Good Me Bad Me Read online

  The judge speaks again, asks as he did yesterday, does the witness need a break?

  If it’s lucky, yes please.

  ‘No thank you.’

  The lawyer continues.

  ‘So just to clarify, what position was Daniel lying in?’

  There are eight little somethings hidden in the cellar and if the ninth little something also dies. Whose fault is it?

  ‘On his front, face down,’ I reply.

  ‘And you’re sure this time?’

  I nod.

  ‘Please can the witness answer the question out loud.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  In the same way my silence unnerves Phoebe, yours unnerves me. Confident. That’s how you feel. You expect me to mess up but secretly you’d like me not to, I expect. A testament to how well you taught me, able to hold my own while expert lawyers try to unravel me. Loosen my fingertips on the edge of a building. A long way to fall.

  ‘My client claims that the day after she brought Daniel home, a Thursday, she went to work and stayed there late unexpectedly.’ He turns to me. ‘You got the school bus home, the driver confirmed this, he remembered because as you said yesterday your mother usually drove you, meaning you were home alone for over two hours before your mother returned to the house. Is that correct?’

  The nod of his head yesterday, in your direction, when I said you usually drove me. Heat being turned up. Can’t breathe. Very well. You. Me. Both witnesses, we were there. I saw you. My chest feels tight. Head, busy. I ask him to repeat the question.

  A lady in the second row of the jury circles something in her notepad, looks up, her eyes locked on me. I look away, try to focus on what he might ask next but there’s no point, these aren’t questions we prepared for. I never told my lawyers I was alone in the house, they never asked, it’s not me who’s on trial, there was no need to check whether she drove me home that day or if I took the bus. The faces of my lawyers are stony, not at all at ease. I’m not doing so well today, and I’m sorry to say, things could get worse, a lot worse, if I tell the truth. Release the carrier pigeon trapped in my chest, let it do its job. Deliver its message.

  The defence lawyer asks me again if I was home alone with Daniel on the Thursday afternoon when he was still alive and in the room.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  Skinny and Fatty exchange glances, I know what they’re thinking, they’re thinking this is news to us, really bad fucking news and now is not a good time to be finding out new information. The defence lawyer smells it from me, the urge, the need to disclose. He’s seen it before, massage the back while he continues to go for the throat. He lowers and softens his voice, reassures me, tries to reel me in.

  ‘Did you try to open the door to the room Daniel was in?’

  I’m about to say yes, yes, I did, but somebody coughs. You. I know it was you, I know how your everything sounds. But why did you? Are you worried about what my answer might be, worried that the game will be over in minutes if I can’t hold on any longer, if I crumble under the pressure. You’d be so disappointed. An anticlimax. And a reflection on you, my teacher. Don’t worry, I won’t, though I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. The temptation of telling the truth, how that might taste. How that might feel. And whether it would be worth it, or whether I’ll still have to live with a snake and the ghosts of nine little somethings playing at my feet. Regardless.

  ‘The witness looks distracted, I’ll repeat the question. Did you try to open the door?’

  ‘Yes, I tried, but it was locked.’

  ‘So at no point did you enter the room where Daniel was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You never went into the room, you never touched Daniel, tried to comfort him?’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  ‘You did which? You entered the room or you tried to comfort him?’

  ‘I tried to comfort him.’

  ‘In what way?’

  HELLO, ANNIE.

  The crystal drops from my hand, lands under the table where the glass of water sits, the sound reverberates off the wood of the stand. Too many eyes to count now, all focused on me. I look over at June, she signals for me to leave it but I want to bend down, pick it up, so I can hide, never come up.

  ‘In what way did you comfort Daniel?’

  A pit bull, the lawyer is. Teeth latched on to flesh. On to anything it can.

  ‘I spoke to him through the peephole.’

  ‘He was alive at this point then, when you were talking to him through the peephole?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘That I was sorry and it would soon be over, that everything would be okay.’

  True.

