by Kia Abdullah
‘Why?’
‘I wanted to see if Jodie was okay. She—she’s a bit of a loner and everyone teases me about her but I’ve always felt some responsibility towards her. We went to the same primary school and I know what she went through there. I felt protective of her.’
Zara’s lips drew open, then closed as if snuffing words already on her tongue. How easily this young boy lied.
‘Did you tell Jodie that Nina was at a private party?’
Amir shook his head. ‘No, sir. That is absolutely not true. I told her that some of us were relaxing at the warehouse and she could come if she wanted to. I didn’t lie to her or try to persuade her to come.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said okay.’
‘So you went to the warehouse? Did you hold hands along the way?’
Amir’s gaze dipped to the floor. ‘She—she reached out and held mine. I was embarrassed but I didn’t let go. No one was around so I let her.’
‘Did she trip and grab your hand to steady herself, as she claims?’
‘No, sir.’
Zara studied him as he spoke. She ran through the three different versions of that one small action: first, that they mutually held hands after Amir told Jodie that he wanted to kiss her; second, that Jodie tripped, fell and righted herself with his help; and third, that Jodie had clasped his hand in a show of devotion. If the first were true as Jodie promised Zara, then both she and Amir had lied in court. Zara shifted in her seat and continued to watch.
‘What happened when you reached the warehouse?’ asked Stark.
Amir pinched the tip of his tie with an index finger and thumb. ‘I couldn’t find the boys. She started to get giggly because she thought I had brought her there to be alone. She started to get all touchy with me. She … she went to the window and asked me to come over and look at the stars. She had her back to me. When I was behind her, she pressed into me really hard and – I couldn’t help it – I started to react.’ The boy’s face flushed red.
Zara’s skin felt hot. His branding of Jodie as a precocious temptress was so incongruous, so fantastically creative, that she almost scoffed out loud.
‘What did you do?’ asked Stark.
‘At first, nothing. She just kept rubbing against me. I could see her thong above her jeans and it—’ Amir grimaced. ‘She told me to close my eyes and she whispered in my ear that she would take me in her mouth. I—I closed my eyes. She slid down, unzipped me and put her mouth around me.’
‘What happened after this?’
‘Well, after a while, I …’ The boy’s face twisted in embarrassment.
‘You ejaculated?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
Amir was mortified. ‘She pulled away so it was sort of on her top.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘We didn’t have time to talk. The boys – I didn’t know they had come in – started cheering and whistling. They couldn’t believe what I was doing. They started to make fun of us – not just her, but both of us. They were calling me names and teasing. I tried to make light of it but I think I upset her.’
‘Why do you think you upset her?’
‘Well, I said something mean.’ Guilt danced across his face. ‘I said something like “pussy’s pussy” and I laughed. I know that’s horrible, but I was on the spot. I was so embarrassed, so I just said the first thing that came to my mind. The boys started teasing her and joking around.’
‘How so?’
‘Just saying things like “Jodie! We didn’t know you had it in you!” and “How does Amir taste?” Just really, really stupid things. She began to cry. I told the boys to get lost. They wouldn’t, so I got angry and shouted at them. They left. I told Jodie I was sorry and then I left too.’
‘You left her there?’
Amir cringed. ‘Yes. I’m sorry I did that but I thought she was okay. I didn’t know that any of this would happen. I made a mistake – me – but my friends didn’t do anything wrong.’ He turned to the jury. ‘I swear to you they didn’t do anything.’
Stark nodded sagely. ‘When did you next have contact with Jodie?’
‘The next time was when she started to Snapchat me.’
‘Forty-nine times?’
‘Yes. I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. I know it sounds bad after what happened but it was a moment of weakness. I didn’t want to string her along.’
Stark murmured in sympathy. ‘Amir, when the police first came to you, you denied everything. You said you had barely seen Jodie that night. Your account changed later on. Why is this?’
‘I—I said I didn’t see her because I didn’t want my family to know.’ He looked up at his father. ‘Baba, I’m so sorry.’ His voice cracked.
