Good Me Bad Me(11)

When I make my way back downstairs, I pause to tickle Rosie on her tummy, the hair of her coat gingery, bristly. She appreciates the gesture, gentle touch, her tail sweeping the floor.

‘She likes you, you know,’ Mike says as he approaches.

‘I like her.’

‘We’ll take the Tube I think, it’ll be quicker than waiting in traffic.’

We join the throngs of commuters as we reach Notting Hill Gate, head down into the Underground and on to a train. The carriage is busy, full of City workers in suits, jackets off, sleeves rolled up to escape the heat of the Underground, even in September. Life, so different in London, the way people move around together, live so close to each other. No acres of privacy here. Mike and I stand, sandwiched between the crowds, get off at a station called St Paul’s, and as soon as we emerge into the open, Mike starts a conversation about the trial, about the options available to me if I have to go to court.

‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot,’ he says. ‘About the special measures you’ve been placed under, so you can use a live video link instead of having to go into the courtroom. What do you think about that?’

Futile. That’s what I think. I can feel you lining up the guns, loading them. I could say yes to Mike, yes, I’d much rather give evidence from a video link, but he doesn’t know the feelings I live with every day. That even though I’m no longer with you, a part of me still wants to please you and indulge my desire to be close to you again, the same room. The last chance I’ll get.

I hear Mike say, ‘Let’s take a left here, avoid the crowds.’ We leave the main road and walk down a cobbled alleyway, the change of pace and noise calming. St Paul’s Cathedral rises up between the gaps in the buildings. Until today I’d only seen it in pictures. So much more beautiful in real life. I never thought I would like living in a big city, but the density of the buildings, the amount of people, is reassuring. Safe.

‘Milly, you didn’t answer me. Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yeah, I did, sorry, and I get why you think the video link is a good idea, but what if I want to opt out? What if I don’t want to use special measures? When June came to see me at the hospital she left me a leaflet. It said I was allowed to do that.’

‘You can opt out, but I’m not sure why you’d want to do that?’

I can’t tell him, I’m not able to say it. That the person I want to run from is also the person I want to run to. So instead I tell him it’s because, for once, I want to choose. I want to be the one making a decision involving me.

‘I appreciate where you’re coming from but I’m not sure I agree, especially after this morning. You were very upset when the headlines came on.’

‘It was more of a shock than anything, the jam slipped through my fingers, an accident.’

‘I know, but still, we want to protect you.’

He can’t. Nobody can. There’s a game being played, a secret head-to-head. No referee. My only chance to break free is if I go to court.

‘I’ll be sixteen soon, Mike. I’m not a kid any more. I want the chance to do this, to feel brave, to walk away knowing I managed to stand up in court and be questioned, knowing that she was there too.’

‘I need to think about it some more, Milly, but what I can say is that you’re doing very well, better than anyone could have hoped.’

‘So in reality I should be able to manage to go to court.’

We stop at the end of the alleyway, where it rejoins the main road, the noise from the traffic apparent again. He turns to face me. I give him eye contact – I can, when necessary, just not for long.

He nods, cognitive wheels rotating. A spit inside his head.

‘We’ll talk to the lawyers about it today. I can see your point of view but everybody has to be in agreement on this one and, to be honest, I’m not sure June will be. But if it’s any consolation, I’ll talk to her, at least help her see it from your point of view as well, and we’ll go from there. Okay?’

‘Okay. Thank you.’

Got him, just where I want him.

We enter the reception of the lawyers’ offices through a large set of revolving doors, an atrium flooded with light from a dome-shaped glass ceiling. June’s there already, smiles as she greets us. When I met her at the unit she said, in a thick Northern Irish accent, we want what’s best for you. You don’t even know me, I wanted to reply.

‘Hi, guys, did you dander your way here okay?’

‘Yeah, no problem at all,’ Mike replies.

‘Hi, Milly, nice to see you again, it’s been a while. You okay?’

I nod. Look up at the offices surrounding us, floor after floor, a corporate cake, no cherry on the top. People in suits, neutral looks on their faces. Masks. A sense of purpose in the air, movement, shoes tapping across the floor, also marble. A security guard monitors the turnstiles as identification cards on lanyards round necks are removed and swiped. So many decisions made here, so many lives changed. Soon it will be your life. And mine.

‘Milly.’

‘Milly. June’s talking to you.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I was just explaining to Mike that the courthouse, which is called the Old Bailey, isn’t far from here. You’re to use the underground car park if you’re called to attend the trial at any point.’