Undefeated

by Reardon, Stuart

  Bored, but too on edge to read, Anna sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the witnesses’ waiting room, wondering what the cross-examination would be like.

  She’d been surprised when Nick’s solicitor had approached her, but after carefully re-reading her confidentiality contract with the Minotaurs and checking with Steve Jewell, she agreed to do it. She didn’t feel comfortable about speaking up for a man who hit women—one woman—but she could be candid about his appointments. After what Belinda said, she felt a lot better about it.

  She read over the statement that she’d given to the police, barely able to understand her own words as nerves jumbled her brain.

  Finally, an usher came to take her in, and Anna tried to breathe calmly. The Magistrate wore a rumpled suit and had the sour expression of a vegetarian at a hog roast.

  As Anna took her place on the stand, trying to keep calm and use visualisation techniques to get her through this, she glanced across at Nick.

  He was wearing a charcoal grey suit and dark blue tie, and he sat silent and stoic next to his lawyer.

  He looks so lost.

  His cheekbones seemed even sharper now and Anna felt a prickle of concern as she took in the dark shadows that ringed his eyes. There was a tightness about his expression and the way he held himself. His downcast eyes met hers briefly and she thought she saw a flicker of emotion before he turned his head away again.

  He looked shattered.

  When she glanced across at the prosecution bench, she had to look twice before she recognised Molly. The bottle-blonde hair had been dyed a more gentle dark gold, and the clinging micro mini had been replaced with a pale grey shift dress and a green silk scarf. Her nose was swollen and she had two black eyes. The man she assumed was Kenny also looked like he’d been badly beaten.

  Anna swallowed and reminded herself that she was being objective and only telling the truth—until she met Molly’s hate-filled stare.

  Anna was slightly taken aback, but then again she was speaking for the defence.

  She studied the Magistrate’s face, but despite her expertise in body language, she couldn’t guess which way he’d go, and she knew that a clever lawyer could sway him one way or another.

  She rubbed her suddenly sweaty hands against her dark suit pants and tried to appear unaffected as she stood, placing one hand on the Bible.

  “I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  After she’d been sworn in, Ms. Wilson-Smith introduced her and asked her to list her credentials and qualifications.

  Anna spoke clearly and authoritatively, gaining confidence as the lawyer led her through the rehearsed questions.

  “No, I’ve never had reason to worry about being alone with my client. I always found him polite and professional. No, he never exhibited any signs of anger. He was frustrated that his injury was holding him back, but that was all. We didn’t talk about his personal life in so far as I knew that he was engaged, and I also knew that he had an older sister and parents living nearby.”

  Anna was careful to put her answers in context, but she wasn’t prepared for the prosecutor’s questions during the cross-examination.

  “So, Dr. Scott, during this polite and professional relationship, there was no hint of anything more?”

  “Excuse me?”

  The lawyer smiled coldly.

  “No hint of impropriety, Dr. Scott?”

  Anna’s mouth fell open, and Ms. Wilson-Smith was on her feet.

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained.”

  “Credibility of the witness, Your Honour.”

  The Magistrate peered down at the oily prosecution lawyer for a long moment.

  “Continue, but be careful Mr. O’Keefe.”

  Anna seethed, hoping that Ms. Wilson-Smith would say something, offer a rebuttal. She stumbled on the next few questions and knew it made her look guilty.

  He smiled snidely. “I’m sure he enjoyed talking to you about himself as the sole focus.”

  Anna stayed silent.

  “Miss Scott?”

  “It’s Doctor Scott, and I was waiting for a question.”

  A murmur of amusement rippled through the public gallery and Anna glanced across to see Belinda giving her a thumbs up.

  “Did you like your client, Doctor Scott? After all, he’s a good looking man and you’re a single woman.” He paused then stared over his shoulder at Anna. “Did you like Mr. Renshaw?”

  “I found him very pleasant,” Anna said guardedly.

