By Jacob1395
Stacey
Everything hangs on this moment, but it’s so difficult to concentrate. Breathe, stay calm, stay composed; don’t let the journalists see you cry. They’d love that.
I’ve been coming to this court room for the past two weeks, every single day, like I said I would, even though he didn’t want me to. It was important for me to hear the evidence for myself, listen to what the police had to say. I didn’t want to just read what was happening in news reports. The reporters are all convinced my son is guilty and the newspapers always twist things. Some of the headlines they’ve printed about my son, and family, have been wildly inaccurate, laughable, but of course, no one wants to listen to me when I complain.
My gaze fixes on my son, Joshua, standing in the dock. He’s so smart in his suit. His usually wavy brown hair is a little bedraggled though. If it was a normal day, I’d be telling him to go to the hairdressers, even though he’s thirty, and hasn’t been living at home for five years. From my position up here in the public gallery, I can still make out the faint scar above his right eye, from where he had an accident, while playing with a friend when they were both ten-years-old. They thought it would be a good idea to launch themselves from a chair and onto the sofa, some sort of super hero game, until the chair gave way under them. My son’s forehead gashed open on the corner of the fire place. My heart stopped when I saw the blood gushing out of his wound.
The very first day of the trial, he’d glanced up at the public gallery and his eyes found mine. I’d seen the look of horror on his face as he realised I was sitting there. He hasn’t looked up to face me again. Right now his gaze is fixed on the judge ahead. What must be going through his mind? In one reality he could be walking out of here a free man, all smiles, vindicated, free to live his life. In another he’ll be escorted out of here to a waiting police van. Fate has yet to decide what scenario we’ll find ourselves in.
The court usher makes her way across the room. I hold my breath, squeezing the fabric of my clothes. This is the moment. Her shoes slap against the marble floor. She turns to the jury. I’ve tried to study the facial expressions of each member of the jury since the trial began. On being shown evidence, some let out audible gasps of shock and horror. Others managed to keep their expressions neutral.
The usher, a woman, in, I suspect, her early fifties, turns to the jury.
‘Would the foreman please stand,’ she says.
A middle-aged, dark haired woman on the end of the row obeys. She’s nervous. She doesn’t want to look at my son, that’s pretty obvious. He hasn’t even so much as glanced in the direction of the jury since the trial began. The usher’s next words drift in through one ear and out the other. I can’t understand what she’s saying. This is the part I need to hear. I’ve given the foreman a name inside my head, Georgia. She looks like a Georgia, in my opinion.
‘Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?’
It seems to take an age for Georgia to respond. I want to be sick. This is impossible. How are we in this position? He’s innocent. My son is innocent. Surely they can see it. I grip the armrests on my seat.
‘Guilty.’
In my head Georgia’s voice falters a little as she delivers the verdict. There are excited murmurings from the journalists sitting around me. No. This wasn’t meant to happen. The next few moments are a blur. My son remains composed in the dock. I want to call out to him, tell him I will save him. I will get this decision overturned. This is wrong. This is so, so wrong. My heart feels as though it’s about to burst open. Tears prick my eyes.
Before he’s led away, he glances just once up at the public gallery and his eyes find mine.
My son is innocent and by God I will prove it.
By Jacob1395
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Please see author notes for a summary of what has happened in previous chapters.
*********
Stacey
‘Mrs Dale . . . Mrs Dale.’
No. Not now. My son’s lawyer is still trying to grab my attention. I won’t talk to him. He let my son down. He promised the case against him was flimsy and would be thrown out; I hate him for what he’s done to us; he’ll still have his career, his life, while we’re forced to be swallowed up by the gutters and spat out with the sewerage.
Bodies swarm in front of me, barring my way as I leave the courtroom, intent on making it outside, before my son’s lawyer manages to corner me. The moment I leave though, I’ll be facing the wrath of the journalists, and the public, demanding my son be hanged. How can they say this when they know nothing about him? If I could take my son’s place so he’d be free of this, I would, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Bring back the death penalty, some of them cried on social media following his arrest. But they haven’t seen the bigger picture; I have to keep reminding myself that.
The sneer on the face of Detective Inspector Dominic Hitchin’s, as my son was led away, was surely evident for all to see, it was a good job there were so many obstacles in my path to stop me from jumping down and pummelling my fists into him, oh it would’ve been such a delight to throw him to the ground. He’s the man who’s destroyed our lives.
I drink in greedy gulps of grimy, heated, air as I crash out of the court and onto the steps outside. London is going about its normal day as though nothing else is going on. Red busses travel past, office workers in suits hurry up and down the street, phones clamped to their ears. The pack of journalists are standing to my left, thank God they haven’t noticed me. Right now, DI Dominic Hitchin’s is delivering a statement on behalf of the victim’s family so their attention is focused on him. He’s all smiles. His blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight. He’s quite an attractive man, I must admit I thought that when I first saw him, I thought he was on our side, but the sight of him repulses me, he makes me want to puke.
‘This has been a tough and deeply heartbreaking case. I am pleased that the jury came to the decision they did today and that justice for Susannah Taylor has been served.’
I want to go over there and launch myself at him, shove him to the ground, punch the living daylights out of him, he sent my son to the wolves, took his future from him. But this is my opportunity to slip away, without being caught by the journalists. The papers would be full of it tomorrow if I was to lose my temper here.
