by Heide Goody
Michael pulled out a close-fitting suit, seemingly composed of black leather and a inordinate number of straps.
“Is Salvation that bondage club off Broad Street?” asked Freddy.
“It’s a camouflage suit,” said Michael. He carefully removed a pair of complex and green-lensed goggles from the packing foam at the bottom of the box.
“My aunt and uncle used to go to these ‘special parties’,” said Freddy. “He sometimes wore a snorkel, which is odd because there’s not much snorkelling to be had in Four Oaks.”
“There’s a beast,” said Michael. “Hungry. Prowling. Dangerous. I’m going to hunt it.”
“Okay,” said Freddy, with a wink. “Well, as long as you and your ‘beast’ have fun – and take sensible precautions – that’s all that matters.”
Clovenhoof showed considerable restraint and managed to stay still and silent while the prosecuting solicitor set out his case. His first witness was the accused herself and, before asking her anything other than the most perfunctory of questions, had a loop of CCTV shown to the court on the large wall screen.
The footage was taken from a camera outside a nearby shop, looking past the supermarket towards the gathered protesters.
“Here we see the illegal protest march,” said the solicitor. “The police were not informed of the intention to march through the town. Traffic was severely disrupted, and it was only due to the diligence of local officers that the march was stopped here. Now, Ms Wilson, would you agree that this person here in the picture is you?”
“Of course it is,” said Toyah. “Ain’t it obvious?”
“Yes, it is,” agreed the solicitor. “You appear to be engaged in a discussion with this other woman in dungarees. And then, as we can all see, Ms Wilson, you remove your outer garments and expose your breasts. Now, exposure of breasts for the purpose of breastfeeding is protected under the Sex Discrimination Act, but you weren’t breastfeeding, were you?”
“No,” Toyah admitted.
“In fact, you did it to draw attention to your sensationalist cause and, indeed, caused such shock and distress that a construction worker fell from nearby scaffolding and was caused serious injury.”
“Don’t know nothing about that,” said Toyah.
“No,” said the prosecutor. “I don’t think you considered the consequences of your actions, but consequences there were. We will come to Mr Thrimble and his injuries shortly. By exposing your body with the intent to shock and offend, you not only committed a public order offence, but also engaged in sexual activities in the presence of children, contrary to the Sexual Offences Act.”
“Sexual activities?” said Toyah.
“Objection!” shouted Clovenhoof. “Counsel is badgering the witness.”
“I have no further questions,” said the prosecuting solicitor.
“Damn right,” said Clovenhoof.
There was silence in the court until Mrs Bloom coughed politely.
“Do you have any questions for the witness, Mr Clovenhoof?”
“Indeed I do, your holiness,” said Clovenhoof and jumped to his feet. “I’ve googled a few things on the way over and I think I’ve got this all wrapped up. Miss Wilson, Toyah, has been accused of being topless and thereby breaking the law. It is indeed illegal for a woman to be topless in public,” he paused for effect, “unless they work as a clerk in a tropical fish store.”
Nerys and Ben exchanged glances.
“Senile dementia has hit early,” suggested Ben.
“I will show beyond all reasonable doubt that my client was working in a tropical fish shop at the time of the incident,” said Clovenhoof, and reached into his big bag.
“I’ll stop you there,” said Mrs Bloom. “I am aware of that peculiar little law. But it is not applicable here.”
“Oh?”
“Firstly, it is reported to be a byelaw pertaining solely to the city of Liverpool.”
“I thought we might overlook that in this instance.”
“And secondly, it is made up. An urban myth. No such law exists.”
“Ah,” said Clovenhoof. He removed his hand from his bag, bringing with it a rather sad-looking goldfish in a plastic bag. “I won’t be needing this then. Never mind!” he said brightly. “Onward! Miss Wilson, the prosecution asserts that you aired your nipples in order to cause shock and offence.”
“But I didn’t,” said Toyah.
