Almost True (34 page)

‘Hey,' he says, ‘OK? I'll see you soon. Take care.' And before I can step aside he gives me an awkward hug, grabbing me round the shoulders and pulling my face into the cold leather. ‘I'm off to New York again,' he adds. ‘Work . . . and the police say it'll be safer if I'm out of the country.'

‘How long for?' I ask, and he shrugs and says, ‘Four weeks, maybe more.' I'm kind of shocked that I feel a little bit upset. He ruffles my hair. ‘I'll miss you,' he says.

‘Bye,
Dad
,' I say, to make it clear that Tess isn't included. She's too busy gushing all over Helen and Patrick to notice.

Then they're gone, and I'm just heading back upstairs to rejoin Archie when his mum appears at the kitchen door and says, ‘Just a minute, Ty – come in here.'

I try and think of a polite way to refuse, but I can't, so I follow her. Helen's in there, sitting with Marina and Elizabeth. They've opened a bottle of white wine. ‘Sit down,' says Archie's mum, pulling up her own chair and taking a big gulp of Chardonnay. I obey. ‘Now,' says Archie's mum. ‘You have to tell us. Who is this Tess girl? How serious is Danny about her?'

I open my mouth. Helen puts her arm around me. ‘It's OK,' she says. ‘You don't have to answer. Danny's got
three nosy sisters, poor thing.'

‘No, it's OK,' I say. ‘She's his flatmate . . . lodger . . . and he says they're on and off. More off than on, but when she gets cross with him, he kind of . . . he starts it again to stop her being cross, I think. And she works in television.'

They're all gazing at me, completely silent.

‘So they live together, then?' says the BBC one – Marina.

‘Yes, but there's another flatmate too, a girl called Lucy,' I say, ‘And he's . . . ummm . . . y'know . . . with her too, but that Tess doesn't know. And I think there's another girl who's his assistant and he might've . . . I don't know . . . that's what Tess said. . .'

They're all laughing. Even Helen. I feel my face getting hot, but then Elizabeth says, ‘Oh, thank you so much, Ty, we were worried she'd got her claws into him, but it sounds like he's found safety in numbers,' and suddenly I feel OK. It's just like being at home with Gran and Mum and Louise and Emma when they're taking apart the finer details of someone's love life. The same laughter. The same smell of wine.

‘Don't tell him I said anything,' I say, and Archie's mum says, ‘Don't worry, we won't scare him off.' And then they're filling up their glasses again, and I escape upstairs before they can ask anything about my mum.

Actually, I'm pretty grateful to Tess for turning up today. I'm feeling quite good for a number of reasons.

But I know that things won't stay that way. Because in just a few weeks I'm going to have to stand up in court and tell my story.

There's an angel on the roof.
Jesus.
It's got robes and it's glowing through the misty morning. I can't see its wings, but there's a sort of halo, rays beaming from its shining head. I wonder if any one else can see it. Maybe this is it. I've finally crossed over. I've gone mad.

It's completely still – oh, it's a statue. Obviously. I knew that all the time. Duh. It's got a massive knife – a sword really – in one hand and something weird – a bag? scales? – in the other. As I step out of the car I'm meant to rush into the door that's being held open for me. Instead, I stand on the wet pavement and stare up at this strange creature. The angel of death.

Patrick nudges me. ‘Come on, Ty. Get inside.'

This is the day they didn't want me to see. This is the day when I have to tell the truth. The whole truth.
Nothing but the truth. This is the day of Arron's trial, Jukes's trial, Mikey's trial. This is the day of justice for Rio and his family. I am the only witness who actually saw what happened. This is it.

I don't know if I can do it. Is it too late to change my mind?

My mum wanted to come with me, but the baby's due in a month and her midwife said that long journeys and stress would be a bad idea. Apparently her blood pressure's up a bit. I'm not sure whether blood pressure is meant to be up or down, but I'm guessing it's not good from the way Gran was fussing over her. My dad's still in New York.

