Clear My Name

by Paula Daly

  One of the Lady Justices is turning the page of the pamphlet she has been provided with as the barrister continues his address. Each judge remains impassive, even though the barrister has now become rather impassioned in his delivery. They seem unmoved by his words but if he has noticed it does not affect his performance. ‘Which brings us to’, he says authoritatively, ‘the disposal of, or the disappearance of, vital forensic evidence. Evidence that could have proven Mrs Kamara had not been in physical contact with Ella Muir at all. Why has this evidence been disposed of, you might ask? Well, we may never know the answer to that. What we do know, however …’

  What do they know? Carrie thinks, amused.

  They don’t know anything.

  They think they know but they don’t. Carrie knows. Carrie knows what happened that day at Ella’s house. Carrie knows everything.

  INSIDE THE COURT waiting room the air is heavy and thick. There is an urn of tea, a large jug of orange squash, and a plate of shortbread fingers on a table next to the door. Tess pushes the remains of a shortbread finger inside her mouth, thinking that this set-up is not unlike when she gives blood. After donating, she has to sit at a table with a group of strangers as a nurse watches over them to ensure they replenish their fluids and eat at least three flavourless biscuits. This is to prevent them from passing out at the wheel on the way home. Here, instead of a nurse, there is a kindly lady. She is forcing tea and shortbread on the unsuspecting, telling them it’s a while yet till lunch, and they don’t want to get light-headed while court is still in session. Tess supposes there must have been some recent fainting episodes as refreshments were not available the last time she was here.

  She glances to her left. Mia is sitting alone, tapping away on her phone. She’s had to leave her baby with a friend and Tess knows Mia’s not comfortable with the arrangement. Mia confided that she has little Phoebe practically Sellotaped to her throughout the day. Watching Mia now, it crosses Tess’s mind that the reason she’s fought so hard for Carrie is because Mia reminds her of her young self. Mia is bringing up a baby girl, alone, just as Tess did, without the help or assistance of her mother. And so far Mia’s been OK. But what happens when things are not OK? What happens when things are not OK and there’s no back-up? Perhaps it’s been this thought that has unconsciously driven Tess forward.

  Avril nudges Tess’s arm. ‘Imagine if she gets to walk out of here with her mother,’ she whispers, gesturing to Mia. ‘Just imagine.’

  Tess checks her watch. The judges have been deliberating for close to two hours now and they can only wait. She thinks about Carrie in the bowels of the building, alone, with nothing to do except contemplate her fate. Will she spend her fifties locked up? Tess can’t call it. For her, this is the worst part of the job: bringing a case this far and then watching the absolute devastation on her client’s face if it doesn’t go their way. It is an appalling way to end a project. And there is nothing she can say to help. There is no We’ll appeal again speech. Because they won’t. This is the end of the road as far as Innocence UK is concerned. The prisoners are on their own and must lodge future appeals from their cells, filling out the forms themselves, unless they have the funds to employ a solicitor to do it for them. And Tess hasn’t yet met anyone who falls into that category. So she tells them she’s sorry. She tells them she did her very best. And then she says goodbye. Later she will take the train home and she will pour herself a large glass of red wine, and as she drinks, she will reflect on this strange business in which she finds herself, all the while hoping the next case will turn out differently.

  ‘They’re ready for you.’ An usher has entered the room and is holding the door wide. Silently, they gather up their belongings as the kindly tea lady tells them not to worry about the rubbish. ‘What I’m here for,’ she sings happily.

  As they file out, Tess avoids Mia’s eye. This is on purpose, as she finds it’s best to start disentangling herself from the victim’s family before they hear the final outcome. She’s sending a silent message to Mia, letting her know that Tess’s role is now over. She can do no more and what lies ahead is out of her hands. Tess had a client hang himself after the appellate court ruled the original verdict was to be upheld a few years ago, and she knew his family blamed her because they shouted it right into her face. Tess was required to attend the inquest and his daughter spat at Tess, telling her she was not fit to do her job, and after that Tess consciously put some distance between herself and members of the victim’s family. She hopes Mia will be able to hold it together. They’re on different trains home, at least. An hour apart.

