The following Monday Marcy, Claudia, and Jasmine arrived at the court in good time, leaving Henry to park the car while they cleared security and found Andee in the main lobby with Dan and Helen.
“Is Archie here yet?” Marcy asked as they greeted one another.
“He’s just arrived,” Helen replied. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Marcy lied, as Claudia said, “She’s worried,” and Jasmine said, “This is a big deal for her, coming out in public like this.”
Marcy regarded them helplessly. “Anything else of mine you’d like to share?” she asked snippily. Without waiting for an answer she said to Helen, “When you see him please tell him we’re here and that nothing’s changed, I’m still going to speak up for him.”
“Of course.” Helen squeezed her arm to show that she understood what this was costing Marcy.
“Can you also ask him,” Claudia said, slipping a hand into Dan’s as he came to greet her, “why he hasn’t been in touch since the indictment changed?”
“Don’t pressure him,” Marcy scolded. “He’s got enough to think about.” Addressing Helen again, “Of course, if it all goes wrong it’ll be my fault . . .”
“Nana, for heaven’s sake,” Jasmine protested. “He made the decision himself to plead not guilty . . .”
“But I encouraged him . . .”
“He also has a legal team,” Helen came in gently. “Now, I ought to go down there, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll see you in court.”
As she walked away Andee said, “Has anyone seen Archie’s barrister?”
“He’s in the robing room,” Dan told her.
“What about Maria?” Marcy asked, searching the busy lobby and the queue coming through security.
“No sign of her yet,” Andee replied, as Henry joined them, “but I’m sure she’ll be here. Now you understand it’s possible you won’t be called today?” she said to Marcy.
“Yes, Helen explained that, but I can sit in court?”
“Provided the judge doesn’t ask witnesses to wait outside.”
Although it was starting to feel too much already, Marcy kept it to herself, certain the rising panic would dissipate before it reached a peak.
Dan said, “Here’s Maria,” and going over to security he waited for her to come through before bringing her to join their group.
“Are you OK?” Marcy asked, her nerves clenching again at the sight of Maria’s pale face and red-raw eyes.
“Yes, din sleep so well. Is he ’ere?”
“Apparently, yes,” Claudia told her. “Helen’s gone down to see him.”
Maria’s eyes filled with tears as she turned to Dan. “They gon’ lock ’im up for good?” she asked brokenly.
“I’m sure that won’t happen,” he soothed, sounding more confident than any of them felt. “Come on, there’s time to get us all a coffee before we go upstairs.”
Twenty minutes later they were taking their seats at the front of the public gallery, and as Marcy looked down into the well of the court she felt another surge of anxiety at the prospect of standing there in front of everyone with her terrible face on full display.
She took a breath and made herself think of Archie, and how awful it was going to be for him when he was brought up from the cells and seated behind the bulletproof screen. And how hard it was going to be for his mother seeing him there. Hopefully Maria wouldn’t cry out, or make any sort of fuss that would end in her being ejected from proceedings.
As though sensing her mother’s turmoil, Claudia reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. A smile of gratitude flitted across Marcy’s face, making her aware of the tightness of the warped, silvery-red skin that was so unlike anyone else’s.
Claudia watched Dan entering the court below with Helen Hall. Gordon Lock the barrister was with them, a tall, imposing figure with hawkish features and thick gray hair just visible beneath his horsehair wig. He was not someone it was easy to imagine summoning forth sympathy and understanding from a jury. However, looks could be deceiving, and Helen Hall had told them that Archie was extremely fortunate to have this man on his side.
Why, she asked herself for the thousandth time, were they rooting for someone who’d caused such terrible damage to her mother? It felt wrong in so many ways—but she tried to remind herself that Archie, in his way, was as much a victim of Marcus’s as they were.
As Dan glanced up, she gave him a smile and thought of how lucky she was to have him in her life. Just please, when this was all over, don’t let Marcus do something to ruin things. He’s not going to be released, she told herself firmly. The uncle, BJ, will tie him to the arson and he’ll be remanded back into custody before he even makes it onto the street.
The jury was brought in and as Marcy watched them, seven women and five men of varying ages and ethnicity, she was trying to imagine how they were going to react when they saw her face for the first time. It would be perhaps the most damning evidence of all against Archie, probably enough to make up their minds there and then for a conviction. After all, what more would they need to see to feel certain that he’d behaved recklessly enough to endanger life? However, once they’d heard the testimony she, Claudia, and Helen had prepared, it might persuade them to look at things in a different way.
It was the best she could hope for and in spite of how she was feeling right now, she remained determined to go through with it.