So, Patrick got the job of sitting next to me in the cop car from Birmingham to London. They picked us up at 5 am, so he had to stay over in the flat – Gran gave up her room – which was a bit of a strange experience for everyone. That's probably just got into the
Guinness Book of World Records
as the biggest understatement of all time. And now he's striding through wood-panelled corridors at my side, explaining the angel on the roof.

‘This is the Old Bailey,' he says, ‘the Central Criminal Court. The statue represents Lady Justice. She carries the sword of punishment and the scales of equity. Traditionally she is portrayed with a blindfold, but not in this case. Don't they teach you anything at school nowadays?'

The Old Bailey.
Jesus.
How did I miss that we were coming here? That's the court they talk about on the news, on television. It's the one for really serious cases. This is a really serious case.
Jesus.
I feel like the angel statue just stuck her sword in my guts.

There's a court official showing us where to go, a woman with grey hair. She takes us to a small, brightly-lit room, and shows me a chair and a table. ‘That's where you'll sit when you're giving evidence,' she says. There's a video camera set up right by the table, and a TV screen. It's nothing special, not a big plasma screen or anything. She puts a glass and a jug of water on the table. ‘It shouldn't be too long,' she says. ‘They'll tell you when they're ready for you.'

Patrick wishes me luck and says he'll be watching from the public gallery. ‘I probably won't be able to see you, but I will be able to hear,' he says. When he leaves, I sit at the table and try and focus my mind on what I've got to say, but I can't concentrate at all. The only way I can clear my mind is by thinking about Claire.

‘Tom,' says the woman, interrupting me, which is probably not a bad thing.

‘I'm called Ty,' I say, ‘not Tom.'

‘They'll call you Tom in court. To protect your identity. And there will be screens in the courtroom, so only the jury and the lawyers can see you give evidence. And the
judge and the barristers will take off their wigs so you won't be intimidated. Has this been explained to you?'

It has, and I felt more than a slight prickle of irritation at the time. Why are they treating me like a baby? It takes a hell of a lot more than some stupid fancy dress to intimidate me. Haven't I proved that? Huh.

But at the same time that DI Morris was telling me all that – he came to Birmingham to see me a few weeks ago – he was also explaining that the defence lawyers would be attacking my character, making out I was a liar, ‘Someone who fantasises, has a vivid imagination, isn't reliable with the truth.' He doesn't need to tell me that I've handed them their evidence on a plate. After that, I kind of forgot the details about wigs and names.

Suddenly the screen flickers into life, and I can see all the barristers taking their wigs off and putting them into little bags, and my mouth goes dry and my stomach twists and turns. I pour myself a glass of water.

‘Here we go,' says the woman. She asks me my religion and asks if I want to swear on the bible or affirm that I'm telling the truth. I'm not exactly sure what affirming means, so I say I'll swear. I do think it's a stupid, out-dated way of making people promise to tell the truth. Hardly anyone English really believes in God any more. Not 100 per cent, anyway. They should make a new system. Otherwise, they can only really trust old people, priests
and Muslims. They need new technology. Something like the lie detectors they have on the Jeremy Kyle show.

As I say the words, ‘the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,' my voice squeaks, suddenly high and young. My hand shakes on the Bible. Great. I've just embarrassed myself in front of a whole courtroom of people that I can't even see.

‘Good morning, Tom,' says the first lawyer, and we've off. We're away. There's no going back now. At least, I don't think so.

DI Morris told me that the first lawyer would be the nice one. The gentle one. The lawyer for the prosecution, the one who wants to show the court how trustworthy and truthful I am. He's OK, I suppose. But he seems to think that Arron was a much bigger villain than he was, a big man, dealing drugs at school, mugging and bullying and hanging out with gangsters. It's like reading
The Sun
. You know the facts are probably right, but there's something strange about the way they've been put together.

He leads me through all the statements I've made. Arron's little envelopes at school and what I thought about them. Meeting Jukes and Mikey outside the shop. Arron asking me to help with a mugging. Me refusing, running to the park, watching.

And what I saw. Arron and Rio fighting. Jukes and
Mikey pushing, jostling. Pushing Rio onto the knife. And how they ran away. And how I ran for an ambulance.

