by H S Chandler
‘That’s a possibility but I can’t speak as to what was in the defendant’s mind. My evidence is purely scientific,’ Dr Gibbs finished.
‘Quite so, thank you,’ Newell said, sitting down.
Dr Gibbs was allowed to leave.
‘As it is now half past twelve, we will adjourn for lunch,’ the judge said.
‘He didn’t like hedgehogs,’ a voice came from the rear of the court.
Her Honour Judge Downey frowned. There was a mass turning of heads. ‘I’m sorry, did someone say something?’ the judge asked.
‘He said they were flea-ridden vermin,’ Maria Bloxham went on, louder this time. Lottie watched as the defendant got shakily to her feet and put one hand against the glass.
‘Mrs Bloxham, you will have an opportunity to present your case later on. For now, I must ask you to sit down,’ the judge said.
‘But it’s a lie,’ Maria replied, her voice rising in pitch. Lottie was surprised by how insistent she had suddenly become, having shown so little interest until then.
‘Mr Newell,’ the judge said. ‘Please caution your client that she should sit down and remain quiet. I do not want to have her forcibly taken to the cells.’
Newell turned around and motioned at Maria to sit down.
‘I once brought an injured hedgehog indoors and he …’ Maria said.
‘That’s enough, Mrs Bloxham,’ the judge raised her voice. ‘Sit down at once or I’ll have you removed.’
The dock officers stood up and took the defendant by the arms, guiding her back to her seat. James Newell intervened.
‘Your Honour, if the jury could retire, I’ll have a word with my client,’ he said.
‘I think you’d better, Mr Newell. I don’t want any repeat of that sort of disruptive behaviour in my courtroom,’ the judge snapped, standing up and leaving through the door behind her.
They returned to the jury room thoughtful and quiet. Gregory, Tabitha, Samuel and Agnes were in a huddle by the time Lottie entered. They had even foregone their usual rush for tea and coffee. She took her mobile from her handbag and headed for the toilets, staring in the mirror as she waited for her phone to spring into life. Running a fingertip lightly up the vertical line between her eyebrows, it was hard not to wonder about the frown on Maria Bloxham’s face as she’d made her case about her husband and the hedgehogs. She had been adamant. Absolutely perplexed, Lottie thought, that no one was listening to her. When the prison guard had pulled her hand from the glass, a perfect sweaty handprint had been left. Yes, the courtroom was sweltering, and yes, the heat must have been exacerbated inside the glass box where she’d been sitting. Still, Lottie couldn’t help but wonder if the sweat wasn’t more than that. Lottie pressed her own hand against the mirror, waiting long enough that its outline was easily visible as she pulled away. The ends of her own fingers had made the smallest and lightest of marks. Not so with Maria Bloxham’s. Her fingertips had shone white through the pane, widely spread, perspiring to the very tips, pressing them with so much force and intensity. She had been furious, Lottie realised. Her outburst had been inevitable. Like the sweat on her palms, there was no physical means of holding it inside. Was that anger an indication of an unstoppable temper, or was it the frustration of seeing her husband fool everyone inside that courtroom?
I must not judge, Lottie told herself. Not so soon. Not any aspect of it. Whatever the cause, Maria Bloxham’s reaction in that moment – her frown, her insistence, the sweat on her palms – had been real, not acted.
Her phone buzzed, and her heart sank. She’d been in court for hours, and missed messages from Zain when they had an important evening ahead of them. No doubt her husband was frantic waiting for her to acknowledge them.
‘Coming home to prep for tonight. Is dinner jacket back from dry cleaners? My mother emailed about birthday present for Daniyal. Send suggestions for her to order online. I need dentist app’t. Can you make for me? Thks.’
Of course her husband’s dinner jacket was back from the dry cleaners, Lottie thought. Not that he’d been to collect it. That was one of her jobs. And why should Zain have to make his own dental appointment? Easier to get her to do it. Daniyal’s birthday was still two months away, but her mother-in-law would expect a response today. It was less hassle to comply. Just a few more items on her to-do list. A week earlier she might not have noticed, she thought, as she ran her fingers through her hair, lifting the heavy strands to get some cool air through, so why was it bothering her so much now? Perhaps because she was part of something bigger, for once. Maybe because she realised she had something to offer beyond the walls of her home. Or that she had been able to cope with the boredom of her life until she’d walked into this bizarre, intimidating building and remembered what it was not to be bored? It felt as if she was waking up from a fairy-tale length sleep.
