by H S Chandler
‘We argued,’ Maria told the jury calmly. ‘It was silly really. She was only trying to help.’
The truth was something she was less proud of.
‘Come on, Ria,’ Andrea had said. ‘I’m on your side. Everyone makes mistakes, I just don’t want to see you regret yours for the rest of your life.’ There had been tears in her eyes. Maria knew her friend was fighting not to break down completely.
‘We probably shouldn’t talk about Edward any more,’ Maria had replied. ‘You obviously aren’t rational when it comes to him.’
‘This isn’t about me,’ Andrea’s voice was low and husky. ‘I know this is bad, Maria. I can feel it. Just leave. Come and stay at my place while you get on your feet again. You don’t even have to go back there. We can buy you new clothes, shoes. Whatever you need.’ She’d reached out a hand across the table, resting it on Maria’s shoulder.
‘Would you just fucking quit it? I don’t need your help. I’m not sure what you think you know, but you’re wrong. I’m happy. Maybe you just can’t cope with being replaced.’
Andrea’s hand flew off her shoulder as if she’d been stung. Her eyes closed and her head fell. Maria felt the shame of her nastiness like a burn that would scar her forever.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I didn’t mean that. I’m overtired. Shit, I’m going to miss my bus.’ She grabbed her bag and reached for her purse, faltering as she realised that Edward hadn’t budgeted for her to buy extras like the hot chocolate.
Maria looked back at James Newell, trying to get past the awful memory of ripping into her best friend.
‘Andrea paid for the hot chocolate. She had to. Edward was setting me an allowance by then. I wasn’t allowed extras to buy myself anything. I took sandwiches for lunch and had a weekly bus pass so I didn’t need cash. As we were leaving Andrea told me she’d been accepted into the army. She was due to leave for Sandhurst within the month. In spite of our argument, she promised to post me her new contact details once she got there. The army had always been her dream. I hadn’t even known she’d got around to applying. I told her I was pleased although I was shocked that she was actually leaving, and a bit jealous. She was escaping, properly. From Bristol, from meaningless little jobs. From me.’
‘How did the two of you leave things?’ Newell asked.
‘She told me I was still her best mate, and she tried to hug me.’ Maria frowned. ‘I don’t think I hugged her back. By then I was frantic about not missing my bus, and hurt that she was leaving. I just didn’t know how to tell her that. Also, I knew Edward would hate me hugging her. That sounds stupid, I know, but he was very specific that no one else should touch me. Anyone at all. I ran for the bus, wishing I could go back and start the evening again. It didn’t occur to me that it would be the last time I’d see her.’
‘Do you need a moment, Ms Bloxham?’ the judge asked.
Maria shrugged, looking confused. The court usher stood up and offered a box of tissues to dry her face. She hadn’t even realised she’d been crying.
‘Thank you,’ Maria said, cleaning herself up.
‘That’s quite all right,’ the judge smiled kindly. ‘Continue when you feel ready.’
Maria took a deep breath. ‘On the bus, I toyed with the idea of not telling Edward I’d seen Andrea. It seemed ridiculous, feeling uncomfortable about spending time with an old friend, but Edward had never taken to Andrea. The atmosphere between them had been stilted, almost competitive on Edward’s behalf. I’d persuaded myself it was charming, Edward wanting me to himself. Any sensible woman would feel lucky, I thought. When I got home, I prepared dinner as normal, put some washing on and lit the fire, making sure there was a glass of red wine breathing so he could enjoy it as soon as he came in. He was very particular about how his wine should be served. By the time he came through the door, I was bursting to tell him about Andrea, to stop myself from blurting it out later on, which would only have caused a worse argument.
‘I kissed him on the cheek, then took his briefcase and overcoat. “You’ll never guess what happened to me today,” I said. “I ran into Andrea as I was leaving work. Isn’t that odd?”
‘“You just ran into her?’ he asked. ‘That hardly seems credible. How long has my wine been breathing?” I remember thinking, maybe that was the end of the conversation. Perhaps he would leave it there. I was so relieved. I told him his wine had been breathing for half an hour, only it was maybe just fifteen minutes. I was wondering if he’d notice the difference.
