My Husband's Wife (16 page)

Everything that's been going on since September last year has been heading towards this. Only a few weeks to go now. The tension is mounting. Not just in my chest, but in the office too.

Even if I'd wanted to see more of Ed after the Christmas break, it wouldn't have been possible. From the second I returned to my desk, it was full-on. Phone calls. Letters. Visits to the prison. Joe Thomas apparently kicked up a fuss when Tony visited without me, and refused to see him. ‘I want to see Mrs Macdonald too,' he'd said.

So I went, my insides a mixture of excitement and apprehension. I barely even noticed the crisps, sugar, Sellotape and sharp implements routine.

Telling myself that I must be mad, I handed Joe a pile of legal papers to sign. Under the second folder was one of the other sticker albums from my brother's collection.

‘Thanks.' Joe's eyes drilled into mine like one piece of metal clicking into another.

So easy! Yet the buzz was instantly followed by a crashing sense of terror and self-recrimination. Why did I keep doing this?

Luckily, Tony was too busy scribbling down notes at the time to notice the handover. He'd been distracted since the holidays, I'd noticed. Every now and then he asked Joe the same question twice. ‘I'm not going to push our man any more about how he got those boiler stats,' he had told me before the meeting, in what seemed to be a complete U-turn. ‘I think we'll get more out of him by being less confrontational. Besides, I've had the stats checked out again and they definitely stand up. We really could be on to something really big here, you know.'

I let him get on with it. He's the expert.

As he spoke, he ran his hands through his hair – a frequent habit of his. I couldn't help noticing, too, that there was a bluey-mauve bruise on the side of his neck. Did couples who'd been married for thirty years (one of the few personal facts I'd gleaned from Tony) still give each other love bites?

After the case, I told myself, I'd address my own marital issues.

But right now I have the perfect excuse to be working late; coming home just as Ed goes to bed. No doubt leaving yet another empty wine bottle on the side.

The pressure from the media is increasing too. ‘Another call from the
Daily Telegraph
,' says one of the secretaries, with a more respectful manner than a few months ago. She's also burning the midnight oil. ‘Do you want to take it?'

No. As always. For a start, it's
sub judice
. We can't discuss an ongoing case. And even if it's one of those features about prisoners who win their appeals and then get on with their lives, I'm not having any of it.

We aren't quite at that stage yet.

My fingers tingle with excitement as I go over and over the arguments and the figures and the witness statements.

‘You do realize what a key case this is, don't you?' said my boss the other day. Like the secretaries, he has finally begun to treat me with more courtesy. ‘If we win this, everyone is going to want to come to us. No pressure, Lily. But this might not just be the making of the firm. It could be the making of you too.'

The press and my boss aren't the only ones who are getting excited. So, too, is Joe Thomas, however hard he tries to disguise his emotions. ‘Do you think we have a chance?' he asked on our last visit – in fact, our final one before the court hearing.

Tony nodded tightly. ‘As long as you do what we've rehearsed. Look the jury in the eye. Remember that one of our key arguments is that you've been officially diagnosed as having Asperger's, as well as a need to check things and stick to certain rituals and patterns. It's also why you came across as cold and unemotional when the police arrived. One in four people in the UK has some kind of mental health issue at some point. It's likely at least some of the jury will be sympathetic. And the rest we win over with the boiler facts, pure and simple.'

But Joe is frowning. ‘I don't see my checking as a problem. And I wasn't cold or unemotional. I just told them what happened. You make me sound like some kind of freak.'

‘He doesn't mean to,' I butt in quickly. ‘Tony just wants you to tell the truth. Explain that Sarah was late for dinner, which you always had ready on time. That she vomited
because she'd had too much to drink. You hate mess. So you suggested she had a bath. But she wouldn't let you run it for her like you normally did, as part of your rituals. It made you upset, so you went and did the washing-up, to get control. After half an hour, you got worried when you couldn't hear her splashing. You went into the bathroom to make sure she was all right. You saw her in the water. She was all blistered … It was a terrible accident.'

