by Alan Gibbons
Paul went to her coffin, leaned forward and pressed his lips to the lid. It was the kiss of a man who has come back from the dead, but has left somebody he loved behind in the shadows. One by one at first, then in ever-growing groups, the mourners went forward and wrote their messages in felt-tip pen, black on the surface of the casket. Then it was a short walk to the plot where Rosie would lie beneath a yew tree, wind-ravaged and twisted by the storms that whipped off the moors. There were poems by Keats and Shelley, then a tall, lean man emerged from the crowd of mourners. He had a mane of raven-black hair.
‘My name is Marcus Gould,’ he said. ‘I am the lead singer of Cast a White Shadow.’
This was one of Rosie’s favourite bands. They were very bleak and lyrical.
‘I am humbled that Rosie loved our music. I met her at the Whitby Goth Weekend one time. Rosie had to be different. She was wearing some kind of punk getup, with a tartan skirt and torn leggings. She told me she would like to write a song for me to sing. That will never happen now, but I can read a poem for her to mark her passing. Nothing will hurt you now, Rosie. Be at peace.’
Then he closed his eyes and read the poem from memory, intoning it like some magical spell:
‘You climbed to the top of the hill
And there you held the night by the hand
And the moon was high
And your future beyond the clouds
Was as bright as Sirius.
You did not know then
That there were people
Who lived in shadows,
And never saw
The brightness in the sky.
You stood at the top of the hill
And the night wind fluttered
In your hair, your skirts,
And no earthbound thing
Could hurt you.
You did not know then
That there were people
Whose eyes were closed
To the light of Sirius
And could not see beyond the clouds.
You climbed to the top of the hill
And the distant sea
Boomed and roared and shouted
To you to ride its mighty waves
And travel far beyond our shores.
You did not know then
That there were people
Who did not hear the waves
Or the singing of the sea
And were deaf to music.
You led me to the top of the hill
And you held me by the hand
And the moon was high,
But you left me then
To watch the light of Sirius alone.’
There was no applause. It wouldn’t have been right. So we walked away, each with our own thoughts whispering in our minds. Jess caught up with me. I still remember what she said.
‘I want to comfort you, Evie, but I don’t know how. Why do words fail when you need them most? Oh God, if anything like that happened to my brother, I don’t know what I would do.’
SO WHAT HAPPENS NOW?
Monday, 17 March 2014
They called it a cooling-off period. I was to stay off school for the rest of the week and for the trial. Anthony would also stay at home for a day or two. It would give things ‘time to settle down’ as Mr McKechnie put it. I wondered how the loss of my sister or the breakup of my parents’ marriage would settle down. It wasn’t like waiting for a headache to go. This was a pain so sharp, so real, sometimes I doubled up with it. Anthony had stood by while they kicked Rosie to death. Even after that, he had refused to act as a witness. In my eyes, there was no way back for him, no matter how he pleaded for forgiveness. He was beyond redemption.
The trial was in Preston, at the Crown Court. We parked in the multi-storey car park across the road and made our way over to the red brick building with its curved canopy entrance. It looked a bit like a school at first glance.
I had seen victims’ families on the news before. I had watched them descend the steps outside the court and cluster round to make their statement to the press. Their faces were always grim. They always said the same thing. They were serving a life sentence. I was only now beginning to understand what they meant. I had had this idea that the trial would bring some kind of closure. Seeing how mean and ordinary the temple of justice really was, I no longer had any confidence that the verdict would solve anything. Whatever happened, the killers would live and Rosie would remain in her white casket in a Lancashire crematorium.
Mum went in to see the barrister. The seating area was a kind of long gallery in which the calm, the twitchy, the depressed and the arrogant gathered. I could see people from the other cases that were being heard the same day. There were family members who looked deeply ashamed to be there, but still others who took it in their stride, talking loudly about previous appearances, treating the whole process with contempt.
My phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen.
Thinking of you. Jess x.
Then Mum was back.
‘Nothing much is going to happen today,’ she said. ‘They are all pleading guilty to Section 18.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Grievous bodily harm with intent. Assault basically.’
‘Is that it?’ I cried. ‘Assault? They killed her!’
Mum gave me a reassuring smile.
‘I haven’t finished, love. One of them is pleading guilty to murder.’
‘Does that mean it’s over?’ I asked, more in hope than belief. ‘What about Bradley Gorman?’
I heard the catch in her voice.
‘He is pleading guilty to Section 18, but not guilty to murder.’
‘You’re joking!’
Mum could barely say the other boys’ names.
‘This one had blood on his socks and in his trainers. The evidence against him is overwhelming. There is less forensic evidence against Gorman. He thinks he can get away with GBH.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘The barrister has tomorrow to rewrite the prosecution. Bradley Gorman will face trial for murder alone on Wednesday.’
We sat through the proceedings. My gaze wandered over to the defendant closest. For a second he met my look. When he was charged with GBH, he caught my eye again and my heart thudded. I leaned over to Mum, revulsion choking off my breath.