Keeping my focus on getting to the nearest tube station, St. Paul’s, I break into a run. Ahead of me the shadow of the Lady Justice statue stretches out on the ground, mocking me. Justice. What justice? My son’s been sent down for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t look back, my feet slam hard into the concrete, just keep moving. If I get the next Central line train, I’ll be back at my home in Essex within the next hour or so. Home, what’s waiting for me at home now? A lump bobs into my throat.
Don’t cry in public. All it’ll take is for one person to recognise you, snap a picture on their phone and your face will be splashed all over social media for the world to see. Then it’ll be in the Daily Mail, yes, they’re the ones who’ve spearheaded the inaccurate stories about this case.
Pulling my hood up, I dive into St Paul’s station and touch down using my debit card. Around me there are young mothers with children, people holding brief cases, all going about their daily lives. I wish I could trade my life with just one of them. Shit, what am I thinking? How can I think that? My son needs me. I can’t abandon him.
The central line train screeches to a halt in front of me, and I slip onto it, heart pounding in my chest as I find a chair to sit on.
I glance further into the carriage as the train rockets away from the platform. Most people are gazing at their phones, or have ear phones plugged in, oblivious to what’s going on in the world around them. How many of them have heard the news that my son’s been found guilty yet?
My eyes fall on a young woman standing to my right, holding onto the yellow pole. She’s talking on her phone. I’m about to look the other way, then I stop. No it can’t be. My chest tightens, oh my God, it is; it’s her. It’s the woman I named Georgia, the foreman. I’m sure of it.
I’m not sure if Georgia noticed me in the public gallery. She would’ve been focused entirely on my son, and on the evidence, as it was presented to them.
She must’ve got the same train here and back with me every day, it’s crazy. My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t believe I haven’t noticed her before, or, indeed, that she hasn’t noticed me. I crane my neck and try to listen in to what she’s saying, I wish the person sitting beside me would turn off their bloody phone, they don’t seem to realise that no one else wants to listen to their stupid rap music, which I can’t stand anyway at the best of times.
The jury aren’t supposed to talk to anyone about the case. But I’m sure people do. It’s a bit of gossip at the end of the day, particularly if it’s a famous case, like my son’s.
‘Yeah, heading home now, God it was tough,’ Georgia says. I imagine she’s talking to her partner, if she has one. ‘Okay, yes, sure. Love you lots.’
Georgia ends the call.
I look into my lap. Perhaps I should move further down the carriage so she doesn’t see me, but what if? No don’t be stupid, you can’t speak to her.
I pull out my phone and try to concentrate on Word Trip. The speakers announce Liverpool Street is the next stop, the station I need to get off at, I look up. As the train slows, Georgia shows no sign she’s intending to get off.
As the doors slide open I watch her, but she only moves when someone else appears next to her to grab the pole after they’ve boarded the train.
The sensible thing for me to do right now would be to get off and go home. But I don’t. I let the doors close and the train whisks away from the platform, jerking a little too violently for my liking.
I glance at Georgia and remember what I thought about her back in the courtroom. This could be my one chance to speak to her, find out what she really thinks. I breathe in a lungful of air, knowing now I can’t blow this opportunity.
| Author Notes |
Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence.
|
By Jacob1395
For a summary of what's happened in previous chapters, please see author notes.
***********
The train jerks into Stratford Station. Georgia takes a step closer to the automatic doors, brushing back her golden hair. I stand up. She’s getting off.
The doors slide open and Georgia steps onto the platform. A cool breeze whips at my hair as I step out. I sprint after her, keeping enough distance between us so she doesn’t see me following. It’s too crowded. I’m going to lose her. God, I can’t breathe. I shove past a man talking on the phone and don’t look back when he shouts after me.
She’s walking in the tunnel now. My shoulders relax a little. She’s in sight. I watch her run up the steps of platform 5 and follow. People stream towards me as I climb. They all seem to be on their phones, paying no attention to the direction they’re walking in. A train must’ve pulled in. I need to hurry.
I leap frog up the last few steps and my feet slam onto the platform. There’s a train just to my left. There’s Georgia, still a few paces away, waiting to get on board, there are still plenty of people getting off. She gets onto the train. It’s now or never. There’s a bleeping noise to announce the trains about to close its doors, and I jump on, clutching my chest. The doors shut behind me. Thank God I made it. I fall onto a pole and grab hold of it as the train judders away from the platform.
Georgia’s sitting now a few seats away from me. I’m going to have to keep an eye on her. Where does this train even go? I find a spare seat and sit. I look up at the screen which tells me the next station is Romford. So I’m not going to be too far out from where I live, at least that’s something. I relax into the seat, knowing it’s going to be a good fifteen minutes or so before the train pulls into the station. Just keep your head down and don't look at her.
The announcment on the tannoy makes me jerk forward in my seat. The man sitting opposite me glares as my knee grazes his. I mouth an apology and fix my eyes on Georiga. She's getting up.
I tense. The train’s pulling into Romford station. The doors fly open. I jump up. There seems to be a mass exodus of people filing out onto the platform. No, please don’t let me lose her. Everyone's moving too slowly. But there she is. Okay, calm down, breathe.
