He Said/She Said(32)

Can you state, under oath,’ pressed Fiona Price, ‘that the sex was non-consensual?’

‘Of course I can’t,’ said Kit. ‘You can’t swear to something you didn’t witness.’ His smile disarmed Price into a worried frown, the first genuine expression I’d seen on her face all day. Kit had, with the counterweight of his own bold truth, undermined her with her own question. A ripple of annoyance ran through the assembled ranks of Balcombes at my side. Precious stones and expensive watches rattled as arms were folded and heads shaken. They’re going to give her hell for that, I thought.



I changed out of my dress as soon as we were back in the hotel room. Kit sat cross-legged on the bed, still in his suit, a tourist map of Cornwall spread out before him, gazing unseeing at the snaking coastline.

‘I don’t think I realised what a fucking minefield it was till I was up there in the witness box,’ he said. I didn’t know if he was referring to sexual boundaries, the criminal justice system or entering into a debate about either of those things with me. ‘I mean, when they were asking me about the way he ran off; you know, is he guilty or innocent? I’m glad we don’t have to go back again.’

I froze with my dress in my hands. We still had three days left in Cornwall: I had assumed we would continue to follow the trial.

‘We could go and see Goonhilly Downs tomorrow,’ said Kit. ‘You know, that place with the standing stones and the satellite receivers that I told you about back in the summer?’ I kept my back to him as I hung up the dress and smoothed it down on its hanger in the wardrobe. ‘Ok, not quaint enough for you. What about lunch in St Ives, then?’ I still didn’t say anything. He flopped backwards and the bedsprings sighed with him. ‘You want to stay here and see out the trial.’

I turned to face him. ‘Just long enough to see him in the witness box. I didn’t get to see Beth but I want to see Jamie go through it. I want to see him deny it and I want to be there when he breaks.’

Kit didn’t look convinced. I tried to appeal to his methodical nature. ‘It’s the police and doctor tomorrow. You might feel better if you sit through all the forensic stuff.’

‘But you said yourself that it might not rest on forensics.’ Kit loosened his cufflinks, little silver hooks that I only now noticed bore his father’s initials. I couldn’t imagine the Lachlan McCall I’d known wearing a suit. He tossed them like jacks from one palm to another. ‘Could physical marks of a struggle prove he knew what he was doing or does she actually have to verbally say no?’

The next question was inevitable: did you actually hear her say no, Laura? I had to cut him off. I couldn’t lie to his face.

‘We’ve been through all this!’ I said. ‘Sex without consent is rape, Kit! End of!’

He recoiled in surprise. ‘Yeah, I know that, but—’

The next question burst out of me at the same pitch. ‘Do you believe her or not?’

I’ve reviewed this conversation endlessly, and what I think I really meant was: you do believe me, don’t you? But Kit didn’t know that, and he did what he always does when cornered: retreated into pedantry.

‘You said yourself, she never actually spoke about it afterwards. It wasn’t till the police turned up that she started talking, was it? So technically, I can’t believe or disbelieve someone who hasn’t actually said anything either way on the subject.’

He was right, of course, which must have made my next eruption all the more bewildering. ‘I didn’t know you were such a pompous, cynical fuck.’ It was projection, of course; I was lashing out at him to appease my own guilt and confusion at my earlier performance. But I didn’t understand that at the time. His face crumpled with the force of my accusation, but he stood his ground.

‘I’m not cynical,’ he said, with control. ‘I’m . . . a scientist. You can’t be emotional in a court of law. I’m just trying to see it like they do. I thought that talking through the mechanics of it might be helpful, that’s how you process things. Not every debate has to be a personal attack on your values. You know your problem? Too much compassion.’ He was shouting now. ‘You can’t go through life taking on other people’s shit like this. You haven’t got a filter.’

I’d started to cry halfway through his speech and I spat the next words.

‘At least I’ve got feelings to filter out! At least I’m not a fucking robot.’

Now Kit looked like he was fighting tears. He tightened his fist around his father’s cufflinks. ‘That’s not fair and you know it.’

We teetered on the brink of our first huge row until Kit, adhering to the habit of a quiet lifetime, acquiesced.

‘Ok,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t make fun. I can see how important it is to you. We just see things differently, that’s all.’ He kissed me on the forehead. ‘We’ll stay for the rest of the trial if that’s what you want. Two days, though. I’m not taking any more time off university.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, noticing a prickling irritation that he’d rolled over so easily even though it was what I’d wanted. ‘Just, I feel like I owe it to Beth, to go and see it happening on her behalf.’ If he’d lost some of my respect, I’d tested his, too.