Cath Staincliffe - Split Second

Mr Sweeney, the barrister for the prosecution, was talking to her. Asking her easy questions: her name, where she lived, how she travelled to and from work. But even answering those she could feel her tongue thick and clumsy, her breathing out of sync. Mr Sweeney explained that the jury had seen CCTV footage of events on the bus, on the seventeenth of December 2010. They had also seen that Emma had the seat across the aisle from Luke Murray and close to the defendants.

‘In your witness statement you recall the defendants making abusive comments to Luke Murray. Can you tell us what those were?’

Emma swallowed. ‘They said he was a wog boy and a dirty nigger and a black bastard.’ Her face burned.

‘Anything else?’

‘A dickhead and a knobhead.’ People laughed. Emma felt awful swearing in front of everyone, even though she knew she had to say it exactly as it had been.

‘Who actually said wog boy?’

‘Thomas Garrington,’ she said.

‘And dirty nigger?’

‘Thomas Garrington.’

‘And black bastard?’

‘Nicola Healy.’ Her throat felt parched.

‘And dickhead?’

Embarrassment scalded her skin, her gullet. ‘Thomas Garrington.’

‘And knobhead?’ The word sounded ridiculous coming from the smart lawyer.

‘Thomas Garrington, just before he hit him.’ She saw the lunge the bully had made in her mind’s eye. The sickening noise when Luke’s head hit the window.

‘Did you hear Thomas Garrington threaten Luke with a knife?’

‘Yes,’ Emma said.

‘Can you remember his exact words?’

‘Yes, he said, “I’ll do you, I’ll have you, I’ve got a knife.”’

‘Was anything else said about the knife?’

‘Yes, he told the other two to tell Luke. And Conrad Quinn said, “He has, he’ll shank you.”’

‘Did you know what that meant?’

Emma coughed. ‘I guessed it meant he’d stab him but I hadn’t heard it before.’

‘It wasn’t a term you were familiar with?’

‘No.’

‘Was there any more talk about the knife at that point?’

‘Nicola Healy said, “He’ll cut you.”’

‘How did Luke react?’

‘He ignored them as much as he could; he was looking out of the window.’

‘Then Jason Barnes came downstairs. What happened then?’

‘Thomas Garrington punched Luke in the head.’ She tripped over the words, carried on. ‘His head hit the window and Jason came closer and said, “Leave him alone.”’ Emma remembered the fear, like acid searing through her, and how she had wanted to escape, to disappear. ‘Thomas Garrington told Jason to fuck off. And then Jason said “Just leave it.”’

‘Did you hear Luke speak at any point?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You saw Luke once he was off the bus?’

‘Yes, he was running.’

‘Did you see him provoke anyone? See him shout or offer any physical violence?’

‘No, he was running away, they were chasing after him.’

‘And that was the last you saw?’

She nodded. The lawyer waited and she remembered she had to speak. ‘Yes.’

‘And where was Jason?’

‘He was behind them all, trying to catch up.’

Mr Sweeney nodded and thanked her.

Shaky with relief, Emma turned to go, but the usher put her hand out to stop her.

‘Please wait,’ the judge said. ‘The barristers for the defendants now have the opportunity to cross-examine you.’

Someone sniggered. She was mortified. She stepped back into place.

Mrs Patel came forward; she was defending Thomas Garrington. She wore her hair up in clips at the back of her head and the barrister’s wig perched on top. When she spoke she had a southern accent, clipped tones and long vowels.

‘I’d like to take you back to the bus, to the point at which someone said, “I’ve got a knife.” Where were you looking then?’

‘What?’ Emma had the buzzing in her head, the blank static.

‘Were you watching my client?’

‘No.’ She hadn’t dared look; she had studied her hands in her lap, the snow outside.

‘Where were you looking?’

‘Nowhere.’

‘So you heard the expression but did not see who said it.’

‘I heard it,’ Emma said, unnerved.

‘And how could you tell who said it?’

‘From the voice.’

‘From the voice?’ Mrs Patel made her sound demented. ‘Would it be fair to describe the scene on the bus as chaotic?’

‘Yes,’ Emma said.

‘Things happened quickly?’

‘Yes.’

‘You did not know any of the people involved?’

‘No,’ Emma admitted freely.

‘Were either of the defendants or Conrad Quinn facing you?’

‘No.’ And she had prayed that they would not do so; she’d done all she could to make herself invisible, irrelevant.

‘Yet you claim to be able to tell who said what in a heated exchange when you were gazing elsewhere? How so?’

The gazing was a cheap shot, as if she hadn’t cared about what was happening. She had. But she had been so uncertain, so frightened. ‘They sounded different,’ Emma said. Her heart was banging in her chest.

‘In what way?’

Emma tried to find the words. Her hands were shaking. Everyone could see her hands were shaking. Then Mrs Patel was waiting, her head angled to the side, her eyebrows raised. And Emma couldn’t remember what she had been asked. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth.

‘Shall I repeat the question?’ Mrs Patel asked.

Emma nodded.

‘In what way did the defendants sound different from each other?’

‘Conrad Quinn sounded squeakier.’

People in the gallery laughed. Emma blinked. She scanned the seats. Found Laura. Laura wasn’t looking fed up with her or embarrassed but alert, and she looked straight at Emma and gave a small tip of her head.

‘Squeakier?’

‘Yes, like he had a cold, and he giggled a lot after he spoke, like he was a bit nervous.’

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Patel said quickly, and Emma felt a bit better because it made sense, what she’d said, and she saw one of the people in the jury nod his head.

‘You claim Conrad Quinn said, “He’ll shank you.” How would you describe his manner?’

‘He was mean, aggressive, they all were.’

‘Please only answer the question as put to you,’ the judge said.

‘Sorry.’ Emma was awkward. She was hot, could feel sweat between her breasts, on the back of her neck.

‘Mr Quinn appeared aggressive and mean?’ Mrs Patel asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Did he at any point object to what the defendants were saying?’

‘No,’ Emma said. She didn’t understand why she was asking this.

‘He didn’t try and stop them threatening Luke Murray?’

‘No, he joined in.’ Emma knew Conrad Quinn had pleaded guilty to wounding Luke. He had admitted to the police his part in everything.

‘Did you hear anyone coerce him?’

‘No,’ Emma said.

‘And when Jason Barnes remonstrated with Thomas Garrington, what did Conrad Quinn do?’

‘He jeered at him.’

‘Jeered?’

‘Yes, he jeered.’

‘What did he say?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Really?’ The lawyer’s eyes sharpened and Emma felt a twist inside her. She looked down.

‘You can’t remember? But you’ve had perfect recall up until now; why can’t you remember?’

‘I don’t know,’ Emma stammered.

‘Perhaps some of what you’ve already told us is less than accurate?’

‘No, it’s all true-’ Emma started to say, but Mrs Patel cut her off. ‘Can you really be one hundred per cent certain that it was Thomas Garrington who said “I’ve got a knife”? In the commotion of the encounter, with people jumping on seats and yelling, surely you could be mistaken?’