The Better Woman

by Ber Carroll

  She’d thought she was coming home to the familiar, but now she was beginning to realise that everything was irrevocably changed. Grandma’s house was now her home. She liked its clutter and cosiness, but this bed wasn’t where she was used to sleeping. Tomorrow she would have to report at the local police station, and she would not be permitted to leave the house between the hours of 7 pm and 7 am. The accommodation arrangements, daily reporting and curfew would be her new life until the trial, a year or so away. Then there would be more change, change she couldn’t even begin to contemplate right now.

  The door to the bedroom opened and Grandma shuffled in. The old woman lowered herself awkwardly to sit on the side of the bed and her hand reached out to stroke Jodi’s eyelids shut.

  ‘Sleep now, child. Everything is going to be okay.’

  Jodi disagreed on two counts: she wasn’t a child and she couldn’t see how everything would be okay. But still the soft rhythmic strokes of Grandma’s hand soothed her into the welcome respite of sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Jodi went back to university towards the end of September. Whilst Bob’s death had been headlined on TV and radio, her name had been withheld so that potential jurors wouldn’t be prejudiced. As result, the faculty and its students were utterly unaware that one of their own had been charged with murder. Obviously Alison knew, but she’d kept the shocking truth to herself. Jodi was thankful for her loyalty, and also thankful that nobody had spotted the small newspaper excerpts after the local and Supreme Court bail hearings and equated that Jodi Tyler with the girl in their class.

  Once she was back, Jodi attended her lectures religiously, taking copious notes because her memory was shot to bits. She struggled with the assignments, finding it difficult to plan any task that lasted longer than a few minutes. Her concentration wasn’t helped by the strain of having to report to the police station every day and the preparations for the trial.

  ‘We’re running two defences,’ Prue informed her. ‘Self-defence and diminished responsibility.’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Self-defence is a full defence. If you’re found not guilty, then you walk out of the courtroom free. Diminished responsibility is only a partial defence. It would get the charge down from murder to manslaughter. It’s our back-up if the jury don’t buy self-defence.’

  The threat of losing the trial, of prison, was never far away. It underscored every discussion with Prue.

  ‘Is there a significant chance that self-defence won’t be successful?’ Jodi asked guardedly.

  Prue was matter-of-fact. ‘There’s a possibility that the jury will find the level of violence you used wasn’t reasonable for the circumstances.’

  ‘Twelve people hearing all the gory details,’ murmured Jodi. ‘How humiliating!’

  Prue’s voice softened a little. ‘The jury will be made up of people just like you. They will put themselves in your shoes, Jodi. They’ll be sympathetic.’

  The weeks slipped by until it was time for the end-of-year examinations. Jodi spent every waking hour studying. But to no avail. Her mind went completely blank during the first exam, Econometrics, a subject she had once found easy. She stared at the blackboard that had Exam in Progress written on it, at the windows with their grey roller blinds, and at the exam supervisors who surveyed the students from the top of the room. Inspiration didn’t come.

  The Accounting exam the next day was a little better. Until she realised, with a few minutes to spare at the end, that she had misread one of the questions. Frantically, she began to rewrite her answer, her haste making her handwriting no better than a scribble. But time was called and she was forced to put down her pen.

  ‘I’m going to fail my first year,’ she wailed to Alison.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Alison chided.

  But five weeks later Jodi’s dire prediction came true. She had indeed failed her end-of-year exams.

  ‘What will I do?’ she asked Alison on the phone.

  ‘Resit the papers.’

  ‘But I’m not sure I’d do any better if they did allow me to repeat. I seem to have lost my ability to concentrate.’

  Alison took a moment to consider the dilemma.

  ‘Go and see the dean,’ she suggested eventually. ‘Explain what happened – put yourself at his mercy. He’d have to be a hard ass not to give you a break.’

  Much as she hated the idea, Jodi realised that she had no option but to tell the dean the truth. She phoned the university the next day.

