Cath Staincliffe - Blink of an Eye

I’ve been warned that I could get some pretty rough treatment under cross-questioning, but I think it’s the first sight of people that’s going to be the hardest. Lily’s parents and her brothers, and Alex and Monica. Alex in the dock.

Where he would have put me.

Carmel

We were all sitting together, Phil and Suzanne and I immediately behind the Vaseys, who arrived just after us. Everyone in their best, sombre clothes. I caught Tina Vasey’s eye as the family made their way along the row of seats and tried to express my sympathy without words, and she gave a tiny nod of understanding. She wore a grey suit jacket and skirt, on the jacket a brooch, enamelled white and green. A lily.

The two boys, Robin and his brother, look so alike, I’m not even sure which is the one who came to the house.

The solicitor hadn’t been able to tell us how long it would be until Naomi was called. Might even be the next day. Before her there would be evidence from Alice and Larry and then from the police who were first on the scene and the paramedics. After them the hospital doctor and the police officer who interviewed Alex and later Naomi. Sometimes they play the 999 call in court. I was dreading that. Imagining Alex’s voice, torn and frantic, stumbling to explain, high with panic: We hit a little girl. Oh God, I think she’s dead, and my girlfriend’s not breathing. My stomach hurt. My mouth was dry. I had some mints; I took one and offered the packet to Phil and Suzanne.

Suzanne was still reeling. I’d hoped that Jonty would see sense, crawl back with his tail between his legs, but apparently not. Though whether Suzanne would have given him a second chance was highly debatable. She’d thrown herself back into work, even done a couple of trips abroad, Milan and Paris, for the fashion shows, and Ollie’d stayed with us. Suzanne had put the house on the market. She was looking at renting somewhere until the divorce was sorted out and the financial situation was clear.

She and Jonty were trying to work out what contact he’d have with Ollie. It was hard for Suzanne, especially as it would mean that Ollie was going to spend time with the production assistant, who Jonty was living with. We did offer Suzanne a room with us, though I’m glad she said no. It wouldn’t really have helped Naomi: too much bad blood, too big a sense of betrayal. I don’t think Naomi and Suzanne will ever be really close. Oh, they cleared the air, as much as was possible. And Suzanne came to court for her sister, but I think she blew it really and Naomi’s drawn a line; she’s not going to put herself in the position of being hurt by Suzanne again.

There was a hushed anticipation in the room as the court officers went about their work and more people arrived. The barristers with their wigs and gowns chatted to each other. The clerk instructed us all to turn off our mobile phones and reminded people that taking photographs was not allowed. Then we were asked to stand and the judge came in, a tall woman in her robe and wig, wearing very large glasses. Once she was seated, we all sat down again.

We had speculated endlessly about what Alex’s defence would be, and could only assume that he’d continue to insist that Naomi was driving and try to undermine Alice’s and more importantly Larry’s testimony. Even though Larry had identified Alex to the satisfaction of the police, the defence would probably try and compromise his account – question his eyesight and memory and so on.

The clerk stood up and nodded to the barristers, then he said, ‘Call Alex Cottingley.’

Alex came up the steps and into the dock, every inch a promising young professional in a dark navy pinstripe suit, shirt and tie. He was accompanied by a court officer, who stood at the far side of the dock area. Alex glanced back, up to our left, towards a middle-aged man with a tan and a grey-haired woman, who I thought might be his father and grandmother. He looked ashen, terrified really. He was visibly trembling.

The clerk called for Monica next, and she came up the stairs followed by another court officer and stood beside Alex. She wore a black skirt suit and a white blouse. I felt a burn of resentment, hot in my chest, looking at them both.

The clerk spoke, asking Alex to confirm his name and address and date of birth, the day he shared with Naomi, only a year older. Then he did the same with Monica.

I looked away. I was finding it hard to watch. In front of me, Lily’s father’s shoulders moved up and down, like he was taking a long, slow breath.

The jury filed in. I wondered if they were apprehensive too – or looking forward to their role. Once they were seated, the judge began to explain to them what the charges were.

Alex suddenly made a noise, a sort of sob, and I saw him jerk, bending over as though someone had hurt him. ‘I can’t!’ he cried out.

‘Alex?’ Monica said, concern clear in her voice.

He straightened up. ‘Oh God,’ he said, and everyone stirred. ‘Naomi!’ he cried out, and my skin prickled at the sound of her name.

‘Alex!’ Monica said, steel in her tone. ‘Stop it! Stop it now!’

The judge started to admonish them but had got no further than ‘Mr Cottingley…’ when Alex said, his voice cracking, ‘I can’t do it, Mum, I can’t.’

‘Alex!’ Her voice cracked like a whip.

He was shaking his head, his breathing loud and uneven, in terrible distress. ‘I’m guilty,’ he blurted out. ‘Guilty.’

The word rolled around the room and the place exploded.

Monica yelled at him, ‘No! Alex, no!’ and his father and grandmother were calling out. One of Lily’s brothers shouted, ‘Yes! Yes!’ and the Vaseys fell on each other and Mrs Vasey started crying.

Alex was muttering, ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over again. His barrister had gone white in the face. He hadn’t been expecting this.

Suzanne stared at me, her eyes wide. Phil said, ‘Oh my God.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘Oh God.’

The clerk called for silence and the room settled, but the air was thick with tension. Monica’s head was bowed and she no longer tried to communicate with Alex.

The judge asked the jury to leave while a legal point was discussed. Once they’d gone, she instructed Alex’s barrister to meet with Alex.

Alex was taken down. As he passed Monica, she grabbed at him, close to hysterical, gasping, ‘Alex, Alex, please, Alex.’ He twisted away. Then she howled, a guttural noise that made my flesh crawl. ‘Please,’ she called to her barrister, ‘I need to talk to you. God, please!’

Another wave of reaction washed around the public gallery and the press benches. There was some discussion between her barrister and the judge, and Monica too was taken down the steps from the dock. Then we all rose as the judge disappeared too.

Over the next twenty minutes the room buzzed with speculation and hummed with tension. I felt nauseous, despite chain-sucking mints. I thought it must be intolerable for the Vaseys, restless in the front row, talking to each other in sporadic bursts.

Finally we were instructed to stand again. The judge re-emerged from the door at the back of the court, and once we’d settled, the clerk called Alex and Monica. The jury didn’t come back in and I guessed then that the guilty pleas were going to be entered.

Alex’s barrister stood up. ‘Your Honour, would you please put the charge again?’

The judge nodded, and the clerk rose and said, ‘Alex Cottingley, you are charged that on the twentieth of May last you drove a motor vehicle on a road, namely Mottram Lane, Sale, Greater Manchester, causing death by dangerous driving, contrary to section 1 of the Road Traffic Act 1988. Are you guilty or not guilty?’

‘Guilty,’ he said brokenly. Tina and Simon Vasey were huddled close together, his arm around her, and she gasped aloud as Alex spoke. I felt a bloom of relief inside. I longed to tell Naomi.