by Kia Abdullah
She stiffened. ‘What’s this?’
‘You tell me.’ Stuart’s face flushed with fury.
Zara read over the headline and felt her stomach lurch.
‘The story broke last night in The Sunday Sun.’
Zara thought of Jodie and her calls last night. ‘How did they find out?’ she asked.
‘You tell me,’ Stuart repeated, his well-bred vowels sparking with anger.
Zara bristled. ‘Are you angry because they know about the case, or are you angry at me because they know about the case?’
He slapped down a piece of paper. ‘Read what this says.’
Zara picked up the sheet, panic prickling in her throat. She saw that it was an email from a Sunday Sun reporter to the news editor. She read fragments of the text: ‘The rape counsellor talked in detail about the case. I’ve drafted the attached copy. I haven’t named the counsellor lest the Mail try and poach her, but I’m happy to add it. Let me know what you think.’
‘Where were you on Saturday at seven p.m.?’ asked Stuart.
Zara hesitated. ‘I was at a restaurant in Kensington. Sorbero.’
‘Bingo!’ Stuart tore the email from her hands and read, ‘I was in Sorbero in Kensington on Saturday (thirteenth July). Around seven-ish, I was seated next to this posh Indian-looking pair who were talking about a rape case.’ Stuart paused. ‘What was the date on Saturday?’
Zara searched for a way to calm him.
‘What was the date?’ he repeated.
‘It was the thirteenth of July.’
‘I should fire you. I should fire you right now.’
Zara flushed red but her voice was calm. ‘Stuart. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’
He threw up a hand. ‘Zara, I pay you to think. That’s what you’re paid to do. We’re doing funding rounds next week. What if they had published your name?’ He shook the piece of paper, then slapped it back on the desk. ‘The only reason they haven’t is to keep you from their competitors. What happens when they find that you won’t talk to them, that they won’t get their exclusive? They’ll tell the world the leak came from us.’
‘But they—’
Stuart wasn’t ready to let her talk. ‘What the hell was going through your head that you would divulge sensitive information about a case in public?’
Zara pointed at the email. ‘We were seated at a table alone and had reasonable expectation of privacy.’
Stuart shook his head. ‘Not legally and you know it.’ He snatched up the piece of paper. ‘I’m taking you off the case.’
Zara flinched. ‘You can’t do that. Jodie needs consistency.’
‘Jodie needs competency!’ he shouted. ‘And this isn’t just about Jodie. This is about all the other victims who will suffer if our funding gets cut.’
‘Stuart, I’ll fix it. I promise.’
‘How?’ He leaned forward, palms on her desk, his stance unusually menacing. ‘How do you intend to fix this?’
Zara urgently rifled through her options. ‘I’ll file for an injunction. Legally, the papers can’t reveal Jodie’s identity. I can argue that if they name me as the source, they would be essentially revealing Jodie’s identity since I’m her caseworker. Any reporter, or even a layman, can trace me to her even if it’s as crude as following me to her home.’
Stuart blinked. He hadn’t expected an answer.
‘But,’ said Zara. ‘This will only work if I stay on her case. If you take me off, there won’t be any official connection between me and Jodie and the papers can argue that naming me won’t lead to her.’
Stuart shook his head. ‘That’s not good enough. As soon as Jodie is named on social media – and let’s face it, she will be named – there’ll be no argument to keep your name from the papers.’
Zara grimaced. ‘Okay, then forget the injunction. I’ll promise them an exclusive instead. I’ll promise that when this is all over, I’ll talk to them and only them.’ Zara pushed at the stack of newspapers, toppling over the first few copies. ‘But I’ll need to stay on the case. They won’t be interested in the ex-caseworker.’
Stuart rubbed the ridge of bone above his eyes. ‘Do you have any idea how ethically problematic this is?’
Zara spoke rapidly, ‘Stuart, I made a mistake and I’m sorry, but this is the best thing for Jodie. She’s already fragile. If we change her caseworker, it could push her over the edge. I know her. I can help her.’
Stuart’s jaw was rigid. ‘You’ve put me in an impossible situation.’
