“Then it goes back to the judge to decide. He could go with the majority or the prosecution could apply for a retrial.”
“No! I couldn’t go through all this again.”
John pats Paul’s shoulder. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.” He stands and knocks on the cell door. “I’m going to head back up, I want to see whether the jury have reconvened. Hopefully they won’t keep us dangling much longer.”
Paul tries to pre-empt his fate from the faces of the jury as they stride in procession back into the jury stand. One or two look at him, in a friendly way, maybe, did they? He cannot be sure. There are one or two frowns. His gut is churning like a cement mixer. That’ll go down well if he throws up in the dock. “Can I have some water?” he says to the dock officer as he gulps in the warm air.
If he is found guilty, he is not sure he will be able to hack it, no matter how much he has tried to convince himself that he would be able to cope. Dizziness steals over him. He does the panic attack thing and tries to steady himself by breathing in-through-his-nose; out-through-his-mouth; in-through-his-nose; out-through-his-mouth, which reminds him again of Michelle. Why couldn’t she have been normal? Why did it all have to turn out like this? His fingers grip the sides of his grimy chair, not wanting to speculate as to what some of the staining might be. He hopes he isn’t going to be asked to stand up. Not whilst he feels like this.
“Members of the jury, have you reached a verdict upon which you are unanimously decided?” Judge Lakin addresses the spokeswoman.
“Your honour, we have been unable to.” The small woman stands, looking nervously around the room.
A groan of shock ripples. The tension that has gripped Paul slides out of him like water down a plughole. This means some of them believe him to be guilty. He wants to know what the proportion each way is.
“If I grant you more time, are you likely to use that time to reach a unanimous decision?”
“I think so,” she replies. “I think we need an hour or two more.”
Paul has a dark sensation battering the inside of his chest. He’s going to be sent back to prison. Emily will be grown up when he sees her again. No way is she ever stepping foot into that place.
“In that case,” continues Judge Lakin. “I will ask you to return to your room and try to reach a majority verdict. If you need to ask any questions to reach that, you can request an open court at any time. You will of course, continue to adhere to court protocol and not discuss the case outside your group.”
Chapter Forty Seven
Susan needs to be on her own. Whichever way the verdict goes, she cannot bear to be there.
She attends to the grave at least once a week. In life, she knows she has not done enough for Michelle. She constantly berates herself for the mistakes she has made, one in particular, and she knows she will have to live forever with the guilt.
On the night of the incident, Michelle had sobbed down the phone, begging her mother to drive across to where they were staying.
“Please Mum,” she had cried. “I need you. You keep my head straight.”
“Not drinking wine would keep your head straight, dear.”
“Why do you always have to judge me? Why can’t you be here for me?”
“Because you’re there and I’m not going to drive for nearly three hours to play referee between you and your husband. Sort it out yourselves.”
“He doesn’t love me Mum. Neither do you.”
For a moment, Susan was unsure if she could say the next sentence. Then she decided that it needed to be said.
“He won’t love you if you’re constantly drunk and blaming him for everything. Bang your heads together - start putting Emily first.”
“Like you put me first, you mean!” She had then ended the call. Once upon a time before the age of mobile phones, she would have slammed the phone down.
At times, Michelle had irritated her with the never-ending angst and depression. She could never pull herself together and always blamed someone else. But there were the times she had ignored her, when all her daughter had needed was a listening ear. Susan had cut her short or not even answered the phone at times. The least she can do now is sit with Michelle and keep her company. As well as ensure her grave is kept tended and colourful.
Today she has brought pink carnations. Long-lasting flowers that will brighten and cheer her grave for at least a couple of weeks. Michelle had always adored flowers. Susan would have bought her a bunch each day, for the rest of her life, if she was able to have her back again and undo everything that has happened.
She stops short as she reaches her destination, acknowledging the enormous bouquet of wilting tulips and lilies that holds firm against the breeze with a couple of heavy stones, still in the florists’ wrapping upon the granite pebbles. They were Michelle’s absolute favourite flowers. She had carried them in her wedding bouquet. Susan steps then leans forward to read the card, it simply says sorry.
She wipes furiously at the tears that plunge down her face. Who is sorry? Why haven’t they written their name? Why are they sorry?
What she has heard this week in court has made her realise that lots of people in Michelle and Paul’s life knew about their problems. They have all stood back, wanting to keep out of it, just like she has. However, she hadn’t suspected things were quite so horrendous. Poor Emily. Susan has not managed to help Michelle as often as she should, but she can certainly be there for her granddaughter now. When she’s ready to talk about it, Susan will always be ready to listen this time. She owes that to all of them.
“Come on sweetie pie,” she cajoles her granddaughter as they approach the car. “We’ll be late for your swimming lesson if we don’t hurry up. She looks at Emily’s pinched face and dark eyes, wishing for the millionth time her sparkle would return. “How was school today?”
Silence.
“Have you fastened your seatbelt? What did you learn about?”