  It was the first thing she’d asked Mia about when they’d entered court this morning.

  IN THE GLARE of photographers and camera operators and reporters, Carrie looks like a startled fawn. She is trying to smile but she’s almost scowling because she can’t cope with the attention and the noise. Her skin is flushed and her eyes are darting left to right, left to right. ‘Carrie! Smile for us, Carrie!’ shouts a reporter, and Tess can see she’s completely overwhelmed and has no idea what to do about it. This should be a joyous moment, her moment of vindication, the moment when she gets to stick it to all the doubters. But Tess can see that all that Carrie wants to do is to become invisible.

  ‘How do you feel, Carrie?’ they ask.

  ‘I feel … grateful,’ she manages to stammer.

  ‘What will you do with your first night of freedom?’

  Carrie looks over to where Mia is standing, along with Tom, Tess and Avril. ‘I’m going to go home. I’m going home to be with my family. That’s all I want. It’s what I’ve dreamt of.’

  ‘Do you have anything to say to people like yourself, people who are victims of a miscarriage of justice?’

  Now Carrie does manage to smile. Shyly, she answers, ‘Write to Tess Gilroy,’ and Tess watches as the cameras pan across to where she’s standing. She’ll never get used to this – being in the spotlight – but it’s part of the job and so she nods her head, acknowledging Carrie’s remark, Carrie who has tears in her eyes and is looking at Tess as if she owes Tess her life.

  ‘You OK?’ Tess mouths.

  ‘Happy,’ she mouths back.

  Tess gives Mia a gentle nudge: ‘Go and be with your mum,’ and they watch as mother and daughter hug on the steps, both crying, both still looking so unsure, as if this could all be a mistake and any moment Carrie will be led away to the back of a police van, whereupon she will be driven north and returned to Styal Prison.

  ‘Can’t believe they didn’t raise the blood issue,’ Tom says under his breath, still smiling gamely for the cameras.

  ‘Neither can I,’ whispers Tess.

  ‘Why didn’t they?’ asks Avril.

  ‘Probably because they’re obligated to consider each piece of evidence equally,’ suggests Tom. ‘In contrast to juries, who, as we know, will ignore each piece of evidence in favour of DNA.’

  ‘Still, though,’ says Tess.

  ‘I know,’ says Tom. ‘Still.’

  There is a general kerfuffle amongst the journalists and camera operators as they quickly try to move from their position. The Muir family is now exiting the court and Avril looks away when she catches sight of Ella’s mother, Sandra, the woman responsible for her broken nose.

  Ella’s brother, Kyle, takes a step forward from his family and waits until a camera operator signals he’s ready for him to start speaking. It’s an awkward moment and Tess can feel a collective holding of breath as the camera guy fiddles with his equipment, leaving poor Kyle in limbo, not sure what to do with his hands as he waits. Finally he gets the thumbs up and Kyle speaks directly into the lens without blinking. Later, Tess will watch this on the ten-thirty local news bulletin and wonder how Kyle got through it so convincingly. She wonders if he will ever air his doubts to his family that the wrong woman was charged. ‘We are very disappointed with the result here today.’ Kyle speaks confidently and assuredly to camera, without the need to read from notes. ‘My sis
ter Ella deserves justice for the terrible crime inflicted upon her and we …’

  ‘Come on,’ Tess says to the others. ‘We don’t need to stay for this.’ It feels in bad taste, like gloating, and she can feel Ella’s mother’s eyes upon her, boring into her, blaming her.

  She suggests to Tom and Avril that they should perhaps head to the station right away to determine if they can board an earlier train. It could get messy if they find themselves heading home together with the Muirs.

