by Mel McGrath
‘Can you pinpoint the shift?’
‘I have to think…’ I’m spooling back through the days and weeks. ‘Yes! I’d come back from Lilly Winter’s flat and I was asking Ruby if she knew anything about the guy who’d come to fix the boiler. Tom overheard me and he went mad. I’ve never seen him so agitated.’
‘What caused that reaction?’
My eyes spring open with the suddenness of the idea. It’s so simple and so plausible. I twist around until I’m looking directly at Dominic. ‘I think he was afraid I would find out exactly what happened in that flat.’
We sit for a moment taking this in, our brains working so hard you can feel the static.
‘How would you feel about filing a suit against Tom under a Section Two for harassment, maybe even cyberstalking if we can make that stick? I could send a letter of intent to his lawyers right now. It’ll rattle the other side. We can use it at the hearing to damage Tom’s credibility and give you a better crack at getting a favourable arrangement order for Freya at some later date.’
‘I’d feel pretty good about it.’
A few hours later, I am sitting alone at a table in the cafe at Camberwell Green Magistrates’ Court when my husband walks in. It takes Tom a few seconds to spot me and, when he does, he stops in his tracks, a blank expression on his face. How funny! This man looks just like the man I married – same dark curly hair, same boyish good looks, same air of casual insouciance – but I no longer know him at all. This new guy stands unmoved while anxious-looking youths flow by with their bewildered, beleaguered parents. He always did have a good poker face. I used to put it down to his excruciatingly polite, uptight, English public-school upbringing, but now it seems there is some darker purpose. Since our lunch at Hoopoes I have learned a great deal about my husband, things which, only a few weeks ago, I would hardly have allowed myself to imagine. I know myself to be a good observer so why was it that with Tom there was so much I just chose to ignore?
Is that the hint of a smile playing on his lips? Yes, it is! He thinks I’ve kept my side of the deal and come on my own. I’m in his little mousetrap and he’s about to release the snapper. A defining twenty-first-century couple. Snap snap snap!
And then he’s gone.
It’s a small turnout in court three for the first hearing after lunch. Just me and Dominic, a handful of clerks, ushers, police, Tom and Tom’s lawyer. Despite all the talk about keeping this low-key, he’s brought one. Of course! But then, so have I. And if he’s surprised by this fact, if it catches him the least bit off guard, then he’s not showing it. In fact, my husband looks wonderfully cool sitting there, legs crossed, his arms slung around his chair. Perhaps he was as aware as I was that the meeting in Hoopoes was a charade.
Magistrate Spiro arrives. She’s a small, tidy-looking woman with wiry hair, darting eyes and an expectant air. The clerk reads the introductory remarks. These hearings are new, so no one has quite got their feet under the table yet – except Spiro. The clerks, police, the lawyers are all slightly uncertain of themselves. Spiro presides over the unease like a raptor, clear-eyed and sharp-beaked. There are a few introductory remarks then Spiro continues:
‘I am being asked to adjudicate on a Domestic Violence Protection Notice which has already been breached at least three times. The only reason the defendant hasn’t been arrested is that the police are currently stretched to the limit. In such circumstances, it would be unusual not to grant a protection order. Nonetheless, it must be established that violence has occurred and that an order is necessary to protect the victim from further violence or threats of violence.’
She checks her notes before going on.
‘This case has other unusual features in that it involves a threat of violence against an adult and an alleged assault on a minor. On account of her age, the court will hear transcripts of an interview with the minor only.
‘As you know, the courts are currently working extended hours and to more than full capacity but the court is sensitive to the fact that, while the protection notice is in force, the defendant has been unable to see her daughter, at least officially, and we wish to conclude the matter in as timely a fashion as possible.’
As she goes on, the air con blasts from the back and the room grows colder. Spiro explains that this is a civil measure, not a criminal one, though the law allows for a fine of up to £5,000 and a custodial sentence of two months’ imprisonment for a breach of terms.
