Take It Back

by Kia Abdullah

  ‘Can you pick some up on the way here? I just need a little something to help me calm down.’

  Amir sighed. ‘I don’t know. Probably not. You don’t know who’s out there.’

  ‘Can you try at least?’ Hassan pleaded. ‘Just call the gardener. Take your dog with you and pick up Mo on the way. I need something, man. I’m climbing the walls over here.’

  ‘Okay, fine. Fine.’ Amir dressed and went downstairs, grabbing his cap on the way. He collected Rocky and slipped outside, knowing his mother would try to stop him.

  He called in on the gardener, shifting from one foot to the other on the crackly lino flooring. He paid for the weed, dug it deep in a pocket and promptly strode away. He didn’t want to admit that he was scared of being seen. How does a hammer feel wedged in your skull? He called Rocky closer and quickened his pace, trying to ignore the sensation of being watched. By the time he picked up Mo, he was weaving and sweaty with nerves. Neither boy said a word; simply fell in step beside the other as they walked to Hassan’s home.

  ‘Man, you two look like shit.’ Hassan motioned them inside. He raised his chin at the dog. ‘Let’s take your bitch to the yard.’ He led them down the narrow corridor and out into the garden.

  The three boys sat on a wall and watched the fading light. The evening sky was billowing and black as if the whole world were mourning Farid’s passing.

  Hassan took a drag of his joint. ‘I am ready for this to be over.’

  Mo zipped up his jacket all the way to the chin. He accepted the joint and took a long, deep drag, letting it cloud his head. He wondered if they would stay friends or be torn apart by trauma. Would the stress of trial and this unnameable grief bond them under pressure or crush them altogether?

  Hassan next to him shivered in the wind. ‘Do you wish you could rewind to that night and avoid that cunt like the plague?’

  Amir baulked. ‘I thought we vetoed that word.’

  ‘You vetoed that word,’ said Hassan. ‘I call a cunt for what it is.’

  Amir frowned. ‘Yeah, course I do. I wish I’d never laid eyes on Jodie Wolfe and her twisted fucking face.’

  Mo turned and studied his friend. Amir’s words were angry, but his eyes were not. Instead, they were weary as if he were tired of playing a role. It was strange that yellow was the colour of deceit. That never sat well with Mo. Surely yellow was the colour of joy. He took another drag and closed his eyes. If Amir was deceitful yellow, then Hassan was wrathful red. And Mo? Mo was Vantablack, the darkest colour ever known.

  Amir reached for the joint. As the boys smoked, Rocky fixated on a mound of dirt. She nosed it curiously then sifted it with a paw. Unchastened by Amir, she began to dig.

  Zara sensed impatience as the courtroom assembled for its final witness: Mohammed Ahmed. In many ways, Mo was the ghost of the trial; ever present but always silent. Today, he would get his chance to speak. Today, he would either prove himself just as inconsequential as he had been thus far, or change the winds entirely. This was his hour, his wretched final hour.

  Stark stood and addressed the judge. With a shiver of uncertainty, he said, ‘My Lord, a new piece of evidence has come to light which I would like to discuss with Your Lordship and my learned friends.’

  ‘What is it, Mr Stark?’ asked the judge. The lead-up to Christmas was fraught with tension and delays weren’t granted lightly.

  Stark hesitated. ‘My Lord, in this instance, I believe we would be best served by discretion.’

  The judge sighed. ‘Well, since this case has gone swimmingly so far, why not take a detour?’ He excused the jury and waited for the gallery to clear.

  Stark nodded to the clerk who had in his hands a big yellow envelope. Zara stared at it as she was guided from the gallery. Anxiety churned in her stomach. This was never good. During her years as a lawyer, things of this nature rarely took place. Contrary to courtroom dramas, real barristers rarely sprung evidence on each other. There was an implicit understanding that the game would be played to rules that were fair – and last-minute evidence was rarely fair. Clearly, something major had happened.

  Zara strode to a corner of the hall and placed a call to Mia.

  The detective answered immediately. ‘Are you at court?’ she asked, skipping pleasantries.

  ‘Yes. Do you know what’s going on?’

  ‘I was hoping you might. I’ve just had a call from the CPS asking me to procure the complainant.’ A pause. ‘Why do they want to see Jodie again?’