  “So pleasant that you escorted him on a publicity trip to a local school—wholly beyond your contracted employment—and were seen getting into a car with the accused later?”

  “I didn’t get into his car; we arrived and left separately. Visiting the school was part of his therapy,” Anna said icily.

  “But not yours,” the lawyer said nastily. “Am I right?”

  I wanted to see him happy, wasn’t much of a defence. She remembered the mild flirtation that they’d enjoyed that day, hating that this poisonous toad was making her think of it with guilt. It was like watching a pristine white snowy street turn to slush.

  Anna kept glancing at the defence lawyer, waiting for her to stop this line of questioning. So far, she hadn’t.

  The prosecuting lawyer leered at her.

  “Ha! I put it to you, Doctor Scott, that you became infatuated with your client and deliberately engineered meetings out of the office, plus orchestrating an occasion when he’d be with his fiancée—his girlfriend of three years, a public house that you knew he visited regularly! Did you have a relationship with the accused?”

  “No! It wasn’t like that!”

  “Objection! Badgering the witness.”

  Finally! Anna thought shakily.

  “Sustained. Final warning Mr. O’Keefe.”

  But the damage had been done, and by the time the defence lawyer returned for a rebuttal, half the jury were looking at Anna as if she was some sort of scarlet woman who’d been instrumental in breaking up Nick’s engagement. It was so unfair! Was this how the justice system worked? Silver-tongued lawyers who could twist everything you said.

  Anna left the courtroom close to tears. Belinda was waiting for her.

  “I can’t believe that scumbag said those things!” She paused, her eyes flicking to Anna’s distraught face. “You didn’t go out with Nick, did you?”

  “Oh my God! Even you don’t believe me!”

  “No, no, of course I believe you, luv. I’m being silly. It’s just . . .”

  “What?!”

  “I know you liked him.”

  “Yes, I liked him. He’s a nice man! You said so yourself! Oh my God, I can’t believe this. I haven’t done anything wrong! I haven’t been unprofessional ever.”

  Although Anna knew in her deepest thoughts that she had been attracted to Nick. But she’d never acted on it. Not once.

  She put her head in her hands.

  “If this gets reported, I’ll be ruined.”

  Belinda put her arms around her and hugged tightly.

  “It won’t come to that, luv. That lawyer was just trying it on. Everyone could see that. Everyone.”

  Anna stared at her helplessly. It was all so horrible and brought back bad memories of being with Jonathan.

  And what a clusterfuck that had turned out to be.

  THE MAGISTRATE GLOWERED down at Nick.

  “You need to understand,” he said ponderously, “that a prison sentence is what I have in mind at the moment for these offences.”

  Nick’s whole body went cold, but he stood without showing any expression, focussing on the magistrate’s left shoulder.

  “Whilst I accept that your assault of Miss McKinney was accidental, the same cannot be said of Mr. Johnson, who suffered a sustained and violent assault at your hands. I also have to take into account the considerable damage done to his property and Miss McKinney’s car. It is cl
ear that Miss McKinney and Mr. Johnson were terrified. I take a very serious view of this.”

  The court was adjourned for pre-sentence reports and Nick sat heavily in his seat as the magistrate left the room to a low murmur.

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Miranda Wilson-Smith. “He’s just trying to put the fear of God into you. You’re not going to prison. We’ve done enough to discredit the testimony of both of them, you’ll be fine.”

  Nick rubbed his aching neck, and glanced over his shoulder to see the wan, anxious faces of his parents and sister. Trish gave a small wave but looked as if she was about to faint. Nick was surprised to see Anna’s receptionist sitting behind his family, and she gave him a quick smile. He checked, his eyes darting around the room, but couldn’t see Anna anywhere.

  He wanted a drink—whiskey, preferably—but Miranda said the magistrate would come to a decision imminently.

  “He’s just an old peacock—loves being the centre of attention.” She leaned closer. “Rumour is, he wears women’s silk knickers when he’s in court.”