  ‘What would soon be over? How could you know that, you’re not your mother, are you? You had no idea how long he would be kept there for.’

  ‘I wanted to make him feel better.’

  True.

  ‘What was Daniel doing at this time?’

  ‘Crying, asking for his mummy.’

  True.

  ‘And at no point while Daniel was in the house did you touch him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If I told you the forensic expert we consulted found evidence of your DNA on Daniel’s clothing, what would you say to that?’

  ‘Objection, your honour, the witness had prior contact with the victim at the refuge. DNA could easily have transferred on to the clothing then.’

  ‘Agreed, sustained.’

  Without whistling or warmth, my nose begins to bleed. A red droplet rolls down over my lips, my chin, lands on the wood of the podium. Everybody’s staring, look, there she is, the daughter of a murderer covered in blood. Take her away, take her down, is what they could say. I hear Fatty asking for a recess.

  ‘Does the witness require one?’ the judge asks.

  I cover my nose, an usher gives me a box of tissues, I feel light-headed. Can’t remember what I was saying. The truth. No. Yes. I want to tell the truth.

  ‘Your honour, can’t the court see the witness’s distress?’ Fatty stands up and says.

  ‘Yes, but I’m also mindful these questions must be asked and the sooner we do that the sooner the witness can be dismissed and go home,’ the judge replies.

  I want to go home now.

  YOU DON’T HAVE A HOME ANY MORE, YOU MADE SURE OF THAT, ANNIE.

  I hold a wad of tissues against my nose, take a deep breath and wait for the next question.

  ‘So Daniel’s in the room crying, asking for his mummy. Then what happened?’

  ‘I heard my mother’s car pull into the drive so I went downstairs.’

  ‘Did you and your mother speak at all?’

  ‘No. When she came into the house she walked past me, went up the stairs and into the room where Daniel was.’

  ‘Did she unlock the door first or was it already unlocked?’

  ‘It was. It was locked, that’s what I mean, she opened it. She had the keys in her hand as she passed me.’

  ‘And then what did you do?’

  ‘After a while I went upstairs.’

  ‘And through the peephole you claim you saw my client holding a pillow over Daniel’s face, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, he didn’t move afterwards.’

  ‘How long did you stay at the peephole for?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Roughly. Minutes? Hours? The whole night?’

  ‘No, only a few minutes maybe. When she came out of the room we went down for dinner.’

  True.

  ‘And you went back later on, did you? To the peephole.’

  ‘Yes, I went to comfort him.’

  True.

  ‘But he was dead, you said you saw your mother kill him. Why would you go back if he was already dead?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You weren’t sure if he was dead, that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. He was dead, he wasn’t movin
g.’

  I see the second defence lawyer being passed a piece of paper from my left. From you. My insides untether, a hot-air balloon straining at its moorings. He reads it then asks the judge if he can pass it to his colleague. If relevant to the questions being asked, then yes, the judge replies. The lawyer in front of me walks away, collects the piece of paper, reads it, nods. I look out at the jury, Daniel’s ghost is standing next to them. He’s shaking his head, hangs it down and begins to cry. Two peas in a pod we are, you said one night, Mummy. So alike. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me.

  False.

  The lawyer walks back over to me, the piece of paper slid along the bench from you now in his hands, then says, ‘The forensic expert concluded that Daniel’s death could have occurred during the time period you were alone in the house with him, not necessarily after my client returned home as was previously thought. What would you say to that?’

  ‘Objection, your honour.’

  ‘Overruled, let the witness answer.’