  Dread bloomed black in Zara’s stomach. ‘I don’t know. Stark has something. He wanted to talk to the judge in private. He and Leeson are in there now.’

  Mia took a nervous breath. ‘Okay. I’ll pick up Jodie and bring her in.’ She paused. ‘Try not to worry.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be waiting.’

  Thirty minutes later, a marshal let Zara back into the courtroom, soon followed by the jury. Judge Braun was at his station, his expression indecipherable. Within minutes, Jodie was led in through the judge’s door and taken to the witness box. She had dark hollows beneath her eyes and seemed jarringly tiny in a knitted blue cardigan two sizes too big.

  ‘Ms Wolfe, I would like to remind you that you are still under oath. Is that understood?’ asked the judge.

  ‘Yes,’ Jodie replied softly. She looked up to the gallery and met Zara’s gaze.

  Zara shook her head once in answer to a silent question. No, I don’t know what’s happening.

  The judge questioned Jodie directly. ‘On the night of Thursday the twenty-seventh of June 2019, during the events of your complaint, do you recall what the now deceased Farid Khan was doing?’

  Jodie blinked. ‘No. He—he was behind me.’

  ‘Ms Wolfe, the defence has some new evidence it would like to share with the jury. Now before I allow them to do so, I would like to ask you this: is there anything about your testimony that you would like to change?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Jodie’s voice trembled with fear.

  ‘Everything you have said has been the truth?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She seemed to sway on her feet.

  ‘Ms Wolfe, I take the truth very seriously.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Tears now welled in her eyes.

  ‘Very well.’ He turned to the defence. ‘You may question the witness.’

  Zara’s heart thumped in her chest. She tried to catch Leeson’s eye but he stared only straight ahead. She shifted in her seat and angled her arms away from her torso to cool the pooling sweat.

  Stark’s silk gown fluttered as he stood. ‘Ms Wolfe, in your earlier testimony, you said, “Amir told me to get on my knees. I said no, but he forced me. I thought I could fight him but he was stronger than me.”’ Stark looked up at Jodie. ‘Is there anything about the testimony you would like to change? Let me remind you that you would be perjuring yourself if you knowingly lie to the court.’

  Jodie’s voice was thin. ‘No.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Stark. ‘Please remain there for just a moment.’ He turned to the judge. ‘My Lord, I would like to highlight that the defence gave Ms Wolfe ample opportunity to tell the true version of events. I would have preferred to avoid showing this next piece of evidence but clearly it is necessary.’

  The two televisions in the room hummed to life. Zara’s stomach twisted as she caught the panic on Jodie’s face. What fresh horror was to be revealed?

  ‘Mr Clerk, please play the video,’ said Stark. ‘May the jury be warned that it contains sensitive material.’

  The screen was black but two voices could be heard, muffled and giggling.

  ‘I swear to God, it’s true. Turn it on,’ said a male voice.

  ‘You’re such a fucker, I don’t believe you,’ said another. The camera shook, the footage blurry.

  ‘Ssh, be quiet.’ The camera moved forward. It panned round and showed Hassan’s face beaming with delight. He drew a finger to his mouth as if to say ‘sssh’ before the camera panned back and was handed to someone else. It round
ed a corner and was at first completely dark. Then, it zoomed into a black mass at one end of a large room. As the camera caught the moonlight, the mass took on the shape of two people. A girl with her hair tied up, her back to the camera, whispered something in the boy’s ear.

  The camera panned back to Hassan. This time he opened his mouth in a mock scream and subdued laughter. The girl turned and was now on her knees. The moonlight caught Jodie’s profile. She reached forward and unzipped the boy’s jeans.

  ‘We should stop.’ Amir’s voice was nervous but clear.

  ‘Keep your eyes closed.’ The camera focused on Jodie’s head, following the motions as it moved back and forward. Amir’s moans were subtle at first but grew audibly louder. After a few minutes, he cried out loud, his body jerking backwards. Spontaneously, the voices by the door broke out in a cheer. The camera spun into the room and then swept to the floor.

  ‘Waaaahey!’ shouted one voice, possibly Hassan’s. ‘Amir, you fucking freak – who knew you were so kinky?’ The camera remained pointed at the floor, hidden from Jodie’s view.