  A FEW DAYS later and Tess is busy removing all traces of Carrie Kamara’s case from her home office when she hears the knock on the front door. She ignores it and continues with her task: unpinning photographs from the noticeboard, removing the maps, the CCTV images. She could have done this earlier, much earlier – as soon as they got the court date – but she’s superstitious. Her first case involved a nineteen-year-old boy who had been imprisoned for shooting an elderly woman in a bungled burglary. It had not gone their way; he was still inside. Tess had been convinced that the court would find him innocent, convinced they’d see he’d been shafted by his friends, and so she’d filed away everything she had on Clayton Kells as soon as she got a court date. Never again. Her complacency still haunted her. She knew there was more she could’ve done. Knew, if she’d not moved on mentally, she could’ve spotted something essential, perhaps when sitting in her office, daydreaming, thinking about something else entirely. He was twenty-seven now.

  Tess runs the cloth over her desk and the top of the filing cabinet. The room is thick with dust and she feels a tingling in her nose, a scratching at the back of her throat as the particles become airborne. The room is a disgrace. She should really get into the habit of cleaning the office once a week but knows she never will. Mid-case, cleaning is as far down her list of priorities as it can get.

  She hears the knocking again, and, ‘What?’ she says aloud, irritated. It’s seven forty-five on Sunday evening. Who makes social calls at this hour?

  Tess stomps down the stairs, cloth still in her hand, and opens the door. Standing on the step in the rain is Steph.

  Tess’s mouth drops open.

  She isn’t quite sure what to say so she doesn’t say anything. She leaves the door wide and turns, walking into the kitchen to rinse her cloth. As she turns off the tap, she’s aware of Steph’s presence in the dining room. Steph is dripping wet. Tess grabs the roll of kitchen towel and hands it to her. She knows she’s supposed to ask Steph why she’s come here, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She’s not sure she wants to hear it. Not sure she can hear what her daughter has to say.

  ‘Sorry to turn up unannounced,’ says Steph.

  ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘Thought you might bail again if I tried to get you to meet me somewhere.’

  Tess takes a breath. Would she have bailed? Maybe. Probably. ‘I understand you must be pretty angry with me.’

  ‘I’m not angry.’ Steph dries her face and neck with the towel. She doesn’t remove her coat. Tess asks if she can get her a drink, anything to eat, and Steph says she’s fine. ‘I hear Carrie’s free.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Must be nice to sleep in her own bed again.’

  ‘She missed her family terribly,’ says Tess.

  ‘Do you think I was some help? In getting her out, I mean.’

  Tess thinks about Greg Lancashire. He’ll be appearing at Lancaster Magistrate’s Court soon to answer for burning Tess’s face at the breaker’s yard back in November, but Tess has also heard he’s been interviewed by detectives twice since Carrie was freed – about Ella’s death. The case of Ella’s murder has been reopened and Greg is now a suspect. ‘I’m sure you helped Carrie a great deal,’ Tess tells Steph.

  Steph smiles. ‘I’m glad it all worked out.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too. Sure I can’t get you something to drink? I was going to put the kettle on. I’ve been cleaning … I’m not much of a housekeeper and my throat is parched from all the dust. I’ve got a ton of boxes up there that need moving and quite frankly the place is a health hazard. I really should be more organized. I ought to be better at—’ She’s rambling. Tess knows she’s rambling but she seems powerless to do anything else.

  ‘Why didn’t you want me?’

  Tess closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them again she sees Steph is looking at her so earnestly. How does she answer this? How does she answer this adequately? She can’t. ‘I did want you,’ is all that she can say.

  ‘OK, so why didn’t you keep me?’ Steph asks, and Tess is back to that night. The night of …

