When You Are Mine(80)

‘I was taken to hospital by the police, but I don’t have the photographs.’

‘Why not?’

‘The hospital couldn’t find them.’

‘This is bullshit!’ mutters Goodall. Dardenne puts a hand on his shoulder, urging him to be quiet.

The outburst unnerves Alison, who loses her focus. She begins speaking too quickly, jumbling her words.

Dardenne is on his feet. ‘My client strenuously denies that he has ever been violent towards his wife.’

‘He chokes me and brings me back, so he can choke me all over again,’ says Alison. ‘Each time he whispers to me that I’m going to die and my children will be next.’

‘More lies,’ says Goodall.

The judge points a finger. ‘One more word and I’ll have you removed.’ She turns back to Alison. ‘Have you reported his behaviour?’

‘Nathan did – my little boy made an emergency call.’

‘And you gave the police a statement.’

Alison shakes her head, looking miserable. ‘I was too scared. I mean – he’s one of them – a police officer.’

The last statement is delivered with rancour and also a strength that I haven’t recognised in Alison until now.

‘Do you have any corroborating evidence? A police report. A recording of the call?’

‘No.’

‘Where are you living now?’ asks Judge Rees.

‘With my parents.’

‘How old are your children?’

‘Six and two. They have nightmares. They don’t want to see their father.’

‘That’s very young to have made up their minds.’

‘Old enough to be frightened of him.’

Judge Rees thank Alison and asks her to step down. She glances to the opposite end of the bar table, where Dardenne gets slowly to his feet and slips his hands into his pockets.

‘My client is a decorated police officer who was badly wounded in the line of duty. He is a hero in anyone’s language, who has suffered from PTSD as a result of his bravery and has been undergoing counselling for the past ten months. He concedes that there have been problems in the marriage, but he categorically denies the allegations that he was violent or abusive towards his wife and children. Rather than being the perpetrator here, Mr Goodall is the victim. His wife’s behaviour has become increasingly irrational: unlocking his phone, reading his text messages, accusing him of having an affair.’

‘He was having an affair,’ says Alison, her voice shaking.

‘You’ve had your turn, Mrs Goodall,’ says Rees.

Dardenne picks up a document.

‘A week ago, my client went to his local police station and reported that he and his wife were having marital difficulties. Sergeant Goodall feared that his wife would make false accusations against him and he wanted his concerns to be documented to protect himself. This is a copy of the notes taken by the desk sergeant.’

A court clerk collects the paper and delivers it to the judge.

Dardenne picks up a second document.

‘This is a report from the social care team at Brent Council. Five days ago, Sergeant Goodall noticed bruises on his daughter’s arms that appear to be the result of the child being violently gripped and shaken. When he asked his wife about the bruises she lost her temper and threatened to blame him. Although reluctant to make a complaint against his wife, Sergeant Goodall contacted the social care team at Brent Council and registered his concerns.’

Alison lets out a squeak of protest and I glance at the judge to see if she’s buying any of this. Hard to tell.

‘Mrs Goodall is on antidepressants, which have been prescribed by a Harley Street psychiatrist, a Dr Helen Krause. I had hoped to persuade Dr Krause to attend today’s hearing, but patient-doctor privilege prevents her from discussing details. There is, however, another witness in court today. Mrs Jennifer Hammond, my client’s mother-in-law. She can testify to her daughter’s fragile state of mind.’

The look on Alison’s face is one of numbness rather than disbelief. She is staring at her mother, who has turned pale, clearly ambushed by the request.

Judge Rees seems to take pity on both women.

‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’

Dardenne continues: ‘There is no medical evidence to support Mrs Goodall’s allegations. No photographs. No doctor’s reports. No record of the police ever being called to their address.’

‘But the ambulance came,’ says Alison, sounding defeated.

‘Paramedics attended the address because Mrs Goodall had threatened to harm herself.’

‘That’s not true,’ she says plaintively. ‘He threatened my baby. He hit my little boy.’

Goodall shouts, ‘They’re my children, too.’

Without realising it, I’m on my feet. ‘I’ve heard the tape.’

Everybody stops and turns. Judge Rees peers at me over the top rim of her glasses. ‘And you are?’

‘PC Philomena McCarthy. I’m with the Metropolitan Police.’

Goodall interrupts: ‘She’s not a serving police officer. She’s been suspended.’

Judge Rees sighs in irritation, waving her hand up and down, wanting him to sit down. She glances at her watch. Then she points to me.