Cecelia Ahern - Flawed / Perfect

The public erupts at her accusation, and a few members of the media rush out to make their reports.

Bosco announces that the CCTV in use on the bus at the time of the event, when seized by the Guild, was, unfortunately, deemed ineffective and cannot be considered as proof. I have no doubt this is Bosco managing to twist things in my favour and hold back the proof that could destroy me. Bosco announces that we must take into account it is merely the view of the people on the bus and not something we can witness ourselves. I suppose being able to witness my act themselves would be more damaging to me, at least they can make their own decision on whether to believe the witnesses or not. I’m thankful for his deception.

It occurs to me, as everyone speaks of the old man, that I don’t even know his name. I never asked and it has never been mentioned, like it isn’t important. The case revolves around him, and yet he is brushed aside as though he is nothing. I don’t want to ask Mr Berry. I don’t want it to seem like I’m pitying the man, like I have sympathy for a Flawed. I need Mr Berry to believe in me more than anyone ever has.

As the proceedings finally break for lunch, I quickly turn to my granddad before I’m taken away. “Can you get information to me about the old man?” I whisper in his ear. He nods, face intense, and I know he won’t let me down.

Everyone goes back to their lives after my entertainment, and the reporters continue their reports outside. I’m thankful we can wait in a room near the court so that I don’t have to cross the courtyard again.

I sit with my parents, Juniper and Mr Berry in the waiting room, picking at charcuterie and crackers, feeling sick from the hunger and unable to eat at the same time. I appreciate everybody’s company, but I don’t speak. I am happy to be away from all the noise, away from the unwanted attention, without having to worry about every part of me being analysed: my facial expressions, my reactions, how I sit, how I walk. I can just be.

Tina enters the room and hands me an envelope, and I know it’s from Granddad. He hasn’t let me down. Unaware of who it’s from, Mr Berry and Mum eye it like it’s a grenade, and when I read its contents, I feel like it might as well be.

What I learn from Granddad’s note is this: Clayton Byrne, the old man on the bus, was the CEO of Beacon Publishing. With a degree from the prestigious Humming University – he studied English literature. He met his wife in college and married her when they were twenty-six. They have four children. He became CEO of Beacon Publishing when he was forty-two years old and at the time was praised for his leadership skills, his ingenuity and his ability to take the company forward. He took risks, all of which paid off apart from one. Because of his failure, due to risk-taking, he was forced to resign from his position and, as a signal to all future employees of the company, was brought to the Guild and found to be Flawed. For making bad judgements in business, he received a brand on his temple, and because he lied about it to his colleagues and tried to cover his tracks, his tongue was also seared. His wife passed away two years ago, and he is suffering from emphysema. He had left the house that day without his oxygen.

Finally, I take the stand. The room is bursting with people. I see Carrick standing at the back, arms folded, beside the woman with the pixie cut who nodded at me in the courtyard. Juniper is in the front row beside Granddad. Granddad looks at me, and I nod, letting him know I received his envelope. There is still no sign of Art, though thinking he could be outside, in disguise, is better than nothing.

“We know the story of what happened on the bus,” Judge Sanchez says, beginning it all. “We’ve heard it repeated time and time again in this court over the past two days, and we could spend another two days listening to the testimonies of the other thirty people on the bus who witnessed the same thing. Your representative, Mr Berry, has kindly told us that you have waived that and accepted what they saw, and the court appreciates your understanding and respect of our time, so we will not ask you to tell us again what happened. We also understand that the only difference between your story and theirs is that they say you were helping the old man, and you say you were trying to get rid of him. And where the majority saw you as helping the man to his seat, you say he sat himself? Is this true?”

I take a deep breath.

Suddenly there is an outbreak of noise and protest within the courtroom. Four people, two women and two men, are standing and shouting, punching their fists in the air, pointing their fingers at me. They shout a single word.

“Liar.”

They shout it over and over again.

“Liar. Liar. Liar.”

“Order.” Bosco bangs the gavel. “Order.”

“If you do not silence yourselves, you will be removed from the court,” Judge Sanchez says, raising her voice.

Three of them stop shouting and sit, but one woman continues. “Our dad did nothing wrong! Our dad followed all the rules! You are a liar, Celestine North! You should be ashamed; you should be disgusted with yourself!”

The guards make their way over to her; and as soon as they lay their hands on her, the other three jump up to defend her, their sister. I’m so close to calling out I’m so sorry to Clayton Byrne’s children, but my mouth goes dry and my heart beats manically.

“It is not right what you are doing,” one son shouts, glaring at me.

“You will be reminded to stay quiet,” Judge Sanchez says. “If you have one more outburst, you will be removed from the court.”

The four of them go silent and sit down. One daughter starts crying and is comforted by the other.

My heart starts to palpitate; my breathing is irregular. All eyes are on me, judging me, thinking these things of me. All this to prove that I am not Flawed, and by doing so I feel less than perfect. It feels wrong.

“Okay, Celestine?” Mr Berry watches me intently.

My eyes dart around the room as I tally the people I am letting down: Granddad; Juniper; Dad; even Carrick at the back, who must know by now I’m lying; and the woman with the pixie cut who nodded at me with respect both days. Art, who is waiting for me somewhere outside, who told me to do exactly what Mr Berry said. Myself. The people I will actually let down if I admit to being Flawed is far fewer.

“Can my client have a drink of water?” Mr Berry asks.

My mind races as I see him pouring a glass of water and bringing it to me. I take a sip, my mind still racing, and suddenly I notice that Mr Berry is trying to get my attention. The judges are talking to me and I haven’t been listening.

“I’m sorry, pardon?” I ask, coming back into the room.

“I said, what possessed you, Celestine? It’s a simple question, isn’t it?” Judge Sanchez is looking at me over the rim of her red-framed glasses, which match her lipstick.

It is the question my mum asked, that countless others asked. What possessed me? I never had an answer for them, but now I do. It’s not the answer I rehearsed with Mr Berry, but they are the only words my mouth will allow me to say.

“He reminded me of my granddad,” I say, and it’s as though there is no air in the room. Not a sound. I see Carrick stand more alert. I can now see his eyes, which were hidden beneath the cap. He’s looking right at me. Something about having his eyes on me makes me feel stronger.

“The old man, his name is Clayton Byrne,” I say closely into the microphone, the first time his name has been said. “When Clayton got on the bus, I thought he was my granddad.” I think about how I felt then as he started coughing. “He was coughing, and I thought he was going to die. I didn’t care if he was Flawed; I just saw a person, a human being, who reminded me of my granddad, who no one was helping. So to answer your question, as to what possessed me … the answer is, compassion. And logic. He didn’t take a seat, I helped him into it. At the time,” I address everybody now, willing them to understand, “it felt like the perfectly right thing to do.”