Devisha Ambo stood up.
‘Mrs May, in all your conversations with Miss Clarke, was there any point at which she suggested that she wished to harm Mr North?’
‘No. Absolutely not. She just didn’t know what to do to make him stop hurting her.’
‘So she was trying to come up with a plan to stop him?’
Mrs May glared at the prosecutor. ‘That’s not what I said.’
‘You’ve already told us that she had tried talking to him, so what else could it be but a plan?’
Mrs May looked uncomfortable, and Devisha didn’t give her a moment to recover.
‘Did Miss Clarke at any point suggest that she wanted to seek revenge on him for all he had done to her? Perhaps use phrases that might suggest that he would “get what was coming to him” or similar?’
Mrs May’s eyes opened wide. ‘She didn’t, but I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. I couldn’t understand it – she was so nice about him. She tried to be fair and to explore with me whether it could be her fault. I told her that it was no such thing. There was no excuse. None.’
Devisha studied her notes and Mrs May glanced anxiously at Harriet, who tried to give her a reassuring nod.
‘Mrs May – you say you suggested that if Miss Clarke wanted to leave Mr North, you could provide her with a list of shelters, is that correct?’
‘I wasn’t trying to push her – I just wanted her to know that there were options.’
‘That’s okay. Nobody is accusing you of saying anything inappropriate. But did Miss Clarke mention to you at this point that she in fact was a volunteer at exactly the sort of shelter you were recommending?’
Mrs May’s eyebrows drew together and she glanced at Evie. ‘Well, no. I don’t remember her saying anything about it.’
‘Don’t you find it odd that someone who worked at a shelter for abused women should call the Samaritans when she had a host of well-qualified people to whom she could turn?’
Debbie May’s face cleared and the corners of her mouth lifted. ‘Not at all. When people are in trouble, they like anonymity. For some there’s an unwarranted sense of shame attached to their mistreatment. They’ve already probably been made to feel worthless by their partner, and the thought of the pity of others is too much for them to bear.’
Harriet sat back with relief. Well said, Debbie. The prosecutor had had a reasonable chance to strike a blow there, but she’d missed.
46
Cleo made it to the ladies’ bathroom just in time. There was nothing much to come up from her stomach – only the cup of coffee she’d had when she arrived at the court. She had hardly been able to eat since the trial started, but today had been the worst day by far. The knowledge that Evie had been calling the Samaritans for months somehow hit her harder than any of the other evidence. In her own mind she had been able to find explanations for everything else that had been said, dismissing the allegations as lies. But the thought that Mark had been traumatised each time he went away was devastating. She had been the one to persuade him – every single time – to go.
Was all this her fault? Did it mean that what they had been saying about Mark might be true? That he did hurt Evie? No. No! She still refused to believe it. Every niggle of doubt that crept into her mind was vigorously pushed away, and she would never give up the fight to prove his innocence.
She collapsed onto the floor of the cubicle, her back against the door, trying to suppress the sobs that were ripping her apart. She pulled up her knees and rested her forehead on them, her hands clasped behind her head, pushing her face down to muffle the sounds she was making.
‘Cleo?’ She thought she was hearing things when someone said her name. But the voice came again, stronger. ‘Cleo, it’s Aminah. Come out, love – let me look after you.’
‘Go away, Aminah. I can’t bear to look at you after what you said. How could you tell the court that Mark hit Evie? You’ve known him for years!’
She heard a deep sigh. ‘I didn’t say he’d hit her, Cleo. I said she had a black eye, and she tried to hide it from me. I never said it was Mark.’
‘You didn’t need to, did you? Who else could it be? And why couldn’t you say that she might very well have been kicked in the eye by Lulu? Not everyone is as adept at changing a nappy as you are.’