‘Do they even care?’
Tuesday, 18 March 2014
Jess was as true as steel from start to finish. She came round every evening to tell me what was happening in school. Mostly, she just sat while I talked, which was a change. It was usually the other way round.
‘He smirked. But wasn’t he ashamed?’
‘None of them were. You should have seen the way they sat in court, lounging back in their seats, staring up at the ceiling while the clerk read out what they had done. Jess, it was unbelievable. Do you know we bumped into their families on the way out?’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing really. Nobody said anything. It was the way they looked at us, as if we were the ones who had done something wrong.’
Jess grimaced.
‘I’m glad I’ve never had to meet people like that.’
‘But you have. What about Jake Lomas and Connor Hughes?’
‘Eve, Jake and Connor are disgusting, but they’re not like those killers, for goodness’ sake. They’re stupid little boys who can’t grow up. Seriously, don’t worry about Connor. He’s more to be pitied than blamed.’
‘I bet that’s what Rosie thought when she saw those guys waiting for her. These people don’t go round with “psycho” tattooed on their foreheads. Something takes over, a kind of pack instinct.’ I took her hands. ‘They played a tape in court.’
‘Tape?’
‘It was a recording of a call to the emergency services. The onlookers weren’t all like Anthony. One witness, a girl, phoned 999 for an ambulance. There was a recording of the message.’
‘What did it say?’
‘You could hear her crying ov
er and over again, “We need an ambulance at Cartmel Park. These lads have banged a mosher for no reason. His girlfriend is on the ground too. Everyone is still on them, kicking them and stuff.”’ I struggled to carry on. ‘Oh God, Jess, there were voices in the background shouting for them to get off.’
‘Eve . . .’
‘This poor girl who tried to help, she was pleading with the phone operator not to let anyone know who she was. She was terrified of what the gang might do to her. That’s what it must be like knowing those animals.’
Jess’s head sagged forward.
‘And Anthony must have witnessed all that.’
Thursday, 20 March 2014
Rehana and Hannah waited up the road from the school gates.
‘What’s this,’ I asked, ‘moral support?’
Rehana linked arms.
‘Something like that. Are you OK?’
‘A bit nervous.’
‘You’ve no need to be,’ Jess said. ‘You did what you had to. People admire you for it.’
‘You drew attention to Anthony Broad and the scum who attacked your sister,’ Hannah said. ‘You’re a legend.’
I didn’t feel like a legend. My chest was crushed in a vice. All I could see was a figure in black spraying her bottle of fake blood then dissolving into tears. As heroic gestures went, it was pretty pathetic. I wasn’t Eve Morrison, Year 11, mousey-haired, five foot four with a bum that bit too big and hips a bit too broad. I was the kid whose sister died, the kid who threw blood. I was the Fury. As we approached the pupil entrance with its electronically operated door, its worn, blue carpets, I wanted to run, to escape to the hills, just me, like a statue, gazing down at the world without thoughts, without memories, without pain and regret. I wanted to be the girl from Marcus Gould’s poem. I wanted to accept the invitation to ride the mighty waves and travel far beyond England’s shores, far beyond Shackleton and Brierley and the sordid proceedings at Preston Crown Court. I wanted to be a creature like Rosie, free of the crawling entrails of death, retribution and justice. Was that too much to ask, to be free, to be at peace with the world, to just be me?
AN ENDLESS VOID
Friday, 4 April 2014
I had one last day off school for the final day of the trial. The first defendant stood to hear the verdict. Even at that moment I thought I saw a smirk at the edges of his mouth. The judge’s final remarks were brief.
‘You have been found guilty of murder. You attacked without provocation, beating two innocent people to the ground and kicking one of them to death. You acted without conscience and you have shown no remorse. A date will be set for sentencing.’
His mother sat impassively while the judge ordered that the names of all five defendants be made public. I got up to leave the court and glimpsed a familiar face. Dad was two rows behind us.
‘How long have you been there?’ I asked.
‘I slipped in half an hour ago.’
We stood in front of the court in bright sunlight while the press waited for the policeman in charge of the case to speak. George Howard was next to Mum while his boss, Detective Superintendent Anne Walker, made a statement. Dad declined an invitation to step forward.
‘This is the most violent case I have had to deal with in my entire career,’ DS Walker said. ‘Even now I do not think that the brutality of this attack has been acknowledged. The attackers assaulted two innocent young people. They revelled in kicking them and stamping on them while they lay helpless on the ground. Their victims were unable to defend themselves.’
Mum stepped forward. Her voice was firm and clear, but I noticed her fingers twitching away behind her back. Instinctively, I knew what she wanted and took her hand in mine. She was cold, so cold.
‘On behalf of my family, I would like to thank the police for their efforts in bringing Rosie’s attackers to court.’