  ‘The dean is only just back from the UK. He’s completely booked out this week.’

  ‘Please,’ Jodi begged the secretary, ‘fit me in somewhere.’

  The secretary sighed and Jodi heard the sound of a page flicking over. ‘I could slot you in at five-thirty on Tuesday – what shall I say it’s about?’

  ‘I’d like to ask him for special consideration in relation to my exam results.’

  ‘There’s a form you can fill in for that,’ the secretary stated, her tone indicating that she believed the dean’s limited time would be better spent elsewhere.

  Jodi had done her homework. ‘I know. I’ve filled in the form. I just want the chance to discuss the – unusual – circumstances with him in person.’

  The secretary begrudgingly agreed to book the appointment and hung up.

  Tuesday was the hottest day of the summer so far. The temperature had peaked and was starting to edge its way back down when Jodi caught the bus to the city. Traffic was heavy right from the start and the bus came to a standstill at Spit Bridge. Too many cars filled with beach-goers were heading home at the one time. The bus took fifteen minutes to get past the bottleneck, and the rest of the journey was slow and jerky.

  I’m going to be late, Jodi thought in despair.

  The bus finally reached the city centre and Jodi raced up to Castlereagh Street to catch the 422. Sweat glistened on her face and trickled between her breasts. The bus took ages to come. It seemed that everything was working against her today.

  It was after 6 pm when she reached the dean’s office. The outer and inner doors were ajar. The secretary had left for the day.

  ‘In here,’ the dean called from his office.

  In contrast to the bright sunshine outside, it was dark and gloomy in Professor Phelps’ office. He sat behind his desk, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie loose around his neck.

  She wetted her dry lips. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Professor. The traffic was terrible.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ He didn’t seem to be annoyed by her tardiness. He seemed to be relaxed. Reachable.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ she said and sat down on one of the seats.

  He shrugged disarmingly. ‘My door is always open for the students of the faculty.’

  Unsettled, Jodi dropped her eyes. She noticed the fine dark hairs on his bare forearms. The slender fingers that curled around his pen. Her old crush returned. The full, unexpected force of it burned her cheeks.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  He had mistaken the reason for her heightened colour.

  ‘Yes, please. Water would be great.’

  He rose from his seat. His waist was narrow, his dark trousers belted with thin leather and a flat silver buckle. His body was lean. No fat. Unlike Bob.

  He strode into the outer office. A few moments later he returned with two cans of Coke.

  ‘Sorry. This is all that’s left in the fridge. No clean glasses either.’

  The icy-cold Coke felt good in Jodi’s dry mouth.

  ‘Well,’ he said when he was seated back behind his desk, ‘I presume you want to discuss your exam results.’

  ‘Yes, Professor,’ Jodi stammered. She paused to control the wobble in her voice. ‘I was hoping that you would consider some special circumstances regarding my performance this year.’

  He leaned forward, hands clasped, expression businesslike. ‘I must say that I was very surprised to see you’d failed the annual exam
inations, particularly after the high marks you attained in the first semester. I would imagine that your six-week absence,’ he looked down to check the notes in front of him, ‘was not of any help.’

  Jodi handed him an envelope. ‘I hope this will help you understand . . .’

  She’d written it down. It was all there: what had led up to the night of her eighteenth birthday; what had happened in the kitchen, in the court, in the prison; the bail, the curfew, and why she had found it so hard to concentrate on her studies.

  She couldn’t bear to look at him while he read the sordid truth about her life. Her eyes flickered around the room. She noticed an ice-pop wrapper strewn amongst rubbish in the overfull trash can, a reminder of summer in the dismal space that was his office. Over on the left a closet door was slightly ajar, giving a view of the spare shirt and tie hanging inside. Up on the beige-coloured walls, in the gaps between the cluttered bookshelves, there were various framed certificates, testament to the dean’s academic achievements. The room seemed to be devoid of any personal photographs. Jodi would have been interested to see what his wife looked like.

