‘She didn’t apologise for anything, Della.’
‘Well she should have. There’s no way you can tell me she didn’t know what he was like.’ Fuelled on red wine and indignation, Della points a finger at her, ‘How dare she turn up in court and defend him.’
Christina shrugs, ‘I don’t think she did know. Their son Josh tried to hang himself, after the trial.’
‘No, really?’
‘Apparently he kept diaries. Sarah found them. Can you imagine what that must be like? Reading about what’s happening to your child in his own words.’ Christina shudders.
‘Are you for real?’ Della is looking at Christina as if she has lost her marbles. ‘You do know what that feels like. Newsflash, this is your life, CC.’
Christina shakes her head. Thinks of the transcript gathering dust on her chest of drawers. ‘Not really. Bianca refused to give me any details. I was only allowed in court to give my testimony. I never heard hers.’
Della splashes more wine in their glasses. ‘You never read the transcript?’
Christina runs her finger around the rim of the wineglass. ‘I can’t see how that would help. Or maybe I’m just scared that knowing everything will, I don’t know, make it impossible to find a reason to face each day.’
She sips her wine, feeling the peppery aftertaste burn the back of her throat. ‘Do you think she might be dying?’
‘Did she look like she was?’
‘Yes. No. What does someone who’s dying look like?’ She begins crying, great heaving sobs fuelled on a disastrous combination of wine and exhaustion.
Della crouches in front of her, rubbing her thigh. ‘It’s okay, darling. Let it out. Let it all out.’
Tony comes towards them carrying a platter of steaks and half a bottle of Peroni. Della shoos him away. ‘Go help the kids,’ she whispers.
Searching her pockets, Della passes Christina a tissue. Soaking up her grief, she looks to where Della crouches at her feet and voices the thought that has occupied her the whole time they’ve been talking. ‘Why hasn’t Bianca come home?’
It’s just them and the cicadas. Rosa is in the kitchen, telling the kids how to make a proper salad, chatting to Tony on the side. Across the valley is the reassuring wink of house lights. A dog is barking, probably chasing a fox.
Della passes her a dry tissue. ‘She will.’
Christina snorts. ‘You’re as bad as Mama. You’re all convinced Bianca is coming home but Christmas is only two days away. She’s running out of time, unless she’s planning to crash Christmas lunch.’ Her laugh is shrill.
Della leans back against the weatherboard. ‘She’ll come, CC, because in her heart she knows she has to. Bee left in such a rush. We all understood that she couldn’t wait to escape. Costa Rica was the only way she could leave without looking like she was abandoning you. She needed breathing space, CC. You both did.’
‘You think so?’
Della squeezes her thigh. ‘I know so.’
Tony’s head appears out the kitchen window. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Rosa wants to know if you want bread with dinner.’
They agree to bread and Tony makes a show of snapping the window shut to prove he’s not eavesdropping.
‘Jackson’s appeal is soon, isn’t it?’ Della says.
Christina nods. ‘But Bianca doesn’t know that.’
For a while neither of them speaks. From inside comes laughter. The others have started eating without them. Christina is grateful for their tact.
‘This thing with Josh, can it be used in the appeal? Further evidence, that kind of thing.’
Christina feels a rush of love for Della. For her best friend, the word no only means she has to find another way to yes. If only she was more like her. ‘It’s not admissible. If Josh did decide to press charges, that would be a whole new case.’
‘But the diaries must improve his odds immensely. If Jackson got more gaol time then both Josh and Bianca could live their lives without his release hanging over their heads. Surely that would be the argument for yes?’