Running her hands under the cold tap, she dried them on a paper towel and returned to the jury room in search of a drink and a distraction. She was overthinking things.
‘It’s absolutely ghoulish,’ Gregory blurted as she walked in. ‘To think that such a nice man could be so badly treated.’
‘And in his own kitchen. Makes you feel as if you’re not safe anywhere,’ Tabitha added.
‘If my husband did that to me, I’d want the death penalty,’ Agnes Huang added.
‘You know, we really should wait and hear both sides,’ Jack said quietly, opening a battered copy of Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd and settling in his chair.
‘Oh, get real,’ Garth-the-tattoo replied. ‘Bloody namby-pamby students. What the hell do you know about anything? You’ve gone from a comfy home with mummy, to a school for big kids where you sit around all day discussing theories. This is real world stuff, mate.’
‘Mr Finuchin,’ Tabitha said, ‘There’s no need to get personal, although I’m inclined to agree that Jack’s view of this may not be as adult as ours. It’s a life experience perspective. I think we’re entitled to be drawing some conclusions from what we’ve seen this morning.’
‘I just meant that it’s all been one sided so far,’ Jack said. ‘I thought we were supposed to wait until the end before leaning one way or the other.’
‘No one’s taking sides, young man,’ Gregory said. ‘But we all saw that weapon. There’s no doubt in my mind as to what that woman intended.’
‘You can’t convict her like that,’ Jack said.
‘For God’s sake, I bet the boy’s a bloody vegan,’ Garth muttered.
‘He’s not a boy, he’s an adult and we’re all equals in this room,’ Cameron interrupted. ‘So lay off. The instructions were clear. We judge at the end. You’re entitled to your opinions, but keep a lid on for now.’
‘Tabitha is foreperson,’ Gregory bristled. ‘If she’s comfortable with us talking about this …’
‘Then I’m sure when I explain that to the judge, Tabitha will face no criticism at all,’ Cameron said.
Tabitha coughed. ‘Perhaps we should all take a breather,’ she said. ‘Apparently, the most innocent of conversations can be misinterpreted. We were simply running over the evidence in preparation for reviewing it at the end of the trial. Thank you for your input, Mr Ellis.’
‘Happy to help,’ Cameron said, slipping into the chair next to Jack’s and winking at him. Jack smiled back and Lottie grinned behind her mobile.
‘Very heroic,’ she whispered to Cameron once conversation had struck up again.
‘Bunch of judgmental bastards,’ he replied.
‘I didn’t mean to start anything,’ Jack said.
‘You were right to tell them,’ Cameron said, laying a friendly hand on Jack’s shoulder. ‘Someone’s got to play fair.’
The usher appeared and relayed the news that they were free to go home for the weekend. Lottie packed her bag and got ready to leave. Cameron picked up the magazine she’d left on the floor that morning and held it out to her.
‘You okay?’ he asked as the others left.
/> ‘Sure, it was just incredibly sad watching the video,’ she said. ‘And then actually holding the weapon … that made me a bit queasy.’
‘I know, but there’s another side to this thing. There must be, or I guess Mrs Bloxham would have pleaded guilty by now. Listen, I heard you tell Jennifer you came on the bus. Why don’t you let me drive you home? It’s been a tough day.’
Lottie took a moment considering it, but shook her head.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to put you out.’
‘It’s no bother. We’ve finished early. I’ve got nothing else to do,’ Cameron said.
Lottie rearranged her bag on her shoulder. ‘Actually, my husband wouldn’t like it – me being dropped home by a man. He’s a bit sensitive about things like that.’
‘You mean jealous?’ Cameron laughed. ‘It’s not as if you’re doing anything wrong. Surely you should be free to get a lift instead of public transport?’