“Why did you do it then?”
“I was trying to make a point.”
“With your nipples?”
“Er, yes.”
“And what point were your nipples trying to make? What, indeed, were these most versatile and communicative of nipples pointing out?”
“They – I mean I was pointing out that women should be able to use their bodies – our bodies – as we want. We ain’t harming no one. It’s my body. Leave me alone.”
“I’m impressed,” said Clovenhoof. “Such expressive boobs you have. So, was there intention to shock or offend?”
“No way,” said Toyah.
“In fact, it was a philosophical point they were making, an argument about personal freedom and women’s rights?”
“I s’pose so.”
“Then your fun bags weren’t offensive or shocking, but actually informative and educational?”
“Er.”
Clovenhoof turned to address the court, leaning on the wooden bar of the dock in a manner Nerys was sure he had deliberately borrowed from some TV courtroom drama.
“I ask the jury, can you condemn a woman for having educational fun bags?”
“Mr … Clovenhoof, was it?” said Mrs Bloom. “There is no jury in this court and can you please refrain from your coarse language. Breasts, I think, would be the appropriate term.”
“Breasts it is. I bow to your superior medical knowledge, your highness.”
Despite Freddy’s playful mockery, Michael was very pleased with the camouflage suit and night vision goggles. If he was going to track the Beast of Boldmere, the unholy progeny of Jeremy ‘Satan’ Clovenhoof, then he needed something to give him an edge.
He inspected himself in the full-length bedroom mirror at home. Even in combat gear, Michael cut a truly fine figure. The close-fitting black leather and thermal-dampening synthetic weave made a living shadow of him. He could already picture himself, perched on the rooftops of Sutton Coldfield like some dark guardian, a cloaked avenger ready to leap into action and protect the local citizenry from the forces of darkness. And, when the creature was safely dealt with and Michael’s great deed was publicly recognised, then a grateful Chip would have to promise Michael a seat on …
“Is this something we need to talk about?”
Michael whirled round.
Andy stood in the doorway. Andy, the small but perfectly formed package, with a quizzical look on his face and a half-eaten crackerbread in his hand.
“Do you think we need to spice things up in the bedroom or something?” he said.
“What?” said Michael. “Why does everyone think this is something kinky?”
“That’s a lot of leather. Is it some sort of midlife crisis thing?”
Michael tutted.
“If you must know, this is a … it’s a work thing.”
Andy munched on the crackerbread and considered this.
“Yeah. That doesn’t make it sound any better.”
Adrian Thrimble, construction worker and ARC Residential and Construction employee, wore a medical support boot and a neck brace to show just how horribly injured he was. Nerys reckoned he must have also sprained his acting muscles, because his testimony was so stilted and obviously scripted that poor Adrian appeared to be in danger of collapsing under the strain.
“So, you were shocked?” asked the prosecuting solicitor.
“I was,” said Adrian. “I was shocked and offended and …”
“Alarmed?”
“Alarmed and distressed,” said Adrian, and breathed a sigh of relief at having re
ached the end of the sentence.
“There is no doubt that Miss Wilson exposed herself – we have heard that admission of guilt – but the court wants to know how that immediately affected you.”
Adrian nodded. “I was shocked and offended and alarmed and …”
“No, not that bit. The next bit. What happened after you were exposed to Miss Wilson’s nude body?”
Adrian licked his dry lips. “I was so shocked that I tripped and fell from the scaffolding.”
“How long have you worked in the building trade, Mr Thrimble?”
“Eighteen years, sir.”
“But, surely,” said the solicitor, “a man of your experience wouldn’t let something like this cause you to stumble and fall. Do you fall off scaffolding much, Mr Thrimble?”
“No,” he said, with the sudden confidence of someone permitted to tell the truth for once. “Not had a single accident in all those years. And not a day off sick neither.”
“So, are you telling the court that this act of indecent exposure, shocking and distressing as we know it to be, was the sole cause of your only work-related accident in eighteen years in the business?”
