‘Members of jury, I ask you to consider the defendant’s allegations regarding Miss Baker’s purported contact with her son. The evidence itself is not in issue. That has been made clear by the judge. There are no photographs or texts for you to consider. So what are you to make of these groundless allegations? Ladies and gentlemen, they are but a ploy to besmirch the good character of the complainant. Moreover, even if they were true, which is denied, how could they possibly help the defendant’s case? All they could do would be to paint the complainant in an unattractive light. Indeed, as the judge will no doubt out confirm in his summing up, even if true, they would not give rise to a criminal offence. No, members of the jury. You are not here to give a judgement on the character of the complainant on hearsay evidence. You are here to decide on how Miss Baker sustained serious injury on that summer afternoon. The defendant relies on self-defence. But even her own mother was unable to give evidence of any hostile action on the part of the complainant. The medical evidence is uncontested. Miss Baker could only have sustained injury as a result of an aggressive push on the part of the defendant. For those reasons, members of the jury, I ask you to find the defendant guilty of this offence.’
Alisha came next. She focused on the layout of the room, the shoes on the floor, Natasha’s antagonism towards her supervisor. Mel felt herself drifting off. Alisha had not impressed her. Was it because she had not believed her from the outset? When Alisha had finished all Mel could hope for was that there must be a doubt. But the climate was changing in the justice system. The defendant-led culture was shifting to focus on the victim. Juries had become readier to convict.
They reached a suitable moment. The judge would address the jury after lunch. Mel was granted bail. Alisha came over and suggested they have a snack in the coffee bar. She looked for Jacob, Claude and Isabel. They had disappeared. As Alisha went up to buy the sandwiches Mel took out her phone to text Jacob. There was a message from Paul.
Hi Mel. I’m in London for a couple of days. Fancy lunch? Paul x.
Mel felt a lurch of distress or anger, she could not tell which. He had forgotten her trial date. She deleted the message and texted Jacob.
I’m sorry, darling. Forgive me.
The judge spoke from two p.m. to two thirty. The words rose and faded as if someone were fiddling with an amplifier, raising and lowering the volume. He outlined the medical evidence, the details of the alleged assault, the lack of evidence to support the contention of self-defence, the geography of the room, the shoes on the floor, the breakdown of a relationship of trust. Mel heard the words ‘ancillary matters’ and it was as if the volume had been turned up as he mentioned Jacob, the photographs, the texts, only to dismiss them as irrelevant. The jury were reminded of the need to reach their verdict on evidence, not on speculation or inference. McDermid told them they needed to be satisfied so they were sure of the defendant’s guilt. His tone was grave. And though he avoided clear obvious bias, his emphasis on the pupil–supervisor relationship left her with a powerful sense that he was asking them to convict.
As if she were on the brink of death, her life spooled before her. The quiet, dull days in Dulwich which now seemed days of peace and even joy, her mother’s lack of interference offering a freedom for which she was now grateful. She re-imagined those long afternoons, stretched across the carpet, reading magazines, comics, romantic novels. It had been a safe place. There was little control, but neither was there threat nor fear. It had not been an unhappy childhood.
Her teenage years had been turbulent, but whose had not? Then came the joy of study when she had learnt to love the order and symmetry of law. It gave shape to a life otherwise undisciplined, and after she had befriended Kath, they were ready to take on the world.
Everything went wrong after Kath’s death. The relationship with Claude was turbulent; baby Jacob was difficult. He had health problems, minor, but enough to make him scratchy and discontented: ear infections, eczema, asthma. Work had carried her through. And now Jacob’s love, and her love for him, was carrying her through this trial. She had messed up. Given another chance she would act differently, she would hold back, learn to wait.
The jury went out and bail was granted again. Mel was to stay in the precincts of the court. She looked back and saw Jacob, Claude and Isabel, but did not feel she able to join them. Alisha gave her a copy of The Times and she studied each page assiduously, though she would not have remembered anything she’d read if asked. At 3:30 p.m. they were called back into court. A verdict in an hour would be unlikely. They would be asking for a direction, perhaps looking for a majority verdict or querying some point of evidence. The forewoman stood up, the one who had coughed when she mentioned slapping Jacob.
McDermid spoke. ‘Members of the jury have you reached your verdict?’
‘We have.’
‘What is your verdict?’
Mel gripped the ledge at the front of the dock. If she could hold on tight, all would be well. She closed her eyes. A voice rang out across the courtroom.
‘Not guilty.’
She was rigid, unable to move or breathe. It was too much to take in. She must have misheard. Something wound tight inside her began to unwind. There was air in her lungs, and she opened her eyes. Through the glass of the dock she saw people moving. Alisha was standing, asking something of the judge. And now what had been taut grew soft, her bones were jelly and she was falling into herself, melting. The jury were standing up, walking slowly out of the back of the courtroom. One of the men turned to look at her. She caught his glance. Reasonable doubt. Not enough to convict.
The usher was standing next to her, taking her arm, raising her up, leading her back into the world. Like an old woman she steadied herself on the ledge as she walked towards the door of the dock. She heard the words, ‘Court Rise’ and a clatter of bodies pulling themselves up as the judge left the courtroom.
Familiar voices reverberated around her as she stepped into the well of the court. Through them all one stood out, Isabel’s perfectly modulated ‘Darling!’ There were pats on her back, chatter she could not follow, congratulations from friends: Georgie, Jess, even Jeremy. Then she heard the deep, resonant tone she knew so well.
‘Well done, Mel. Spot on.’ It could only be Claude.
It was overwhelming. It was what she had longed for, but now it was happening she felt shaken, troubled, torn inside. She had done wrong and these people should know. But they were smiling, oblivious to the truth. She wanted to hug Jacob, but he had disappeared. Panic hit. Her breathing became rapid. Where was he? Had he been devastated by what he heard? Briefly she wondered about Natasha and Luke, smothering some mad instinct to apologise. They were nowhere to be seen.
The usher was asking the public to leave the court so that the next case could be brought on. Mel was hovering, uncertain where to turn, when she felt a pressure on her arm, gentle but determined. It was Georgie, and he was leading her out of the court room. She should be ecstatic, but everything felt unreal. Had they made a mistake? Then she heard the gleeful voice she longed to hear.
‘Mum!’ Jacob was waiting by the door. Relief tore through her as the tears broke and she fell against him, uncertain if she was sobbing or laughing.
Chapter Forty-seven
Natasha
Natasha had been unable to settle all evening. Her skin felt as if it were crawling with mites. After dinner, which she struggled to eat, Luke stood behind her chair and started to massage her neck. His touch made her wince and she stood up and walked to the sofa, craving movement, too heavy and exhausted to move. The only thing that might pacify the turmoil inside her was a run. Would she ever run again? She lay down, shifting to her side to ease her aching back.