“Here he is,” Jasmine murmured, and as Maria let out a wail all eyes went to Archie being escorted into the dock by two prison officers. He was wearing a navy suit that Dan had helped Maria to choose for him, a cream-colored shirt and a tie that didn’t look comfortable around his muscular neck. He kept his eyes down, and didn’t even look up when one of the officers spoke to him.
This was Marcus’s doing, Claudia kept thinking. His compulsion to control and punish her, and remind her that even where he was he could still reach her, had brought this tragedy into their lives.
But Archie should have, could have walked away, and that was the case the prosecution was going to make, a case against which there was really no good argument to offer.
As soon as Mrs. Justice Kerr was seated, proceedings got underway with the reading of the indictment. As they’d known he would, Archie responded guilty to the first charge—aggravated arson with the intention to destroy property; and not guilty to the second—aggravated arson being reckless as to whether life would be endangered.
The Crown’s opening statement followed, a bitter excoriation of Archie’s background and character along with countless instances of his—no other way to describe it—reckless disregard for human life that culminated in what had happened to Ms. Marcy Kavanagh. It was such a merciless taking apart of a young man and his failure as a decent and worthy member of society that Jasmine had to take Maria outside before someone forced her to go for sobbing so noisily.
“I di’ my best,” Maria choked, as she went. “I swea’ di’ my best.”
Marcy only wished she could have left with them, for next came the wholly unedifying experience of hearing herself and her family being spoken about by the prosecution with such crowing pity, indignant righteousness, and outrage that she kept wishing it would stop. There was no doubt, however, that it was resonating well with the jury.
At last prosecuting counsel finished his opening and Gordon Lock rose to his feet. In spite of how fierce he looked and the arresting power of his voice, his calm presentation of a young lad reformed and ready to accept responsibility for his actions, as well as the steps he’d taken to show his remorse to his victim, was persuasive, Marcy thought. Whether the jury shared her view was impossible to tell.
At twelve thirty they broke for lunch, and reconvened at two, when witnesses for the prosecution began to take the stand: police and fire officers, Rohan Laghari the burns consultant, all, in their own ways, adding to the condemnation of Archie and his actions.
Finally, it was over for the day, and after Marcy, Claudia, and Jasmine parted company with everyone in the lobby, leaving Dan to make sure Maria got the right bus home, Henry drove them back to the coach house.
As soon as they arrived Marcy left the others to discuss the day’s events and took herself to her room. She needed a few minutes alone to assimilate and hopefully conquer the building dread of taking the stand the following day.
In her previous life, before the fire, she wouldn’t have thought twice about getting up to address a room full of strangers. She’d had confidence then, and courage, and always a belief in what she was saying. She hadn’t questioned herself, and she certainly hadn’t thought about her looks, other than to make herself presentable before the event began.
She wasn’t that person anymore, physically or mentally, and yet until today she’d thought she was making good progress in overcoming her insecurities. She’d truly believed she was calmer, or at least less horrified by her own looks; she’d even been able to mix with friends in public places. And wasn’t entering into the RJ process with Archie proof that she still held the same values she always had? She’d always believed in redemption—easy when she hadn’t had to put it into practice—and even after everything that had happened, perhaps especially after what had happened, she still had faith in a person’s ability to change for the good. She had no doubt of it in Archie’s case; he was genuinely sorry for what he’d done, to the point that he was ready to go to prison for destroying her property.
He was doing the right thing in admitting to the first count of arson, but he really didn’t deserve to be found guilty on the second count. It would be so easy for the jury to believe he’d been reckless, but she was fully convinced that there had been no intention to cause her harm. She just didn’t know if she had it in her to stand up in court to say so.
Going through to the bathroom, she stopped just inside the door and bowed her head. The mirror was still her enemy, brutal and unforgiving, the harshest of truth tellers, the place where there was nowhere to hide. It would be like that for the rest of her life; and it would be the same in court tomorrow. All eyes would be on her, scrutinizing her scars, flinching, pitying, inwardly recoiling, and probably thanking God that they didn’t have to look at her for long.
Why would she put herself through the distress of it when Claudia, or Gordon Lock, could speak for her?
Unable to face her reflection, she turned away and picked up a towel to dry her eyes. She hated self-pity and usually did everything she could to avoid it, but now that it was here she couldn’t make it go away. Trying to carry on as if nothing had changed wasn’t helping her tonight. Nothing was and nothing could, because her conscience, her confidence, and her heart were in such terrible conflict that it was impossible to find a way forward.
“Mum,” Claudia said softly.
Marcy didn’t look up, but when Claudia’s arms went around her she simply sobbed into her shoulder.
“It’s all right,” Claudia whispered, stroking her hair. “You don’t have to do it. Everyone will understand.”