Good Me Bad Me(12)

‘Why?’

‘Just a precaution really.’

She looks at Mike. He looks back. The world turns on a million different looks. Glances. I work hard to decipher them, harder than most. My psychologist at the unit enlightened me. You may have a compromised ability to read emotions, he said. He meant: my mind does not function the same way an average person’s does. So I read textbooks, watch people on TV and in the street. I practise. Leaps and bounds, improvement can always be made. ‘Average’ is not a word I like.

‘It’s nothing to worry about, it’s just sometimes there can be a bit of a crowd outside when there’s big trials going on. Some real eejits, mostly just looking for trouble.’

‘People want to see her, don’t they?’ I ask.

June places her hand on my forearm, I move it away. Mike nods, he understands.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘And yes, people will want to see her but it’s also a way of protecting you. Even though the press aren’t allowed to mention you by name or use any photographs, you never know.’

‘Shall we make a move,’ Mike says. ‘It’s almost nine.’

‘We should, you’re right, the lawyers are waiting. Must be about time for a cup of tea as well, maybe even a choccy bicky if we’re lucky. You fancy that, Milly?’

I nod, fancying the idea of shoving one down her throat more.

We take the lift to level -2, the bowels of the building. Quiet. We won’t be disturbed. I’m disturbed enough already, they think. June shows us into a room, two men around a large rectangular table. Long strip lighting, a migraine threatens, will be made worse by the slight flickering from the light furthest away at the back of the room. Coffee-and teacups in the middle of the table, proper cups made out of china, no polystyrene excuses. The detective at the police station where I gave my first statement said it was for safety, you can’t smash polystyrene, love.

I remember thinking, no, but you could use the scalding contents.

The men stand up, shake hands with Mike. Crown Prosecutors is their official title. I wonder if they were specially selected, or perhaps they volunteered. Perhaps there was a scrum of volunteers, all keen to be involved in one of the most high-profile cases ever to be tried. Their job is to pursue, and persuade the jury to nail you to the wall. Merely a formality, I’ve been told. Your ship has sailed. A one-way ticket to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred. Fucked.

I did that to you.

I don’t catch their names, Skinny and Fatty will do, easy to remember.

‘Shall we begin?’ Skinny says.

June kicks off with an update as to how I’m ‘coping’ at home, and the adjustment to a new school. Mike chips in, good stuff mainly. Everyone’s impressed by how well I’m doing.

‘No disturbed sleep?’ June asks.

‘Not really,’ I reply.

Lie.

Mike casts a fleeting look at me, he suspects otherwise, says nothing. Ownership. He’ll take the credit for me doing well, looking like I’m doing well. I wonder if he’d also take the fall if I turned out just like you.

Fatty moves on to discuss the trial process in detail, says that if need be I’ll be brought in the week before to watch my evidence video.

‘By then we’ll know the angle the defence lawyers plan to come in at – and how to bring them down, of course,’ he says.

Leans back in his chair. Pudgy interlocked sausages at the end of his hands, resting on his fat stomach. Smug. Buttons strain in protest. I look away, sickened by his lack of discipline. He continues.

‘The jury will be presented with the details of your childhood. They’ll be given copies of your medical records, including the extent of your –’

He pauses, the room heavy with words he can’t say. I look at him, his turn to struggle with eye contact. He nods slightly, we move on. I don’t blame him, a common reaction. I heard the nurses at the hospital discussing my injuries. Out of earshot, they thought. Never seen anything like it, one said, her own mother it was, and she’s a nurse would you believe. Yes, another replied, that’s why most of the injuries were never reported, dealt with at home, she’ll never be able to have kids, you know. You told me I should be thankful, you’d done me a favour. Children were nothing but trouble.

‘The final and perhaps most important point to be discussed is whether or not Milly presents in court,’ Skinny says. ‘And at some level this may be out of our control due to developments in the last few days.’

‘Developments?’ June asks.

‘There’ve been noises from the defence camp in regards to certain things they’d like to question Milly on.’

A pounding in my chest. A carrier pigeon, an important message in a small barrel round its neck. Cage door locked, while the others fly free.

‘What sort of things?’ June asks.

‘We’re not entirely clear yet, and it’s probably not helpful to dwell on it too much until we’re sure,’ Fatty says.

‘Well, it would have been helpful to know about this prior to today,’ Mike says, looking first at me then the lawyers. ‘It doesn’t leave Milly in a very nice position, wondering what it is they want to ask her.’

I have a feeling I know. A bad feeling.

‘Agreed,’ says June.