We all file through into the main station where the ticket barriers are. I touch down using my card and burst out onto the street outside. Above a train roars as it shoots across the bridge. Beside me there’s a young busker trying to impersonate Ed Sheeran, but he’s not doing a great job.
My eyes clap on The Goose pub to my right, and I stop in my tracks. It's an old haunt from when I was in my twenties. A vision enters my head of me tumbling out of the doors, grabbing hold of my friend's arms, singing some football chant, and punching the air with my fist. I can’t believe how much Romford’s changed since I used to come here. It's got; I hate to say it, dirtier. A McDonald's plastic cup rolls towards me, crackling on the pavement, and an overweight man, who looks as though he's already had a few pints, lumbers in my direction. I dive out of the way.
I glance to my right and spot Georgia heading further down South Street, past the pub. I follow, keeping my head down. I move out of the way of a bunch of kids laughing and joking as they make their way towards the station. A whiff of weed hits me in the face which makes me cough.
Georgia’s turning left now. I cross the road, picking up my pace, my heart lurching in my chest when the bus that’s turning into the road toots its horn. The driver shouts something at me, which makes me curl my fists, but I ignore him.
I continue to follow Georgia for another ten minutes at least. It’s starting to drizzle now; the water’s stinging my eyes. I shiver. She’s turned off into a quieter side street and at last pulls out a set of keys. I stop, and watch her slide the keys into a lock of a house a few paces away, and then the front door slams shut, making me flinch.
This is where she lives. I can’t believe I’ve followed her all the way back here. It was that easy. If I hadn’t focused as much as I had on her during the trial, there was no way I would’ve recognised her.
Now what do I do? I hold my hand up to my forehead. When she realises who I am she’s going to . . . I have no idea how she’s going to react.
Taking in a deep breath I march up to her front door. The houses down this street are all the same, all little semi-detached Victorian properties. A car whizzes past me as I stride up her drive.
I knock on the door and wait. She’s probably in the kitchen making a cup of tea. I rub my hands together. Then a face appears at the window and the door is wrenched open.
‘Yes, can I help?’ she asks, still holding onto the door frame.
What the hell am I doing?
I swallow. There's nothing for it now. ‘I . . . I was wondering.’ I can't think straight. The world seems to tip on its axis.
My knees give way beneath me and Georgia cries out.
‘Oh my God, are you alright?’
I can’t respond. Instead everything around me fades to black.
| Author Notes | Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. |
By Jacob1395
For a summary of what's happened in previous chapters, please see author notes.
***************
There’s a stabbing pain in my neck, I clamp my hand to it and open my eyes, wincing. Where am I? I sit up, glancing frantically around for any kind of clue as to where I am.
I’m in someone’s living room. There are toys scattered across the cream carpet in front of me, bits of Lego, and dolls; a death trap for anyone not steady on their feet. My eyes flick to the corner of the room to the massive television; it must be one of those new Sky ones I keep hearing about, it’s far too big for me. On the corner of the television there’s a photograph of a man and a woman. I squint, the woman’s wearing a white dress and, ah, it would’ve been taken at their wedding. She’s looking towards the sky showing off her brilliant white teeth while her beaming husband nestles into her.
‘Ah, you’re awake.’
A woman’s voice makes me jump, then I see her, and everything comes flooding back. Georgia’s standing in the doorway of the living room. She’s playing with a gold ring on her finger.
‘I . . . I.’ Tears fill my eyes.
‘It’s okay, I’ve called you an ambulance; you haven’t been passed out long.’
‘I don’t need an ambulance,’ I snap, trying to sit up straighter, but dizziness overtakes me. I shake myself. ‘Sorry, that was rude of me.’
‘Don’t worry. You gave me a right fright,’ Georgia says. ‘I had no idea who you were, well, at first, I didn’t and then you just collapsed in a heap at my feet. I thought you were having a heart attack.’
She knows who I am. Did she manage to move me onto her sofa? Someone must’ve helped her, surely. It might’ve been a neighbour. I glance at the sleeve on my right arm and spot specks of dirt. I rub it off with my right hand, oh God, now it’s on her sofa.
‘I . . . I’m sorry about this,’ I say. My head is still banging, please don’t say I have concussion.
‘It’s okay, really it is. I’m Lucie. Can I get you a drink, or anything?’
Lucie. Okay, yes, that name's better than Georgia. I never would’ve thought of calling her that.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you. I’m Stacey,’ I reply. ‘So . . . so, you know I’m Joshua’s mother?’
I can’t quite look her in the eye. Is she going to report me to the police for following her? She has every right to. I would if I was in her position. I’ve broken the law. The sudden realisation hits me hard in the chest.
Lucie shifts on her feet. ‘Yes, I saw you in the court room on the first day. Do you know, I thought someone was following me from the station, it was just a sixth sense I had.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was by pure chance I spotted you on the tube, and I . . . look, my son, he . . . he didn’t do this . . . he didn’t kill that poor girl.’
Tears well in my eyes.
She pads over to me, bends down and takes hold of my hands. ‘I know he didn’t,’ she says, looking at me in the eye.
‘You . . . you do.’
I haven’t felt such a surge of relief in a long time. I was right.