Zara winced. That crack of emotion would go right to the heart of any parent on the jury.
Amir continued, ‘My parents have raised me to be a good person. They taught me honour and modesty and restraint. I didn’t want to disappoint them. I didn’t want them to know.’ He took a deep breath. ‘When I realised they were going to find out anyway, I told them what really happened.’
‘And if you could do it all again, would you give the true version of events from the very beginning?’
‘Yes, I would. Absolutely. No question at all.’
‘Thank you, Amir.’ Stark turned to the bench. ‘I have no more questions, My Lord.’
Amir shifted in the witness box. His right fist was cradled in his left palm and his legs stood apart as if bracing for impact.
Leeson stood. ‘Amir, you say you couldn’t “find the boys” when you got to the warehouse. Where did they go?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a big warehouse.’
‘So you knew there was a chance that they would come upon you and despite being so concerned about your reputation, you decided to have oral sex with Jodie anyway? Is that correct?’
Amir hesitated. ‘I—yes, that’s correct.’
‘So you didn’t care about your friends finding you?’ Leeson was combative.
‘I wasn’t really thinking.’
‘You weren’t really thinking? And were you thinking when your friends held her down and raped her one after the other?’
Stark was on his feet. ‘My Lord, my learned friend is being wilfully inflammatory!’ His vowels were round with exaggerated incredulity.
Leeson conceded before the judge could speak, having known full well that his question would be challenged. He turned back to Amir. ‘Mr Rabbani, you mentioned that you felt a responsibility toward Jodie; that you went to primary school with her and saw what she went through. Can you tell me a bit more about this? What did she go through?’
Amir’s dark lashes fluttered in thought. ‘Kids would bully her, call her names, sometimes push her around.’
‘What kind of names?’
The boy hesitated. ‘She was known as “fish face”. They’d call her ugly, a monster, a dog – all sorts.’
‘And this continued in secondary school?’
‘A bit, but not as much.’
‘How did she handle this?’
He shrugged. ‘She was just quiet. She didn’t fight back, she just seemed sad.’
‘Is it fair to say that Jodie has been through a lot of abuse – verbal and even physical?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she dealt with this by largely ignoring it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, so if as you say, all Jodie faced that night was a bit of verbal teasing, why would she suddenly have such a nuclear reaction? If she is accustomed to being bullied, being called ugly as a dog, being pushed around, why would she react so badly to a bit of light teasing by your friends? Can you explain that?’
‘I guess she felt ashamed because of what happened between us.’ Amir remained calm and measured.
Zara could sense disappointment spidering across the room. For weeks, the prosecution had searched for a Eureka mome
nt, a single sticking point, an ingenious question or a new insight that would throw Amir off and hurt his credibility but they had drawn a blank. The boy was so well rehearsed that Leeson failed to ruffle him. Eventually, after an anti-climactic hour of questioning, Amir was released from the witness box.
Court soon drew to a close and Zara headed to the Great Hall to wait for Mia. She thought over Amir’s testimony, trying to find holes where there were none. He was simply too earnest, too likeable, too attractive a witness. He had been sharp, clear and contrite compared with Jodie’s stilted, wilting style of speech delivered from her impossibly mangled face. All Stark had to do was instil reasonable doubt – not hard with a witness like Amir.
Zara spotted Mia crossing the hall and greeted her with a handshake.
‘How did it go?’ asked the detective.
Zara sighed. ‘Not well. I’ll update you on the way home.’
Mia nodded at the corridor. ‘DC Dexter’s just collecting Leeson. We want to make sure we get both of you safely home.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘Not at all.’
Zara hesitated. ‘No, I mean it. I’m glad you’re here.’
Mia nodded once, the way police officers did in the movies. ‘Like I said, not at all.’
Soon joined by Leeson and Dexter, they headed out together. Immediately, the crowds burst into action and that familiar tune rang out over the cool December mist.
