want?”
“I have no idea,” I say. “Wanted to see if we were doing all right without him.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t,” I say. “Anyway, at least the trial has got going now.”
“Yes, it’s good. You’re doing well. Barbara is pleased with you.”
“That’s something. Maybe it’s looking up. You’re wrong about the school, you know. I think it’s going to be OK. It’s turned a corner. People have finally started being friendly. Robin is happy.”
“I’m sorry, what? People are being friendly? You said they were terrible.”
I’m glad now I didn’t tell her about the dead robin. She wouldn’t rest until I’d gone charging into school to kick off even more trouble. “It’s been pretty awful for Robin. I’m just grateful she’s a bit happier now.”
“OK, sure. But do be careful. You don’t need these women, you know.”
“I wish that were true. I really do. But I do need these people. Terrible or not, I’ve got to suck it up. It’s important for Robin that we get on OK. It’s only superficial, you know that.”
“I suppose so. But I don’t think you should trust these women after the way they’ve been treating you.”
“I know. I am being careful. But they’re making an effort now, so I have to play along.”
I end the call. I know Zora has a point, but I don’t want to burst the first bubble of happiness I’ve had for weeks. I go to bed worrying, but as my anxiety calms, my resolution crystallizes. What I said to Zora is true. It is what it is. I’m not going to forgive Julia for her previous hostility, but I am going to give her a chance and stop regarding them all with such suspicion.
It’s not like I have much choice, anyway.
30
Robin is still happy the next morning when she wakes, and my mood has lifted during the night. There were no dramas or unpleasantness at Julia’s house yesterday, and seeing Robin so cheerful confirms my resolution to make the most of our new beginning. I go to court with a lightness of step I haven’t felt in weeks. Even the sight of a photographer lurking in the car park at the front of court doesn’t bother me. At least not until he raises his camera, the long lens poking at me, worrying away at the mask of solemnity I plaster on.
It’s a relief to get through the main entrance. I take in a couple of deep breaths while waiting for Security to search my bag, passing through the metal detectors. I expect to see Jeremy in the hall, but he’s not there. I go straight into the robing room. Barbara is late, arriving only a few minutes before we’re due in.
“Had a text from Edward Kayode this morning,” she says. “He’s going to make an application to adjourn today.”
“Why?”
“The complainant is ill. Apparently.” She rolls her eyes.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“A migraine. There’s a note from her doctor,” Barbara says.
“Right. Can’t he get on with one of the other witnesses in the meantime?”
“That’s what I said. That’s what I’m going to say to the judge.”
I pause. I know that tone. “I can hear a ‘but.’”
“Yes. But I think the judge will allow the adjournment. I’d ask the same. Their whole case hangs on her testimony. It’s got to be made center stage,” Barbara says, throwing her wig on her head and shoving her glasses straight.
“You’re going to object, though?” I say, rushing to keep up with Barbara’s long strides toward court.
“What do you take me for?” Barbara says with a snort. “I told him it was the most outrageous demand I’d ever heard, and that every effort should be made to
end the agony for my client.”
“Did he reply?”
Barbara comes to a halt. “He was extremely impertinent,” she says, but she’s smiling. She digs into her bag and pulls out a phone, calling a message up onto the screen. “This is what he sent.”
I peer at it. The reply is a single emoji, the small yellow face rolling its eyes up to heaven. I laugh.
“Exactly,” Barbara says, and we enter court with seconds to spare before Her Honor Judge Chynoweth makes an appearance.
Exactly as Barbara has predicted, the case is adjourned for that day. As Barbara puts forward her arguments against the application, it’s clear that the judge is not impressed, her expression hardening. She gestures to Barbara to sit down.
“I’ve heard enough, Miss Carlisle. The case is adjourned. We all know the importance of the complainant’s testimony. Though it would be preferable if she is able to attend tomorrow,” the judge says, “or I will need a further letter from her doctor. This case needs to progress.”
Edward nods in agreement, and we are all dismissed until the following day. I leg it out, pleased I’ll have the day to myself and also that I’ll be able to be at school in time for pickup.
I decide to surprise Robin at the school gates, but when I arrive at pickup, I’m taken aback to see Nicole’s face fall at the sight of me. The expression fades fast, though, a smile appearing in its place.
“How lovely! Robin will be so pleased,” she says. “We didn’t think we were going to see you until much later.”
“Finished early today,” I say. “So I thought I’d come. I can just take her home now.”
“Ah, that’s what I was worried you’d say. Pippa will be so disappointed if Robin doesn’t come—she’s been looking forward to it. Why don’t you come back too? I could see what Julia is doing. Let’s have a girls’ night in!”
I smile but I’m a bit taken aback by Nicole’s intensity. By the other mothers, too. The last few weeks have been a nightmare from which I’ve woken, but not yet fully. Hi, one says, Hello, good to see you, another. We must get Robin round one afternoon, such a lovely girl, a third. I see Julia in the middle of a cluster of women, and as soon as she catches sight of me, she waves, all the others waving too, taking their cue from their puppet master. I’m touched at last with the fairy dust of Julia’s approval.