‘It’s not that big a deal, just not worth having to explain who you are. My husband’s protective over me and we have the sort of neighbours who like to curtain twitch,’ she replied.
‘Okay, but you should probably dump that magazine in a bin before you get home. I wrote my mobile number on the cover, in case your bus breaks ever breaks down and you need rescuing. Secretly, of course,’ he added quietly.
Lottie’s stomach dropped an inch and she felt a rush of adrenalin that ran straight up her spine, leaving her light-headed.
‘Idiot.’ She laughed it off, wondering what to do with the magazine. It seemed like an overreaction to take it out of her bag then and there. She could leave it on the bus, she decided. There was no harm in her having Cameron’s number, anyway. Just in case she ever needed it.
‘Come on, the least I can do is walk you to your bus stop,’ he said.
He walked ahead of Lottie though the door as she stared at his outline. A head taller than her, with the sort of body that would turn heads in any bar, she wondered what his story was. It was hard to believe Cameron didn’t have someone at home waiting for him. The summer sun was bringing out highlights in his brown hair, and he suited jeans and white T-shirts in a way that screamed American carbonated drinks adverts. Lottie was willing to bet that there wasn’t an inch of spare flesh on him. Plenty of muscle, but no fat. Nothing soft. He reminded of her of an animal that way. Not that she’d been thinking about his body, she told herself, as she tried to banish the image from her mind. Just as well he wasn’t dropping her home. Her husband really wouldn’t appreciate her spending time with a man like Cameron Ellis. Not that the subject was going to come up. What her husband didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him.
11
Zain Hiraj held out his sleeve for Lottie to fasten his cufflink. ‘Could you do these for me?’
‘Sure,’ Lottie said, putting her own bracelet aside to help. She knew Zain didn’t really need her to do it for him, but he liked it when she did. He’d insisted on changing all his shirts from button sleeve to cuffs when he’d made area manager for the pharmaceutical firm. At least since then it had been easier to buy him birthday presents. She made sure each cufflink was turned to the same angle, and that the cuffs themselves were sharply folded. Zain liked to look sharp. He was a good-looking man, with perfect skin, high cheekbones and toothpaste advert teeth. As a husband and father he had a traditional outlook, but Lottie had known that when she’d married him. He had a passion for ticking boxes. Nice house – check. Pretty wife – Lottie stared at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was pretty, no denying it, even if these days it seemed to mean less and less. Check. Child (a son, for extra points) – check. Then there was the non-stop professional ladder Zain was climbing.
Tonight was the annual sales dinner. Zain’s team was nominated for an award, which might mean a luxury golfing weekend for him and his sales executives. More importantly, it was a chance for Zain to make a good impression on the bosses, some of whom were flying in from the United States especially. Lottie ran straighteners through her long hair. Zain had asked her to wear the floor-length emerald green dress that made her stomach look washboard flat and accentuated her bust. It was showy but he’d always admired her in it, and it was his night. Personally, she’d have preferred a hot bath and an early bed. Lottie had sneaked a large glass of wine before Zain got home, taking another cheat night from the diet, hoping the alcohol would make her evening marginally more tolerable. Conversation at company events was always stilted and she usually ended up nodding politely for several hours until she could remind Zain that they really had to get home to Daniyal.
The babysitter arrived and Lottie spent a few minutes giving instructions in case of an emergency, before going to kiss Daniyal goodnight. He was fussy and whining, not his usual self at all. Lottie laid down next to him and stroked his face. He wrapped his arms tightly around her neck, messing up her hair and smudging her make-up. Lottie didn’t care. She had missed him while she’d been at court. It was a good feeling to get home each day, desperate to hold him in her arms. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed some distance, to feel that love for her son afresh.
Zain poked his head around the bedroom door. ‘Lottie, the taxi will be here any minute.’ Daniyal picked his head up from the pillow, waking again and struggling to get out of bed.
‘I have to get him to sleep,’ Lottie said. ‘He’ll get upset if the babysitter tries to do it.’
‘You should have done that before starting to get ready. Now your hair needs doing again.’