‘Cleo, stop this. I told the truth. I made nothing up, and even you have to admit that if Lulu really had given her the black eye she wouldn’t have felt she had to hide it from me. She would have let me in and we’d have had a bloody good laugh about it. I know how much all of this is hurting you, love. It must be unbearable and I don’t know why you’re forcing yourself to listen. Come on, get yourself out of there and let me give you a hug.’
Cleo didn’t want to get off the floor. Somehow, with her back against the door, cramped into a small space with her arms and legs protecting her, she felt safe. But she couldn’t stay here all night, and she had no idea what time the court building would be closing.
‘I’m not going anywhere until you come out,’ Aminah said, and Cleo knew she meant it so she wearily started to push herself up off the floor. She got one foot beneath her and suddenly had to reach out for the toilet bowl. The room was spinning and she closed her eyes and gasped for air.
‘What’s going on? Cleo, are you okay?’
She steadied herself and risked opening her eyes. The walls were staying in the same place.
‘I’m okay. I felt a bit light-headed. That’s all.’
‘Jesus, when was the last time you ate anything?’
Cleo opened the door to find Aminah rooting in her handbag. ‘Here, have these,’ she said, thrusting a half-eaten packet of chocolate buttons into her hand.
Cleo opened her mouth and upended the packet.
‘Bloody hell – now I know you’re not yourself,’ Aminah said, putting her arm round Cleo to pull her close. ‘Come on. Let’s get you sat down with a cup of tea or something and then I’ll take you home. Zahid and I will come back to pick your car up later. You can’t drive like this.’
For a moment Cleo rested her head on Aminah’s comfortable shoulder.
‘It’s all bollocks, you know,’ she said.
Aminah said nothing and Cleo pulled away slightly, twisting her neck to give her a fierce look, hoping she could get through to her friend. ‘I’ve told the police officer that there’s something odd about the garage door being open when you went round – I don’t know if they’ll do anything about it, though.’
She saw Aminah bite on her bottom lip, her brows drawing together. She obviously thought Cleo was making too much of this. Cleo could hear the urgency in her own voice and tried to bring it down a notch to convince her friend that she was thinking logically.
‘It’s not just that, Aminah. It’s all the other stuff. I can’t imagine Mark doing any of those things. When I listened to the evidence about the light switch, it was all so wrong. Mark wouldn’t have wanted it to be dark. He never liked the dark.’
‘Oh come on, Cleo! We’ve had this conversation before, and I think you’re exaggerating.’
‘No,’ Cleo said, pushing herself away from Aminah and going to lean on the wash basins. ‘I don’t mean he was scared. He always said that when it was completely black he felt as if he was alone in the world, and he hated that. The stuff about him wanting to hurt Evie in the dark is crap.’
She had to convince Aminah. She needed just one person to believe she was right, one person who didn’t believe Mark was the devil.
‘Please, Aminah, I’m telling you the truth. When Mum left us, Mark’s sense of isolation became worse. And then with the bullying he had to put up with at school – just because he was a bit different – he began to feel that home was the only safe place, with those who loved him. Well – me, I suppose. He couldn’t even bear going on a school trip or staying overnight at a friend’s house.’
‘Surely that all ties in with what the woman from the Samaritans said. If he was suffering from this sep
aration disorder, or whatever it was called, wouldn’t that make his trips away from home all the more difficult? If he had a fear of bad things happening to people he loved when he was away, how much worse must it have become since Mia died when he left her alone?’
Cleo didn’t want to think about Mia.
‘Typical of Evie to find some disorder to clutch onto. Even if it’s true, can you honestly imagine Mark doing the things that have been described? Come on, Aminah. Can you? Really?’
Aminah folded her arms and took a deep breath. ‘In all honesty, I can’t imagine anyone committing half the horrors that go on in the world. The truth is, Cleo, that however close we are to someone, we never truly know what’s in their heart.’
Cleo felt her chest tighten. She knew Aminah was right, but she couldn’t admit it. There was one secret that had loomed large between her and Mark, both of them too scared to admit to the other what they had done. And now it was too late.