The nervousness was back. Nerys saw the man’s eyes flick to Chip Malarkey, just for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I have no further questions,” said the solicitor.
“Right. My turn,” said Clovenhoof. He beamed at the witness in the box. “No need to worry. Just some routine questions, Mr Thrimble.”
Adrian nodded and smiled awkwardly.
“Now, have you heard of Malebolge?”
“What?” said Adrian.
“Never been there?”
“No.”
“Oh. Because it’s where you’re going.”
“Is it in the south of Spain?” Ben whispered to Nerys.
“And there you’ll be burned and scourged and forced to endure dropsy or leprosy or one of those hilarious diseases,” said Clovenhoof.
“What?” said Adrian.
“It’s the eighth circle of Hell,” explained Clovenhoof, “reserved for liars and falsifiers.”
“What?”
“Mr Clovenhoof!” said Mrs Bloom.
“Sorry, your chiefliness. To put it simply, Mr Thrimble: Liar, liar, pants on fire. You were not knocked from your perch by Miss Wilson’s nipples, but were frightened by a monstrous beast.”
“Well, I …”
“A beast created in the laboratories of the ARC Research Company not more than a mile from where you had your accident.”
“Slander!” shouted Chip.
“A beast cooked up from the DNA of a Yorkshire terrier named Twinkle, assorted dead mammals, and the most handsome devil there’s ever been.”
“Did he say Twinkle?” said Ben.
“I’ve been told …” Adrian began to say.
“Mr Clovenhoof!” snapped Mrs Bloom. “You will not sully this court with ridiculous rumours of the so-called Beast of Boldmere. Mr Thrimble has given his version of events and the court accepts them at face value.”
Clovenhoof tutted. “Fine. If you can’t handle the truth,” he muttered. “Let’s proceed in this ludicrous fiction that you were knocked off the supermarket roof by Toyah’s breasts.”
“But … but I was,” said Adrian.
“I see. And so we need to fully establish that they caused you distress and alarm for, without distress and alarm, there can be no case of public indecency under the Sexual Offences Act.” He whirled to the public gallery and waggled his eyebrows at his neighbours. “That’s right. I read something.”
Clovenhoof turned back to the witness. “Mr Thrimble, you say you were shocked and offended. Are you shocked and offended by the sight of breasts?”
Adrian frowned. “I suppose. Isn’t everyone?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr Thrimble. I haven’t conducted a survey. Have you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m sure you are. So, this is a personal issue. Are you mastophobic?”
“Am I what?” said Adrian.
“Do you suffer from an irrational fear of breasts?”
“No.”
“But you were offended and distressed by Toyah’s?”
“Um, er, yes.”
“So you don’t like breasts generally?”
Adrian struggled. “No. I, er, I like breasts.” He blushed at his own unexpected words. “I mean, I don’t mind them. No, I mean … I mean I’m a man, aren’t I?”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s nice that you’re certain of at least one thing.”
“No, I mean men like breasts. Straight men, I mean and, er … lesbians?”
“I’m sure we all like lesbians, Mr Thrimble. I am confused that you have expressed a personal liking of breasts but are nonetheless offended and distressed by them.”
“I just think they shouldn’t be out in public. That’s not right.”
“Oh,” said Clovenhoof surprised. “Do you have issue with other body parts being publicly displayed? Elbows? Ears?”
“Er, no. But breasts, nipples, they’re, er … sexual, aren’t they?”
“Mr Clovenhoof,” said Mrs Bloom. “I do not see this questioning leading anywhere, apart from causing the witness acute embarrassment.”
“It will, your grace. I’m just trying to ascertain the nature of the witness’s shock and offence. So, Mr Thrimble, nipples are sexual, eh?”
“Yes.”
“But they’re not genitalia.”
“No, but they’re …”
“Arousing?”
