The Man Behind Closed Doors

by Maria Frankland

  “This charge has been reclassified from attempted murder to murder?” queries the judge, aside, studying a page before him.

  “Yes, your honour. It has. Mrs Jackson passed away four days after the incident took place.” The clerk continues, speaking in an authoritative voice, as he turns his attention back to Paul. “Paul Jackson. How do you plead to this charge? Guilty or not guilty?”

  Paul clears his throat and waits for eye contact with the judge. “Not guilty.” This time, his voice barely wavers. He then turns and faces the public gallery with his head held high.

  Several pens scratch on notepads.

  Simon gets to his feet. “May I address the court?” He waits for a nod from the judge before continuing. “Your honour. When Mr Jackson was first brought to court, bail was refused on the grounds he could interfere with witnesses to the allegation.” He speaks slowly, perhaps realising the importance of every word. “As you are aware, Mrs Jackson has passed away. Therefore, that scenario is no longer relevant.

  Mr Jackson would be willing to reside at his family home, surrender his passport, and report regularly at his local police station.” He glances towards Paul. “I would ask you to consider the fact he hasn’t had as much as a traffic offence in his lifetime. In addition, his conduct throughout his time on remand has been exemplary.”

  “From the papers before me, it appears that police attendance has been requested on three separate occasions for this family,” the judge flicks through the pages on his desk. “Can you clarify this please?”

  “No charges were ever brought against my client,” Simon replies. “In fact, on one of the occasions, you see that it was actually him who had been attacked and needed treatment.”

  “Very well.”

  “I would ask the court to grant bail, in order that Mr Jackson can return to his daughter until the time when his case returns for trial. You may be aware that she is suffering some psychological problems as a result of what has happened. There is nothing to be gained from keeping her apart from her father any longer.”

  A gangly woman, dressed similarly to Simon, springs up from the prosecution bench. “Your honour, may I speak?”

  “Go ahead.”

  The room is silent apart from a rustle as everyone turns their attention towards her.

  “The prosecution in this case refutes this request,” she begins. “It is upheld that a man, suspected and charged with the murder of his wife, the mother of his child, poses a threat to society, especially to women.” Pausing, she looks towards the public gallery.

  “It is recommended Paul Jackson continues to be held in custody until such time that he is cleared of all wrongdoing. This would maximise safety to the public, as well as safeguarding the reputation of the court. Also, it would ensure the defendant has no opportunity to interfere with the testimony of his daughter.” She sits down.

  Simon speaks again. “Your honour. I am aware of the severity of the charge. What the court is not aware of yet is the misery my client endured whilst trapped within his marriage. He has suffered enough as a victim himself and I would therefore reiterate my request for bail.”

  “There will be plenty of opportunity to argue these points during the trial.” Judge Lakin stands. “I am going take some moments to deliberate.” He then disappears through a curtain behind his bench.

  “You may sit.” The usher nods towards Paul whose entire body gives way onto the chair. The ensuing minutes are the longest of his life as he steals a look towards his few allies. Nick offers a thumbs up. Paul attempts to smile back. Several moments later, the collective movement of the court turns to the front bench, signalling the return of the judge.

  “All rise.”

  Paul can’t breathe. As he tries to avert his gaze from his feet, he cannot look up. Please let me out. Please!

  “Paul Alan Jackson. You are charged with the murder of your wife. To this charge you have pleaded not guilty. I am sure you and everyone in this room will agree, the charge of murder is about as serious as can be. The safety and wellbeing of the public is of paramount importance.

  It is for this reason, I have no choice but to order your retention in custody until such time that you are found not guilty by this court, if indeed you are. The comments made by your barrister are noted and I would recommend they form part of your defence. In view of the situation, I would ask the trial to be expedited in order that we can identify and ascertain the facts of what has occurred. I therefore recommend we reconvene within four weeks. Can we proceed to set a trial date?”

  All the adrenaline drains from Paul. Not wishing to see anybody’s expressions, he fixes his gaze to the floor.

  A voice sounds from somewhere at the front. “How about Monday 9th September, your honour? It is envisaged a week would need to be allocated for the trial.”

  All is in slow motion. Another month! The splaying sun mocks him through the skinny skylights of the courtroom. You’re going back. You’re going back! He can’t go back; he is running out of fight.

  Nick has his hand on David’s shoulder and Alana is hugging Susan. Alana is looking at him, over Susan’s shoulder, her expression indeterminate.

  “Can arrangements be made to assemble a jury? Monday the 9th September it is then.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  There had been a funny atmosphere most of the morning. Paul could sense something brewing.

  “I need to speak to you,” Michelle eventually said, half-asking-half-demanding. “It’s important.”

  “What about?” Paul’s lunch grumbled within him as he speculated over what was about to confront him. It could be anything.

  “Not in front of Emily.”

  Emily’s face crumpled at her mother’s dismissal. She flounced from the room without looking at either of them.

  Paul dutifully followed his wife as she took a seat at the kitchen table and fiddled with a place mat. Her gaze rested at Paul’s feet as he leaned against the kitchen counter. After what felt like an eternity, she looked at him.