It occurs to Christina that maybe that’s what Sarah intended. To come here and tell her face to face that she had been wrong about Jackson and wrong to support him. Of course, that’s not as good as Josh pressing charges and Sarah, like Christina, cannot do it for him. Bianca’s words come back to her. ‘I just want to be believed.’ That was the most important outcome of the trial for Bianca. And she was right. When all is said and done, that is what it comes down to. To be the victim of a crime where there are no witnesses, where it is her word against another, a child versus a grown man, all that really counts is to be believed.
chapter twenty-nine
At last, nine months after Jackson was first arrested, came their day in court. Bianca arrived from Valley View the night before. It was the first time Christina had seen her in over a month. Christina was sure she had grown a little, she looked physically well but her eyes revealed the fragility within. At least staying at Della’s meant Izzy proved a wonderful distraction from dwelling on the eight weeks the judge had set aside for the trial looming ahead of them.
On the opening day of the trial, Christina and Bianca caught the ferry across the harbour and the train up from Circular Quay. As they crossed Hyde Park, their destination came into view. There was a light drizzle and pedestrians sheltered under their umbrellas. Christina didn’t have one but Bianca had borrowed one from Izzy and shared it with her mother. As they waited for the lights to change, Christina peered up at Downing Centre Local Court. From the street it looked like a fairytale castle with its slated turrets, white glazed bricks and golden trim draped around windows and under eaves like tinsel. Tilting her head back, she read the scroll of plaques announcing Hosiery, Corsets, Gloves and Costumes: a reminder that the ornate and gilded building began its life as a department store in an era when shopping was an occasion.
They crossed the road and joined a stream of people pouring in through the glass doors and across the elegant terrazzo floors. At the elevators, the queue was three deep. When their turn came, they crammed into the small car. Christina’s bare arms rubbed against the fine woollen suits of lawyers who moaned about their workloads and shared jokes about the misery of their clients. Trapped, she stared dead ahead and pretended not to listen. Bianca studied her shoes.
The doors opened, disgorging them into a vast room. Harassed court administrators crisscrossed the floor, dashing around lawyers and clients huddled in pre-trial conferences. Rows of seating were bolted to the floor outside the courtrooms, reminding Christina of an airport lounge, except the faces of those sitting there were not bright with the prospect of holidays but pinched and sallow with waiting.
She spotted Anne Rushmore waving at them from across the floor and waved back.
It was quiet outside courtroom number 4. By Anne’s side sat Jocelyn, Bianca’s counsellor. Jocelyn untangled herself from the chair and stretched out the kinks. Unlike Christina and Bianca, who had dressed up for court, Jocelyn wore her usual cardigan and harem pants.
‘Hey, Ms Clemente, how are you?’ Jocelyn’s face was soft with sympathy. ‘I’ve brought hot chocolates and some magazines.’ She indicated the cardboard tray on the table. Turning to Bianca, she tilted her head, ‘Do you want to go to the waiting room now or hang here with your mum for a bit?’
Bianca slipped her phone in her pocket and picked up one of the hot chocolates. Christina saw how her shoulders relaxed at the offer of an escape and felt the familiar stab of rejection.
‘Bee?’ Christina asked. She knew their time together was limited but she needed a few moments . . . to what? Offer words of support, hug her frail child, anything but this.
Buttoning her jacket, Bianca twisted away.
‘Sweetheart?’ Christina begged, offering her hand, hoping Bianca would take it.
Bianca dragged her eyes from the carpet to
the row of chairs but raised them no further. Christina’s hand dropped to her side. Bianca’s reaction filled Christina with an unshakeable sense that her role was reduced to that of an unavoidable attachment. Words tumbled and turned inside her but failed to surface. ‘It will be okay,’ was all she managed.
Bianca walked off with Jocelyn, leaving Christina stranded. Left there by a legal system that judged Christina unfit to protect and comfort her child in her time of greatest need because when she’d had that opportunity she’d failed. Christina recalled the shocking words of an officer of the DPP, who had put it in blunt terms: ‘Where and how Bianca spends her time waiting to take the stand is not information you need to know.’ But she did need to know. She needed to be able to place Bianca in a room somewhere in this building, assured that she was safe. The law declared that it would protect Bianca and pursue justice on her behalf. But the reality was that when Bianca stood in front of the judge and jury, facing Jackson Plummer, it would be Jocelyn by her side, not Christina.