  ‘Jodie! We didn’t know you had it in you … literally!’ Laughter erupted.

  ‘How does Amir taste?’ The voices continued to jeer.

  Amir’s voice cut in. ‘Pussy’s pussy, you know?’ The boys descended into fits of laughter. After a minute, one of them – Mo maybe – was heard over the others. ‘Aw, shit, Jodie, don’t cry about it. Come on, we’re only teasing.’

  The camera panned to Jodie, now obscured in the shadows, then to Amir who stood above her. ‘Oh Christ, Jodie,’ he said. ‘They’re just messing. C’mon.’ He glanced back at his friends and spotted the camera in Farid’s hands, still hidden from Jodie’s view. He raised his hand and sliced a finger across his throat. It could have been a threat – you’re dead – but most likely a command: switch it off now. Farid stopped recording and the courtroom screens grew black.

  Zara in the gallery closed her eyes. A deep calm settled on her, quenching the fury that threatened to rise. For a bleak second, she thought she might walk out but she was bound for better or worse to the pitiful creature below.

  Judge Braun, still perfectly neutral, addressed the prosecution. ‘Mr Leeson, does the Crown wish to address the court?’

  The lawyer stood. ‘I request that I be allowed to consult with the complainant.’

  Stark interrupted. ‘My Lord, the only safe course of action here is a discontinuance.’

  Leeson shot him a glare. ‘We can’t possibly submit to that without speaking to the complainant. We—’

  Judge Braun held up a hand. ‘That’s fine, Mr Leeson. You may consult with Ms Wolfe. Please be brisk. We shall reconvene in an hour.’

  Leeson, Mia, DC Dexter and Zara sat in the room with Jodie. Silent tears streamed down the ridged landscape of her face. As they watched her, a sound caught in her throat: a guttural cry of pain – or guilt.

  ‘Jodie,’ Zara started gently. ‘The prosecution has submitted verification of the clip. We are checking it but I need to ask you, is it real?’

  Jodie’s tears evolved to sobs. ‘I didn’t know they were filming me.’

  Zara studied her. ‘Is it real?’

  Jodie shrank into her chair. ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’

  Zara leaned forward. ‘I know this is difficult but the court is waiting for us and we need to clarify what happened. Is that clip fabricated in any way?’’

  Jodie shook her head. ‘No.’

  Zara exhaled. ‘What really happened on the night of Thursday June the twenty-seventh?’

  Jodie’s tears fell to the table and flowered across the rough wooden surface. ‘I lied.’

  There was a growl of frustration in the room.

  Zara held up a hand to silence the adults, then knelt by Jodie’s side. Her voice was quiet and pleading. ‘Jodie, what’s going on here? I’ve worked with over fifty victims of rape and you … you can’t have been lying.’

  ‘I lied.’ The girl’s voice shook. ‘I lied about everything.’

  Zara blinked. ‘Why?’

  Jodie swallowed a sob. ‘I just wanted him to talk to me.’

  ‘So you did this?’

  ‘I wanted him to talk to me, to care what I said, to think I was important. I wanted to … matter.’

  Zara thought of the clip, of Jodie coyly whispering in Amir’s ear. How could she have got it so wrong? She had believed every word the girl had said. A bolt of anger rose in her chest. ‘Jodie, if you withdraw your claim, you could be investigated for making false allegations and for lying in court. This could have very serious consequences. Do you understand?’

  ‘I just wanted to scare him. I didn’t mean for it to come to this.’

  ‘You want to withdraw your complaint?’

  Jodie nodded. ‘I do.’

  Leeson rose to his feet. ‘I better call the DPP. He’s going to be all over us.’

  This case was going to embarrass the Director of Public Prosecutions and the entire CPS. The papers would have a field day. As Leeson left the room, Jodie and Zara locked eyes. The first burned with guilt, the other with anger. Both were asking a single question: how did it come to this?

  Courtroom eight was breathless with tension. Amir, Hassan and Mo sat in the dock, thrumming with hope and worry. They looked suddenly young. Amir still wore a Remembrance Day poppy on his lapel. He sat, gaze trained on the judge’s bench, waiting for the lawyers to speak.

  Leeson stood and addressed the judge. ‘My Lord, I have discussed the case with Ms Wolfe and based on her admission, the Crown submits to a discontinuance.’