  “What is it?” It had to be about Alana.

  “There’s no easy way to say this.” A maddening pause ensued. God, what was coming? It was like living in a soap opera. “I’ve slept with someone else.”

  “What?” His voice was low but it was as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest. “What did you say?”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you but now I’ve thought about it, you have a right to know.”

  “When?” His body was rigid. The tension was pulsing through his neck. She was making it up. She had to be. Perhaps she was more deranged than he had given her credit for.

  “Erm. Once or twice. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry!! You must to be joking.” Maybe this would explain her behaviour of late. She had been a right bitch.

  “Who with?” he felt sick.

  A ghost of a smile played upon her lips, making Paul wonder if she was somehow enjoying this admission. However, she was prone to smile nervously whenever she was involved in an awkward or sombre situation. She didn’t answer.

  The kitchen counter was propping him up now. It was a surreal sensation, as though he was viewing the conversation, rather than being a participant within it.

  The image of his wife writhing around with another man tortured him. “Did you use anything?”

  “What sort of a question is that?”

  Paul’s jaw was clenched so tightly, it was making his head ache.

  “No.”

  “You’ve put yourself at risk of pregnancy and God knows what. And me as well.” Storming across to the sink, he filled a glass with water and guzzled it straight down.

  “How can I be putting you at risk? We haven’t had sex for ages.”

  “And you wonder why?” A tidal wave of pain washed over him. “How could you do this to me?”

  “You don’t want to know me Paul.”

  “You’re my wife. My wife, the tart.” His voice remained low, in an effort to keep Emily unaware. “W
e’re supposed to be a family.” He slammed his glass onto the draining board. “You know what? You’re not worth it. He’s welcome to you.”

  Uncrossing her legs, she swivelled around in her chair to face him as he paced around the kitchen. “I had to tell you. I couldn’t live with it anymore.”

  “What? And I’m supposed to forgive you. Are you kidding?” He slammed his hand against the wall. It was sinking in. And she was telling the truth. At least, he thought she was. He didn’t know how they could come back from this.

  “Look, I know it won’t be easy but…”

  “It won’t be possible.” His voice rose. “How in God’s name could you do this to me?” He slammed his fist on the worktop. “After all we’ve been through. I can’t believe it.”

  Michelle got up and came towards him.

  “Get away from me. Don’t touch me!”

  “It’s your fault.” Her eyes were menacing now. “You’re hardly husband of the year.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You don’t do it for me anymore.”

  His body sprang into action. If he didn’t move out of her way, he was going to lose it. “I can’t bear to be anywhere near you! You make me ill.” He was going to explode either with nausea or anger.

  Without looking at her, he marched out of the kitchen and ascended the stairs. Carla stuck her head out of Emily’s doorway, clearly having taken refuge. “It’s alright girl.”

  “You leave this house and you’re not coming back,” Michelle screeched behind him, gripping the bannister. “I’ll change the locks. I’ll find a solicitor. And I’ll make sure you never see your daughter again.”

  “You can’t do that.” He yanked clothes from the ironing pile in the airing cupboard.

  “Try me.” She sank down on the bottom step of the staircase. “If you think you’re leaving, you can say your goodbyes right now.”

  Paul swung around. “She’s coming with me.”

  “You must be joking.” Michelle leapt to her feet.

  “Try and stop me taking her. Just try.” Striding into their bedroom, he hauled the suitcase from the top of the wardrobe.

  “I’ll call the police.” Taking hold of the banister, she mounted the stairs, two at a time. “I’ll say you’re kidnapping her.”

  “Do it.”

  Randomly wrenching clothes out of drawers and cupboards, he tried to ignore her pleas for forgiveness, until incensed by his indifference; she grasped one of his wrists.

  “Get off me,” he wrenched his arm away and made towards Emily’s room. “Go downstairs and put your coat and shoes on.”

  “Why. Where are we going?” She looked at him with bewildered eyes.

  “I don’t know yet. Go and put the TV on and I’ll shout you when it’s time to go.” He snatched several items from her drawers and wardrobe, then headed into the bathroom to grab toothbrushes and toiletries.

  “Paul, please!” Michelle was framed in the bathroom door. “We can sort this out. I’m sorry. I really am!”

  “I want nothing more to do with you.” He pushed past her, back into the bedroom where he continued slinging items into the suitcase.

  “I love you. I’m sorry.” As fast as he threw things into the suitcase, Michelle was tugging them back out. “I made it all up.”

  “Do you know something Michelle?” His frenetic attempts at packing halted. “I feel sorry for you.”

  “Then help me!” She shuffled closer to him. “I need you. I can’t do it on my own.”

  “Ask your new man to help.” Paul slammed the wardrobe door.

  “I made him up. I wanted to hurt you. You must believe me. Please!” She hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ll do anything you want,” she sobbed. “Please don’t leave me! I wanted to make you jealous.”

  He prised himself out of her grip and grabbed for the suitcase. “Let me go! I mean it.”

  He left her bawling, face down into the bed. At least she had not become violent again. Robot-like, he collected Emily from the living room and steered her towards the car, ignoring protestations she would miss Dora the Explorer.

