Good Me Bad Me(65)

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?’