Tom and I sit on opposite sides and avoid eye contact. Our lawyers shuffle their papers. Every so often one of the court clerks changes the cross of her legs.
‘I am also empowered to make recommendations as to the living arrangements of the various minors involved and shall not hesitate to do so if I feel it to be necessary.’
Ruby’s statement is read. It is not very believable if you were there, but if you weren’t, it sounds convincing: the pulled hair, the pushing, blows that led to bruising. Tom backs it up and adds more, my history of mental instability and craziness, my previous assault on him, my threat to kill, how, from the moment Ruby arrived on the doorstep in the middle of the night, I resented her and did my best to persuade Tom to ‘give her away’ to her grandmother and, when Tom insisted on looking after his own child, how vindictive and rageful I became. How I threatened him. And then, finally, how I became so unstable he feared for my sanity. He moves on to my breach, how I came round to the house after the DV Protection Notice had been served and called him, demanding a meeting. Somehow he or his lawyer has found out about my suspension from the institute on a disciplinary matter so he throws that in for good measure. Unlike Ruby, Tom is charming and plausible to the core. Spiro takes it all in without much comment, looking up from her notes from time to time to scour the room.
At cross-examination Dominic rises and asks Tom, ‘Do you love your wife?’
Tom blinks and swallows. ‘This isn’t about love,’ he says.
And he’s right. This is about revenge.
At three thirty Spiro orders a fifteen-minute break, after which it will be the turn of the defence to present their case.
We move out to the foyer.
Dominic says, ‘I have to tell you, Cat, that it’s not looking good. We should call Sally. At least she could back you up on the conversation you had with Freya about Ruby Winter.’
‘No. It’s too risky. If we lose, Sal’s the only person on my side who’ll have access to Freya. She’ll be the only protection my daughter’s got. If Sal speaks out against Tom, I’m afraid he’ll stop her seeing Freya.’
Dominic gives me a careful look, the meaning of which is unmistakable. The scans.
‘We’ve already talked about this.’
‘Is it worth losing your daughter over a principle?’
‘This isn’t just a fight about me pushing my stepdaughter. It’s not even a fight about who gets to look after Freya. I’ve been thinking that Ruby was wrapped up in her mother’s death but I’m beginning to feel that something happened at Lilly Winter’s flat to incriminate Tom. Ruby Winter is being asked to side with her father against her mother. Do you have any idea what that does to a kid, Dominic?’
Dominic pats the air in a calming gesture.
‘I’m not saying you’re wrong, but please, keep your theories out of the courtroom. At least for now. You start countering Tom’s accusations here with any kind of counter-accusation, particularly one as – forgive my frankness –outlandish as this, it’s going to backfire.’
‘Men kill women who get in their way all the time.’
‘But you can’t prove it, Cat, and even if you could, it’s a matter for the police. Right now all we’ve got is the cyberspying thing. And yeah, it’s creepy and maybe it undermines Tom’s credibility, but it’s all after the fact. It doesn’t go anywhere towards explaining why Ruby is a threat to Freya or why you lashed out at her for that matter. The scans are something we can bring to play here right now. Given the way the morning session’s gone I’d say they’re your
– our – best hope.’
I rest a hand on Dominic’s arm. ‘Over all the years we’ve known one another, how often have I told you that you’re wrong?’
‘That’s because I’ve never been wrong.’
‘Well, you’re wrong now.’
Dominic places his hand on mine and gives it a pat. ‘I’ll go easy on you in there, but I can’t account for the other side.’
Dominic starts his questioning by taking me back to Ruby Winter’s arrival in the middle of the night. Did I find it difficult to accept my husband’s ‘love child’? Yes, of course, what wife wouldn’t? I take responsibility for failing to bond with my stepdaughter. It hasn’t been easy.
‘When did you begin to have suspicions about Ruby Winter’s behaviour towards your daughter?’
