As the prosecutor, Mr Sweeney, drew his address to a close, Louise got ready to move.
‘And in this courtroom, ladies and gentlemen, we will prove to you beyond any doubt that Thomas Garrington and Nicola Healy attacked Luke Murray with intent to murder, and when Jason Barnes attempted to intervene and stop the attack, he was dealt a fatal wound with a knife wielded by Thomas Garrington. Listen carefully to the witnesses we will bring, consider the evidence and then deliver a verdict as you see fit. Your Honour, we would now like to show the jury CCTV footage taken on the bus.’
Louise nodded her head to Ruby, and the two of them walked up and out of the door at the back of the public gallery. The usher there said she would tell them when that evidence had been dealt with.
The waiting area outside the courtroom ran the width of the building, a long marble-floored hallway with full-length windows that looked out on to Crown Square. There were little clots of people here and there waiting to enter or leave the various trials.
Louise hadn’t seen Andrew here yet. He had told her he was a witness and would only be able to sit in court once he had given his testimony. The same with his wife. Louise guessed some of the people in the public gallery were other members of the Barnes family, and some would be the parents of Conrad Quinn and Nicola Healy and Thomas Garrington.
The lad looked nothing like she had imagined him, nothing like the glimpse she’d seen on Declan’s phone camera. Here, he just looked like a kid who had messed up and was out of his depth. Nothing in his appearance or his demeanour screamed racist or killer. And the girl, skinny as a rake, biting her nails, looked scared to death.
Even as she thought this, there was a well of hatred in her for what they had done. What they had taken. Louise had made an impact statement, which would be taken into account if they were convicted and would affect sentencing. How could you put it into words? It was like something physical, something pulled from your guts, sucked from the marrow of your bones. Shards lodged in your heart. Like losing sight or hearing, like the light going dim and the future reduced to a feat of endurance.
Down the hall, a young man in a tracksuit was crying, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand. An older man beside him patted him on the back, talking quietly.
Out of the window, Louise saw a child, four or so, run after a balloon that skittered along the ground then bounced and rose in the breeze. Louise’s mother used to do a number with balloons, she suddenly remembered, but couldn’t recall the song she sang. The balloons were swirly metallic colours. She had given Louise one and Louise had tied it up next to her wardrobe. They’d used it for a game of keepsie-upsie. Was it Christmas time?
‘Mum.’ Ruby nudged her. The usher had come out of the court. It was time to go back in. Louise fought the ripple of apprehension, the urge to turn and go the other way, ignored the roiling in her stomach and followed her daughter.
Emma
The woman said, ‘It’s time now,’ and Emma felt the ground tilt and her vision darken.
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Laura.
Emma tried to smile but her face was beyond her control.
Laura gave her a quick hug. ‘Good luck. I’ll be watching.’
Laura had found her sobbing in the toilets at work a fortnight ago, almost gibbering with terror at the prospect of appearing in court. She had got another letter telling her when to come to court, and a phone call offering her a visit in advance to have a look round. She hadn’t slept. Her leg hurt.
‘You can bring a friend,’ Laura told her, after she had stopped crying. Laura was looking at the leaflet that had come with the letter. ‘I’ll come.’
‘Will you?’
‘Yeah, course,’ Laura said.
‘What if I say the wrong thing?’
‘You won’t. Just tell them what you saw, that’s all. Stick to your guns.’
Now Emma followed the usher into the court and took her place in the witness box. She swore on the Bible to tell the truth. The judge told her to speak up. She felt inadequate already.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Laura take a seat in the public gallery. There they were, the two defendants, in the dock. Emma looked away, but she had already noticed that he wore a suit and shirt and tie and the girl next to him wore a plain dark dress. He looked tired, the big eyes duller than Emma remembered.
Mr Sweeney, the barrister for the prosecution, was talking to her. Asking her easy questions: her name, where she lived, how she travelled to and from work. But even answering those she could feel her tongue thick and clumsy, her breathing out of sync. Mr Sweeney explained that the jury had seen CCTV footage of events on the bus, on the seventeenth of December 2010. They had also seen that Emma had the seat across the aisle from Luke Murray and close to the defendants.
‘In your witness statement you recall the defendants making abusive comments to Luke Murray. Can you tell us what those were?’
Emma swallowed. ‘They said he was a wog boy and a dirty nigger and a black bastard.’ Her face burned.
‘Anything else?’
‘A dickhead and a knobhead.’ People laughed. Emma felt awful swearing in front of everyone, even though she knew she had to say it exactly as it had been.
‘Who actually said wog boy?’
‘Thomas Garrington,’ she said.
‘And dirty nigger?’
‘Thomas Garrington.’
‘And black bastard?’
‘Nicola Healy.’ Her throat felt parched.
‘And dickhead?’
Embarrassment scalded her skin, her gullet. ‘Thomas Garrington.’
‘And knobhead?’ The word sounded ridiculous coming from the smart lawyer.
‘Thomas Garrington, just before he hit him.’ She saw the lunge the bully had made in her mind’s eye. The sickening noise when Luke’s head hit the window.
‘Did you hear Thomas Garrington threaten Luke with a knife?’
‘Yes,’ Emma said.
‘Can you remember his exact words?’
‘Yes, he said, “I’ll do you, I’ll have you, I’ve got a knife.”’
‘Was anything else said about the knife?’
‘Yes, he told the other two to tell Luke. And Conrad Quinn said, “He has, he’ll shank you.”’
‘Did you know what that meant?’
Emma coughed. ‘I guessed it meant he’d stab him but I hadn’t heard it before.’
‘It wasn’t a term you were familiar with?’
‘No.’
‘Was there any more talk about the knife at that point?’
‘Nicola Healy said, “He’ll cut you.”’
‘How did Luke react?’
‘He ignored them as much as he could; he was looking out of the window.’
‘Then Jason Barnes came downstairs. What happened then?’
‘Thomas Garrington punched Luke in the head.’ She tripped over the words, carried on. ‘His head hit the window and Jason came closer and said, “Leave him alone.”’ Emma remembered the fear, like acid searing through her, and how she had wanted to escape, to disappear. ‘Thomas Garrington told Jason to fuck off. And then Jason said “Just leave it.”’
‘Did you hear Luke speak at any point?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘You saw Luke once he was off the bus?’
‘Yes, he was running.’
‘Did you see him provoke anyone? See him shout or offer any physical violence?’
‘No, he was running away, they were chasing after him.’
‘And that was the last you saw?’
She nodded. The lawyer waited and she remembered she had to speak. ‘Yes.’
‘And where was Jason?’
‘He was behind them all, trying to catch up.’
Mr Sweeney nodded and thanked her.
Shaky with relief, Emma turned to go, but the usher put her hand out to stop her.