She sank into the nearest chair, nursing her uselessness. A discarded newspaper lay on the seat next to her. Someone had attempted a few clues of the crossword but had made little progress. One of the answers was wrong. ‘Not a nut but a legume’ was peanut not walnut. She dug for a pen in her bag and corrected the squares, determined to find distraction in solving the puzzle.
As the hour of ten crept closer, the day expanded with purpose. The chairs outside the courtrooms filled and the air became dense with urgent chatter. Now and then Christina raised her head and peered in the direction of a voice she thought she recognised. Her anxiety grew with the passing minutes. Della had insisted on bringing Rosa and Massimo and, today of all days, she was late. She dared not go looking for them as occupying this chair was her only way of reserving a seat for her parents. She crossed her legs and tried to ignore her urgent need for the bathroom.
A voice rang out above the hubbub. Christina raised her eyes. No lawyers, no family. He crossed the floor as if he were here for a board meeting rather than the fight of his life. Jackson had seen her, she knew he had. He even wore the trademark lopsided grin that had once made her heart melt but now made it clench in revulsion. She had not seen him since that day in the underground car park and he was walking straight towards her.
Her mind seesawed between two terrifying possibilities. Either he intended talking to her or he was planning to attack her again. A sideways glance proved he had drawn no one else’s attention. She was on her own. Flicking the lid off the top of the biro, Christina unsheathed her only immediate weapon. A voice within her said, ‘The eyes! Go for the eyes.’ As he loomed larger in her vision, she saw the crisp line of his pin-striped trousers and the pale sheen of anklebone above the fine silk socks. Willing herself to have the nerve to follow through, she gripped the pen tighter. But Jackson kept walking right past her. Sinking into the chair, she turned and followed his retreating back.
Shock held her gaze. Made her see Jackson fold his ex-wife into the warmth of his embrace, holding her for long seconds, murmuring as he tucked her hair behind her ear. When he took Sarah’s hand and they crossed the floor to greet his legal team, he rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. There was the familiar shake of hands amongst the four, the false bonhomie of the barrister, David Kent, his jowls wobbling as he laughed at his own joke. David Kent, the barrister famous for his impressive track record of getting clients off.
There was a sharp pain in the soft web of skin between her finger and thumb. Christina stifled a cry. Her blistering skin had peeled back and bled. Rummaging in her bag, she found a tissue and pressed it to the spot. As she fussed with repairing her hand, the clanging of the warning bell signalled the time had arrived.
She saw Jamie emerge from the crowd. After the phone call to her parents, Christina had thought she was ready to tell Jamie. She knew how he’d react and had steeled herself for it before she dialled his number. Even though she stuck to the most basic of facts, Jamie went nuts.
‘Five years, Christina. How the hell could you have not noticed that prick was molesting our daughter for five fucking years?’
Christina absorbed his anger. She could count on one hand the number of times Jamie had bothered to come and see Bianca since they moved to Bartholomews Run. That he too never noticed something was wrong.
He called her stupid, selfish, told her she should be in gaol for what she’d done to Bianca. All that she could endure but then he said, ‘When I took Bee on the back of my motorbike, you accused me of criminal negligence. Well what’s this then, Christina? You tied her to the fucking railway tracks and waited for the train to come.’
After his outburst on the phone, Christina was pleased Jamie made no effort to kiss her cheek hello or acknowledge her presence in any way. Truth be told, she felt the same way about him.
Rosa crossed the floor leaning on Della’s arm. She was dressed in a funereal black skirt, blouse and cardigan. Over her arm, she carried a large tapestry bag with wooden handles. At her side slouched Massimo in brown corduroys and an old jacket. He wore a thin white shirt buttoned at the collar that pressed the folds of his neck into deep crevices.
‘Papa. Mama.’ Christina embraced them. Her once strong father felt broken in her arms. He was too ill to be at the trial but on this opening day none of them appreciated how brutal this battle was about to become.