I talk about Ruby’s arrival, the discovery of the dead hamster, the iPad with its morbid threat, the crude graffiti on the gravestone, the marks on my daughter’s arms. I speak about Ruby Winter’s persistent fascination with death and my husband’s refusal to get Ruby into any therapy and, most worrying of all, the incident at the lido.
‘You’re not denying that you got into a tussle with Ruby Winter?’
‘No, I am not. I pushed her and grabbed her hair. I bitterly regret that but I did not hit her or cause the bruising on her arms.’
Tom’s lawyer steps in. A broad-shouldered woman with a neat bob by the name of Rebecca Tranter. With a cool but casually insistent manner.
‘We’ve heard about your mental health, Dr Lupo, in particular a prenatal psychosis which led, among other things, to you assaulting your husband. Is it at all possible that when you pushed Ruby Winter something like this former psychosis was in play?’
‘No, it’s not possible.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’m a neuro-psychiatrist. Don’t you think I’d have noticed?’
‘You were a neuro-psychiatrist when you assaulted your husband.’
‘I was also under the delusion that my baby was being stolen by a bunch of lilies. I think you’d find it hard to claim that I’m deluded now.’ From the corner of my eye I spot Spiro swallowing back a smile so I move in. ‘I have never once slapped or hit my daughter or any other child. Not once.’
From his place at the table beside his lawyer Tom shakes his head, as if more in sorrow than in anger. It’s all a performance in the end, a game in which one side will outsmart the other. Tom knows how to play and he has the better hand. But Spiro doesn’t see his move. Her eyes are on me.
‘Let’s get on to your persistent breaches of the Domestic Violence Protection Notice, Dr Lupo,’ says Tranter.
This is my weakest position and the other side knows it.
‘The first time I needed to fetch my things. Because my husband locked me in his study and I was obliged to leave my own house in the middle of the night through a window.’
‘So you say. But you could have gone to your sister’s flat, could you not?’ asks Tranter.
At this Spiro looks up and raises her eyebrows.
‘You chose not to, Dr Lupo. Why was that?’
I’ve seen this coming and have my answer to it. ‘Because Tom had done his best to convince my sister I was going out of my mind.’
‘Why, I wonder, would your sister have considered this a possibility?’
‘My husband can be very persuasive.’
Tranter takes this with an ‘um’ and steers us back to the issue of breach. A tricky one. Whatever my reasons, the law leaves Spiro little leeway. This may be the other side’s trump card because it is undeniable. I broke the law. The only defence can be that I had no choice. In the first instance, because I needed my things; in the second, and more importantly, because my daughter was ill.
Tranter consults her notes. ‘A panic attack, I believe. Brought on, I would suggest, by her mother’s inconsistent and unstable behaviour.’
‘By weeks of psychological bullying at the hands of her half-sister.’
‘Which oddly Freya neglected to mention at the time,’ Tranter says.
‘My daughter is loyal to a fault.’
‘And you, Dr Lupo, are an expert in psychological disorders of children, are you not? But apparently you allowed your daughter to be bullied, as you put it, without intervening. Why was that?’
‘I brought up the subject with my husband on many, many occasions. I was clear that I wanted Ruby to get some psychological help.’
Tranter turns on her heels then spins back around to face me. ‘Would you agree that, for the last four years at least, your husband has been your daughter’s primary carer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you say he has been a good father?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you seem to be implying that, on this occasion, your husband turned a blind eye to his daughter being bullied, as you put it.’
‘Yes.’
‘So he was willing to sacrifice the well-being of the daughter he has cared for for years in order to keep his other daughter, the one he has only really known a few weeks, out of trouble.’
‘It would seem so.’
‘In your opinion, Dr Lupo, would that be the act of a loving father, a man you yourself describe as a “good father”?’
‘No, it would not. It was not.’
‘Then how would you explain it, I wonder?’