  ‘My goodness!’ he exclaimed when he had finished reading.

  It was such a British thing to say that Jodi nearly laughed. Nearly, but for the fact she was so close to crying.

  ‘Was this in the newspapers? How did I miss it?’

  ‘My name was withheld,’ she explained.

  Understanding dawned on his face. ‘So there wouldn’t be prejudice?’

  He looked perplexed again. ‘But why on earth didn’t you come and tell me?’

  Jodi, her face on fire, looked down at her hands. ‘I didn’t want anybody to know. I was ashamed . . . embarrassed . . .’

  ‘My dear, embarrassed is the very last thing you should be.’

  Jodi felt a surprising spurt of anger at him. ‘How would you know? I don’t want people to look at me and imagine what it was like –’ She choked. She was in serious danger of crying, of humiliating herself even further.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to sound dismissive of your feelings.’

  Jodi hung her head and tried to deny the tears that welled in her eyes. One or two escaped and crept stealthily down her face. It took her a few moments to find her composure.

  ‘Professor,’ she began, ‘the problem is that even if you allow me to resit my exams I’m not sure that I can pass. I can’t concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time, let alone complete a three-hour exam . . . I’m hoping there’s some other way you can help me get into second year.’

  ‘Let me think it over,’ he replied.

  ‘Thank you.’

  As she stood up, she glanced at her watch: 6.40 pm.

  ‘Oh no!’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I forgot the time – my curfew – I’m going to be late.’

  ‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said, his voice firm and allowing no room for argument. ‘My car’s right outside.’

  Terrible thoughts ran through Jodi’s head as they rushed outside to the professor’s car. She’d unintentionally broken one of the conditions of her bail. Would she get caught out? Be sent back to prison? Would Grandma lose her house?

  She felt sick at the thought of the possible consequences. She jumped into the car, buckled her belt and hardly spoke a word for the entire journey, other than to give the dean directions.

  They pulled up outside Grandma’s house as the clock on the dash turned over to 7.30 pm.

  He touched her arm lightly. ‘Don’t worry. The police aren’t here waiting. Nobody’s going to know.’

  She didn’t tell him that her bail officer phoned the house on occasion to make sure that she was at home.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss your exams,’ he said.

  She nodded, thanked him, and hurried up the pathway to the house. Grandma had the door open before she got there.

  ‘Where were you, child?’ she asked, her voice sharp and anxious. ‘Didn’t you know the time?’

  Jodi burst into tears. ‘Sorry, Grandma. Did they phone?’

  ‘No – lucky for you!’

  ‘I’m so sorry. The bus was delayed getting into the city. I was so worried about being late for the professor that I forgot all about the curfew.’

  Grandma ushered her inside the door. ‘Well, you’re home now and hopefully there’s no harm done. I’ve saved your dinner for you.’

  Jodi wasn’t hungry but Grandma’s fussing made her feel safe and reassured almost at once.

  As promised, the professor phoned the following day. Grandma answered.

  ‘Yes?’ She listened. Then she handed Jodi the receiver. ‘It’s Professor Phelps.’

  Jodi snatched the phone and gestured Grandma away. ‘Hello, Professor.’

  ‘Hello, Jodi.’ His voice sent a shiver down her spine. ‘I’ve given your situation much thought. It appears that the assignments you missed last August and September had a significant impact on your overall results. Hence, I’ve arranged a workshop for each assignment. The relevant lecturer will sit with you, one on one, and discuss the topic in question. At the end of the session he will ask you some basic verbal questions to confirm your understanding. On that basis, I will be satisfied to deem that you have passed your first year.’

  Jodi breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Professor.’

  ‘My faculty stands by its students. It’s a matter I take great pride in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

  ‘When is your court hearing?’ he asked after a brief pause.

  ‘Sometime in June or July.’

  ‘Goodness, these things take so long to proceed. Well, I can only assume that this coming academic year will also be very disruptive for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Jodi bit her lip. ‘My lawyer warned me the media will be all over the trial. Once it starts, my name will no longer be withheld.’