She stands up. ‘I . . . I tried to persuade the others that the evidence wasn’t strong enough, but, they were all convinced, I was overruled. I had no choice but to go along with them in the end.’
‘But . . . but why do you think Joshua’s innocent?’ I ask.
I have to understand her reasoning.
‘I’m not sure if I should be discussing this with you, I could get into trouble.’
‘Please,’ I say to her, clasping my hands together. ‘You have to.’
There’s a knock on the door and flashing blue lights alert my attention, I spot an ambulance crew outside. Shoot.
‘They’ll need to check you over,’ Lucie says, darting towards the door. Perhaps she’s glad of the interruption. ‘I’ll let them in.’
I clamp my hand to my forehead. There are voices in the hallway and then a young man and woman in green uniforms bustle in.
‘Hi Stacey.’ The man says bending down so that he’s level with my eye. He makes me feel like I’m a hundred. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘I . . .’ I feel dizzy all of a sudden, God, please don’t let me pass out again. I can’t bear the embarrassment. ‘I think I had a bit of a funny turn, but I’m okay, really I don’t want to waste your time, you have far more important patients to be dealing with.’
A searing hot pain pierces my head. I close my eyes.
‘Okay, Stacey, I think we’re going to have to take you with us to run some tests, just to be on the safe side, are you okay to stand?’
Holding onto the armrest, I pull myself up from the sofa.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Lucie says, grabbing a coat off a chair.
‘No please, I shouldn’t have bothered you and now . . . ’
‘It’s fine, you need someone to be with you,’ she insists, pulling her coat on. ‘Do you want me to call anyone?’
‘Um.’ I run my tongue over my teeth. I don’t want them to call my daughter; I don’t want her to worry. ‘Can you call my partner; I’ll give you his number.’ He’s actually my ex, but I know, in the circumstances he’ll want to make sure I’m alright.
I reel off his number, and Stacey inputs it into her phone.
‘Okay, are you okay to come out to the ambulance with us?’ the woman speaks now.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’
She lends me her arm and I grip hold of it.
| Author Notes |
Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. She's now followed her to her home in Romford, but before Stacey has the chance to speak to her, she collapses outside her front door.
|
By Jacob1395
For a summary of what's happened in previous chapters, please see author notes.
*********************
July 2022
The sun warms the back of my neck as I lean back into the deck chair. At last finally a day of summer sun when it actually isn’t too hot to sit outside. There’s a blackbird chirping in the acorn tree at the end of the garden. I fell in love with it when I first came to view this house twenty years ago. My glass of lemonade is cool against the palm of my hand, and the ice clinks against the side of the glass as I tip it to my mouth.
‘Mum, look at this.’ My daughter, Rachel, calls out to me.
Well that’s a new record, five minutes of peace to myself before the kids start hollering. I sit up straighter in my seat.
‘What was that, darling?’ I ask, craning my neck.
Rachel pads out of the kitchen with bare feet onto the grass. The sun’s glinting on the top of her brown curly hair. She’s wearing a pair of tight blue shorts, and a plain white top. She’s holding onto her phone, staring at something with a wide grin on her face.
‘Look at this,’ she says thrusting the phone towards me.
I can’t make out what the picture’s meant to be of.
‘Sorry, darling, all I see is a load of funny shapes.’ It looks like some modern day Van Gough painting in my eye.
Rachel rolls her eyes. ‘Honestly Mum, you’re not that far gone. Look, its Joshua.’
I squint. But yes, I can make my son out now. He’s wearing funny shaped glasses, and pointing a finger to the ceiling. He must be in a night club.
‘Who’s that he’s with?’ I ask, pulling the phone closer towards me.
‘Ah, the penny drops,’ Rachel says. ‘It’s some girl who he must’ve met last night. Or perhaps they’ve been seeing each other for a while and he just hasn’t told us.’
‘Really, do you think he’s met someone?’ I say, heart pounding in my chest as I examine the young woman in the picture who’s laughing and leaning into my son. She’s pretty, blonde hair falling to her shoulders, baby blue eyes. What lovely looking grandchildren they’d make, stop it.
‘Well he looks like he’s having a good time with her,’ Rachel says.
The photo vanishes from her phone and I blink. Did I do something to make it disappear? ‘Where’s the photo gone?’
Rachel laughs. ‘It’s a story Mum, so, it’s like this, when you post a story you only have a few seconds to view it before it moves onto something else, and it only stays up for twenty four hours.’
Her words float around inside my head. They mean nothing to me. ‘Well, that’s pretty ridiculous. Who was the woman who he was with, then?’
Rachel shrugs. ‘I don’t know. She wasn’t tagged in the photo.’
‘Tagged?’
‘Honestly Mum, I’m not giving you a lesson on Instagram here. Right, I’m off out to meet Chloe, I’ll see you later.’
Rachel pecks a kiss on my cheek.
‘Text me to let me know you’re there,’ I say.
‘Will do,’ she shouts as she heads back into the house.
I still can’t get rid of the butterflies in my stomach at the thought my son might’ve met someone. The last serious girlfriend he had was when he was at university. I was devastated when they split up; I really thought at the time that she was the one for him. We got on really well. Perhaps it does look like he’s finally ready to settle down.