‘“So where exactly did you run into Andrea?” he asked. I knew by his tone of voice that he already suspected something was wrong. I decided it was easier to just be honest about it, so I told him she was waiting for me at work, but I made a point of being clear that I hadn’t known she would be there. If he thought I’d made plans without telling him in advance he really would have been cross. He asked what she wanted, made some comment about us gossiping and wasting our time, then kicked off his shoes and took his wine into the lounge. I realised I was expected to follow him.
‘I explained that she was off to join the army and fiddled with the firewood so I could keep my back to him. It was easier not to tell him everything if I didn’t have to look him in the eye. It didn’t work. He asked what I wasn’t telling him and I tried to brush it off. That was my mistake. I said he was being silly. Edward didn’t like being called silly. He found it offensive. I apologised at once, but then he accused me of deceiving him about my conversation with Andrea. Looking back, I must have been a wreck. I bet he knew there was something wrong from the moment he stepped through the door. He was just waiting for me to spill it. I was always so nervous around him.’
Imogen Pascal folded her arms and tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling, pretending to be bored, knowing the subliminal message she was sending to the jury was that they should be feeling bored too. This was a distraction, her body language told them, just so much fluff to dull the final blow. Maria told herself not to let it get to her. This was her moment. If she let Miss Pascal win now, all her careful hours of deciding what to say – and what to omit – would have been for nothing.
‘Edward looked me up and down, this smug little grin on his face. “You forgot to put your apron on,” he said. “Just look at you: what a mess. Your face is flushed, not in an attractive way. I know you, Maria. You can’t lie to me. What did Andrea say? Something about me, I suppose. She could never stand the fact that you’d found a husband and she hadn’t. Nothing uglier in a woman than jealousy. Come and sit next to me.” He patted the couch next to him. I didn’t want to sit down. Edward was always at his nicest right before he taught me a lesson.’
‘Taught you a lesson?’ Newell queried.
‘His words, not mine, as if I was a naughty schoolgirl. He liked to make it clear how ignorant I was. I think that was his favourite word for me. I told him I needed to change my skirt as I didn’t want to get soot on the leather. He said I should do as my husband told me. He quite often referred to himself in the third person. He added that there would be plenty of time for me to clean the sofa later. He was smiling as he said it, but his face was pinched and hard, as if the muscles were seizing up. I sat down. “There’s something I should have told you and I regret not having done so at the time, but I’d made my mind up to protect you from it,” he said. “At our wedding, Andrea, I believe having had too much to drink, took me aside. She was ranting about how you should have chosen a dress size up, how your hair didn’t flatter your face, I didn’t really pay much attention.”
‘I tried to interject, but my mouth wouldn’t make any sound. It didn’t sound like Andrea. I couldn’t see how she would do that to me. Not behind my back. After a while I asked if he was sure. He said – and I recall this word for word – he said, “I’m afraid so. Put enough drinks inside a woman and her tongue lashes like a snared snake.” Then he told me she’d offered herself to him. His phrasing. To start with I decided I must have misunderstood his meaning. I thought abou
t it for a while, tried to imagine it, but I still couldn’t believe it. I tried to clarify if something had actually happened between the two of them. He swore to me he’d never touched her.
‘Eventually it all sank in – the reality, not Edward’s version. I told him Andrea would never do that to me. I didn’t accuse him of lying, I never once had the courage to do that in our whole marriage. I did tell him he must have been mistaken though.’
She looked up. The courtroom was completely silent. Even Imogen Pascal was listening now. Maria had her back to the row of journalists but for once their pens were still. Everyone wanted to know how her husband had retaliated.
‘Edward wasn’t the sort of man you corrected,’ she said. ‘That didn’t only apply to me. I saw the replies he wrote to people who left bad reviews of his books and articles. He was unforgiving. So he asked me if I was forcing him to reveal the sordid details, knowing I wouldn’t be able to stand it. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’d have been extremely imaginative if I’d called his bluff. I simply told him that I believed Andrea loved me, and that it made no sense for her to have betrayed me.