  Nick choked on a laugh as the magistrate reappeared looking grim.

  His heart sank. He wouldn’t have been completely surprised if the magistrate had placed a square of black cloth on his head and instructed the ushers to take him out and hang him.

  “All rise.”

  Nick stood up, hopping on his good foot as he gripped the wooden sides of the bench.

  The magistrate unbuttoned his jacket, glaring about with beady eyes like a giant bird, and everyone sat down again.

  “The accused will stand.”

  For a second time, Nick shuffled to his feet, and the magistrate frowned.

  Anna’s phone rang just as she’d finished a long and difficult session with a teenage soccer prodigy who had a problem with mouthing off to referees. Anna had been coaching him on techniques for keeping calm—and to avoid being sent off.

  But she’d been waiting for this call, and she snatched up her cell phone so quickly, she almost dropped it.

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “They went easy on him, which surprised me after everything that had been said.”

  “Did he get jail time?”

  “Twelve-week suspended sentence, 200 hours unpaid work, £5,250 for the cost of breakages and £350 court costs. But get this, the ‘compensation’ he was ordered to pay to the victims,” Belinda almost spat the word, “just £150 for each of them. You should have seen their faces!”

  Anna breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Did you get a chance to talk to him at all?”

  “Only a word. His family was there and a couple of his rugby friends, but he said to thank you.”

  Anna smiled, feeling as if the cold stone in the pit of her stomach had dissolved.

  Nick left the courtroom in a daze. Despite his lawyer’s optimism, he really thought he’d have been banged up in prison by now. He felt hollow with relief.

  His father slapped him on the back, and his mum and sister were smiling and crying and hugging him. But Nick wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He had the weight of a criminal conviction attached to his name—nothing would ever be the same again.

  Nick loosened his tie and wished again that he had a drink.

  Ms. Wilson-Smith looked pleased and stacked away her papers with a flourish.

  Nick shook hands with her.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Renshaw. I do hope we don’t meet again, professionally, that is.”

  Nick gave her a weak smile.

  “Come on. Let’s go home and . . . celebrate,” said his dad quietly.

  Nick didn’t feel like celebrating anything, but his family had stood by him and it had been a difficult time for them, too.

  As if to underline his shame and disgust, Molly stalked towards him, hissing and spitting like an alley-cat, claws out.

  “You bastard! You won’t get away with this!”

  Trish was in her face immediately.

  “You stupid cow! He wasn’t trying to get away with anything—that’s what a guilty plea means. Now he’s paying for you fucking around on him with bollock-face!”

  Molly ignored Trish, sticking her finger in Nick’s chest.

  “They should have sent you to prison and thrown away the key.”

  “Oh my God, you’re such a drama queen,” Trish replied as Nick turned away, unable to look at the venomous expression on Molly’s face, contorted with rage.

  “Stay out of this, you ugly bint!” Molly screeched.

  Nick spun around, his voice a low growl.

  “Don’t you dare have a go at Trish! You cheated for months! You took my ring, and you cheated with him! You’re a cheap liar. You don’t have an honest bone in your body, and I’m well shot of you.”

  Molly tried to slap him, but Kenny marched over, scowling as he grabbed her arm and dragged her away still screaming.

  “This isn’t over, Nick! You’ll be sorry you ever met me!”

  “I already am,” he said.

  The silence hung heavily and the people around them averted their eyes, embarrassed by the ugly scene.

  “What an evil little bitch,” said Trish, summing up for everyone.

  They were subdued as Nick’s father drove them home. The weariness of worry had been overwhelming, and now they didn’t have to fight it, silence reigned.

  As they parked, Nick’s mum spoke.

  “I’ll make a nice cup of tea for us all.”

  “I think I might want something a wee bit stronger than that, luv,” said Nick’s dad.

  “Too bloody right,” Trish muttered wearily.

  Nick didn’t care. He still had the best part of a bottle of whiskey at his own place and he planned on walking home and drinking that later.