Then we get to the difficult bit. The bit where I made Arron run out of the park. The lawyer's in neutral mode: ‘Can you tell me, Tom, what happened when you came back to the park?'

‘Speak clearly, look at the camera, stay calm,' was Patrick's advice in the car. I try my best. ‘I realised that the boy – Rio – was dead. I knew that when the ambulance came they'd think Arron had done it. I didn't want them to . . . to think that. I told him to run away. He wouldn't do it. So I got out my knife and I threatened him. I hit him with it. I cut him . . . I think. And then we ran to his house.'

‘And did you tell the police about this when you made your initial statement?'

‘No. I was too scared, and I thought they wouldn't believe me . . . about the rest of it. I told them later.'

‘Can you tell me why you came clean to the police later?'

‘Umm . . . there was an email I wrote. To a friend. I was feeling bad because I hadn't told the police everything. So I told her I'd been lying – but only about that, nothing else – and she told the police. So I told them.'

‘Let's be clear about this, Tom. You lied to the police, but only about this one incident?'

‘Yes.'

‘You understand the difference between the truth and lies?'

I'm not really sure that it's as simple as that. The truth is more complicated than he's making out. But I nod my head and say, ‘Yes, yes I do.' What else can I say?

I can see the jury over his shoulder. Twelve blank faces. They're not giving anything away. I can see the judge, she's blonde with massive pearl earrings. The prosecution lawyer thanks me and sits down. The judge asks me if I'm all right. I nod. She calls Arron's lawyer. I'm holding my breath. Here we go.

Arron's lawyer is a thin, gingery guy with a shiny bald patch, which I'm sure he'd prefer to cover up with his stupid wig. ‘Good morning, Tom,' he says. He's trying to sound friendly. I'm not fooled.

‘Would you describe Arron Mackenzie as your best friend?' he asks.

‘Well . . . he was. Then he was. Not now.'

‘And would your expectation be that friends tell each other the truth?'

‘Well . . . yes,' I say. I don't know where this is going. Maybe it's about the way that Arron covered up the
drug-dealing at school.

‘What does your father do for a living, Tom?' he asks.

My head jerks up. I can't tell him that. My dad's going to be a witness against Jukes . . . they already know too many details about him. . .

‘Let me re-phrase that, as it seems to be causing you some difficulties,' smarms the lawyer. ‘Do you recall telling your friend Arron Mackenzie on numerous occasions that your father was a lawyer working for football teams including Manchester United, Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur?'

Oh. Bum. ‘Umm . . . yes . . . but. . .'

‘And is he a lawyer working for Manchester United, Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspur?'

‘Umm. No. But I didn't . . . I didn't. . .'

‘Do you actually know the difference between truth and fantasy, Tom?' he asks, smirking through his tortoiseshell specs.

I can feel that my face is hot and red. ‘Yes.'

‘Well, now,' he says. ‘Let us turn to your statement.'

Arron's story is completely different from mine. According to Arron, we met Jukes and Mikey at the bowling alley, joked around a bit, never saw them again that day. Arron's lawyer quotes back at me lots of things that were actually said, but changes them here and there,
gives them another meaning, leaves out crucial bits.

I stay calm. I speak clearly. ‘No, it wasn't quite like that,' I say. ‘No, he didn't say it like that.'

According to Arron, he and I were due to meet at the park, in the playground. He was walking up the path to meet me when Rio jumped out at him. Rio waved the blade in his face, Arron looked for me. I didn't come and help him. He panicked, all on his own.

‘You were watching all this, weren't you?' says the lawyer.

‘I was watching – but it wasn't Rio who jumped out, it was Arron.'

‘Your friend was fighting someone attacking him with a knife, and you didn't come to his aid? Even though you had armed yourself?'

‘I – it was all really quick. I didn't think there was anything I could do. Then I saw blood and I ran for an ambulance.' It's kind of true, that is what I did. But I don't tell him how I was frozen and terrified, sweating and trying not to wet myself. And how, when I unfroze, I ran away. The ambulance came into my mind as I ran.

What would I have done if I'd known this was Arron's story? Would I have lied for him? Why is he letting Jukes and Mikey off the hook?