‘He leaned close into my face, really close, and said, “What is it I have to do to prove my dedication to you, Maria? I provide for you and take care of you. You have this house, money when you need it … what do you want? Why am I suddenly someone who can’t be trusted?” That was when I made the most serious mistake I had until that point in our marriage. I told him that his version seemed unlikely … given that Andrea had never even liked him. I regretted it before I’d even closed my mouth. The look on his face was pure venom.
‘“Yet you continued to be friends with her? You faithless bitch,” he shouted, standing up. I could smell the wine on his breath, and his shoulders were up. He looked like an angry bull. I apologised. I remember being scared, properly scared for my safety, for the first time. He seemed so out of control. He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper, and leaned over to talk right into my ear. “You remained friends with a whore who pretended to hate me because she couldn’t have me, and you did nothing to end your relationship with her? We need to make some changes, Maria. I need to straighten up your priorities. I’ll eat dinner and decide on a strategy. You’d better go upstairs and consider how you’ve behaved and what you can do to improve yourself.”
‘I went. Even now I’m not sure why, but I was so used to doing as I was told that refusing seemed impossible. There was a moment when I considered arguing with him, but everything he’d said was right. I had stayed friends with Andrea knowing how she felt about Edward. In my heart I knew she hadn’t made a pass at Edward. Even if she’d liked him, she wouldn’t have done that to me. At the same time, I didn’t want to believe that my husband would lie to me about something so hurtful. I’d agreed to spend my life with him. The last thing I wanted to believe was that he would be that cruel and manipulative.’
She paused, picking up the glass and realising it was empty. No one moved. Every person in the court was on the edge of their seat. This was what power felt like, she realised. Knowing that an audience hung on your every word. It occurred to her that she could say whatever she wanted next. The point, though, was to stick to the truth, or as close to it as she could get. The fewer lies she told, the harder it would be for Imogen Pascal to prove she was lying.
‘What happened next?’ Newell asked.
Maria sighed. ‘As I reached our bedroom, I realised I was going to be sick. Fortunately I hadn’t eaten dinner, so it wasn’t that bad, but by the time I got off my knees in the bathroom Edward was watching me from the bed. He pretended to be concerned at first, told me to sit down on the bathroom floor in case I was ill again. I did as he suggested. My stomach was still cramping. Then he told me he’d left me a gift in the bathroom cupboard, below the sink, on the lowest shelf.
‘I opened the cupboard door, not knowing what to expect. Edward wasn’t given to buying gifts. There was a tiny blue plastic case on the shelf, two inches long and an inch wide. I flipped it open with my thumb nail.’
‘What was inside?’ Newell asked quietly.
‘Blades,’ Maria replied blandly. ‘Disposable razor blades.’
‘Why did your husband buy you razor blades?’ Newell’s voice was louder now, focusing everyone on the answer she was about to give.
‘To cut myself,’ she said, pulling the plastic pen shard from her hand and closing her fist over the wound to stop the bleeding before anyone noticed it. ‘He knew I’d cut myself as a teenager. We met when he was volunteering at a charity that offered support to self-harmers. Edward stopped as soon as we started seeing each other. Said it was a conflict of interests for him to be involved with me and in a position of trust. I fell for that, at the time.’
‘What do you mean, you fell for that?’ Newell asked.
Maria smiled and shrugged. ‘I was exactly what he wanted. Lost and pathetic. If I had to sum myself up back then, I’d say I was controllable. Everything Edward ever dreamed of.’
Imogen Pascal was on her feet in a heartbeat. ‘Your Honour, this is being presented to blacken the jury’s opinion of the victim.’
‘It’s part of the Bloxhams’ history,’ Newell countered. ‘And it will be backed up by the remainder of Ms Bloxham’s evidence.’
‘There’s no way for the prosecution or Dr Bloxham to answer these accusations. This is an entirely unique case. As such I ask that the jury be told to disregard this evidence,’ Miss Pascal persisted.