47
Harriet and Boyd are worried – I can see it in their faces. I know they have done an excellent job and Boyd has torn some of the witnesses to pieces. Especially Cleo. But they can’t predict the vagaries of a jury, and there is a fine balance here between indisputable facts and conjecture.
I thought I was resigned to whatever was going to happen, but thoughts of Lulu have weakened me. I can’t let them know that, though. My hands are clasped tightly in my lap, hidden from view, and I dig my thumbnails into my palms to keep me focused.
‘What do you need me to do?’ I ask them, my voice level.
‘We’ve always known that to have the best chance of convincing the jury of your innocence, you might have to take the stand,’ Harriet says, her voice brisk and business-like as ever. ‘If you do, you will have to account for why you told Mark your father was paying for the photographs. In my opinion it’s not relevant to his death, but it serves to demonstrate your overall reliability and honesty. If you lied about that, what else have you lied about? Do you see what I mean?’
I nod at them, knowing exactly what I’m going to say and how I will excuse myself.
‘Then we have to prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that you lost control as a result of a fear of extreme violence. I believe there is ample proof of Mark’s cruelty, but there must be nothing to suggest your actions were either premeditated or an act of revenge. I can’t stress that strongly enough.’
‘So you’ve decided it’s necessary for me to give evidence?’ I ask, knowing what she will say.
I can tell Harriet cares about what happens to me, even when she’s being brusque. I am something of a flagship client for her. She believes strongly that not enough is done to help abused women, and if she wins this case, she will have an even bigger platform to shout from.
‘We would have preferred to rely on your police interview transcript rather than giving the prosecution a chance to question you, but we need the jury to believe in you. And the judge has to be convinced of your honesty, because whatever the jury says the sentencing is ultimately under his control. Nobody else can win their hearts and minds, Evie. Only you.’
I know, of course, that the knife is going to be a big issue. But then I’ve always known that.
‘The fact that technically the marks on your chest and arms could have been self-inflicted is a worry and I’m certain Devisha will want to go to town on that. But we know – although the jury doesn’t – that you have old scars on your back that were highly unlikely to have been made by you. We’re going to need to see them. That’s another reason why we want you to take the stand, because there is no other way of bringing that evidence to court.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, thinking for a moment I’m going to have to expose my back in court.
‘We’ll show them a photograph of your back. And I’m afraid you’re going to have to say how it happened. You still haven’t told me, and before we put you on the stand, you’re going to have to. I can’t defend you and neither can Boyd if we don’t know the truth, Evie. You’ve got to tell me.’
I’m going to have to unearth so many memories that I would prefer to stay buried but I mustn’t let them weaken me. I need to be strong – to ensure I don’t make any mistakes.
‘Okay, take my picture and Boyd can ask me about the scars. Ask me about other injuries too, why not? I can give you a list.’
Harriet leans towards me. ‘This isn’t Mark we’re talking about, is it, Evie?’
‘No. Long before Mark and nothing to do with Nigel – my husband – either.’
Part of me wants to hold it back, because I don’t want to have to say it more than once, but I know they’re not going to go for that. They need to know everything so they can ask me the right questions.
I’ve never told anyone before. Mark knew about the scars, of course, as did Nigel. But neither of them got the truth, and I’m terrified that telling my story might burst the dam holding it all in – and then God knows what else I might reveal.
But I have no choice. I stutter over the words and my skin feels clammy with sweat, but I tell them. Every last detail. And I see Harriet’s eyes grow wide with shock and disbelief.
48
Stephanie had decided that she was going to give herself a few treats over the weekend. She had been stressed for too long; working with Gus and not being able to fully commit to his conviction that Evie Clarke had committed a carefully staged murder had taken its toll.