I take a sip of my drink and lean back in my chair.
| Author Notes | Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. She's now followed her to her home in Romford, but before Stacey has the chance to speak to her, she collapses outside her front door. Stacey has a brief conversation with the foreman who she now knows is called Lucie but before they can have a proper chat, an ambulance arrives and she's taken to hospital. |
By Jacob1395
This chapter takes place after the trial. For a summary of what's happened in previous posts, please see author notes.
************
24th August 2023
The steady beep of machinery filters through into my mind, lifting me out of my sleep. The room around me is white washed. What’s that on my hand? It’s something sticky. I glance down. There’s a drip attached to me, what? Pale sunlight filters through the gaps in the blinds on the window to my right. Ah yes, I’m in hospital. Thankfully, and I don’t know how, given how packed the corridors were when we arrived, I’m in a room on my own. Perhaps they thought it would be better for my safety once Lucie . . . told them who I was, oh God, have the paramedics called the police?
I snap my head round as the door to my right opens. My ex, Michael, saunters into the room carrying a plastic Costa cup in his hand. I look back to the window.
‘You’re awake,’ he says edging closer towards me.
‘How long have I been asleep?’ I mumble. He wasn’t the first person I was hoping to see, but then, there’s no way I would want my daughter to be here right now.
‘Around eight hours I suppose,’ he says.
Has he really been here all this time?
‘Where’s Lucie?’ I ask.
He frowns at me. ‘Lucie, oh, she was the woman who came in the ambulance with you, wasn’t she? She said she had to go home but she said she would come back. So, tell me, Stacey, why the hell are you here in Romford?’
He sits on the blue plastic chair next to me. I shift upright in bed, the crisp sheets crumpling around me. His green eyes, the same green eyes I once fell in love with thirty five years ago, fix on mine.
‘I . . . it’s a bit of a long story,’ I say.
He hasn’t spent a single day at court, unlike me. He hasn’t seen the devastation on our son’s face, the sneer on the police officer’s. How can he understand why I had to do what I did? I curl my fists.
He nods and glances over to the wall ahead of me, then looks back towards me. ‘Well, the doctors ran some tests and they’ve said that you’re malnourished and severely dehydrated.’
‘I . . .’
Of course, for the last two weeks my mind’s been totally focused on the trial. I didn’t have time to think about anything else, certainly not cooking. I blink back furiously to fight back tears.
‘What were you doing here, Stacey?’ he asks. ‘Who is Lucie?’
‘Um, I . . . I.’ I try to think of an excuse but nothing comes to me.
He sighs. ‘Stacey, I know you followed her from the courtroom. She was the foreman on the jury, she told me. You know this could end up having serious consequences for you if she reports this.’
What was the point in him asking me then, if she already explained who she was to him? I shake my head. ‘She’s not going to report me. She believes Joshua is innocent. He is innocent, Michael. I know it.’
Michael glares at me. ‘Stacey, you need to stop this. As much as I don’t want to believe it, we have to accept the facts. You’re going to cause more distress for everyone if you continue to pursue this. Stop this, now.’ He’s talking to me like he used to talk to Joshua and Rachel when they’d done something bad.
I turn away from him, my chest rising and falling. How can he give up on our son like this? Joshua adored him when he was young. What about all the football matches they went to every other weekend? Did they mean nothing to him?
‘Please leave,’ I say, tears prickling my eyes.
The chair creaks as he gets up. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him leave the room. I scrunch the duvet tight in my hand. It’ll have been his new bit on the side persuading him my son’s guilty. I say new bit on the side, she’s actually been his girlfriend now for ten years; they even have a kid together. She never did like the fact that he had children from another marriage. Joshua and Rachel both told me that she used to complain to Michael about them all the time, and would blame things going missing round the house on them, particularly if she couldn’t find a piece of her jewellery. Joshua came home in floods of tears one time and begged me never to take him back to his dad’s again. Of course, when they had their child, Abigail, little perfect Abigail could do no wrong.
There’s a knock on my door which makes me snap my head round. Please don’t say it’s Michael coming back. But it’s not him thank God. It’s Lucie.
| Author Notes | Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. She's now followed her to her home in Romford, but before Stacey has the chance to speak to her, she collapses outside her front door. Stacey has a brief conversation with the foreman who she now knows is called Lucie but before they can have a proper chat, an ambulance arrives and she's taken to hospital. In a flashback scene to a year before the trial, Stacey discovers her son, Joshua, is seeing someone. |
By Jacob1395
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For a summary of what's happened in previous posts, please see author notes.
**************
24th August 2023
Lucie edges into the room. She’s wearing a blue jacket and blue trousers. The clothes suit her, I think.
‘How are you?’ she asks.
I lean my head back on the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. ‘Please don’t ask me how I am.’
She looks at the floor and immediately I regret saying my last sentence in the way I did. ‘Sorry. I just saw your ex outside, he didn’t look happy to see me. In fact, he advised me not to come and see you, but I couldn’t just leave you here.’
Of course he wouldn’t be happy to see Lucie. He’ll be thinking I’m making a mess of things by getting involved with her, well, he pretty much told me that. I sigh. ‘No, well, he thinks what I’m doing is a complete waste of time. He believes Joshua’s guilty and that’s the end of things.’