  He trudged up the stairs and stripped off his suit. It was new, but he didn’t ever want to wear it again.

  The sting of failure burned inside his chest, a physical ache that throbbed with every breath he took.

  Reluctantly, he made his way downstairs. His mum had bought a Marks & Spencer chocolate gateau; his dad had opened a bottle of Glenmorangie single malt that he saved for special occasions.

  Nick threw himself on the settee and downed a whole glass in one gulp, wiping his lips on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and reaching for a slice of cake when his phone lit up with an incoming text message, then another and another.

  With a sinking feeling, Nick tried to ignore them, pouring himself another whiskey, so Trish snatched up his phone and flipped through the messages, her forehead wrinkling as she read them.

  “Oh, that’s horrible,” she said softly.

  “What is it, luv?” asked Nick’s mum, looking worried.

  Trish bit her lip.

  “Um, nothing. Just a lot of rubbish.”

  Nick grabbed the phone from Trish’s hands and scrolled through the messages. They were all from numbers he didn’t recognise, calling him a lying, wife-beating scum, fucking rapist and other charming names, along with the hope that he’d get his balls ripped off, or that he’d be fed to pigs. One particularly long-winded text ended up with the wish, get cancer and die.

  Whiskey churned in his stomach and he knew he couldn’t face food. Right now, he couldn’t fact anything.

  “I think I’ll get off home now,” he said as he stood slowly.

  “But . . .” Nick’s mum started to protest.

  “Let him go, luv,” said Nick’s dad. “He’s a grown man. Let him go.”

  His family stood and hugged him one by one.

  “You’ll phone if you need us?” his mum called after him.

  Nick didn’t reply.

  He walked home, stopping at the same off licence and stocking up with more alcohol.

  It was difficult to fathom that he now had a criminal record. A single moment of madness would haunt him for the rest of his life. Fuck, he’d lost everything he’d worked for. He was weighed down by the guilt and shame
.

  He still hadn’t told his family that his playing career was over.

  As he opened the door to his house, there wasn’t much left to look at. His dad had hired a dumpster, and together they’d tossed out everything that had been trashed. Trish had insisted on taking photographs of the damage, but the insurers wouldn’t touch it without involving the police. Nick had refused to press charges—he’d had enough of Molly and the police to last a lifetime.

  Trish had started to paint over the graffiti, but it would take more than a couple of coats to completely cover the red paint, and the ugly words ghosted through, a grim reminder.

  He picked up the bag of booze, and headed for the stairs.

  The messages continued all night as Nick sat in the dark drinking whiskey and watching his phone light up with another notification or alert. As if to punish himself even more, he read the posts on his Facebook page, Twitter and Instagram accounts. Molly had tagged him in a post that showed her bloody nose and black eye, along with Nick’s mobile number.

  It looked like the post had gone viral. Hundreds of people had commented—none of it was good.

  As his phone started to die, Nick deleted all his social media accounts one by one, saying goodbye to the memories, the friends who were unfriending him by the bucket-load. Then he tossed his phone aside, and let the whiskey medicate his mind and numb his body.

  Thin shafts of light pierced the curtains, making Nick groan and throw an arm over his eyes. His skull throbbed as if his brain was trying to batter its way out of his head, and his muscles ached.

  Swaying with nausea, he staggered to the bathroom and stared at his bloodshot eyes and rumpled face.

  Welcome to the rest of your life.

  He heard the front door slam, and the echo pounded through his tortured brain. Trish’s voice carried up the stairs but he ignored her. Instead, he stuck his head in the sink and turned on the cold water tap, gasping as icy water sluiced over his head.

  His stomach coiled into a tight knot, then exploded as Nick retched into the toilet.

  Flushing the toilet, he rinsed his mouth and shuffled downstairs.

  When he staggered downstairs, Trish was in the kitchen with two take-out coffees from Starbucks on the table.