  Her baby is crying. Of course she’s crying. Her baby is always crying. It’s 5 a.m., the country is asleep, and Tess has not had more than fifteen minutes’ rest. Her daughter is in her crib, drawing her knees up to her chest, and is not just crying, she’s yelling as though Tess is stubbing cigarettes out directly on her flesh. Tess can’t bear it. She knows Angeline is suffering but she’s done everything she can think of. Everything any reasonable person could be expected to do – and more. She has changed Angeline’s nappy; this has had a negligible effect – in fact, if anything, it’s made matters worse. She has walked around and around the basement flat, Angeline pressed against her shoulder, Tess gently tapping her daughter’s bottom in rhythm to her steps. She has tried to feed her. Oh, has she tried! She has moved Angeline from one engorged breast to the other, she has propped her up on pillows, held her beneath her arm like a rugby ball; she has even tried to breastfeed her infant whilst on the move. She has tried Angeline with formula milk from a bottle, with a dummy, with another expensive pacifier which claims to prevent orthodontic problems; she has given watered-down juice from a cup, a teething biscuit. She has stood in the shower holding Angeline. She has bathed her – which Angeline hates; she screamed whilst she was in the water, screamed whilst Tess towelled her dry, screamed as their neighbour rapped on the wall because her own toddler’s bedroom is on the other side and Angeline is keeping her boy awake too. She has called her doctors’ out-of-hours service. She spoke to a woman who, between the screams, asked if Tess’s baby had a temperature: no. She asked if her baby was floppy or unresponsive: clearly no. She asked if her baby was vomiting: no. And so the woman concluded that, even though this was obviously very distressing indeed, Angeline did not warrant a home visit from a doctor, and she encouraged Tess to contact her surgery after 8.30 a.m. to discuss a visit from the health visitor.

  Tess has played soothing music. She did this whilst rubbing her baby’s back with a circular motion. She has played music with a reggae beat, which someone suggested to her as the bass can give comfort to distressed babies by mimicking the mother’s heartbeat. She has played pan pipes of the Andes, nursery rhymes, garage. She has dressed Angeline in a snowsuit and bonnet, strapped her into her pram and walked the streets of Morecambe, with the wind howling and the rain hitting her face. All of this and her baby continues to cry.

  Now Tess is in the bath with her head beneath the water. She opens her eyes and imagines she’s drowning. She wants to drown. She wonders if she holds her breath for long enough will she simply lose consciousness? She doesn’t have any drugs in her system. No alcohol either. The death will be recorded as unexplained. Misadventure. No one will know she did it on purpose. That she did it to escape.

  What would happen to Angeline if Tess were to die? Tess is past caring. Someone would take her. Someone with more skill, more knowledge than Tess would look after her well. A phrase keeps popping into Tess’s head. She doesn’t know where she came across it. You have everything your baby needs. Perhaps Tess made this phrase up? Or else she dreamt it. She has nothing her baby needs. Her baby needs so much more than she is capable of giving.

  Everything Tess gives Angeline, Angeline rejects. She rejects it as though, to her, it’s polluted. As though she knows Tess is all wrong. Perhaps Angeline’s not even Tess’s baby? Perhaps there was a mix-up – some traumatized woman did not like the look of her own baby and switched her, and no
w this woman’s baby knows that Tess is an imposter. Knows her milk is unmatched for her needs, knows she doesn’t smell right.

  Tess lifts her head an inch. Another inch and her ear will make contact with the air. Once out of the water, Tess will know for sure that Angeline is still howling, and the sound will hit her solar plexus like a punch. This is how it is now. If Tess is not suffering because her baby is crying, she is suffering because she is anticipating her baby crying.

  Her insides hurt. She feels wounded in there as if she’s been hit by a car; she feels raw, as if she’s drunk a bottle of bleach. She wonders if the damage is permanent. Will she ever recover? Will it ever stop?

  She lifts her head and shockingly there is no sound. Silence. And it’s exquisite. She should get out of the bath, dry herself off and climb into bed as fast as she can. She needs to make the most of this silence so she is strong enough to deal with the onslaught which is sure to come within the hour. But she doesn’t want to move. This is the first time she has taken a bath when Angeline has not lain on the changing mat beside her, her tiny head a hot ball of fury, and Tess has had to bathe in less than two minutes flat.

  A minute passes and she wonders if Angeline has stopped breathing. Babies do that around this age. Their mothers put them to bed in good faith and, some time during the night, a switch is flicked, and the infant’s lungs fail to inflate. She wonders if there is a way to do this without anyone knowing. Is there a way to make it look as if her child has succumbed to the mystery that is SIDS without anyone suspecting? Or, to take it a step further, what if she were to go in there and gently hold a pillow to her baby’s face? What if she were to admit that she did it? Because who kills their own child? Only a crazy person. Could she endure being put away for being a crazed baby killer? Would it be harder than this? Could anything be harder than this?