‘Please wait,’ the judge said. ‘The barristers for the defendants now have the opportunity to cross-examine you.’
Someone sniggered. She was mortified. She stepped back into place.
Mrs Patel came forward; she was defending Thomas Garrington. She wore her hair up in clips at the back of her head and the barrister’s wig perched on top. When she spoke she had a southern accent, clipped tones and long vowels.
‘I’d like to take you back to the bus, to the point at which someone said, “I’ve got a knife.” Where were you looking then?’
‘What?’ Emma had the buzzing in her head, the blank static.
‘Were you watching my client?’
‘No.’ She hadn’t dared look; she had studied her hands in her lap, the snow outside.
‘Where were you looking?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘So you heard the expression but did not see who said it.’
‘I heard it,’ Emma said, unnerved.
‘And how could you tell who said it?’
‘From the voice.’
‘From the voice?’ Mrs Patel made her sound demented. ‘Would it be fair to describe the scene on the bus as chaotic?’
‘Yes,’ Emma said.
‘Things happened quickly?’
‘Yes.’
‘You did not know any of the people involved?’
‘No,’ Emma admitted freely.
‘Were either of the defendants or Conrad Quinn facing you?’
‘No.’ And she had prayed that they would not do so; she’d done all she could to make herself invisible, irrelevant.
‘Yet you claim to be able to tell who said what in a heated exchange when you were gazing elsewhere? How so?’
The gazing was a cheap shot, as if she hadn’t cared about what was happening. She had. But she had been so uncertain, so frightened. ‘They sounded different,’ Emma said. Her heart was banging in her chest.
‘In what way?’
Emma tried to find the words. Her hands were shaking. Everyone could see her hands were shaking. Then Mrs Patel was waiting, her head angled to the side, her eyebrows raised. And Emma couldn’t remember what she had been asked. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth.
‘Shall I repeat the question?’ Mrs Patel asked.
Emma nodded.
‘In what way did the defendants sound different from each other?’
‘Conrad Quinn sounded squeakier.’
People in the gallery laughed. Emma blinked. She scanned the seats. Found Laura. Laura wasn’t looking fed up with her or embarrassed but alert, and she looked straight at Emma and gave a small tip of her head.
‘Squeakier?’
‘Yes, like he had a cold, and he giggled a lot after he spoke, like he was a bit nervous.’
‘Thank you,’ Mrs Patel said quickly, and Emma felt a bit better because it made sense, what she’d said, and she saw one of the people in the jury nod his head.
‘You claim Conrad Quinn said, “He’ll shank you.” How would you describe his manner?’
‘He was mean, aggressive, they all were.’
‘Please only answer the question as put to you,’ the judge said.
‘Sorry.’ Emma was awkward. She was hot, could feel sweat between her breasts, on the back of her neck.
‘Mr Quinn appeared aggressive and mean?’ Mrs Patel asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did he at any point object to what the defendants were saying?’
‘No,’ Emma said. She didn’t understand why she was asking this.
‘He didn’t try and stop them threatening Luke Murray?’
‘No, he joined in.’ Emma knew Conrad Quinn had pleaded guilty to wounding Luke. He had admitted to the police his part in everything.
‘Did you hear anyone coerce him?’
‘No,’ Emma said.
‘And when Jason Barnes remonstrated with Thomas Garrington, what did Conrad Quinn do?’
‘He jeered at him.’
‘Jeered?’
‘Yes, he jeered.’
‘What did he say?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Really?’ The lawyer’s eyes sharpened and Emma felt a twist inside her. She looked down.
‘You can’t remember? But you’ve had perfect recall up until now; why can’t you remember?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emma stammered.
‘Perhaps some of what you’ve already told us is less than accurate?’
‘No, it’s all true-’ Emma started to say, but Mrs Patel cut her off. ‘Can you really be one hundred per cent certain that it was Thomas Garrington who said “I’ve got a knife”? In the commotion of the encounter, with people jumping on seats and yelling, surely you could be mistaken?’
Emma felt caught, blinded in the spotlight, everyone looking, her head a blur again. ‘No,’ she said.
‘Please speak up.’ The judge sounded irritated with her.
Cat got your tongue? Dozy Dora, Whispering Winnie.
‘No,’ she said; her throat hurt. ‘I’m right.’
‘Can you be absolutely certain that Thomas Garrington didn’t say, “He’s got a knife”?’ Emma felt a swing of doubt. She steadied herself, replayed the memory. ‘No, I’m certain, he said “I’ve got a knife.”’
She waited for the blow, the ridicule, the murmurs to drown her, but nothing happened. The barrister thanked her, invited the judge to ask questions then handed over to Mr Floyd. Mr Floyd was quite young; he had dark hair and looked a bit like an actor in a spy show on the telly. He was Welsh.
‘In your statement you said you thought the defendants knew Luke Murray? Why was that?’
‘They called him Pukey Luke.’
‘Please be precise; who used that name?’
‘Erm… Thomas Garrington.’
‘Did you see my client, Nicola Healy, touch Luke at any point?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see her touch Jason Barnes?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see her touch either Luke Murray or Jason Barnes after they got off the bus?’
‘No.’
‘And you didn’t say anything on the bus when the alleged threats were made?’
‘No.’ Emma bit her cheek. Felt the fizz of static in her head.
‘You didn’t say anything when Luke Murray was pushed?’
‘No.’ Emma was shrinking, her breath getting thinner.
‘Perhaps you thought it was just horseplay? Is that the case?’
‘Erm… I wondered… Because they knew him and no one else-’
‘Did you think it might be horseplay? Yes or no?’
‘At first,’ Emma said. But then there had been danger in the atmosphere, the violence thick in the air, which had raised every hair on her body, shrivelled her stomach, shredded her nerves. ‘But then I didn’t.’
‘But you still said nothing?’
‘I thought… I wasn’t sure what was happening… Nobody else-’
‘I’m not asking anybody else,’ the barrister said firmly. ‘I’m asking you. You weren’t sure what was happening? This could have been high jinks getting out of hand? Is that fair?’
‘Yes. Perhaps,’ she said.
‘It might have all calmed down?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘You didn’t want to make a fool of yourself?’
Emma felt herself redden. How did he know? She hadn’t said that in her statement.
‘Because at that point it was far from clear whether this was a group of youngsters messing about or something more serious. Is that true?’
‘I don’t know.’ She was lost again. In a maze and all the tunnels the same. ‘I’m not sure. I was scared.’ Her mouth trembled.
‘Miss Curtis,’ the judge snapped, ‘please stick to the questions.’
Mr Floyd spoke. ‘I suggest to you that it was far from clear what the relationships were between my client and the other people accompanying her and Luke Murray, and that’s why you didn’t intervene?’
‘No. I was just scared really,’ Emma said. She looked at the public gallery, at Laura, at the woman and the girl, and the other group who she thought might be relatives of Jason. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. There was a catch in her voice and she fought not to break down, but she couldn’t control the way she shook.