Zara clasped her hands together. ‘Stuart, listen, this case could be a watershed moment for us. Having a Muslim face on the prosecution team will show that this isn’t a witch-hunt; it’s a genuine fight for justice. I can help steer the case. I’ll be there every step of the way. If it means going to Magistrates, I’ll be there. If it means battling the tabloids, I’ll fight. Even pros make mistakes but they’re still pros. I know what I’m doing and I won’t make another mistake – I promise.’
Stuart held out the printed email. ‘Tell me this, Zara. If Erin hadn’t tracked this down, if I didn’t know the source of the leak, would you have told me it was you? Would you have been honest with me?’ His voice was low and threatening.
Zara considered this. Then she nodded softly. ‘Yes, I would have.’ She watched as he teetered in indecision then, gently, she added, ‘This case is going to create a fault line in our community. If we’re going after four Muslim boys, then having me on the team will help prove it’s a legitimate fight.’
Stuart crunched up the printout. ‘One more mistake and you’re gone, Zara. I don’t care about injunctions to protect our name, or exclusives to keep our funding. One more mistake and you’ll be fired.’
Zara closed her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice cracked with relief.
‘Don’t thank me, Zara. Do your fucking job.’ He threw the ball of paper in the bin and stalked out of the room, his anger thick and cowing long after he had gone.
Zara prickled with guilt as she gathered her belongings and fled past the pit, her broken ego in pieces at her feet. She walked down the stairwell from the fourth floor to the basement, unwilling to face those she might know. She found her car and with barely a glance over her shoulder, skidded from the parking spot. A single thought swam back and forth like a maddening pendulum. How could I have been so stupid? The answer – two yellow pills in the palm of her hand, on her careless tongue, in the base of her throat – was unavoidable. She would not have divulged details of the case nor missed Jodie’s calls last night had she not taken those pills. The truth of this fact and what it could mean made Zara feel weak and giddy.
She sped down the A11 towards the Wentworth Estate and tried hard to focus her mind. Her thoughts felt warm and shapeless, a gelatinous mess she couldn’t put in order. As a barrister, she would have sprung into crisis mode, directing those around her with the speed of a general. Now, her instincts felt blunted. She blinked against the bright July sun and made a sharp left, wincing as a cyclist swerved in her wake.
Ten minutes later, her Audi swung onto the concourse of the Wentworth Estate. She noted the group of boys eyeing her car as she slipped up the stairwell to Jodie’s balcony. There, she saw a pair of reporters knocking on Jodie’s window. The man was short and thickset with shoulder-length black hair. The woman was slim and blonde with thin lips and haughty eyes. They both turned to look at Zara.
‘May we help you?’ asked the woman, her tone clipped and territorial.
Zara ignored them and rang the bell.
‘Do you know the Wolfe family?’ The blonde’s voice sparked with excitement. ‘We’re looking for Jodie.’
Zara rang the bell again. When she received no reply, she bent and spoke through the letterbox. ‘Jodie, it’s me, Zara. Open up.’ She waited. When she heard nothing, she bent again. ‘Hand me the key through the letterbox and then go and wait in your room. I’ll let myself in.’
The reporters jostled for position as she placed her hand
through the letterbox. After a few seconds, she felt cool metal pressed into her palm. She closed her hand around the key and drew back her arm. After a minute’s wait, she slid the key into the lock and opened the door. The reporters snapped in after her and she shut the door angrily in their faces. She latched the bolt, then walked to the living room to find Jodie’s mother on the armchair, spread across the upholstery like a dozing bear.
Jodie stepped from her bedroom. ‘I thought they’d go away.’ Her voice was soft and younger somehow.
Zara shook her head. ‘They’re tabloids. They never give up.’
The doorbell rang and Jodie’s mother stirred on the sofa. ‘Would it kill you to answer the fucking door?’ she growled. She staggered to her feet. ‘I have to do every fucking thing myself.’
Zara stepped forward gently. ‘Ms Wolfe, please don’t open the door. The press have caught wind of your daughter’s case. They will wait outside, possibly for days, to try and get into your home. I’d advise that you keep Jodie sheltered. If you need anything, I—’
‘Is it the Morning Mail?’ Christine cut in.