‘Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom!’ As before, the jeers were accompanied by pictures of Zara in obscene, submissive poses. Leeson was unperturbed. He, the Oxbridge-educated white man, was somehow excused for seeking justice against four Muslim boys. Zara on the other hand was pilloried as a traitor. She felt a bitter, coppery taste in her mouth as they walked a fine line between the two crowds. As she entered the waiting car, she felt a deep pang of sorrow at the fissures cracking open across her beloved hometown – sorrow and also fear because the worst was yet to come.
The sound roused Jodie’s attention: a pair of grace notes, C followed by A, that told her she had a new message. She pushed herself off the bed and ambled to the tiny desk. There, on her phone, was a message from Nina.
Jodie, I hope you can forgive me for testifying in court. You know I don’t believe you – I told you that from the start – so you can’t hate me. Listen, I’m messaging you to make you aware of this forum. You should report them so the hosting company will take it down.
Jodie instinctively clicked on the link. It was filled with pages and pages of pictures: Jodie, mouth open against the groins of different men. Large red captions with garish green drop-shadows accompanied the images. One of her and obese comedian Stevie G read, ‘Finally! Someone hungry enough found Stevie’s dick.’
Other captions called her a whore, a dog, a liar. On page three, she found an animated gif of her and a pig, obscene sounds accompanying the writhing and rolling. It made her want to gag. She continued to scroll, compelled to do it. When she reached the end, she returned to Nina’s message and deleted it. She knew what game was being played here. She closed her eyes and lay her head in her hands. This was not what she had intended. This was never what she had wanted.
Her phone chimed again, this time with a text from Zara to say she was waiting outside. Jodie padded down the hall and quietly opened the door.
Zara held out a paper bag. ‘I didn’t have a chance to get to anywhere decent today, so it’s just a sandwich I’m afraid.’
Jodie flushed with gratitude, unspeakably grateful for these small concessions; the way Zara did not ring the doorbell lest it disturb Christine from her doze, or how she spoke to her like an adult, or the time she casually gave Jodie a bag from Boots filled to the brim with tampons because she was ‘clearing out the medicine cabinet’.
‘Thank you.’ Jodie took the bag and they retreated to her room. ‘How was it today?’
Zara perched on a plastic chair. ‘It was okay.’ Her lips curled in a plaintive smile. ‘Amir’s testimony was strong, but we anticipated that.’ She waved a hand at the window as if he might be standing outside. ‘Amir is the leader of the gang, the school cricket captain and he knows how to work a crowd, so he was always going to do well in the witness box.’
Jodie’s fingers dug into her palm.
‘But Hassan is up next and he won’t perform as well. Even his friends can barely stand him.’ Zara waited for a response. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked.
Jodie shrugged. ‘I’m okay.’ She slid backwards on her bed and leaned against the wall. ‘I just … I don’t know what to be.’ She gestured at Zara. ‘I look at you and you’re a certain way and your investigator Erin is a certain way and Mia is a certain way, and I—I don’t know what to be.’
Zara studied her. ‘What do you mean?’
Jodie sighed as if she too were confused. After a moment of thought, she said, ‘What I mean is that you’re bold and forceful, Erin is cool and cunning, Mia is calm and unshakable. I’m trying to be those things. I’m trying to be strong and serious and unshakable, but I’m none of those things.’ She held a hand to her chest. ‘I feel hurt and weak and …’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘I feel small.’
‘Oh, Jodie.’ Zara shook her head. ‘Do you think I was this way at sixteen? Do you think Mia was like that at your age? Women aren’t born warriors; we learn to fight because we have to.’
Tears pooled in Jodie’s eyes. ‘I’m tired of fighting.’
‘I know you are, but it’s worth the fight and we’re going to get through this.’
Jodie nodded listlessly.
Over the next half an hour, Zara tried hard to cheer her and Jodie duly obliged, but their levity held an ersatz quality. They were both playing roles – each upbeat to please the other – and eventually they succumbed to silence. They were in no mood for gallows humour, only melancholy.
Before long, they heard stirring in the living room and Jodie pointed at the door. ‘You should probably go before she wakes up.’