I glanced back at Dad. Reluctantly, he shuffled forward. ‘We are proud to have known Rosie. She was funny and gentle, caring and brave. In contrast to the five youths who set upon Paul and Rosie, she was full of empathy for others. She was a joy to know and love. We will never see her grow to be the confident, successful woman I know she would have become. She will never walk through the door and shout hello. I would give everything I own just to see her smile once more and call me Mum.’
That’s where the horror really lay. How could she be gone? I linked Mum’s arm and leaned into her. My head was on her shoulder.
‘There is one more thing I have to say. This is not an isolated incident. I hope that people seeing this on their television sets will realise that we are all different in our own ways. That is what makes us human. I hope that they will spread the word that nobody deserves to be attacked for the way they choose to dress. Thank you.’
With that, it was over. Dad nodded briefly and slipped away outside the court. Mum and I walked to the car in silence. We stood in the echoing vastness of the car park, the slam of a door reverberating a few metres away.
‘That’s it then,’ Mum said. ‘Ready to go, love?’
‘Give me a minute, eh?’
I walked to the wall of the car park and gazed down at the street below. People were hurrying this way and that, all on their way somewhere or on their way back. I felt so alone. Six months earlier I had known exactly what the future had in store for me, GCSEs, A levels, university. Life was OK. I knew where I was going. Suddenly all I could see ahead of me was an endless void.
Charlie found Anthony sitting alone on a bench at the back of the Science block. He had his blazer wrapped round him.
‘You not going in for lunch?’
Anthony shook his head and handed him his phone.
‘Have you forgotten what day it is?’
Charlie read the headline.
‘Nothing you could have done, mate.’
‘Yes, there was. Gollum tried to pull the attackers off. Then there was that girl. She called 999. I did nothing.’
‘You were scared. It could happen to anyone.’
‘It happened to me.’ He pounded his fist on the bench. ‘To me!’
Charlie handed the phone back.
‘I don’t even know what happened,’ Anthony continued. ‘Was I scared? It didn’t feel like fear. It’s as if I was standing behind one of those glass walls. I could see what was happening, but it didn’t seem to be happening in the same world.’ He shoved the phone in his blazer pocket. ‘Do you understand that?’
Charlie raised his hand in a gesture that distanced himself.
‘Anthony, how am I meant to understand what went on that night? It’s not the kind of thing that happens very often, is it? I’ve only seen a couple of incidents of violence in my whole life, nothing heavy, a bit of push and shove, a few threats. That’s it. All this . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It’s way out of my experience.’
‘I wish it had been way out of mine.’ Anthony shuffled to the left to let Charlie sit down.
‘The way I see it, Anthony, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know if there’s anything you could have done. Only you know that. I can say this – you didn’t kill that girl. You didn’t egg them on. Mate, worst thing you did was to walk on by. So you’re no Good Samaritan. Why do you think that story’s such a big deal? It’s not because people go to help. It’s because they don’t. The Good Samaritan is unusual, that’s the point. People look the other way. That Gollum guy, he’s some kind of hero for what he did.’
‘Why can’t we all be like him? I should have helped him. He begged me to.’
‘You didn’t, though, did you? There’s nothing you can do to change it. You’re going to have to find a way to live with it.’
‘That’s it, though, Charlie. I can’t.’
My phone buzzed and danced on the window seat. I wasn’t in any mood to talk, but I picked up anyway and read the caller ID.
‘Hi Jess.’
‘I saw you on TV. Was that your dad at the back?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your mum was fab, so strong.’
‘She was, wasn’t she?’ Not me, though. ‘Look, Jess, I’m not being funny, but let’s talk about something else.’
‘That’s why I called. You need to get out of the house. Did you remember about the Bridleway Walk?’
The Bridleway was a six-hour loop around the valley. They had been holding the walk for three years now to raise money for charity. Shackleton had a link with some trust that helped get books and other materials into schools in Malawi.
‘There’s been too much going on. When is it?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Of course, all those posters around school.
‘Jess, I can’t. Mum needs me.’
‘Needs you for what?’ she called.
I didn’t know she was in the next room. I knew I was done for.
‘It’s the Bridleway Walk.’
‘You should go. Get out of the house. It will do you good.’
I couldn’t hide the sigh.
‘OK, Jess,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there. What time?’
‘My dad’s driving me to the starting point. We’ll pick you up at eight. You need a packed lunch, strong shoes, a waterproof coat.’
Another release of breath. ‘I’ll be ready.’
I hung up and found Mum in her room.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I found these old photo albums. Remember this?’
There were a few pages of snaps from our holiday in Florida. I must have been about seven. Rosie was eleven.
‘I was already catching up with her then.’
‘Yes, Rosie got really crabby about it.’
‘Did she?’
‘Not half. She was the big sister and she knew you would be towering over her within a couple of years.’
We turned the pages, laughing at the shared memories.
‘All the love you put into your children. You change their nappies, wipe their noses, bath them, teach them their numbers and alphabet. You push them round in the pram, take them on days out, listen when they’re upset, nurse them when they’re ill. You do all that and somebody can destroy them in a second.’