To take her mind off things, the next couple of days were going to be full of self-indulgence. She loved to cook but rarely found the time, so she was going to make her favourite winter dish – a hot, spicy chilli – and while the meat was simmering in the oven she was going to soak in a scented bath, surrounded by candles. And she wasn’t going to think about Gus. Not for one minute.
The water for her bath was running and she had just tipped in a good helping of oil when the front doorbell rang.
‘Damn it,’ she said. She wanted to ignore it, but somehow in her job it never felt like the appropriate thing to do. Grabbing an old towelling bathrobe off the back of the bathroom door and turning off the tap, she made her way downstairs.
She could see his wide shoulders outlined through the frosted glass of the front door. What the hell was he doing here today? Surely it couldn’t be anything to do with a case? They had all agreed that they were due a quiet weekend.
With a tut, she opened the door. ‘Gus,’ she said by way of greeting.
‘What is that delicious smell?’ he asked, barging past her into the house, sniffing the air.
‘Erm – I don’t remember inviting you in?’ she said. ‘I’m busy. What do you want?’
‘I want some of whatever you’re cooking, that’s for sure.’
‘Well you’re not having any – so bugger off.’
‘Come on, Steph. You know we need to talk, and not about work. You avoid being on your own with me. Even when we got stuck in that bar together you scurried off as soon as I mentioned anything slightly personal. Obviously getting soaked to the skin was preferable to talking to me.’ Gus’s tone softened. ‘A conversation is well overdue, I think. Can we talk?’
Stephanie stayed by the door, her arms folded. ‘Well go on then.’
‘Come and sit down, or go and have your bath and I’ll watch the telly until you’ve finished. Look – we’ve got on well enough over the last few weeks, haven’t we? I’m prepared for anything you want to fling at me, but it feels like we’re both swirling in a spin dryer, pinned to opposite sides of the drum.’
Stephanie felt herself begin to give a little. Maybe Gus was right. Maybe she was stubborn.
Gus carried on into the house and plonked himself down on the sofa in exactly the spot where he always used to sit. Stephanie felt a strange sensation in her chest – almost as if she was finding it hard to breathe. She walked across to the seat opposite him and perched on the edge.
‘Relax, Stephie,’ he said. ‘Shall I open a bottle or something?’
She al
most twitched when he called her Stephie, a name he used rarely and only with affection.
‘No – you won’t swan around here as if it’s still your second home. Say what you want to say, and then go.’
Gus tried and failed to hide a smile. ‘You’re determined to make this as difficult as possible, aren’t you? Okay – first things first.’ He breathed deeply and looked straight into her eyes. ‘I am so very sorry that I wasn’t thrilled when you told me you were having our baby. It was a huge surprise. I didn’t know if I was ready to be a parent, and up until then I had felt fairly certain,’ he held his hands up to ward off the defence he was going to get, ‘that you weren’t either. I realise now that I was wrong. But if you’d given me a moment to think about it, I genuinely believe I would have been delighted. But you didn’t wait. You took control. Your resilience, strength and determination are some of the things I love most about you, but you’re so quick to make decisions, and some of us just need a beat or two longer.’
Stephanie couldn’t speak. She was stunned by the realisation that Gus had totally misunderstood what had happened.
‘Why did you chuck me out, Steph?’ he asked gently. ‘We should have talked about it, made the right decision – whatever that was – together. It must have been hell for you to do what you did when you were all on your own.’
‘What did I do, Gus?’ Stephanie said quietly.
‘I don’t blame you for having a termination – it was your decision to make. But why kick me out?’
Stephanie was still. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘For a policeman, you can be unbelievably thick,’ was all she said.
‘What does that mean? I loved you – I still bloody love you. But you are so determined to do things your way that you don’t allow anyone else to have an opinion. I would have got used to the idea – welcomed it. I would never have let you go through any part of it alone.’
‘Got used to the idea? Jesus. It was a baby. You make it sound like I swapped your posh car for a skanky one without telling you.’
And So It Begins Page 20