Behind Katie Sommers trailed her assistant and a legal clerk towing a trolley of paperwork. Christina stood, welcoming the opportunity to grab a quick word with the prosecutor before proceedings commenced. But Katie Sommers did not break stride, throwing the comment, ‘We’re as ready as we’ll ever be’ behind her as she barrelled into court.
Jackson lingered in the foyer. He kissed Sarah’s cheek and, following the heraldic flourish of legal gowns, sauntered into court. On his way, he offered a congenial smile to the media contingent filing in with him. Everything about him said he was entering court as a free man should, via the front door. Long after the wooden doors had closed, Christina continued staring, as if by studying the grain of timber she could divine the events unfolding on the other side.
‘You may as well grab a seat, Christina.’ Anne Rushmore appeared at her shoulder, holding a tray of coffees. ‘We’ll be here a while.’
An hour ticked by in slow motion. Anne Rushmore explained that the first day or two were given over to legal process and the jury selection and empanelment.
‘Then what happens?’ Christina asked.
‘The legal warnings. In short, because there are no witnesses to the crime, the jury must scrutinise Bianca’s evidence with great care before they consider a guilty verdict. The judge will advise them that it is dangerous to convict someone on uncorroborated evidence, especially when so much time has passed. And the jury has to assess whether they believe the victim’s reasons for waiting so long before telling anybody.’
Christina’s heart sank. All those months ago when she had urged Bianca to run away, that she didn’t need to press charges, Bianca could not have known where this path would take her and how hard it would be. The thought that it might all be for nothing crushed Christina. ‘I thought Jackson was on trial, not Bianca.’
‘He is but in our legal system all defendants are innocent until proven guilty and his right to a fair trial is enshrined in law.’
Anne Rushmore extracted a tub of lip balm from her handbag and smeared some on her lips. She offered Christina the tube and when she said no, Anne threw it back in her bag.
‘You told me that the psychological research says it’s normal for children not to disclose. So first Bianca is punished for not telling me at the time and then she’s punished again because the law says the lapse in time is suspicious. No wonder Jackson’s so cocky.’
Another hour slid by. Christina stared at the crossword puzzle until the boxes blurred. Jamie bristled opposite, rubbing his knuckles smooth inside the palm of h
is fist. Rosa stared at her hands folded in her lap. Massimo stared at the floor. All out here because the judge had ordered the case be heard in a closed court. Anne Rushmore had retrieved a two-dollar romance called Love Strikes Twice and devoured it at almost the same pace as the packet of jersey caramels in her bag.
The clock marked the coming of another hour and Jamie sprang to his feet, saying, ‘I need some air.’
An hour later the doors opened and for an instant Christina’s hopes lifted, but the legal arguments continued. The afternoon rolled by, punctuated by the computerised gunfire from Jamie’s iPhone and Anne Rushmore’s chewing. Christina’s hopes sank into the grey carpet.
The following morning they went through the same routine. Jocelyn met them with hot chocolates, although today she had brought a pack of cards and travel Scrabble with her. Christina watched Bianca walk away until she disappeared around a corner, both silenced by emotions words were inadequate to express.
Jackson swaggered into the foyer moments before the bell, accompanied by Sarah and his children, still buoyed by his belief in his inevitable victory. After court yesterday, Christina had bought a women’s magazine with one of those colossal crosswords at the back. As Jackson passed, she pretended to be engrossed in finding solutions but it was impossible to miss the elevated chatter of Simon and Ashleigh as they mused aloud about the farcical nature of the case and their father’s certain success. Josh kept his own counsel. As Sarah passed she hissed, ‘Lying bitch’ loud enough for Christina to hear.
Once the courtrooms absorbed the day’s cases, everyone else settled into waiting. Jamie had brought a stack of music magazines, Rosa resumed frowning at her lap, Massimo’s head slumped to his chest and Anne read a well-thumbed Georgette Heyer. Christina sipped coffee and worked on the giant crossword. She avoided catching Jamie’s eye. She’d heard enough about how he was going to make that smug bastard pay when this was all over. Deciphering crossword clues was far less traumatic.
The Making of Christina Page 30