Zara nodded and stood. ‘I’ll call you after court tomorrow.’ She pointed at the paper bag. ‘There’s a muffin in there too. Lemon – your favourite.’
Jodie watched her go and thought what a privilege it was that someone knew her favourite anything.
Zara dropped her Céline bag on the floor and slumped on the sofa in exhaustion. She thought over her meeting with Jodie with a throbbing sense of unease. The girl’s resolve was breaking, the mortar melting in her wall of will. ‘It’s worth the fight’ Zara had told her, but even she worried that the worst was yet to come.
She thought of all the injustices of Jodie’s young life. Did Zara really owe more to her community and its nebulous idea of loyalty than to a beleaguered young girl who so clearly needed help? Wasn’t this why she had left chambers – to actually do some good?
The word hitched in her mind, drawing her lips into a thin, bitter line. ‘Good.’ She felt undeserving of it, bereft of its comfort and warmth. She measured up once, bolstered by good grades and modest dress and deference to the men in her life. But then she began to make her own choices. She chose to leave her marriage and prompt those words from her father that tore her apart. She chose to keep distance from family, she chose to sleep with Michael Attali and she chose to support Jodie. Did those decisions exclude her from ‘good’?
She pulled off her coat and grappled for her bag, then drew out a bottle of Diazepam. As the hum of questions grew loud in her mind, she swallowed two pills in quick succession, then lay her head on a soft cream cushion. Just as she edged past consciousness, her phone sounded a sharp reminder. Neat white letters spelled ‘Pick up dry cleaning’ on the screen. Zara looked groggily at her watch. It was late but the laundrette was close by and the air would do her good. She changed out of her shirt and skirt into a pair of jeans and a jumper. She pulled her coat back on, grabbed her purse and left the flat. The trees outside were stark against the moon, their beckoning arms spindly and sparse. As she walked, the late autumn wind snaked beneath her
coat, making it billow around her. It was bracing but in a vaguely pleasant way, as if whipping away the old and making space for new.
‘Cold tonight, yes, miss?’ Mr Lee welcomed her into the stuffy warmth of the laundrette.
‘Yes, very cold.’ She handed over her ticket and reached for something to say. The lull made her think of Luka and his easy ability to converse with strangers, unaffected by British reserve. She remembered standing right there with him in January as he and Mr Lee chatted away about family, business and women. Zara had stood in silence, waiting awkwardly for them to finish. Tonight, calmed by the Diazepam, she smiled gently and wished Mr Lee goodnight. Bundling the suit under one arm, she stepped back out into darkness and walked idly towards home.
When the case was over, perhaps she would take a holiday. She had worked so long and so numbly that she had forgotten what living really was. When Jodie was no longer beneath her wing and all of this was over, perhaps she could find her way back to who she used to be. ‘Back to “good”,’ she said softly, the word hopeful on her tongue.
She was lost in these gently stirring thoughts when she noticed the footsteps echoing her own. She glanced back at the street which shifted and paused in the inky blue darkness. Cars lined each side of the road, the moonlight splashing in pools on the roofs. There was no sound other than the soft rustle of her suit in plastic wrap. She scanned the street and the bordering buildings. On one side stood a large brick warehouse, repurposed as a co-working space for start-ups. On the other was a patch of green which now stood black and empty. She counted down from five and then started to walk again. Sure enough, there was a subtle pounding of feet echoing her own. She paused again and turned around, scanning the street once more.
‘Hello?’ she called out. When there was no reply, she laughed out loud to relieve the tension. It came out shrill and strangled. She turned back round. This time, there was the unmistakable thud of boots on concrete. She crossed the road to quash her paranoia. With a thumping heart, she realised that the footsteps were following. She turned then and saw two men wearing caps and bandanas advancing in her wake. She quickened her pace and they did too. Panic rose in her throat, then roared at her to run. Her reflexes, blunt from the Diazepam, held her there for a second too long. Her suit fell to the floor in a whisper and, then, they were on her.