‘No.’ Zara stopped, confused. ‘It’s The Sunday Sun. They broke the story.’
Christine pulled the hem of her T-shirt down over her thin black leggings. They were so worn you could see her flesh underneath. ‘Old Berta from Higham Street said the Morning Mail paid her daughter three grand for her story on that half-caste footballer.’
Zara baulked. She hadn’t heard half-caste used casually since early childhood.
Christine shuffled to the door. ‘I bet they’ll give me more since they’re so desperate.’
Zara placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Think about what you’re doing. She’s your child.’
Christine snorted. ‘She’s sixteen so she ain’t no child. She’s in my house and I can invite anyone I want into it.’ She shook off Zara’s hand and pulled open the door. ‘Are you from the Morning Mail? I want to talk to the Morning Mail!’
Zara pulled Jodie into her room. ‘She’s right. You’re sixteen. I can’t stop her from letting in the reporters but she can’t stop me from getting you out of here.’
‘Out? Where?’ Jodie’s voice quivered perceptibly.
‘Just away.’ Zara pointed to the closet. ‘Do you want to be covered?’
‘Covered?’ Jodie’s face flushed red.
‘I don’t mean because of …’ Zara stalled. ‘I mean … it’s very normal to cover up clients in cases like this. They can’t print your picture but they’ll have it on file and if this goes public, they’ll use it.’
Jodie considered it for a second, then nodded. She pulled on a hoodie and tightened it around her face, then added a scarf and a pair of shades. Her bulbous forehead remained uncovered.
Zara reached forward and pulled the hoodie as far down as it would go. ‘Ready?’
Jodie grabbed her backpack. ‘No.’
Zara held her arm. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ She led her down the corridor past Jodie’s mother in the living-room doorway. An excited clatter began behind her. The two reporters sprang from the room.
‘Jodie, we just want to talk,’ said the blonde.
Zara yanked open the front door and pulled Jodie onto the balcony. Quickly, she led her down the stairwell and onto the concourse, closely followed by the reporters.
‘If you tell us your story, no one else will chase you for it.’
The three boys on the corner stared curiously. Zara flung open her car door and Jodie leapt inside. It shut behind her with a decisive thud. In under five seconds, Zara was in her seat, revving her engine. Then, with little regard for the reporters who had to jump out of the way, she pressed on the gas and sped off.
She glanced at Jodie. ‘Seatbelt.’
Jodie’s hands shook as she fastened the clip. She stared at the road in a daze, faintly aware that Zara was on the phone speaking words in short, rapid bursts – prohibitory injunction, suppression order – in a calm but urgent tone.
They were five miles further when Zara hung up the phone. She glanced at Jodie sideways. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ After a minute, she said, ‘They know who I am.’
Zara swallowed. ‘Don’t worry. They won’t be able to publish a thing your mother says. I’ve taken care of that.’
‘They know everything. My name. Where I live. What I said. I can’t believe Nina did this.’
Guilt calcified in the pit of Zara’s stomach but she said nothing to acknowledge it. There could be no confession if she were to keep Jodie’s trust. They drove without aim, moving smoothly through the streets of East London. When they skirted the boundary of Zone One, Zara suggested stopping for breakfast. She caught Jodie’s flinch and added, ‘We don’t have to sit inside. I could just grab us something. I’m guessing you haven’t eaten.’
Jodie nodded so they stopped at a cafe in Aldgate and Zara headed in alone. As she stepped into the surgical chill of the conditioned air, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.
‘Do you have a moment to talk?’ Mia’s voice was arctic.
Zara turned her back to the café. ‘Yes.’
‘Did Jodie get a hold of you yesterday?’
Zara hesitated. ‘I’m with her now.’
‘Good. Are you bringing her to the station today?’
Zara glanced at her watch. ‘Yes. We can be there in twenty minutes.’
‘Okay.’ Mia paused. ‘Please tell her to put the newspaper story out of her mind. We need her to be clear so we can get her story straight. You know what prosecutors do to unreliable witnesses.’
‘I know. I will. We’ll be there soon.’
‘Good.’ Without a parting, Mia hung up.