  Drive Paul, he muttered to himself, shaking.

  “Why were you shouting Daddy? I was scared.”

  They couldn’t keep doing this to her. It was up to him to sort it. He was unaware of how long he drove. He didn’t know where he was. He’d gone onto autopilot. He probably shouldn’t be driving. But the concentration required for driving had stabilised his mind a little. However, he was nearing the motorway so needed to pull over whilst he considered what the hell he was going to do for the best.

  Emily slumbered beside him, blissfully unaware of the circumstances. Paul was accepting he would have to find the strength to leave Michelle and fight for Emily.

  It would be down to his version of events against Michelle’s. It was possible, no it was probable, he would end up losing his daughter like Michelle had threatened. Courts nearly always came down on the side of the mother.

  Angrily, he plucked his phone from his pocket. It had not stopped ringing since he had stormed from the house. He pressed the off button. Then leaning over the steering wheel, he rested his head on his arms and fought the urge to weep. For the home he wanted to give his daughter, for the life he wanted to give himself and for the wife he didn’t have. They had adored each other in the beginning. Where had it all gone?

  Chapter Twenty Six

  He eventually found himself outside Nick’s house. Emily went in pursuit of Jack and Imogen.

  Nick beckoned Paul in and thrust a beer into his hand. “You look like shit mate. Is it Michelle?”

  “Yep. She’s been sleeping with someone else.”

  “Really? You’re joking! Who?”

  “Don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” Paul accepted the bottle opener from Nick and wrenched the lid off his.

  “For how long?”

  “Once is enough, isn’t it? How would you react if it was Jacqui?”

  “She would never do that.”

  “I would have said the same about Michelle. She doesn’t trust me, so she goes and does it herself. Crazy.”

  “She’s capable of anything. You must have been off your box marrying her.”

  “She’s a lot of things but I would never have thought she was a cheat.”

  “I would. Did she tell you herself or did you find out?”

  “She told me.”

  “I bet you wanted to kill her.”

  “That’s why I’m here. But as I was on my way out, she said she’d made it up.”

  “She’s warped! I’ve always said it. Are you alright mate?”

  “I guess I’m going to have to be.”

  The beers Paul consumed enabled him to fall into a woozy sleep on Nick’s sofa. But it was to be short lived. Groggily, he awoke soon after, draped in a blanket. The house basked in darkened silence, but Paul’s mind would not stop whirring. For what was an eternity, he lay, plagued by images of Michelle with another man. No matter how hard he tried to chase them away, they refused to leave him. He yearned for the steamroller to reverse from his chest and grant him some reprieve. Its pain was excruciating. In his mind, her face taunted him; first smiling lovingly at him, but then sneering, and then contorted with rage. Due to his agitation, sleep would not find him, but he was too exhausted to move: a prisoner of his own thoughts. He could never have imagined it would hurt this much.

  Eventually, he would have to return home; there was no escaping from reality. Although there were people who would put him up in the short term; he could not encroach on anybody’s hospitality for more than a night or two. Trapped and imprisoned within a toxic marriage, it was akin to being trapped in a spider’s web. There were no answers.

  “What do you want?” Paul opened one eye as he heard Nick speaking in a hiss at the front door. “Do one Michelle. You’re not welcome.”

  “You can’t stop me speaking to my own husband.” It was her.

  “After what you’ve done. Yo
u’ve a nerve coming around here.”

  “It’s fine Nick.” Paul’s voice was a croak. “Let her in. I’ll speak to her.”

  Within a split second, he heard the creaking of the living room door and could sense her presence in the room. “Paul, I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m awake.” Not wanting to look at her, he didn’t open his eyes.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Nick spoke from the doorway. “I’ll be in the kitchen. And I don’t want any trouble.”

  “God, he hates me, doesn’t he?”

  The weight of another body bearing down on the cushion beside him was oddly consoling after a night of loneliness.

  “I’ll do anything to put things right,” she said.

  In the light of the emerging day, he squinted at her. “If you loved me, you would not have gone anywhere near another man.” He probably reeked of stale beer. He had not brushed his teeth, so he directed his face away from her as he continued. “I could never be unfaithful to you. Never.” Alana flashed into his mind. Hypocrite. Who was he kidding?

  “I wasn’t. I was testing you.”

  “Testing me? How the hell do you work that one out?”

  “To see how you’d react. I didn’t think it through, did I?” Her hand gently touched his arm. “I wanted to test whether you love me.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The intensity of their marriage was crucifying. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t they discuss humdrum issues? What to cook for tea, Emily’s homework, anything but the angst all the time. “I think you have slept with someone. But it’s backfired on you and now you’re trying to wriggle out of it.” What did she take him for?

  “I swear on Emily’s life I did not have sex with another man.” She crossed herself as she proclaimed this.

  Paul dragged himself up against the cushions. “You know I detest you doing that!” His mother had been superstitious and had convinced him that to swear on a person’s life was tempting something.

  “But it’s the only way you’ll believe me.”

  “It’s not just that, Michelle.” He swung his legs around, so he was sitting beside her. “You’re drinking far too much.”