Was it an offence, being late for a court mention? He had no idea. But he couldn’t go straight to court, not half dressed, smeared with mud and covered in scrapes. He drove slowly home, blinking through half-shut eyes. A council team was parked out the front, chainsaws blazing, reducing the fallen branch to manageable chunks and feeding them into the chipper. He circled around them to the gate. The smell of shredded timber, something he normally loved, cut the air like hospital disinfectant.
He changed, splashed his face, stared at himself in the mirror. The empty house scared him even more now. The place was attacking them. It was after ten-thirty. He grabbed wallet, keys, phone. Got into the car. Checked the address. Started the engine. Knew he was too strung out to drive. Got out, called a taxi.
At the courthouse he went through the security check and upstairs. The foyer of the Local Court was full of people. Children, adults, toddlers, old people – some as out of place as he, some clearly in their natural habitat. He looked around, disoriented.
‘Finn!’ Malcolm came striding over to him. ‘Where were you? Why didn’t you answer the phone? I’ve stalled them, so we’re all right for now, but you could lose your bail like this.’
‘Can we talk?’
‘Sure.’ Malcolm gestured to a nearby meeting room.
It was a relief to shut the door on it all, slump into a seat and say it out loud. ‘I want to plead guilty.’
Malcolm stared at him, shocked, then visibly shook himself. ‘Hold on. Let’s go back a step. Firstly, negligence in this case is a matter of opinion and must be proved to an extremely high level. I really doubt they can do it. Secondly, you and your family have gone through enough. You don’t need a criminal record and a jail term to add to it. There’s a good chance it will all be over at the committal hearing in a few months, if you can just be patient.’
Only someone who hadn’t lost a child accidentally could suggest that it would all be over if he were proved innocent, Finn thought. ‘But if I do plead guilty, won’t it speed things up?
‘Yes,’ Malcolm conceded.
Finn forced himself to concentrate. ‘Talk me through it.’
‘Christ.’ Malcolm rubbed his face. ‘You should consult your barrister. If you plead guilty now, you’ll waive a committal hearing. The magistrate will probably refer you straight to the next sitting of the Supreme Court for sentencing.’
‘How long?’
‘Depends on the sitting schedule.’ Malcolm pulled out his iPad. ‘You could possibly get into the next Lismore circuit or go to Sydney.’ He scrolled down the screen then looked up at Finn. ‘It’d be quick, at least. They’re sitting in Lismore on the seventeenth of November. Less than two weeks. You could get into that hearing, potentially, and Justice Kelly is a good choice for this case.’
‘What else?’
‘It’s true you would get a twenty-five per cent reduction in whatever sentence is imposed. That goes for anyone who pleads guilty straight off. Acknowledging guilt does impact on the type of sentence too: you are more likely to avoid a custodial sentence. But there’ll still be evidence heard so the judge can make up his or her mind. We’d have to build a case for why you shouldn’t get a custodial sentence. Things like the wellbeing of your surviving son would play a part. The judge will still want to hear an account of what happened, and there’ll still be cross-examination of witnesses. All that will still happen, Finn. And you’ll be a convicted criminal.’
‘I could still be a convicted criminal if it goes to trial. I could still go to jail if it goes to trial. And it might cost all the money we have. I don’t want to put my family through it. I don’t want my son on the stand. What will it cost if I plead guilty?’
‘Nothing like a trial. Say thirty thousand.’
Finn shrugged and sat back in his chair. ‘So then my wife can buy a house back in Hobart. My family has somewhere to live if I’m in jail.’
‘You realise if you get a custodial sentence, you go straight from the hearing to jail? You’d have to be prepared. Have all your affairs in order. And I really think you should refer this to your barrister.’
‘I’m ready,’ Finn said. He looked past Malcolm, out the window. In the weird, normal world that he seemed to have lost, it was another almost-summer brilliant sky-blue Tuesday.
‘I’ve made up my mind. When do we go in?’
*
Afterwards he had to tell someone. Found a quiet spot outside the courthouse and rang. Edmund’s phone went straight to voicemail, but Conor picked up. Finn tried to explain, realising how incoherent he sounded as he stumbled through the agreed explanation of Jarrah’s accident and his guilty plea in court.
‘I don’t understand.’ Conor sounded dazed. ‘I thought these things took years.’
‘They can. That’s why I’ve done it. There’s a sitting in two weeks when I’ll be sentenced and that’s it. Done.’
‘But – but – are you saying you might go to jail? In two weeks?’
‘It’s possible. But at least we’ll know the outcome.’
‘And you don’t want to fight?’
‘I can’t.’
‘But this sounds like terrible timing for Jarrah. Is he going to be all right? If it’s the money, the family can help, we can—’
‘Jesus, Conor,’ Finn snapped. ‘It’s hard enough, all right? I’ve done it.’
‘I wish you’d spoken to me first.’
‘Why?’
‘Dad’s not in a good way. We thought it was the shock over Toby, but he isn’t recovering. He’s not himself any more.’
‘Christ. How am I going to tell him this?’
‘I don’t think you can. He won’t handle it. He’s so confused, I don’t think he’d understand.’
Finn felt disembodied with exhaustion. ‘But I’m coming down. I’ve got to see him before court.’
Conor was silent for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘You’d better.’