She gives me a crestfallen look. ‘Surely he can’t really believe that?’
I shake my head. I won’t let Michael make me cry. ‘It’s not important. It’s what we believe that matters now.’
She clamps her hands together in her lap. ‘Okay. So, yes, there was part of me in court that said that the police must have the right man. I wanted him to be guilty; I wanted this to all be over for the family’s sake, the family of the young woman, I mean. But, the way how the police went about their investigation, it doesn’t sit right with me. They had him down as their prime suspect from day one, it’s like they didn’t even bother chasing up any other leads that might’ve come in at the time. That’s what made the case seem so watertight in the eyes of the other people, who I was on the jury with, but not with me.’
I stare at her. What had she seen in the evidence presented that the other members of the jury hadn’t? My heart pounds against my chest.
‘Have you . . . I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you had experience working in the police before?’ I ask. Perhaps if she has then that’s what’s made her look at the evidence with a different eye. I stare at her. It seems to take an age for her to respond to me.
She shakes her head. ‘Not me, no, but, my father, he was a police officer.’
My eyebrows shoot up. ‘With the met?’
Lucie gives me a soft smile. ‘Yes. The job it . . . it used to keep my poor mum up at night all the time. She couldn’t wait for the day when he eventually retired, although it was hard trying to persuade him to let the job go.’
‘I can imagine,’ I say. Her words make me think of my own father, who died five years ago, addicted to his work. I can see him in my mind now, sitting beside me, glass of Stella in hand, he’d wink at me as he would take a sip, and tell me not to tell Nan. It was like our little secret. I’m glad he isn’t around now to see what’s become of us. He adored Joshua, he would’ve been devastated. Then I think of Detective Inspector Dominic Hitchens and how angry I was at the police during the trial. I scrunch my fist into a tight ball. ‘What are we going to do about my son? I can’t leave him to rot away in jail for a crime he didn’t commit while the real killer walks free.’
Lucie’s chest heaves as she sighs. ‘It’s going to be a hell of a challenge getting the rest of the public to believe us. We’ll be laughed at, it might make . . . it might make both our lives unliveable.’
I know Lucie’s got a family: young children. She’ll be thinking of them. She won’t want to get involved with me because it might . . .
‘My life’s already unliveable,’ I say, tears pricking my eyes. ‘Please, Lucie. You’re the only one who believes me. Even my ex is telling me to give up on our son and to move on. But I can’t. Even if I try to, I think . . . I think I’ll end up just withering away. I’ll be dead within a year.’
‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,’ Lucie says, her voice a little sterner which makes me flinch. ‘I can . . . look, I’ve a friend of mine who works for one of the nationals, and she’s a junior reporter. She’s been looking for a big story to break her career and I think . . . she might be willing to help us, but we’ll all have to proceed with caution.’
She actually wants to help me. Oh my God, this is more than I could’ve imagined when I first spotted her on the tube. This time I can’t stop the tears from flowing. ‘Oh my God, thank you Lucie, thank you so much.’
‘Thank me when we get your son released from prison. I hope this will happen, but, I can’t promise anything. It’s going to be a tough road for us, I can’t deny that.’
‘I know that,’ I say. I wipe my eyes. ‘How long has your friend been a journalist?’
‘For about five years now,’ Lucie says. ‘She’s worked on a couple of big stories, but nothing as big as this one. Listen, once you’re out of here we can meet and I’ll try and see if my friend can join us as well. I’m sure she’ll be keen just to meet you. I’ll give you my number, have you got your phone?’
I sit up straighter and search around until my eyes clap on my IPhone lying on charge on the white table next to me. I pick it up and use face ID to log in, my heart pounding. Lucie reels off her number and I type it in, my fingers are sweaty against the screen.
‘Get yourself better,’ Lucie says, standing up from the seat. ‘And then call me.’
I nod. She hovers by my bedside for a few moments. For a brief second I think she’s going to lean in and hug me, but she smiles and strides back towards the exit, her high heels clicking on the white polished floor of my room.
| Author Notes |
Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. She's now followed her to her home in Romford, but before Stacey has the chance to speak to her, she collapses outside her front door. Stacey has a brief conversation with the foreman who she now knows is called Lucie but before they can have a proper chat, an ambulance arrives and she's taken to hospital. In a flashback scene to a year before the trial, Stacey discovers her son, Joshua, is seeing someone. Her ex husband, Michael has now urged her to move on with her life and to forget about what's happened.
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By Jacob1395
For a summary of what's happened in previous posts, please see author notes.
This chapter is a flashback scene to a year before the trial.
**************
13th July 2022
‘So, Joshua, I hear you’ve been seeing someone,’ I say.
Rachel’s head shoots up from her food and she glares at me from across the table. I ignore her, and continue beaming at my son. He doesn’t look up at me. He stabs at a piece of steak with his fork and plops it into his mouth, a strand of his dark hair flops over his eye. I know Rachel will have a go at me for mentioning it later, but I’ve been aching to ask him since she showed me the picture on her Instagram. I keep asking her if he’s posted any more, but she keeps shying away from me.
‘Um, well, yeah, I’ve sort of being seeing someone,’ he says. ‘How did you find that out?’