“If you say so,” said Adrian, his tone making it clear that the word was Clovenhoof’s not his.
“Very good,” said Clovenhoof, and removed several large mounted photographs from his bag. “So these are arousing, yes?” he asked, holding aloft a picture.
“Yes, I guess,” said Adrian.
“Where did he get that from?” said Nerys.
“The internet?” suggested Ben. “I think he’s just cropped it and blown it up.”
“They do look inflated,” she replied. “Those must give her chronic back ache unless they’re full of helium.”
“So, you are aroused by this image,” said Clovenhoof.
“Someone might be,” said Adrian.
Clovenhoof shuffled the picture to the back to reveal another set of breasts. “And these are arousing?”
“Yes,” said Adrian.
“And these?”
“Yes.”
“And these?”
“Yes!”
“So, someone whips these out and men get aroused and fall off scaffolding. Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“If she whipped those out, I think someone would end up with concussion,” said Nerys.
“I’d like to show the court a short video clip,” said Clovenhoof, and skipped over to the screen with a DVD.
The screen fuzzed and then showed what appeared to be an Olympic diving event.
“What is this, Mr Clovenhoof?” said Mrs Bloom.
“London 2012,” Clovenhoof replied.
“And why are you showing us this?”
“Because …” He hit pause and pointed to an indistinct blob in the spectator stands. “Is that you, Mr Thrimble?”
“How can anyone see from that image?” argued the solicitor.
“It is,” said Mr Thrimble.
“This would be young British diving hopeful Tom Daley about to win the bronze medal,” said Clovenhoof. “Did you enjoy the event, Mr Thrimble?”
“Um, yes. A great achievement. Proud to be there.”
Clovenhoof nodded, pressed play, and made a show of watching the screen. “Were you shocked and offended?” he asked.
“What?”
“Young Tom’s nipples are clearly on show, in a public place no less. Were you offended?”
“What? No.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because he’s a man. I
don’t …”
“No, I understand,” said Clovenhoof. “You’ve limited yourself to admiring only lady bits. Fair enough. But were the straight women, gay men, bisexuals, and the generally unfussy shocked and offended by Tom’s nipples? Look at them. Must have been cold in the pool. Like hat pegs, they are.”
“Of course not,” said Adrian. “He’s a man. Men’s nipples are different.”
“Non-functioning, you mean.”
“No. They’re just not the same!”
Clovenhoof stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re being a wee bit sexist there, Mr Thrimble.”
“I’m going to have to stop you there,” said Mrs Bloom.
“Getting too close to the truth, eh?” said Clovenhoof.
“No. You’re wasting too much of our time. There are other cases to be heard today, and your prattling serves no purpose. Mr Thrimble expresses a reasonable disgust at women parading their breasts – their secondary sexual characteristics – in public, and I don’t think there’s any value to be gained from further dissection of the issue.”
“But I had further evidence, and a list of surprise witnesses.”
“I’m sure you did. However, this court has already come to a verdict, so sit down.”
“Has it?” said Nerys to Ben.
Mrs Bloom tidied her notes and, with a nod of approval from her fellow magistrates and the court legal advisor, said, “This court finds Miss Toyah Wilson guilty of the offence of indecent exposure, contrary to the Public Order Act. Though the defence contends that Miss Wilson had not intended to offend Mr Thrimble or cause his injuries, UK law does not deal with intentions but with outcomes. Deliberately or as a result of unthinking negligence, Miss Wilson caused offence, not only to Mr Thrimble, but to our great town. She also caused a workplace injury that could have been avoided if she had been more modest and considerate in her actions.”
“Considerate?” shouted the SCUM leader Sandra from the public gallery. “She was taking part in a peaceful protest!”
“You will be quiet, madam, or you will be arrested for contempt of court,” warned Mrs Bloom. “And, peaceful or not, this court and this borough has little time for your juvenile cause. It is clear to anyone who has eyes to see that we do not want you to impose your breasts upon us.”