  Murmurs of confusion rose in the dock.

  The judge turned to the jury, his sigh loud and weary. ‘Members of the jury, given these extraordinary circumstances, the Crown no longer believes it can safely prosecute this case.’

  Cries of joy erupted in the dock.

  The judge apologised to the jury, thanked them for their time and said, ‘You are free to go, as are the defendants.’

  Amir was on his feet, giddy with relief. Mo and Hassan hugged him, the three of them lost in a moment of joy. Amir disentangled himself and the jury saw that he was crying. Tears of relief mixed with sorrow as the stress and horror of the past few months hit him all at once. He sat back down in a daze, the sounds of the court too bright and too close. He drew his hands to his face, palms pressed against his eyes, and then he sat and cried. So much had been wasted. So much had been lost. And for what? One lie. One mistake.

  Zara turned into the Wentworth Estate and parked on the empty concourse. ‘I don’t know where to start.’ Her hands were clenched into fists.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jodie.

  ‘You’re sorry? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?’ Zara struggled for composure. ‘You’re lucky you’re not sleeping in a jail cell tonight. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

  Jodie’s face twisted in anguish. ‘It wasn’t meant to go this far.’

  Zara grabbed the girl’s hand and held it, cold and bony, between her own. ‘Jodie, what is going on here? I am struggling to make sense of it so you have to tell me – what just happened?’ Her voice took on a note of hysteria. ‘A boy got killed over this. What am I missing? Why did you do it?’

  Jodie pulled her hand away. In the distance, faint cries rose from a schoolyard and traffic hummed along Mile End Road.

  ‘Say something.’ Zara pleaded. ‘Farid got killed over this. I nearly did too. My life’s been dragged all over the papers for you. Why?’ She gripped the steering wheel, fighting her desire to shake Jodie.

  ‘Amir should have defended me. He should have protected me. He needed to know how I felt.’ Jodie’s voice was small, a shiver of speech against the hum of traffic.

  Zara turned and stared at her. ‘So you accused him of rape?’

  Fresh tears pooled in Jodie’s eyes, lending Zara a grim satisfaction. ‘I couldn’t let him get away with it. He just walked away and left me there.’ Her face creased
in anguish. ‘People like him have no idea how much they hurt people. I wanted him to learn that you can’t just act how you want and treat people how you want and then just walk away from it like nothing happened.’

  ‘Oh, Jodie. I wish you knew.’ Zara drew in a long breath. ‘I wish you knew what real rape victims go through. I wish you could see their pain. I wish you knew how hard it is to come forward, how horrifying it is when they’re not believed, how “innocent until proven guilty” means you’re a liar by default. And you – you so brazenly, so coldly, so utterly convincingly – walk into my office and you tell me that four innocent boys did that to you? God, I wish you knew.’

  Jodie’s voice was ragged through the sobs. ‘I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I just wanted to scare them, but I didn’t know how to stop it.’

  ‘By talking to me, Jodie. That’s what I was here for. You should have talked to me.’

  ‘I tried,’ said Jodie feebly. ‘You kept telling me not to give up; to stay strong.’

  ‘Because I thought you were telling the truth!’ Zara’s voice quaked with anger.

  Jodie shrank into her seat. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re unbelievable, Jodie. Unbelievable.’

  She wiped her tears with a sleeve. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’

  Zara rubbed her brow bone and closed her eyes to calm herself. ‘Mia will talk to the CPS and let you know.’

  ‘Will I see you again?’

  ‘No,’ said Zara coldly. ‘I work with victims of sexual assault.’

  Jodie’s mangled features twisted in a grimace. ‘If I could take it back, I would.’

  ‘Yes, well, you can’t.’ Zara turned on her engine, a prompt for her to leave. ‘Goodbye.’

  Jodie hesitated, then opened the door with a trembling hand and soundlessly stepped outside.

  Zara sped off without glancing back. Jodie’s stillness that she admired so much now stirred a bleak melancholy. She thought of the unique circumstances that had led them to this moment. The vagaries of misfortune ranged from enormous to minuscule. What if Jodie had been born with a normal face? What if she had a father or loving mother? What if she hadn’t gone to the party that night? What if Amir had glanced another way, chosen another girl? Would they be here at this juncture with Farid’s life lost and Jodie’s ruined?