He’ll be cringing inside, I know that, but I want to at least know the girl’s name.
‘That’s wonderful, I’m so pleased for you,’ I say. ‘It was Rachel actually; she showed me one of your stories the other day.’
‘Mum,’ Rachel snaps, throwing her fork down onto the plate. ‘I’m sorry Josh, but I only showed her the one picture, I never said that you were dating.’
He smiles. ‘It’s fine, I was going to mention something about her anyway,’ Joshua says, although he’s probably just saying that to stop an argument happening between me and Rachel. ‘Look, I only met her a week ago. We’ve seen each other a couple of times, and yeah, I really like her.’
‘What’s her name?’ I ask, leaning my elbows on the table, my body buzzing with excitement.
‘Susannah,’ he says. ‘But don’t get your hopes up too much, Mum, we’ve only been on a couple of dates.’
‘I know, but it’s a positive step forward,’ I say. ‘She looked very pretty in the photo.’
Joshua looks into his plate of food and I can see his cheeks have tinged red. ‘Yeah, she is.’
‘So when are you next seeing her?’ I press him.
Rachel fixes me with another steely glare. ‘Mum, you’re asking too many questions.’
‘It’s fine, Rach, honest,’ Joshua grins at her. I wonder if he’s talked more in depth to her about Susannah, than Rachel’s let on to me. I wonder if Joshua will be having words with her about showing me the picture after dinner, but they’ve never argued a lot with each other, not even when they were small. They were best friends right up until they went to senior school. That was the point when they didn’t want anything to do with each other. ‘I might be seeing her at the weekend, but before you ask, no I’m not going to be bringing her over here to meet you just yet. I think we should give it another couple of weeks first.’
‘Of course, of course,’ I say, picking up my glass of wine and taking a sip. ‘I wasn’t going to ask you to anyway. I’m really pleased for you, Joshua and I can’t wait to meet her when the time comes.’
| Author Notes | Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. She's now followed her to her home in Romford, but before Stacey has the chance to speak to her, she collapses outside her front door. Stacey has a brief conversation with the foreman who she now knows is called Lucie but before they can have a proper chat, an ambulance arrives and she's taken to hospital. In a flashback scene to a year before the trial, Stacey discovers her son, Joshua, is seeing someone. Her ex husband, Michael has now urged her to move on with her life and to forget about what's happened. Stacey has now had a visit from Lucie who tells her she will try to help her prove her son's innocence. |
By Jacob1395
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For a summary of what's happened in previous posts, please see author notes.
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26th August 2023
My eyelids flicker open. Light is creeping through the gap in my curtain. Glancing at my alarm clock, which glows 7:05 a.m., I rub the back of my neck and shift myself upright. I must’ve slept in a funny position.
I finally got back from hospital last night. Rachel picked me up. Daniel was busy, or so Rachel told me. We sat most of the journey home in silence. I’d gone up to bed the moment we got home, refusing Rachel’s offer of a cup of tea.
Throwing my duvet cover off I slip out of bed. It’s going to be too early to contact Lucie; she’ll be sorting her kids out, I don’t want her to get sick of me. She told me to wait until I was better before contacting her. She’ll be expecting it to be a week at least. But I can’t wait that long. I wipe my eyes, and finish off my glass of water.
I pull my dressing gown off the back of the bedroom door and pad out into the hallway.
As I get to the bottom of the stairs I notice the newspapers already been pushed through the letter box.
I snatch up the paper and unfold it, my heart beating against my chest. Joshua’s face stares out at me and the girl, the poor girl who was killed; her picture is next to him on the front page. In an instance I remember the day Rachel first showed me the picture of her and Joshua at the club on his Instagram page, before he told me he was seeing her. My eyes travel to the headline: SUSANNAH’S DEVASTATED PARENTS SPEAK OUT.
Clutching tight onto the paper I edge down the hallway and into the kitchen. Joshua told me he never had the chance to meet Susannah’s parents. I only met Susannah the once, and it was only for a brief second, when Joshua had to drop something off to me when they were both on their way out to a restaurant last year.
I flick over the page as I sit at the table and my eyes scan the paper. My stomach squirms. A big chunk of the article is taken up by an interview with Susannah’s sister. There’s a picture of her, clutching her mum on the sofa, both of them looking forlornly at the camera.
‘I felt there was something off about him,’ Zoe, Susannah’s sister says. It strikes me how much she looks like her sister. They have the same long nose and although Susannah’s hair is a lighter shade of brown than her sister’s, it’s still around the same length, like their mother told the hairdresser to give them the same cut when they were kids, and they’ve stuck with it ever since. ‘He’d never talk to me when I was with the pair of them and always seemed in a hurry to get away.’
I let out a sigh. That’s news to me that Joshua met Susannah’s sister. He’s never discussed meeting her family with me, not even when we were meeting his lawyer before the trial.
‘You’re up.’ My daughter’s voice reaches my ears. I snap my head up.
She’s wearing a purple dressing gown which she’s tying into a knot around her waist. She’s standing in the kitchen doorway. I hadn’t even heard her come down the stairs, she must’ve heard me leave my room.
I sit back in my seat, the chair creaking as I do.
‘Yes, I . . . I couldn’t linger around in bed,’ I reply, rubbing my eyes.