Lottie smoothed it with her hands. ‘Just ask the driver to wait a few minutes. I can get Daniyal to sleep, I promise. My hair will brush out.’
‘We can’t be late,’ Zain reminded her, as if she could have forgotten.
‘We won’t be,’ she replied softly.
Zain closed the door. Lottie tickled her boy gently under the chin and kissed him on the nose. ‘Right, now, mini-monster. Song or story?’ she asked.
‘Song,’ Daniyal decided.
‘Okay. Close your eyes, though. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ he said. ‘But more kisses.’
‘I think I can do that,’ Lottie said, cuddling up to him, kissing his cheeks and forehead as he curled up. She murmured a gentle song while he fell asleep in her arms, cursing as the taxi beeped its horn from the road. Creeping out of his bedroom, she held her breath but he didn’t wake again. A quick dash of extra lipstick and running a brush through her hair, she hoped Zain would forgive her for looking less than perfect.
‘So you remember who’s on our table?’ Zain asked, brushing non-existent specks off his trousers.
‘Yes, I do. It’ll be fine. I’ve done this before,’ Lottie said quietly, staring out of the window, enjoying the fact that the cloudless night had left the stars visible. It had been too long since she’d bothered to look up at them.
‘And what we discussed about the golf?’ He checked his watch for the fifth time since they’d climbed into taxi.
‘Hmm?’ Lottie murmured, changing position to get a better view of a man and woman who seemed to be arguing at the roadside. The world was suddenly filled with new possibilities. The most stable relationship was a powder keg ready to blow. Except hers. Zain was a steadying influence. Set in his ways, even though he had yet to reach middle age, he knew what he wanted and where he was going. These days he also decided who Lottie should be and how her life should pan out. It wasn’t his fault. Lottie had to take responsibility for letting him make decisions for her.
‘Charlotte?’ he said, barely hiding his irritation. He was allowed to be stressed, she told herself. It was a big night in the pharmaceutical sales calendar.
She stifled a yawn. ‘Yes, I’ve got it. When you’re away from the table, let slip that you won the golf club tournament. You don’t want to be seen showing off but it’s the sort of thing they like.’
‘You don’t have to sound so weary,’ he whispered, throwing a quick glance in the driver’s direction.
She
considered telling him he was being childish. He shouldn’t have to impress the bunch of bores who made up middle management. Certainly she shouldn’t have to play along with it. It was pathetic really. She settled for shrugging and staring out of the window once more, wondering where Maria Bloxham was spending her Friday evening, and if she was struggling with her conscience or lying awake terrified at the prospect of a prison sentence.
‘I know you don’t enjoy these dinners. Just try to keep smiling. The impression we make is important. It’s a chance to stand out in the crowd …’
Lottie let her mind drift as Zain continued explaining the significance of the forthcoming hours. She didn’t need the lecture. Company events were intimidating enough, not because of Zain’s bosses who, by and large, were pleasant and not at all interested in Lottie. She very much doubted they could tell one employee’s partner from another after a few drinks. What bothered her was how tense Zain got about all the things she was supposed to do, or not do. Sticking to safe topics of conversation was a specific rule. Things she really knew about to avoid silly gaffs. Lottie wasn’t sure Zain’s bosses wanted to hear about her expertise in changing nappies on the go, but that was the only specialisation she had these days.
‘Are you ready?’ Zain asked as the hotel lights appeared in the distance.
‘Yes, absolutely, got it. Mr Mason’s wife just left him so don’t ask after her, and Mrs Johnson’s rash is to be ignored at all costs,’ Lottie said.
‘You look great, by the way. Why don’t you go to the ladies’ when we arrive to touch up your mascara, then you’ll be perfect?’ Zain said.
‘Thanks,’ Lottie murmured, knowing she’d forgotten to put mascara in her purse. She’d pretend to go and do it anyway, for Zain’s sake. He worked hard all year. The least she could do was play along. In the toilets, she managed to borrow some mascara from another woman and went to join Zain at their table.
‘That’s better,’ he said, as she sat down. ‘Jeff, Alex, this is my wife Charlotte.’