Her silence breaks Susan’s heart. Emily still won’t speak. It’s like she’s in her own little world and from what she can gather, the child psychologist isn’t making any progress either. The present work is the drawing of pictures, but all Emily ever wants to draw is pictures of houses. Maybe that’s saying something? Maybe not.
“I’m going to sit over there and watch you Emily.” She squeezes her granddaughter’s hand as she leads her into the changing area. “Then we’ll have our tea at Jumping Jacks. What do you think?”
Silence.
Chapter Forty Eight
For Paul, it has been a torturous day. The last two hours have been the worst. His throat burns, and he can taste the bile from when he was sick in the cell. He has decided he will not be able to go on if they find him guilty. He will find a way of doing himself in. He is at a point where he can hardly think straight.
“Has the jury now reached a verdict to which the majority are agreed?” The judge asks.
“Your Honour, we have.” Her voice sounds small compared to the commanding boom of the judge. All is suddenly in slow motion for Paul. This is it.
“A verdict for which at least ten members of the jury are agreed? Please answer yes or no.”
“Yes, we have.”
“Good. Then I will read out each indictment and I would like you to answer either guilty or not guilty. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your Honour.”
“To the charge of murder, do you find the defendant, Paul Jackson, guilty or not guilty?”
His head is buried in his hands. He is not usually a religious man but at this moment, he offers a prayer. For a moment he thinks he might be sick again.
The spokeswoman hesitates. It is as though she is relishing her momentary power over her audience. She has probably never commanded this sort of attention. “Not guilty,” she eventually declares. A small whoosh of excitement rises in the public gallery. Paul wants to punch the air in celebration. For a split second anyway. He hasn’t got murder but he’s not clear yet.
&n
bsp; “To the charge of manslaughter,” Judge Lakin’s voice barks out again. “Do you find the defendant, Paul Jackson, guilty or not guilty?”
He can still go down. Not for as long but even so, he knows he will receive a hefty stretch. He will miss Emily growing up. He would…
“Not guilty.”
Paul jerks his head upright. A buzz this time emits from the public gallery.
A few moments pass. They take forever until Judge Lakin clears his throat. “Paul Jackson,” he looks straight at him, meeting his eyes. “You have been found not guilty of all charges. You are free to leave this court.”
Paul hauls his shaking body up from the seat. He is stunned. He is free! It’s over! They’ve acquitted him! The whole horrendous nightmare is over! “Where do I go?” Paul asks the dock officer.
“You can go that way if you like.” He gestures towards the steps that John has frequently run up and down throughout the course of the trial.
He is greeted in the centre of the room by a fuddle of hugs and handshakes. Though ecstatic at being freed, his acquittal is bittersweet. Nothing can ever undo what has been done.
“Be warned,” says John as they approach the court exit. “There’s going to be a lot of reporters waiting in the street. We’ll have to make a statement. I’ll deal with it.”
With his keys, mobile phone and wallet back in his possession for the first time since his arrest, Paul is a valid person. “I’m hungry,” he says to Jacqui and Alana who border him either side. Alana has linked arms with him which is uncomfortable. “For the first time in months, I could eat a horse. It’s a good feeling. I’ll have a quick something to eat then I need to get to Emily.”
“You look like you could do with a decent meal in you,” observes Jacqui. “We’ll give this statement, and then we’ll go somewhere special.”
“A greasy spoon would be an improvement on my recent dining experiences!” He thinks back to the prison servery and its tampered offerings with revulsion. For a moment, he is queasy again. It will be a long time, if ever, until he can erase the memories of that place.
Alana lets go of his arm in readiness for the exit through the revolving door. He’s pleased. There is something about her grip on his arm that is possessive. His attention switches to the sea of reporters camped outside the court doors. Paul feels panicked. “There must be about fifty people out there!” They spill along the cobbled street and surge like a wave, separating him from John as they emerge outside. He wrestles with the urge to rush back in.
“How do you feel Paul?” A woman holds a microphone in his direction.
“Great thanks,” he shouts back as flashlights go off all around him, disorienting him. It is like something he would watch on the TV.
“Do you think you’ll sue for wrongful imprisonment?” shouts someone else.
“What has life inside been like for you?” a man yells right in front of him.
“Where’s your daughter? Are you going to her now?”
“Do you think your wife killed herself?”
“If you didn’t kill her, who did?”
Paul looks across to where John is conversing with a cameraman. Paul dutifully makes his way over as John beckons him.
“I’m going to say a few words to this BBC reporter.” John grabs his arm to pull him in beside him. “You stay next to me, so they can take some pictures, and then we’ll leave. Don’t worry. I’ll do all the talking. Once they’ve been given what they want, they will leave you be.”
“OK. Thanks. I wouldn’t have a clue.” There are a million luminous dots clouding his vision from the camera flashes. There is no way he would be capable of giving a coherent, newsworthy statement himself, therefore he is grateful to John.
“My client, Paul Jackson, has been through a traumatic experience.” John begins to address an array of furry microphones as a moment of quiet descends on the flurry of activity. “He was a victim within a volatile relationship, then cast as the villain of it.
