The Accused

The Accused

Sarah stood up in court and turned towards the facing barrister. She
forced her shaking hand back to her side as it rose to push the hair
away from her face.
"Can you tell the court, Miss Roberts, why you visited Mr Timothy
Bryant's home on the evening of the 21st of November?"
"He'd invited me round to watch a film, and&;#8230;that's why I was
there." Sarah bit her tongue, remembering to keep her answers short and
to the point.
Dress conservative, wear your hair down, don't ever swear, be
polite&;#8230;
The bullet point advice they doled out to every rape victim facing a
court case, she supposed. The words selling out and hypocritical came
to mind. What about all those reclaim the night marches she'd supported
at college? Well, OK, she'd only actually gone on one, but heh, she
still believed in it all. No means no, right? And yet here she was, all
little miss demure, dressed in an ankle length skirt.

"You were 'dating' Mr Bryant?"
"Yes."
"How long had you been in a relationship of this nature with Mr
Bryant?"
"We'd been seeing each other, on and off, for about four years."
His face was there, right in front of her. She fought the impulse to
close her eyes just to get it to go away. She could even smell the beer
that had been on his breath that night.
"Can you explain what you mean by 'on and off'?"
"Yes. We broke up several times over the four years."
"What caused the relationship to break up on those occasions?"
Sarah tried hard to push aside the memory of Tim's heavy hand across
her mouth. She took a sip of water from the glass in front of
her.
"We would argue, I guess. And on one of those times he'd
started&;#8230;he was violent towards me."

She tried hard to concentrate on the legalese that was directed at her,
questions so lumbering and ponderous they took longer to reach their
point than a tortoise on tranquillizers. But during the long pauses her
thoughts flitted trance-like around the courtroom, across the expectant
faces considering her case, and around that other room in Bridgewater,
which had been the scene for the events they now discussed. Events that
she would really rather forget, as it happened, than rehash for this
crowd of concerned do-gooders, bored hacks and smug lawyers.

They had watched 'Vision of Evil' that evening, a gruesome and
disturbing thriller that had made Sarah want to press rewind and erase
its sickening images from her memory. There had been a beer in his hand
even when he opened the door to her, and that was how it had got
started.

"What the fucks the matter with you?" Tim, apparently, had not been too
drunk to notice Sarah recoil involuntarily with disgust as he reached
over to kiss her. She hated the alcohol stench. Her father had carried
it on his breath during all those arguments that had dented great holes
into her parent's marriage. One night the whole thing had simply
shattered, ricocheting her and her mother out into the night.
"Nothing."
Tim had glared at her and pressed his mouth slowly and deliberately
against hers, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on her reaction. Then
he had pushed her away and rewound the movie to where they had left
off. The needling silences had continued as Sarah, uncomfortably tense,
cursed her decision to come round. Ignorant Fucking Bastard, she
thought. He makes no effort at all for me any more. She could barely
remember why she had ever been attracted to Tim. 'A charmer,' her
friends had called him (probably after he tried to chat them up, she
thought sourly). Sickened by Tim and seeking distraction from both her
escalating anger and the mounting violence of the film, Sarah had left
the room without a word.

"What the hell are you doing in here? I thought we were supposed to be
watching a film." Tim had found her scrubbing the kitchen taps.
"I might as well be your bloody slave as your girlfriend you ignorant
fucking lazy selfish bastard."
The first slap had come from behind her, landing awkwardly around her
neck and failing to stop the tirade of her pent up complaints.
Blubbing, Sarah had hit out ineffectually to ward off Tim's weight
pressed against her. He had shoved his hand across her mouth and a
tight punch had seared into her stomach.

No no no no no. Think. Breathe. Count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Sarah managed to fight her way back into the present and the
claustrophobic courtroom. The breaks in her interrogation were worse
even than the interminable questioning. She had to sit gratefully
sipping lukewarm tea, watched over by a bored policewoman she had only
met once before. Her mind worked overtime on what was being said in the
courtroom. Were they continuing to rip her character apart? As if they
hadn't assassinated it enough while she was being cross-examined. Poor
Mum, having to sit there and listen to all that.

"Miss Roberts, is it true that you had sexual relations with another
man during your relationship with Mr Bryant, as the court has already
heard from two separate witnesses who say that Mr Bryant confided this
information to them?"
"Yes, it's true."
"And what was Mr Bryant's reaction to discovering your
infidelity?"
"He was angry, I guess."
"You have claimed, Miss Roberts, that Timothy Bryant was violent
towards you on several occasions. Was he violent on this
occasion?"
"No&;#8230;well, not physically violent."
"Can you explain what you mean by that statement?"
"He was shouting at me, being verbally abusive, and he
was&;#8230;but he didn't hit me or punch me."
"Do you not agree, Miss Roberts, that Mr Bryant had every right to be
angry on finding out the devastating truth about this betrayal? That
shouting was simply a valid means of expressing his feelings at that
time?"
"Yes, I suppose so. But he was out of control."
"And do you not agree, Miss Roberts, that your infidelity was ample
cause for Mr Bryant to want to end the relationship between you?"
"He didn't want to."
"We have only your word for that, Miss Roberts."

The waiting was horrific. And just when the walls of the stuffy little
room had started to seem like they were closing in on her, the door had
opened. She jumped up, feeling simultaneous relief and dread at having
to go back in there. Except that she didn't have to. They were having a
lunch break. Two stifling hours of waiting before they even got started
again, and then no way to know when they would call her back in.

They bought her a BLT and a diet coke.

"Would the defendant please rise." Sick and dizzy, Sarah imagined Tim's
eyes boring into her with hatred. She forced herself to look instead at
the pattern on the floor in front of her, and shuddered at the
agonising length of time it seemed to take for the man to actually
start talking.

"A full statement has been put before the court by the defence, and
there is no reason to doubt the facts provided in this statement. It is
indeed supported by further evidence gathered at the scene of the
incident and put before this court. There is also no doubt that the
serious sexual assault suffered by Miss Roberts was severe and that she
continues to be affected by the experience. The task of the court is to
consider the individual circumstances of this case when reaching its
verdict."

The judge paused just long enough to force Sarah to look up at the sea
of faces in front of her, before asking the jury if they had reached a
unanimous verdict.

"Yes your honour."
Sarah barely heard the judge repeat the charge and ask for the verdict,
but she turned to look at the chairman of the jury as he spoke.

"We find the defendant not guilty."

Sarah's legs buckled but she held onto the rail of the dock with the
determination and strength that had got her this far. The first thing
she saw, when she wiped the tears from her eyes, was the smiling face
of her mother looking proudly up at her.

"You have found the defendant not guilty of murder. What is your
verdict on the plea of manslaughter due to provocation?"
"We find the defendant guilty of manslaughter due to
provocation".

Tim had been monstrous that night, worse than ever before. (And there
had been plenty of other times). He'd made her into a killer. She,
Sarah Jane Roberts, had sunk the blade of the knife into his chest,
hoping and praying that it would kill him. The jury, though, had said
she was not a murderer, and the judge had suspended her sentence. As
the court began to empty, Sarah could not move. She looked around,
dazed and empty, unable yet to accept the freedom and forgiveness that
stood before her.