Cath Staincliffe - Split Second

Emma felt caught, blinded in the spotlight, everyone looking, her head a blur again. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Please speak up.’ The judge sounded irritated with her.

Cat got your tongue? Dozy Dora, Whispering Winnie.

‘No,’ she said; her throat hurt. ‘I’m right.’

‘Can you be absolutely certain that Thomas Garrington didn’t say, “He’s got a knife”?’ Emma felt a swing of doubt. She steadied herself, replayed the memory. ‘No, I’m certain, he said “I’ve got a knife.”’

She waited for the blow, the ridicule, the murmurs to drown her, but nothing happened. The barrister thanked her, invited the judge to ask questions then handed over to Mr Floyd. Mr Floyd was quite young; he had dark hair and looked a bit like an actor in a spy show on the telly. He was Welsh.

‘In your statement you said you thought the defendants knew Luke Murray? Why was that?’

‘They called him Pukey Luke.’

‘Please be precise; who used that name?’

‘Erm… Thomas Garrington.’

‘Did you see my client, Nicola Healy, touch Luke at any point?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see her touch Jason Barnes?’

‘No.’

‘Did you see her touch either Luke Murray or Jason Barnes after they got off the bus?’

‘No.’

‘And you didn’t say anything on the bus when the alleged threats were made?’

‘No.’ Emma bit her cheek. Felt the fizz of static in her head.

‘You didn’t say anything when Luke Murray was pushed?’

‘No.’ Emma was shrinking, her breath getting thinner.

‘Perhaps you thought it was just horseplay? Is that the case?’

‘Erm… I wondered… Because they knew him and no one else-’

‘Did you think it might be horseplay? Yes or no?’

‘At first,’ Emma said. But then there had been danger in the atmosphere, the violence thick in the air, which had raised every hair on her body, shrivelled her stomach, shredded her nerves. ‘But then I didn’t.’

‘But you still said nothing?’

‘I thought… I wasn’t sure what was happening… Nobody else-’

‘I’m not asking anybody else,’ the barrister said firmly. ‘I’m asking you. You weren’t sure what was happening? This could have been high jinks getting out of hand? Is that fair?’

‘Yes. Perhaps,’ she said.

‘It might have all calmed down?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘You didn’t want to make a fool of yourself?’

Emma felt herself redden. How did he know? She hadn’t said that in her statement.

‘Because at that point it was far from clear whether this was a group of youngsters messing about or something more serious. Is that true?’

‘I don’t know.’ She was lost again. In a maze and all the tunnels the same. ‘I’m not sure. I was scared.’ Her mouth trembled.

‘Miss Curtis,’ the judge snapped, ‘please stick to the questions.’

Mr Floyd spoke. ‘I suggest to you that it was far from clear what the relationships were between my client and the other people accompanying her and Luke Murray, and that’s why you didn’t intervene?’

‘No. I was just scared really,’ Emma said. She looked at the public gallery, at Laura, at the woman and the girl, and the other group who she thought might be relatives of Jason. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. There was a catch in her voice and she fought not to break down, but she couldn’t control the way she shook.

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Floyd. ‘No further questions.’

Laura met her in the foyer and hugged her and told her she was bloody brave.

‘I’m not,’ said Emma, crying a little. ‘I’m a coward. I sat there and-’

‘Hey, I’d have been the same,’ Laura said. ‘But you came here. The way they talked to you! Outrageous. I wanted to slap that Patel biddy.’

Emma giggled in spite of herself. The laugh dangerously close to sobbing. There must have been a break then, because the people poured out of the court and milled about.

Mr Sweeney came up. ‘Well done,’ he said. She wiped her eyes. ‘Bit of a rough ride but you did very well.’ He moved away, walking swiftly across the concourse. They were all being nice to her and she didn’t deserve it.

The teenager she had seen in the public gallery, a beautiful girl who looked a bit like Luke, came over. ‘Luke’s my brother,’ she said; her eyes were soft and hurt. Emma’s heart lurched. ‘Why didn’t you…’ The girl began to cry.

Emma was smarting, the guilt splintering inside. She couldn’t bring herself to speak; she kept shaking her head by way of apology.

‘Ruby.’ A woman came, her face drawn; she pulled the girl away.

Emma closed her eyes. She wanted to lie down and die.

‘Oh God,’ Laura sighed, ‘let’s go.’

‘I’m going to stay.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I do,’ she said.

‘What – and beat yourself up some more?’

For a moment she considered going with Laura, pleasing her friend, escaping, but the tendril of resolve quickened and blossomed. She shrugged. ‘I’m going to stay and watch the rest of it. I owe them that.’ With her eyes burning, she went back and found a seat in the public gallery.

Louise

Louise had seen pictures of Val Barnes in the papers. One in particular she remembered: Val and Andrew beside the hearse at the cemetery. Val had been wearing a hat with a veil; she was almost as tall as Andrew, willowy.

In person, in the witness stand, she was thin as a rake. She’d fine blonde hair that fell straight to her shoulders, a striking, angular face.

Andrew rarely spoke of her, although he had told Louise that she had been off work with depression and also that she had refused to go see anyone to talk about it, though she was on tablets from the doctor.

Val’s voice was firm, cool, as she answered the initial questions. Yes, she was the mother of Jason Barnes. Jason had been out with friends that evening; he was home from university for Christmas. She described being alerted by shouts outside; she went and looked out of their lounge window. She could see figures in the garden. Her husband was upstairs in the shower.

Ruby edged closer to Louise and Louise grasped her hand.

Val described opening the door. ‘There was someone on the ground, three others kicking him.’

Louise set her jaw, tried not to go where the words threatened to take her, fought to skim over the surface of them.

‘I saw Jason running in through the gate. He was shouting, “Get off him, leave him.” He pulled one of them off, Thomas Garrington. But he pushed Jason back, knocked him over.’ She stopped abruptly. Louise watched her steady herself, raise her jaw and then continue. ‘I shouted at Jason to stop, to come in. I shouted that I was ringing the police.’

‘Did Jason come inside then?’ Mr Sweeney, the prosecutor, asked.

‘No.’ Her voice broke but she went on speaking. ‘He… erm… he picked up this garden lantern, he hit Thomas Garrington on the back. That’s when I went in and rang the police and fetched Andrew.’

‘What were the others doing?’

‘They were still kicking.’

Louise felt something come loose inside her; she arched her neck, breathed through her mouth.

‘Were they are all actively involved?’

‘Yes,’ Val said.

‘Can you please describe where the three people were in relation to Luke, and how Luke was lying?’

Ruby squeezed Louise’s hand. Louise turned to her, mouthed ‘You okay?’ prepared to leave if Ruby needed to. Ruby nodded, her mouth pinched with misery, blinking fast. Louise passed her a tissue.

‘Thomas Garrington was near his feet. Luke was on his left side facing away from the house; he had his arms over his head, his knees were bent.’