‘D’you want a cuppa?’ Rachel asks.
I nod. ‘Please.’ Every nerve is tingling inside me; I know what she’s going to say.
I watch Rachel saunter over to the kettle. She grabs two mugs from the cupboard and places them with a clink on the work surface.
‘Why are you reading that, Mum?’ she asks, as the kettle begins to roar. The tone of her voice is soft. She’s trying not to have a go at me, I’m sure she is.
‘I . . . it was posted through the letterbox just now,’ I say, rubbing the back of my neck, I know what’s coming next.
She spins round to face me, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Mum, I told you to cancel the papers weeks ago. Why haven’t you done that?’ This time she can’t hide the annoyance in her voice.
I glance at the article again. ‘Because, I need to know what the press are saying about him, and about us, so I can be prepared for when I face attacks in the street.’
‘But you’re going to make yourself ill,’ she says, shaking her head. There’s pity in her voice now. ‘I’ll go to the post office today and do it for you.’ I don’t want to argue with her so I say nothing. The kettle clicks and she pours boiling water into the mugs. ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asks.
‘Um, yes, surprisingly, I think I was just exhausted. I didn’t sleep much at all in hospital apart from the first day.’
She half-smiles. ‘That’s good. Right, let’s see what you’ve got to eat.’ It’s like Rachel’s taken on the role of being my carer all of a sudden. I purse my lips. Rachel yanks open the fridge door. The milk bottle clinks against a half empty bottle of white wine as she does. ‘OK, so you’ve got eggs, butter and milk. That’s pretty much it, Mum.’ She picks up the box of eggs. I start to get up but she shakes her head. ‘No, Mum, sit down, I’m going to make you some scrambled eggs and you’re going to eat them. Then once I’ve got dressed I’m going to get some shopping in.’
‘Thank you,’ I murmur.
She finishes off making the tea and then proceeds to cracking eggs into a pan, discarding the egg shells in the bin, before handing me my cup.
‘I’ll stay here for the next few days,’ she says, the extractor fan roaring in the background while she whisks the eggs in the pan. She’s not asking my permission, she’s telling me this. I shift in my chair. She moved out a few weeks before Joshua met Susannah, although she tended to still pop home every week or so for a couple of nights. I didn’t mind at all, I loved having her here. I always told her and Joshua they were welcome back at any time, they didn’t need to ask. ‘You don’t have to worry about doing anything, Mum. I’ll cook and clean.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking a sip of my tea. Deep down I suspect that the reason she wants to stay here is because she wants to keep an eye on me, to make sure I don’t go sneaking off to Romford to meet up with Lucie again.
‘I was thinking, Mum, perhaps you should look at getting some part time work. Or you could do some volunteering somewhere, I don’t know, just something to keep your mind occupied.’
I stare at her. ‘Rachel, who’s going to want to work with me, when the whole country thinks my son killed that young girl?’
She plates up my scrambled eggs and places the plate on the table, before switching off the gas and extractor fan. Silence descends. She sits opposite me, pulls the newspaper away from me, scrunches it up, and throws it in the direction of the rubbish bin. It bounces off the top and lands on the floor. She tuts. ‘Mum, you’re innocent. People shouldn’t judge you because of what Joshua’s done. It wasn’t your fault.’
I sigh. ‘Yes, but they’ll blame me by de facto. You’ve read what some of the papers have said about me.’
I start to eat the scrambled eggs. I’ve always loved Rachel’s scrambled eggs. She never overcooks them, unlike me.
‘Mum, you can’t shut yourself up for the rest of your life, you have to move on. Why don’t you at least enquire at the local food bank, or soup kitchen? They’re always crying out for volunteers.’
I finish off the eggs. ‘You think Joshua killed her, don’t you?’
Rachel shakes her head. ‘We’re not talking about this, Mum. You’ve got to stop.’ She takes a sip of her tea. ‘I’m going to go upstairs and get dressed, and then I’ll pop out and get some stuff in for you, OK.’
I don’t reply. I watch her leave the room.
I’m just going to have to work out a way to see Lucie without Rachel finding out.
**************
Characters:
Stacey (mother of Joshua)
Lucie (foreman of the jury)
Joshua (Stacey's son)
Susannah (murder victim)
Rachel (Stacey's daughter)
Daniel (Stacey's ex-husband)
| Author Notes |
Stacey attended the last day of her son's trial and was devastated when he was found guilty of murder, when she knows he is innocent of. She is certain one of the jury members, the foreman, knows this too. Stacey is now desperate to prove her son's innocence. On her way out of the courtroom, Stacey spots the foreman and decides to follow her. She's now followed her to her home in Romford, but before Stacey has the chance to speak to her she collapses outside her front door. Stacey has a brief conversation with the foreman, who she now knows is called Lucie, but before they can have a proper chat, an ambulance arrives and she's taken to hospital. In a flashback scene to a year before the trial, Stacey discovers her son, Joshua, is seeing someone. Her ex husband, Daniel has now urged her to move on with her life and to forget about what's happened. Stacey has now had a visit from Lucie who tells her she will try to help her prove her son's innocence. In the previous chapter, a flashback scene from over a year ago, Joshua tells her that he has started dating a girl called Susannah.
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