  The dean was unfazed. ‘Let’s ensure we manage the situation better this time and make whatever arrangements necessary for you to pass your second year.’

  Jodi attempted a joke. ‘You never know, I may be studying long-distance from prison.’

  ‘That’s not even remotely funny,’ he retorted.

  Chapter 15

  The clerk of the peace fixed the date for the trial: 15 July 1987. Once the date was set, time passed much like a ticking bomb.

  ‘I’m organising for you to be assessed by a psychiatrist,’ Prue announced one day on the phone. ‘He’s going to ask about your history – your childhood, your relationship with Bob, all the stuff you’ve told me already.’

  Jodi had a number of discussions with the psychiatrist in his inner city rooms. He was kind and nonjudgemental. It was easy to talk to him.

  Prue read his report and was pleased with it. She wrote to the prosecution to advise them that she would be relying on it in the defence. The prosecution wrote back and requested that Jodi talk to their psychiatrist.

  ‘Not again!’ Jodi protested to Prue.

  ‘Look, I know how you feel. But it helps our case if you consent to talk to their guy.’

  The prosecution’s psychiatrist also had rooms in the inner city. The similarity ended there. He was a brittle man with an irritating cynical smile. Jodi found it much harder to open up to him.

  Shirley put the house in Lewis Street up for sale and accepted the first offer that was made, not seeming to care that it was well below the market value.

  ‘Are you going to buy somewhere new?’ Jodi asked.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll see much of the proceeds,’ she replied. ‘The legal fees are building up.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, darl. That house brought me no happiness in the end. I’m glad to see it go. And Prue is worth every cent.’

  Despite Shirley’s assurances, Jodi felt enormously guilty. The guilt gnawed at her concentration, as did the worry about the trial. She began her second year at university much like she’d finished her first year: ba
dly. The dean promised to organise more workshops and told her not to worry. But she did.

  The week before the trial, Tony picked Jodi up and took her for a drive. He parked the car by Narrabeen Lake and cut the engine.

  ‘Grace and I have talked . . .’ he began. ‘It’s not fair on her or Cory to be caught up in this . . . they didn’t ask for it . . .’

  ‘Neither did I,’ Jodi murmured.

  ‘Of course . . . The thing is, we don’t want Cory exposed in any way to the trial – he’s only seven years old.’

  ‘So what are you saying, Dad?’

  ‘I’m saying that I think it’s best I don’t get involved – that I keep my distance – for Cory’s sake. I’m sorry.’

  Jodi had an epiphany as she sat in the silence that followed. Tony didn’t have the strength of character to juggle her needs and Cory’s; he was too weak, too shallow. He’d been struggling even before Bob’s death. She should put him out of his misery, cut him loose.

  ‘I understand, Dad. Can you drive me back now?’

  He did, and their goodbye had an unmistakeable finality.

  The day of the trial finally dawned. Jodi rose after a sleepless night. Apprehension rolled in her stomach, but she did feel a degree of relief that the waiting and dreading would soon come to an end. In three weeks, four at most, she would know what her future entailed. Twelve strangers would decide.

  ‘The eyes of the jurors will be on you at all times,’ Prue had warned. ‘Twelve pairs of them, watching, assessing. You should glance over at them every so often, show them that you have nothing to hide – but don’t stare. For the most part you should be looking at who is speaking, be it the judge or a witness or whoever.’

  Prue had also given an outline of what to expect the first morning at court.

  ‘The Crown prosecutor will present an indictment against you, to which you will reply “not guilty”. The jury will be empanelled. Then the Crown prosecutor will make her opening statement.’

  Jodi found it hard to believe that in less than two hours she would be pleading not guilty. She began to dress in the white cotton blouse and black trousers her mother had purchased for the occasion. She gathered her hair in a conservative knot and purposely refrained from putting on make-up or jewellery. Studying her reflection, she tried to see herself through the eyes of the jury.