Forgive Me

by Susan Lewis

  It was the best she could hope for and in spite of how she was feeling right now, she remained determined to go through with it.

  “Here he is,” Jasmine murmured, and as Maria let out a wail all eyes went to Archie being escorted into the dock by two prison officers. He was wearing a navy suit that Dan had helped Maria to choose for him, a cream-colored shirt and a tie that didn’t look comfortable around his muscular neck. He kept his eyes down, and didn’t even look up when one of the officers spoke to him.

  This was Marcus’s doing, Claudia kept thinking. His compulsion to control and punish her, and remind her that even where he was he could still reach her, had brought this tragedy into their lives.

  But Archie should have, could have walked away, and that was the case the prosecution was going to make, a case against which there was really no good argument to offer.

  As soon as Mrs. Justice Kerr was seated, proceedings got underway with the reading of the indictment. As they’d known he would, Archie responded guilty to the first charge—aggravated arson with the intention to destroy property; and not guilty to the second—aggravated arson being reckless as to whether life would be endangered.

  The Crown’s opening statement followed, a bitter excoriation of Archie’s background and character along with countless instances of his—no other way to describe it—reckless disregard for human life that culminated in what had happened to Ms. Marcy Kavanagh. It was such a merciless taking apart of a young man and his failure as a decent and worthy member of society that Jasmine had to take Maria outside before someone forced her to go for sobbing so noisily.

  “I di’ my best,” Maria choked, as she went. “I swea’ di’ my best.”

  Marcy only wished she could have left with them, for next came the wholly unedifying experience of hearing herself and her family being spoken about by the prosecution with such crowing pity, indignant righteousness, and outrage that she kept wishing it would stop. There was no doubt, however, that it was resonating well with the jury.

  At last prosecuting counsel finished his opening and Gordon Lock rose to his feet. In spite of how fierce he looked and the arresting power of his voice, his calm presentation of a young lad reformed and ready to accept responsibility for his actions, as well as the steps he’d taken to show his remorse to his victim, was persuasive, Marcy thought. Whether the jury shared her view was impossible to tell.

  At twelve thirty they broke for lunch, and reconvened at two, when witnesses for the prosecution began to take the stand: police and fire officers, Rohan Laghari the burns consultant, all, in their own ways, adding to the condemnation of Archie and his actions.

  Finally, it was over for the day, and after Marcy, Claudia, and Jasmine parted company with everyone in the lobby, leaving Dan to make sure Maria got the right bus home, Henry drove them back to the coach house.

  As soon as they arrived Marcy left the others to discuss the day’s events and took herself to her room. She needed a few minutes alone to assimilate and hopefully conquer the building dread of taking the stand the following day.

  In her previous life, before the fire, she wouldn’t have thought twice about getting up to address a room full of strangers. She’d had confidence then, and courage, and always a belief in what she was saying. She hadn’t questioned herself, and she certainly hadn’t thought about her looks, other than to make herself presentable before the event began.

  She wasn’t that person anymore, physically or mentally, and yet until today she’d thought she was making good progress in overcoming her insecurities. She’d truly believed she was calmer, or at least less horrified by her own looks; she’d even been able to mix with friends in public places. And wasn’t entering into the RJ process with Archie proof that she still held the same values she always had? She’d always believed in redemption—easy when she hadn’t had to put it into practice—and even after everything that had happened, perhaps especially after what had happened, she still had faith in a person’s ability to change for the good. She had no doubt of it in Archie’s case; he was genuinely sorry for what he’d done, to the point that he was ready to go to prison for destroying her property.

  He was doing the right thing in admitting to the first count of arson, but he really didn’t deserve to be found guilty on the second count. It would be so easy for the jury to believe he’d been reckless, but she was fully convinced that there had been no intention to cause her harm. She just didn’t know if she had it in her to stand up in court to say so.

  Going through to the bathroom, she stopped just inside the door and bowed her head. The mirror was still her enemy, brutal and unforgiving, the harshest of truth tellers, the place where there was nowhere to hide. It would be like that for the rest of her life; and it would be the same in court tomorrow. All eyes would be on her, scrutinizing her scars, flinching, pitying, inwardly recoiling, and probably thanking God that they didn’t have to look at her for long.

  Why would she put herself through the distress of it when Claudia, or Gordon Lock, could speak for her?

  Unable to face her reflection, she turned away and picked up a towel to dry her eyes. She hated self-pity and usually did everything she could to avoid it, but now that it was here she couldn’t make it go away. Trying to carry on as if nothing had changed wasn’t helping her tonight. Nothing was and nothing could, because her conscience, her confidence, and her heart were in such terrible conflict that it was impossible to find a way forward.

  “Mum,” Claudia said softly.

  Marcy didn’t look up, but when Claudia’s arms went around her she simply sobbed into her shoulder.

  “It’s all right,” Claudia whispered, stroking her hair. “You don’t have to do it. Everyone will understand.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I didn’t see you in court today, but Helen told me you were there. She also said that you’ve been worried because you haven’t heard from me since the indictment changed, so I’m writing this now for her to give you tomorrow before court starts.