Beside me, Dominic shifts in his chair, the rhythm of his breath quickening, and in a cautionary gesture invisible to anyone else, gently presses his knee against my leg. If there is a moment to voice my suspicions about the death of Lilly Winter, then this is it. Finally, to get out there in public the secret I have been holding on to. If only there were no shadow over me, I would do this, I would tell the court what I think I know. But Tom has me trapped. Anything I say now is only going to condemn me as the unstable woman he’s set me up to seem. Craazy Cat. Outplayed again. Clever Tom.
I scan the room. The court is still now, poised for my answer. From the corner of my eye, I can see Dominic’s lips tighten; his eyes flash a warning, a tiny almost imperceptible shake of the head.
‘Dr Lupo?’ Tranter stares intently.
‘I’m a neuro-psychiatrist, Ms Tranter, not a mind reader.’
Spiro regards first me then Tom with a steady eye and takes further notes.
Dominic stands. Time to put the knife in. ‘We have evidence that my client’s husband has been spying on her.’
We’ve got Spiro’s attention. Tom’s too. The knife is in and now it must be turned. Hard. Out comes a blown-up screen grab I took of Tom’s phone. Tom splutters. His lawyer is frowning. Even Spiro is taken aback.
‘We believe this amounts to coercive and controlling behaviour, which, as Madam knows’ – he tips a nod to Spiro – ‘now constitutes a criminal offence.’
Spiro readjusts her face and calls a ten-minute recess in order to discuss this with the lawyers. I use the time to take a stroll outside and clear my head. I am not out of the woods. On the contrary, I am still deep in the forest with the sun starting its descent. If I don’t find my way out soon, the light will fail and all will be lost.
Court begins again. Spiro takes her time shuffling through her papers, calls both lawyers to the bench.
This seems to go on for hours.
Eventually, Dominic returns to the table, winks at me on his way. It’s looking good then.
Spiro clears her throat, calls for quiet and begins giving her judgement. ‘Whilst the original Domestic Violence Protection Notice was undoubtedly given in good faith, I am not convinced that either of the alleged victims were aggressed by the defendant in quite the way they claimed in their statements to police. It appears there has been a degree of malice on the part of Mr Walsh in the reporting of the incident. I am confident that neither of the alleged victims is in any danger of violence from the defendant. Given the nature of the allegations against Mr Walsh, the police may well consider it opportune to open an investigation, though that is, of course, a matt
er for them.’
Peering at me over her glasses now, Spiro says, ‘By your own admission, Dr Lupo, at the very least you pushed your stepdaughter and grabbed her hair and there remains a question mark over your mental health. And the court cannot take any breach of the terms of the notice lightly, let alone three such breaches. I am therefore going to grant the DVPO for fourteen days, pending further reports. During this period, you shall have no further contact with your immediate family and will not go within five hundred metres of the family home. You will also undergo a psychiatric assessment and further evaluation as to your mental state. Your allegations concerning the behaviour of your stepdaughter towards your daughter are worrying, though I note they are also completely unproven. In my opinion it is best for Freya Walsh to remain with her father for now, pending an urgent report from social services. Until such time as we are able to substantiate or dismiss your allegations, Ruby will continue to live with her father and her half-sister at the family home.’
Spiro goes on to say that the matter of Tom’s electronic spying is beyond the remit of the court but will be passed on to the police. Then she snaps her file closed and pushes back her chair.
I’ve fought and it has made no difference. I’ve lost. I have kept to my principles but I have failed to keep my daughter out of danger. I have required Freya to pay the price for my integrity. I have failed.
Moments later, Tom and I rise and leave without meeting one another’s eye. It’s odd to think that if our brains were scanned now there would be no battle scars or marks of victory, no love or hate, only billions and billions of neurons transmitting electrical impulses through synapses to other neurons and out to the farther reaches of our bodies. It is amazing, even to me sometimes, how little the science can really tell us about who we are.
James White is waiting on the pavement outside the court with a photographer. Dominic sees him before I do and edges him off the pavement into the road, then bundles me into a cab and tells the driver to drive in any direction, so long as it’s away.