This time Maria was more careful to ask the judge’s permission before answering, raising her hand before she spoke.
‘Yes, Ms Bloxham,’ the judge said, adjusting her wig slightly, getting some cooler air below the horsehair.
‘The reason there’s no one who can back this up is because Edward planned it that way. I was never supposed to talk to anyone about my life. There weren’t meant to be witnesses. Had there been, I’d have found a way to leave him years earlier.’
The judge leaned back in her chair, fiddling with her pen lid and taking her time considering the arguments. Maria waited.
‘All right,’ she decided. ‘Miss Pascal, the test is relevance. As far as I can see, the evidence Ms Bloxham is giving goes to her perception of the state of the relationship so I’ll allow it. Be careful Mr Newell. I’m not going to allow an outright character assassination of Dr Bloxham. Keep to the point.’
Newell nodded. ‘Ms Bloxham, without assuming what was in your husband’s mind, would you explain exactly what happened?’
‘As I stared at the blades, Edward said, “I know this makes you feel better.” He’d asked me extensively about my history of self-harming. During our first few dates we didn’t really talk about much else. He seemed so understanding. I remember feeling grateful that I’d found someone who would accept me for who I was, without seeing me as damaged or a liability. I’d explained that cutting helped me feel in control of my life, as well as providing a release for a lot of negativity. I found it very hard to stop. I guess you could say I was addicted for a few years. That night, Edward was fully prepared, though. He’d even bought wound dressings and antiseptic spray. He told me he was willing to let me do it because he knew I needed it. He actually gave me permission, as if I should have been grateful.
‘I wanted to fight it. Andrea helped me stop the first time, but she was going off to the Army and I’d been so horrible to her that I couldn’t imagine she’d want to be my friend any more. It was just me and Edward. That’s all I remember thinking. Just him and me forever. I took a blade from the case and got a good grip on it. It was hard, my fingers were sweaty, so I took a bottle of talcum powder from the cupboard and coated my hands. It was like riding a bike. I sat with my back to the wall. You have to take precautions in case you pass out. Once I’d found a clear patch of skin on my thighs, I got ready to cut. He told me I was a good girl. His voice sounded distant. The only part of myself I could feel was my fingers. I used my forefinger and thumb to stretch the patch of skin so t
he cut wouldn’t snag, then I secured the blade with my thumb against my folded fingers. That gets you a good side angle, which keeps the cut shallow and limits the bleeding. I knew if the cut didn’t heal well it might require medical treatment and I didn’t want that. All those prying eyes and advice. I’d had enough of that the first time around. By then, I needed it. I was so upset and confused. Cutting myself had always given me a sort of relief. I knew it would make me feel better. It was that fast. After all that time having stopped, I touched one blade and I was hooked again. I didn’t even try to argue with him.
‘Edward asked if I was ready. I recall wanting to slam the door, to have the moment to myself, but letting him watch was a price I was prepared to pay, so I did my best to ignore the fact that he was there, leaning down low over my leg and just concentrating on that. I blew on it to get rid of any stray particles. It was an old habit. Then I sliced. The cut was the length of my thumb.’
In her mind, Maria could see it as if she was right there, all those years ago. Scarlet beads blossomed and spread, tiny rivulets of relief. No one had ever understood it was nothing short of an orgasm. The build-up, the moments waiting for the sensation to drive home, shuddering, eyes closed as the peak of the agony passed and soothing, healing blood brought her to rest. Nothing else mattered for a few, too brief, seconds. No one else existed. She was safe from the world. Everything was back under her control. The jury wouldn’t understand the terrible ecstasy of it, and she wasn’t stupid enough to try to explain it. At best they would think her mentally ill. At worst, she would come across as some sort of psychopath-in-waiting, which was exactly what Imogen Pascal and DI Anton wanted.
‘Edward interrupted once he’d seen enough. He said I should feel better after that, then reminded me to clean up the blood and talcum powder. I nodded at him like some pathetic mutt, so grateful. Isn’t that awful? Just so incredibly grateful.’