  I promise, I didn’t mean to cause you any stress by not being in touch, I just didn’t want to put any pressure on you about the trial. I thought if I gave you some space you might be able to work out whether you really want to get up and say something. I get that it won’t be easy for you and there’s no reason why you should do it because you definitely don’t owe me anything. Not even close.

  Please keep that in mind.

  What did you think of the way it went today? Not great, was it? I was warned the Crown’s opening would take me apart, and it sure did that. Proper little psycho me, in case anyone didn’t know. You can probably imagine what the jury’s thinking already, keep him locked up and throw away the key. I know I’d be thinking that if I was them.

  I thought my Queen’s Counsel when he got up sounded like he was talking about a totally different person to the nutter me, didn’t you? Someone who’s always taken care of his mother, who was forced into criminal ways by a family member . . . Well, I suppose that was me, but all that stuff about readiness to accept responsibility for my actions, the understanding of the damage I’ve caused, the remorse I’ve shown . . . I thought a halo was going to appear over my head by the end of it. God knows what the jury thought, but I don’t expect they were impressed even though I guess it was basically true.

  And what about the judge? She reminds me a bit of a woman I used to deliver to, though obvs it’s not her. The user-cruiser I’m thinking of was one of the PCs who worked in the City. Wonder what she’s doing now, if she’s still coked off her head and trying to seduce the errand boys.

  Anyways, like we were told, the prosecution’s not bothering with many witnesses, just the police and fire officers who we saw today to confirm right away it was arson. I wondered why they bothered when I’ve already admitted it was and that I did it. I kept trying to imagine how you must be feeling when the surgeon got up to talk about your burns and how bad they were. It must have been hard, especially when he admitted that if t
he emergency services hadn’t got there when they did you might not have made it.

  I was gutted myself and wanted to put my hands over my ears, but you can imagine how that would have gone down with the jury.

  It doesn’t take much of a brain to work out that getting a conviction is going to be a walk in the park for the other side. My brief says everything’ll change when you start speaking up for me, but I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and it sounds like too much pressure to me. I don’t think you should have to go through it. You’ve already been through enough. Putting yourself up there for people to stare at and get so fixated on your burns that they might not take in what you’re saying is not what you need. So that’s why I’m asking you not to do it. Mr. Lock can tell them everything, and that way you can avoid getting up there in public to try and save the worthless kid who caused you all the harm, who doesn’t deserve it anyway.

  You’ve done so much for me already, and now it’s time for me to cut you loose from feeling you have to do any more. It’s right that I should get sent down for being reckless about endangering life. It’s a no-brainer, everyone heard it today, and we both know it’s true.

  Before I end this letter, I want to say thanks for letting my ma sit with you today (Dan told me it was going to happen so I’m presuming it did). I heard her a couple of times and was sure she’d get thrown out, but I don’t think she did. I’m going to talk to Dan and Helen about her being somewhere else when I get sentenced to the full stretch because I think that might be too hard for her to take.

  Anyways, thanks for believing in me. I don’t deserve it, but thanks anyway.

  Be seeing you,

  Archie

  Chapter Fifty

  Andee was waiting to greet them in the lobby the following morning. “Dan’s talking to Gordon Lock,” she told Claudia as they embraced, “and Helen’s just gone to check if Archie’s arrived. Are you OK?” she asked, peering worriedly at Marcy.

  As Claudia started to answer Marcy said, “Why don’t we get a coffee?”

  “Miss Kav’na!” a voice called from the screening station.

  They turned to see Maria clearing security with another woman following close behind. The stranger was plump with a nest of mussed blond hair, dark at the roots, and a proprietorial air toward Maria that seemed almost aggressive.

  “This ma nay-buh, Raquel,” Maria told them.

  “Everyone calls me Raq,” the woman added, reaching out to shake Marcy’s hand.

  “Good morning,” Marcy responded, aware of Raq staring openly at her damaged face, almost as if inspecting it.

  “Blimey, made a right mess of it, didn’t he?” Raq declared with a sniff. “Still, from what I hear he’s going down anyway. I told Maria he had to—”

  “He not tryin’ to get off,” Maria broke in indignantly. “He said he did it and I tol’ you not to come if you was goin’ to say fings like tha’.”

  Suspecting this neighbor had bullied Maria into letting her come so she could gather gossip and share it around the estate later, Marcy glanced at Andee, certain she’d have a way of dealing with this.

  Apparently Andee did. Stepping forward she took Raq’s arm and began walking her to the door, saying, “It was lovely of you to make sure Maria got here safely, we all need good friends in difficult times, but we can take over now.”

  As Raq tried to protest Maria muttered, “Nosy cow. Din know how to get rid of her.”

  Claudia said, “We’re just about to get a coffee if you’d like to come.”

  Holding back, Maria said, “Has anywuh see Ochie this mornin’?”

  “Helen’s down there,” Marcy assured her, and spotting Henry coming through security, she added, “You go ahead to the café, I’ll join you in a minute.”

  As Henry reached her he gave her an encouraging hug and held her by the shoulders as he searched her eyes with his. “Have you told anyone yet?” he asked.

