Cecelia Ahern - Flawed / Perfect

Mr Berry is giving me orders through his big smile: Smile, don’t smile, chin up, don’t look worried or guilty, don’t react, ignore that man, watch out for that flying dog shit. All this he says through a perfect smile. Dimples and all.

I link Mum even tighter, moving my body closer to hers, and take a quick look at her. She is holding Dad’s hand, her head up, her face completely serene and her hair in an elaborate chignon. I try to copy her, nothing out of place, composure, innocence, serenity, perfection.

The cameras are in my face; the flashes are blinding. I hear some questions, but others I can’t.

“Are you Flawed, Celestine?”

“Who are you wearing?”

“Do you believe the Guild will give you a fair and balanced trial?”

“Are you hoping for the same outcome as Jimmy Child?”

“Who’s your favourite music artist right now?”

“Is it true you got a nose job?”

“What is your opinion on the government and the Guild’s current relationship?”

I think of the many people over the decades who have walked this walk, who walk over perfect and walk back Flawed, through a courtyard of catcalling and convictions, over cobblestones of prejudice. I think of Carrick, who returned this morning with flour on his T-shirt. I understand why now. We are to be held up to the rest of the world as a mirror of their worst nightmares. Scapegoats for all that is wrong in their lives.

Cameras are in my face, and this feels like the longest walk ever. Microphones, jeering, catcalls, wolf whistles. I feel the muscles around my eyes tremble and wonder if it’s noticeable. I quickly search the faces in the crowd. They are the faces of normal, everyday people, but filled with loathing. Some are merely interested to see what’s going on; others throw themselves into it. One woman gives me a nod. It’s respectful, and I’m thankful for that one effort.

And then we are inside.

“I see people need convincing of our story,” Mr Berry says, a little shaken as he brushes down his suit.

Three judges in blood-red robes sit at the head of the room, at a raised level. The majority of the room is laid out with rows of chairs. It is not a typical courtroom, because it is in a ballroom of the old castle. There is not a free seat. At the back, people are crushed and standing. I assume they are the press, but on closer inspection, I see that they are all wearing armbands and that they are all Flawed. They stand in twos, broken up by a member of the media or a public spectator in accordance with the Flawed gathering rules.

I sit at my table at the head of all the seating, beside Mr Berry.

Mum and Dad sit in the front row behind me. There is no sign of Juniper. I look around desperately for Art, hoping for the energy that simply seeing him will give me. No sign of him, which breaks my heart. I see my granddad and I almost weep. He tips his hat.

Bosco asks me to stand.

“Celestine North,” he begins. “You stand before me charged with the offence of being a Flawed citizen of this country, for acting on an error of judgement, and as a result face ousting from regular society. Do you deny or accept this accusation?”

“Deny,” I say, my voice tiny in the large room, and I’m glad it’s over, that it’s the only thing I have to say today, because I fear that my legs, which are shaking so much, will crumple beneath me.

“Very well. We hear your plea and will over the course of your trial hear from witnesses to both the event and your character. Based on that, we will announce our findings. You may leave now, go to your home, and return to us here tomorrow morning at—”

“Just a moment, Judge Crevan,” Judge Sanchez interrupts. “Myself, and Judge Jackson, would like to put forward the motion that Ms North remain in our holding cells until the trial is over.”

Bosco looks surprised to hear this.

“We feel that due to the status of Ms North, and the attention garnered, that her going back to her home, to her life, could give her opportunity or give others opportunity to use her and her situation to their advantage.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of this,” Bosco says angrily. “And I am opposed to the idea. We only detain the accused if they pose a risk of running, and Ms North is not a threat. It would be impossible for her to disappear given the attention on her.”

“Indeed, Judge Crevan, but given the attention on her, we would like to prevent a circus, a spectacle being made of such a serious case.”

“But if she stays in her home, speaks to no one?”

“This was the same for Jimmy Child, and we know that the parameters put in place were breached.”

Bosco bristles at this, as though it has been directed at him personally. “Ms North is not Mr Child.”

“No, but we have learned from it. We feel that it is in the best interests of the Guild and the accused to confine this case within the walls of Highland Castle.”

“We need to discuss this in my chamber. This is not something that can just be—”

“I propose it now,” Judge Sanchez says coolly.

“And I favour it,” Judge Jackson agrees.

“And I oppose it,” Bosco says, bewildered. “She is just a child.”

“She will be eighteen in six months, and she is being held away from the other detainees. Only one other accused is in the same chamber as her, an eighteen-year-old detainee, which is the best we can do given the circumstances.”

Bosco is speechless.

“And so it is passed. Celestine North will return to her holding cell for the duration of her trial.” Judge Sanchez bangs the gavel against the block and looks smug.

The room erupts.

Mr Berry stares at Bosco in stunned silence, while the rest of the room is in constant movement, spinning.

“How can this happen?” Mum is asking Mr Berry, who is so still it is as though he can’t hear her. She grabs the arm of his suit, which is pin-striped with pink fine lines. “How could you let this happen?”

“There’s something going on,” he says, more to himself, but I hear him.

He looks at me, and there is a crack in the smooth exterior. I see pity in his eyes, and that, from him, terrifies me. “I’m sorry, Ms North. It appears even Judge Crevan’s enemies have decided to use you as a pawn in their game.”

When I return to the holding cell, covered in I-don’t-know-what was thrown at me on the return journey, Carrick immediately jumps up. He is as surprised to see me as I am to be back here. I am dazed and confused. Tina guides me into the cell. I have already said goodbye to my parents. Carrick follows me all the way from the door to my bed, the entire length of the cell. For the first time since I got here, he demands my attention. Even though this is what I’ve wanted since I saw him, I can’t look at him. He wants an explanation. Everybody thought I’d go home; everybody thought I’d get away with this. Carrick thought he knew the rules, but the rules changed. He needs to know what is going on more than anyone else. If I am doomed, then so is he.

I can’t be bothered to give him an explanation. I don’t have one. I feel completely numb. I sit on my bed, staring into space, still feeling his eyes on me. He stands at the glass, two hands pressed up against it, almost ordering me to look at him. I want Art. I need Art. Only he could make everything all right, right now. I lie down and turn my back to Carrick, and I don’t move all night, because I don’t want him or anyone else to see me cry.

After a night of nightmares, of hearing that man in the Branding Chamber screaming in anguish, of dreaming of bleeding tongues and of ghoulish Flawed reaching for me and grabbing at me from the barricades as I walk through the courtyard, I wake up feeling exhausted and scared, confused as to where I am. It is the day that I will testify on my own behalf. The day I tell Bosco’s lie. It is Naming Day.