I stop. Both men are watching me.

‘It's almost as if you were there,' says Tony slowly.

A picture of the stables comes into my head. The smell of hay. The frost on the rafters. Merlin's hot breath on my cold neck. Mum's agonized cry:
No! This can't be true. There's got to be a mistake.

‘Let's move on, shall we?' I say sharply.

If only it was that easy.

‘This case, as Your Lordship knows, is of some importance and sensitivity: not only for the defendant, who has always remained consistent in maintaining his innocence, and of course for the family of the deceased, and for the wider public; but also for a member of my defence team, who has been subjected to a campaign of serious harassment. The Crown Prosecution Service, and of course my learned friend, has been made aware of this; and should anyone present in this courtroom have any contact with the culprits, they should know that any repetition will have grave consequences.'

Tony Gordon pauses, to allow the full force of his
words to sink in. I have to hand it to him. He's quite the defender of justice, striding around, waving his hands and eyeballing each member of the jury in turn. I'd be convinced if I was them. What would it be like to be married to a man like Tony? I get the feeling that our barrister is quite capable of making the truth suit him – and convincing himself that he has the perfect right to do so.

The prosecution has already had its say. The opposition put forward a strong case against Joe, claiming he was a controlling abuser and a cold-blooded killer. But it ran out of luck when it came to the ex-girlfriend who had once accused Joe of stalking her. Turns out she had died a year ago from lung cancer. So young! I'm shocked to feel relief. But that's the law for you. Someone else's misfortune can strengthen your case.

‘It should also be stated at the beginning,' continues Tony, ‘that although the matter of the harassment of a member of my team is serious, it seems to have no relevance to the issues in the case. But if that should change, I shall be making an application to introduce it in evidence before the jury.'

I find myself going beetroot. Tony hasn't prepared me for this.

Despite his point about ‘no relevance', Tony continues to spell it out. Is this part of his stragegy?

‘Threatening letters have been sent. A bag, containing vital documents, was grabbed in the street. But, worst of all, a horse belonging to one of my colleagues was poisoned in an attempt to make us drop the case.'

My name isn't mentioned – neither is the fact that the first letter came from Sarah's uncle – but it's clear who the
‘colleague' is from my red face and Tony's swift but meaningful glance in my direction.

There's a collective gasp. From the dock, Joe Thomas's eyes swoop down to catch mine. There's a compassion which I have not seen before, not even when he was talking about poor Sarah.

How dare Tony flag me up in this way? Then I realize he has done this on purpose. He wants to show the jury the tears in my eyes. Wants them to see the hurt that's been caused by the unseen powers who don't want this case to come to court. The jury might not be swayed by Joe Thomas with his haughty manner. But their sympathies might well be aroused by a young woman. Like me.

For a while, my attention is concentrated on making myself act professionally. This is Joe Thomas's future we are talking about. A man with habits that might seem weird to anyone else. A man who is the victim of a national scandal.

As my embarrassment dies down, I find myself looking round the court. I haven't been in this one before. Until now, my work for the firm has been in the tribunal courts. This is different. It's bigger. Almost church-like. The wood is mahogany. Joe Thomas is above us in a glass cage. His hands are gripping the shelf in front of him. It's hot in here, even though there's frost on the ground which almost made me slip when I got here at 8.30 this morning. It strikes me that from the outside, this court, like many others, looks like an ordinary large municipal building, with its grubby white facade and distant air. Yet its exterior appearance belies the circus – and theatre – that is going on around us.

A man's future is at stake.

Such responsibility!

I begin to sweat.

Joe Thomas is doing the same.

We watch Tony and the prosecution examine and then cross-examine boiler experts, statisticians, health and safety officers, the attending policemen and -women from the night of the murder. Then he throws a grenade. Another one he hasn't prepared me for. He calls to the stand the man who moved into Joe's flat after Sarah's death. After asking a series of innocuous opening questions, he gets to the point.

‘Can you describe your new neighbours, Mr and Mrs Jones?' Tony asks.