  “There hasn’t been an opportunity, but Andee’s just there, seeing that woman off . . .”

  “And here’s Helen,” he added, spotting the lawyer on her way toward them.

  After greeting Henry, Helen turned to Marcy. “Archie’s very keen that I give you this before we go into court.”

  As Marcy took the letter her insides swirled into a chaos of nerves and concern, and a wrenching disappointment in herself for not having enough mettle to follow her conscience. She almost didn’t want to read the letter, but how could she not?

  By the time she’d finished Andee had returned to the group, and Henry was taking out a handkerchief for Marcy to dry her eyes.

  “Is everything all right?” Andee asked apprehensively.

  “A letter from Archie,” Helen explained.

  Marcy passed it to Andee and as Andee read it she explained what it said to Henry. “He thinks I shouldn’t address the jury,” she told him. “He says he understands how hard it’ll be for me, so, to use his words, he wants to cut me loose from feeling that I have to do any more.”

  Henry searched her eyes carefully, apparently sensing what was going through her mind.

  “It sounds as though he’s giving up,” she murmured, and knowing she couldn’t allow that to happen, that she’d forever feel ashamed of her cowardice if she didn’t speak up for him, she added, “I think we’ll forget about everything we discussed last night.”

  Henry’s expression showed his understanding, although he still looked worried.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, telling herself she would. “If you could go and explain things to Claudia and Jasmine, being careful of what you say in front of Maria, I’ll have a quick chat with Andee and Helen before we go in.”

  THE MORNING WAS taken up with character witnesses for Archie—an old sports teacher who described his young student’s gift with a football, and how sorry he was that Archie hadn’t attended school regularly. An ex-headmaster who spoke stiffly, although positively, about Archie’s willingness to learn and ability to stay out of trouble while in school in spite of the company he kept. Then came the owner of a car-repair shop who Archie had occasionally worked for and who’d have been happy to take him on as an apprentice if Archie had wanted it. It was generally known by all three men that Archie’s home life was chaotic, possibly even abusive, but none could claim that they’d stepped in to help in any way.

  Then it was Dan’s turn to take the stand and explain who he was and the kind of work he’d carried out with Archie since his arrest. Marcy was sure she detected an air of incredulity about the jury as they listened, as though they’d never heard of restorative justice before and weren’t too sure what to make of it.

  It was after lunch that Gordon Lock stood up to inform the jury of how unusual it was for the defense counsel to call someone who would ordinarily have been a witness for the prosecution.

  “There is no doubt,” he expounded, fixing them with his hawk-like eyes, “that Ms. Kavanagh was grievously harmed in the fire, as you will see when she takes the stand. That tragic reality is not being contested here today. What we are going to examine is whether or not the defendant acted recklessly so as to endanger life.”

  He took a moment to glance down at his notes. “Normal procedure,” he continued, “would be for me to question Ms. Kavanagh about the night of the fire and what she remembers about it. Instead she is going to tell you of the experience in her own words, and at the same time she will offer you an insight into how she views the events—and the defendant. I would ask you to keep in mind as she speaks how difficult it is for someone with injuries such as she has to allow themselves to be exposed to your scrutiny.” He turned to the judge. “Thank you for your indulgence in this matter, your honor, and now I call Ms. Marcy Kavanagh to the stand.”

  As Marcy was escorted to the witness box and handed the Bible, she’d never felt so conspicuous or nervous in her life. There was a sickening dread inside her, a shake to her hands, and the stares from all quarters were overpowering. As she swore to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, she was aware above all of Archie’s eyes on her. No doubt he was wondering if she’d got his letter and if she had why she was doing this. She wanted to look at him, to try to communicate with him on some level, but by the time she raised her eyes his head was down.

  Don’t give up, she willed him. Dan has already said his piece, and now I’m going to do what I can to try and win these people over.

  Feeling a dry, painful throbbing through the left side of her face as if it were coming alive to its limelight, she turned to the jury. Her notes were in her hand if she needed them, and she felt certain she would.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, surprising herself with how clear and even strong her voice sounded, not at all the way she was feeling, “thank you for listening to what I have to say today. As Mr. Lock has already told you, it’s unusual for someone in my position to speak up for the person who’s caused them harm, but this is what I am going to do.

  “I will admit to you that for quite a long time after the fire, when I was hospitalized and suffering terrible pain, I wished nothing but ill to the person who’d started it. I’m sure I felt much the same as anyone would after almost losing their life as they knew it and their home, and whose family had been caused so much distress. When I was told he’d been arrested I wanted him to pay in the severest of ways for what he’d done. And yes, there was a part of me that wanted to set fire to him, so he would experience the agony and devastation of full-thickness burns for himself.”

  She cleared her throat and touched a hand lightly to her mouth. “You’ve already heard about the restorative justice process from Dan Collier, and it probably won’t surprise you to hear that my family and I would have been utterly repelled by the suggestion of engaging with our attacker, had it been presented to us at any other time than it was. In fact, I believe we would have remained completely resistant to it had I not been given letters written to me by Archie Colbrook, explaining who he is and how he came to try to burn down our house.”