  The bleed in my nose has stopped but a red polka dot of blood must have landed before I was given the tissues. A stain on the front of my shirt like ink on chromatography paper. One of the women in the jury looks close to tears. She’s a mother, I bet. I’m sorry, I am.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’

  The lawyer pauses, looks down at the note in his hands. Looks up at me, makes me wait. Ready when he’s ready, torture is best served slow. He walks closer towards me, brown shoes like Prof West’s, a navy pinstripe suit visible under his gown. He nods as he walks, stops directly in front of me, then says, ‘I can see why you might not be sure. It’s a tricky one, isn’t it? There’s the matter of the spare key your mother claims you had access to, your DNA being found on Daniel’s clothing, and now the time of his death potentially being when you were alone in the house. I think, given the facts I’ve just laid out, I’m entitled to, perhaps even obliged, to ask you –’

  Skinny interrupts with, ‘Objection, your honour, the defence are being inflammatory.’

  ‘Overruled. But I urge the defence to tread carefully.’

  The lawyer nods, but something about the way he’s standing, legs wide apart, shoulders pulled back, indicates that the last thing he’s thinking about doing is treading carefully. It’s glory he’s after. It’s me he’s after. His eyes narrow as they look at me, he breathes in, his chest full. His Ulysses moment. Then he asks it, the question he’s been building up to all along.

  ‘It wasn’t my client who killed Daniel, was it? Tell the court what really happened the night of his death, tell the truth.’

  Nobody hears my answer, drowned out by an eruption of ‘objections’ from both Skinny and Fatty. Shouts of ‘objection, your honour, this is intimidation of a witness’. Both on their feet, both saying, she’s a minor, she’s not on trial. The jury look confused, pens no longer poised but being chewed, a man in the front row holding his hands up in a ‘who knows’ gesture. June is also on her feet, not looking half as ‘grand’ as usual. It’s only you I can’t see. Smiling though, I bet, enjoying the chaos you’ve managed to cause, to orchestrate.

  I lied.

  That’s what my answer was.

  I say it again.

  ‘I lied.’

  It takes a further two times, I lied, I lied, for the judge to hold up his hand, silence the court. ‘Let the witness speak,’ he says.

  This is it, Mummy, the moment you were waiting for, where I crack. Where you win.

  ‘I lied.’

  Nobody but the defence lawyer moves a muscle. No shifting of feet, no crossing and uncrossing of legs, no scribbling of notes. The lawyer walks over to me again, rests his hand on the wood in front of me, a friendly gesture, but he’s no friend, he’s hungry. Wants feeding. Alphabet spaghetti served in the shape of lies he’s slowly squeezing out of me, the key witness. I can see that night so clearly, I was there. I know what happened.

  ‘What did you lie about?’ he asks.

  I nod, I can tell them, it’s okay. I tried to help Daniel, I did the best I could. I wanted him to be safe dilly dilly, out of harm’s way. True. I tell them I’m sorry. So sorry. True. The jurors’ faces, frozen. June. My lawyers. The judge.

  ‘What did you lie about?’ he asks again.

  ‘I lied to Daniel when I told him through the peephole everything would be okay, I knew it wouldn’t but I told him that anyway. I let him down. That’s how I lied.’

  I begin to cry, salty tears stained red as my nose begins to run. I can see the defence lawyer’s disappointment, his face crumples a little. It’s not dinner time yet, you know.

  Now fuck off.

  He removes his hand, continues to look at me. He can look all he likes but he can’t prove a thing and his time is up, he’ll be done for harassing a minor if he keeps going and he knows it. He walks away, sits back down and says the words I’ve been waiting to hear.

  ‘No further questions, your honour.’

  ‘In that case, the witness is free to leave the stand.’

  A wave. Raw. Sadness washes over me as I’m dismissed. I don’t move, I look at the screen. I want to run to you, crawl up inside you back into your womb. Rewrite a history where this time you’d love me normally. Shiny and new. The judge speaks again, June beckons for me to come.

  ‘You’re free to go, Milly,’ he says.

  He’s tired too. His wig, horse-hair, heavy. Hot. He says my name, my new name, out loud.

  Against the rules. She’s on it, like a hound on a fox.

  ‘Her name is Annie.’

  All heads pivot towards you. You don’t sound deranged, like the monster they expect. You sound like a mother, one who cares. It takes all my resolve, something more, not to run to you. The courtroom struggles to process the judge’s mistake, murmurs become voices, grow in sound.