Zara picked up her order and returned to the car. She handed Jodie a fruit smoothie and a flaking almond pastry. ‘I know you’ve had a difficult morning but I need to talk to you about something.’ She switched on the air conditioning. ‘The police found a witness who saw you with Amir. This is good news because we can place him there with you in contradiction to what he said. The bad news is that the witness saw you holding hands so your excuse that you went with him to look for Nina isn’t going to wash. You need to tell Mia the truth. We’re going to see her now.’
Jodie’s skin turned clammy. ‘I—I shouldn’t have done this.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Zara. ‘We’ll fix it.’
‘No, I mean I—’
‘We’ll fix it.’ Zara pointed to the pastry. ‘Now eat.’ She waited for Jodie to take a bite, then started the car and headed to the station. They rode in silence through light morning traffic and arrived at the station early.
Mia wasted no time with pleasantries as she led them to the interview room. She said nothing of the press leak but Zara presumed she knew the source.
‘It’s true, yes,’ said Jodie when asked about the inconsistency. ‘We did hold hands at one point. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it.’ She glanced briefly at Zara. ‘I have trouble walking as you can probably tell. The road to the warehouse is gravelly and I tripped. Amir grabbed my hand to keep me up.’
Zara watched, chilled by the skill with which she lied. She studied the girl’s face, hoping for a sign that she had struggled with the lie – a whip of a glance to the right, a sheen of sweat on her face – but there was nothing.
Soon, with Mia satisfied, Zara and Jodie said goodbye and walked to the car in single file, Jodie trailing a few steps behind, her feet shuffling softly on the uneven mottled concrete.
Zara paused by the passenger door. ‘Why did you lie?’ she asked.
Jodie flushed red. ‘I can’t do it.’ Her voice was thin and strained. ‘I can’t say in public that I wanted him to kiss me. I won’t. I’d rather call the whole thing off.’
Zara sighed. ‘Jodie, listen, you’re a sixteen-year-old girl. Amir Rabbani is the school heartthrob. You don’t have to be ashamed for having a crush on him.’
Jodie shrank into herself. ‘That’s not what I’m ashamed about. I’m a
shamed that I believed he wanted me. I’m ashamed that I was so stupid.’
Zara shook her head. ‘Do you think that’s more shaming than what Amir did to you? Do you think people will be more shocked by your naivety than his monstrousness?’ She leaned down to Jodie’s level and spoke, ‘Jodie, the law is important to me. It is vast and mighty but it’s delicate too. It needs to be treated with respect. We can’t pick and choose when we tell the truth and when we lie because if we do that, we can’t expect or demand the truth from others. I believe in the law. I trust the law and I beg you to trust it too.’
Tears pooled in Jodie’s eyes. She blinked to ease them away then turned her head when they spilled on her cheek. ‘I’ll be humiliated. I’m not going to do it. I won’t.’
Zara straightened and closed her eyes. She pressed her fingertips against her brow bone to curb a mounting headache. ‘You realise that the defence will tear open every inconsistency they find?’
Jodie wiped her tears with a sleeve and only nodded in response.
Zara threw up her hands. ‘Okay, fine,’ she relented. ‘Fine.’ She opened the door for Jodie, then shut it with a slam.
The low rumble of the DLR travelled in the wind, caught the car alarm echoing in the distance and carried it through the high-rise windows open to the breeze. Rocky, Amir’s honey-coloured Labrador, snapped around his heels, eager for attention. Amir kneeled down and petted her.
‘What’s wrong, girl?’ he asked softly. ‘What’s wrong? Go on, go and play.’ He gave her a gentle push. ‘Go on.’
Hassan kicked the football over. ‘How’s your old lady?’ he asked. ‘Still angry?’
Amir straightened and caught the ball. ‘Christ, I don’t know. One day she’s trying to feed me to death and the next she can’t stop moaning.’ He shifted the ball to his right foot. ‘I think she’s scared, but she’s Tiger Mum Extraordinaire and so she roars instead.’ With a graceful kick, he returned it. ‘What about your mum? Did she really chuck all your stuff away?’
Hassan scowled. ‘Yeah. I didn’t believe it at first ’cause I thought my dad would screw. You know he’s tighter than a Jew.’