The young man sighs audibly. ‘Difficult. We complained about the noise of their television. First to them, but when they ignored us, we wrote to the council, but nothing's changed. It's become completely unbearable. We've put in for another place.'

‘Would you believe their claims of hearing screaming from the deceased's home?'

‘Frankly, I'd be surprised if they could hear anything above the sound of their television.'

I knew Tony was good. But not this good.

Then Sarah's old boss takes the stand. She hadn't wanted to give evidence, because she'd been a ‘mate'. But under oath, she admits that Sarah had a ‘drinking problem'. It turns out that Sarah had been given a final warning for being drunk while at work.

It all helps to build up a bigger picture in which Joe isn't the demon he was portrayed as in the first trial.

Then comes another medical expert. Yes, she confirms, it's quite possible that someone who had ‘excess drink in their system' might get into a hot bath without realizing and then might be too drunk to climb out. And yes, the resulting self-inflicted bruises from falling and then trying to escape might be difficult to distinguish from bruises inflicted by someone else.

Why weren't such experts called up during the first trial? Like I said before, there are good lawyers. And some not so good. And of course it takes time (which equals money) and resourcefulness to get the right experts.

A second set of neighbours are called in too. A pair of elderly sisters. Clever move on Tony's part. These two testify, one after the other, that they often saw Joe ‘acting in a very gentlemanly manner' towards Sarah. Always opening the car door for her. Carrying the shopping. That sort of thing. ‘We often thought she was a very lucky young lady,' simpers the older sister.

A friend of Sarah's is then called. She's what we call a ‘hostile witness'. Someone who doesn't want to give evidence but is compelled to by court order. Yes, she admits. Sarah did have a drinking problem and it made her do stupid things. Could she give an example? How about the Friday before she died? Her friend reluctantly reveals that Sarah had nearly been run over by a car when drunk on a work night out. Another colleague must have reported it. And was it possible Sarah might have fallen into a too-hot bath when drunk? Another unwilling yes.

Tomorrow we'll hear from some medical specialists in autism spectrum disorders. Joe will hate every bit of it, but he knows he needs it for his defence. Apparently, one
in a hundred people is affected. So hopefully there'll be someone in court who will be sympathetic.

And finally, we'll bring to the stand those families whose loved ones were also scalded but survived. ‘Save the best for last,' as Tony so tactfully puts it.

Yet the joy of all this is that ever since the hearing started, I haven't once thought about Ed.

After the case. After the case.
The most difficult decision of my life is looming.

But deep down, I already know what I have to do.

‘The jury was only out for fifty-five minutes! You reckoned it would be several hours!'

Joe's face is different from the one he wore inside prison. It is lit up. Exalted. Exhausted too.

Tony and I feel the same.

‘They knew I was innocent.' Joe's upper lip bears a froth of beer. It was, he said, the first thing he wanted. A pint in a pub ‘with freedom for company and the two people who made it happen'.

I've never heard him sound so emotional before. But he was looking at me when he said it. Right now I feel drunk with the thrill of innocence as surely as if I have been acquitted myself. Tony feels the same. I can see from the flush on his face that says, ‘We won.'

‘Law is a game,' he had told me at the beginning. ‘If you win, you're king. If you don't, you're a loser. You can't afford to be the latter. That's why it's addictive. It's why you're in the dock alongside your client.'

That's why, I could now add, a lawyer feels the need to win arguments in his or her private life too. Because if
you can't do that, there's an implication (rightly or wrongly) that you can't be any good at your job. Does Tony win arguments at home? I suspect that he does. I don't want to think about my own situation.

The crowds outside the court were thick with cameras, shouting and flashing lights, a wave of journalists pushing microphones in front of us. Tony made a short speech: ‘This is a day of reckoning not just for Joe Thomas, who has finally been proved innocent, but for all the other victims too. We expect more developments shortly.' Then he steered us with practised ease into a waiting car and took us to this pub in Highgate where the locals are well-heeled members of the public rather than the press. I looked for Ed in the crowds, but he was nowhere to be seen.