He has been pushed to the limits of all endurance; emotionally, mentally and financially. Then, to have subsequently spent three months unjustly imprisoned is dreadful. The jury’s findings coincide with the earlier verdict from the coroner’s court. No conclusions have been reached of how Michelle Jackson died. With no direct witnesses and no concrete forensic evidence against my client, the cause of her death has turned out to be inconclusive.
Maybe some good can arise from Paul’s story. Hopefully his acquittal will set a precedent in this type of case. Maybe it will encourage more men to speak out when they’re trapped in similar situations. Currently, the ‘system’ in this country, mainly recognises women as being at risk from domestic abuse; a system that has failed my client.
He needs to be left alone whilst he focuses on bringing his daughter home to rebuild their lives. I hope the media will afford him some time and space to mourn his wife’s death properly. That is all we wish to say currently.”
They stride away from the flashing bulbs. Paul has a jauntiness to his step for the first time in a while. He never has to see that place again. He can put it all behind him.
Chapter Forty Nine
Alana imagines Lee’s face, shrivelled with anger, at the other end of the phone. “He’s been acquitted,” she tells him. “We’re in the pub. Why don’t you come over? It looks bad that you’re not taking an interest and can’t wish him well.”
“No, you’re all right thanks,” Lee sounds snappy. “I’m not in the mood.”
“I hardly think you’ve cause for any kind of celebration.” Lee’s voice oozes sarcasm.
She glances up to check no one is listening. “Lee. It’s over. Let it go now.”
“Yeah, well for you maybe.”
“Lee. For God’s sake…” Then she realises she is talking to a disconnected line. She smiles at Paul who looks at her, momentarily distracted from his conversation with Jacqui.
“Everything alright?”
“Same as ever.” She slides into the chair beside him, remembering Paul is now free and single. This cheers her. “How’s your pint?”
“Bloody wonderful. Though I’d better not have any more!” Laughing, he places his glass on the table. “I’m not used to the stuff, am I? Let’s order some food then I must get over to Susan’s.”
“What are you thinking?” As they anticipate the arrival of the food order, Alana notices Paul staring into space. She hopes he is thinking the same as her.
“I feel awkward,” his voice cracks. “I’m here enjoying a beer and looking forward to food and she’s, well she’s … rotting in the ground.”
“I know.” Alana touches his arm, enjoying the proximity of his taut bicep beneath her fingertips. “But you’ve been punished enough. You can’t persecute yourself anymore.”
“But no one else is being punished, are they?” Nick chips in. “There’s just the assumption Michelle did it to herself. He turns to John. “Does that mean they will never look for anyone else?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so.” John looks puzzled for a moment. “I guess there will never be any firm evidence to verify it was suicide but that is probably what will always be insinuated.”
“It’s on the local news already,” exclaims Jacqui, holding up her phone. “I can’t believe the interest.”
“It’s down to the domestic abuse element,” John says. “There’s a lot in the papers about female sufferers.” He puts his menu down. “You don’t hear about it being the other way around. I’m pleased. That it’s gaining attention, I mean. It’ll pave the way for others. If anything good can come out of this. If it can help one person.” He slams his hand onto the table as he makes his final point. “No one, man or woman, should be hiding in shame, behind closed doors.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve said, all along.” Alana can’t disguise her joy at the outcome. “I’m pleased to have you back Paul. You should never have been in there.”
“When I’ve finished this, I need to see Emily.”
<
br /> Alana places her wine glass next to Paul’s pint. “I’ll come with you. It would be good to see how she’s doing.”
“If you don’t mind,” Alana deflates with what he is probably about to say. “I’d rather get David to take me and see her on my own. It’s been months. I reckon I’ll have some explaining to do. At least she’ll be back in her own bed tonight.” His face lights up as he talks about her.
Alana would have loved to have been part of this. And she isn’t relishing the thought of returning home. It’ll all keep, she thinks to herself.
Chapter Fifty
Emily has grown by at least an inch. Her hair is in pigtails and she has two gaps in her teeth. Paul has missed that. Missed teasing that boys have kissed them out. Missed pretending to be the tooth fairy. There will be plenty more teeth though.
“Hello poppet.” He holds his arms out.
She doesn’t move. She sits glued to Hannah Montana or whatever it is.
“I’m never going anywhere, ever again,” He blinks back tears as he stares at her. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you!”
Paul hears a whimper from the kitchen. “Carla!” Susan lets go of her lead and his dog bolts towards him. “She definitely remembers me! You haven’t forgotten me, have you girl?” Carla runs in circles around them, periodically leaping at Paul to smell and lick him.
“Right. Let’s take this lot to the car.” He rises from his crouch. “We’re going home. Do you want to come with us Susan? Help Emily settle in?”
“No. I’ll leave the two of you alone. I’ll give you a call in the morning.”
Emily’s stares out of the window all the way back. Paul sits in the back with her, asking her about school but she doesn’t reply. She has a vacant look about her as though she’s not even hearing what is being said. Carla, strapped in the boot, is going berserk with excitement.
The Man Behind Closed Doors Page 26