  ‘Silence in court,’ he says.

  It takes longer than before for the room to quieten, his power, his credibility less. Not yours though, four words from you is all it takes. Your voice, a nimbus cloud hanging low in the air, threatening hail. A storm.

  June takes my arm, I stop to pick up the crystal then she leads me out of the courtroom. I don’t hear a choir any more, no song in my head, your voice instead saying my name. ANNIE.

  I’m back in the room painted cream, you follow me there too. Mike and Saskia see my face, and my shirt.

  ‘Just a nosebleed,’ I say. ‘I’m going to the bathroom to clean up.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’ Saskia offers.

  ‘No, it’s okay, thank you.’

  ‘We’ll wait for you here,’ Mike adds.

  I nod.

  The door of the toilet seals with a lock, slides to the right. I reach into my pocket, the Black Tourmaline. Can’t on my ribs, shirt, white. Trousers down. Thigh instead. I have to press hard, the rough edge, not the smooth, scrape it across the skin. I carve out an A. Like coming up on a drug, a whip. The pain takes me there, it takes me to you.

  A IS FOR ANNIE.

  Yes, I’ll always be Annie to you but to others I’m Milly. Siamese twins inside me, at war.

  Good me.

  Bad me.

  Proud of me, are you? I played the game, I might even have won, Mummy.

  When I get back to the family room June says she’ll be following up with the court about how I was treated by the defence. Mike calls them bastards, job or no job, he says. It’s okay, I tell him, it’s over now. Saskia looks relieved. June sees us out to the car park and says things are likely to move quickly, the verdict could be as early as next week.

  Sit tight.

  Later on at home I go to Mike’s study, he wants to see me before the weekend kicks off, check I’m okay after court. Phoebe’s there when I arrive, she’s still grounded for breaking curfew, the punishment for the party pushed back until after the hockey tour. She’s bargaining with Mike, trying to persuade him to let her go out.

  ‘Come on, it’s Friday,’ she says,
‘everyone’s going to the cinema.’

  ‘No,’ he replies, ‘you’re grounded until Monday.’

  ‘You’re being so stupid, Dad.’

  ‘I think it was you that did the stupid thing.’

  ‘And you’ve never made a mistake?’

  ‘I’m not getting into this again, Phoebe, Monday it is and that’s the last I want to hear about it. Now if you don’t mind, darling, I need to catch up with Milly about something.’

  ‘Yeah, great. Nice one, Dad. Thanks a lot.’

  Another killer stare as she passes.

  He closes the door, says, I’m afraid I’m not very popular right now, then smiles, asks me to take a seat.

  ‘I won’t keep you long, it’s been a long day already and you look exhausted. How are you feeling now it’s over?’

  ‘I’m not sure, it doesn’t feel real yet.’

  ‘That’s understandable. I wanted to say how proud I am of you and how sorry I am the defence treated you that way. I feel partly responsible to be honest.’

  ‘Why? It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘No, but perhaps we could have prepared you better than we did. Perhaps we should have been a bit more up front with you.’

  ‘Up front about what?’

  ‘June called me one weekend to let me know your mother had been saying a few things about the night Daniel was killed.’

  The conversation I overheard when I was in the alcove.

  ‘We didn’t think we should tell you, the lawyers weren’t supposed to broach it in the way they did.’

  ‘What sort of things was she saying?’

  ‘Utter nonsense, the judge quashed her claims immediately. I just wish you hadn’t had to go through what you did today.’

  ‘I’m all right, honestly. You’ve helped me a lot, Mike.’

  ‘I hope so, and at least now we can focus on you, on the work that needs to be done to help you heal.’

  ‘Will you do it with me?’

  ‘As much of it as I can, yes.’

  ‘As much of it as you can?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that today, Milly. All you need to worry about is getting a good night’s sleep, you deserve it.’