A Song of Isolation

by Michael Malone

  Damaris had another flash of that phone picture and in her im­agination imposed Dave’s face over it and it all suddenly seemed so real. And much too much. She started crying.

  ‘Babe.’ Her mother moved over to her, knelt before her and drew her into a hug. Over her shoulder, Claire spoke to the other woman. ‘I think she’s had enough now, don’t you?’

  ‘Let’s just give her a moment,’ Shona answered.

  Damaris managed to bring her tears under control, and despite feeling so heavy she thought she’d be able to sleep for weeks she sent both women a small smile of reassurance. They both looked so sad. Even Shona, who had been all professional up until then.

  ‘Mum tells me you haven’t really been crying that much, Damaris. I want you to know it’s okay to cry. It can be a powerful part of the healing process. A perfectly human response to an inhuman action, so whenever you need to cry just you go ahead.’

  Chapter 26

  To show a united front to the world’s press Norma and Peter Robbins walked to the court with Amelie, flanked by Dave’s lawyer.

  From the car park to the stairs up into the court house they were followed by a large scrum of reporters, cameras flashing, questions being shouted at them.

  ‘Are you still going to stand by your man, Miss Hart, if he’s con­victed?’

  ‘What do you think are the chances of an acquittal?’

  ‘Any words of support for the young girl your boyfriend abused, Miss Hart?’

  It was all Dave’s mother could do to stop herself from stepping between Amelie and the reporters, and screaming in their faces to leave them alone. How on earth did this poor woman put up with this? Only now was she getting an insight into what Amelie’s life might have been like as a Hollywood star. As far as she was concerned all those fame-hungry idiots on those TV wannabe shows deserved all the nonsense they got.

  But she knew that any reaction from her would be used against her and her son. An image of her face contorted in anger would play into their hands and be on every news outlet, demonstrating that she was undoubtedly as evil as her son. So, instead of scream­ing at them she settled for a scolding.

  ‘I hope your mothers are proud of you,’ she said as firmly as she could, and holding her handbag high over her chest like a shield she turned and walked towards the door.

  One last question was hurled at them when she got to the top of the stairs:

  ‘Are you aware that Dave Robbins was attacked a couple of days ago, Miss Hart? Mrs Robbins? Are you surprised he’s still able to appear in court despite his injuries?’

  ‘What?’ Amelie looked from the reporter to Norma and Peter.

  ‘We need to go inside, Amelie. Don’t give them the time of day.’

  Once they were through the door Amelie rounded on the lawyer.

  ‘What was he talking about? Dave was attacked?’

  ‘Sorry, dear.’ Norma touched her lightly on the forearm, cring­ing a little that they hadn’t made sure Amelie knew. ‘We thought the police had been in touch.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Another prisoner threw scalding hot water over him,’ Norma replied, her voice quivering. She held her arms out to the side to offer the succour to Amelie that she couldn’t provide for her son. Then aware of what she was doing she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Amelie exclaimed, hand to her mouth.

  ‘Thankfully the idiot who did it didn’t use enough sugar in it to make it more of a paste or Dave would be in a much worse state,’ Bain said.

  ‘What?’ Amelie asked. ‘Sugar? What was that about sugar?’

  ‘It’s an old prison thing. When you add sugar to boiling water it sticks to the skin, intensifying the damage.’

  ‘Oh dear God.’ Amelie looked like she was struggling to con­ceive of such cruelty. ‘Is Dave okay?’

  ‘Luckily, he managed to get his arm up and that took most of the damage, but he has burns to the side of his face and his neck. The doctors say there will be some scarring.’ Bain gave them all a reassuring smile. ‘But it could have been much, much worse.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’ Amelie demanded. ‘Poor Dave. The pain and shock must have been horrific.’

  ‘The authorities reckon the guy who did it was put up to it by someone else. He was a passman…’

  ‘A what?’ Amelie asked.

  ‘A trusted prisoner. They get the plum jobs in prison. This guy worked in the pantry, reheating and serving up the food. This means he’ll be punished and lose out on all that extra time out of his cell. Whoever got him to do it must have something over him, or offered him a lot of cash. Prisoners don’t give up that kind of job lightly.’

  ‘You think someone else put him up to this?’ asked Dave’s father.

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Yeah, but aren’t sex offenders a target for the other prisoners anyway?’

  At this, Norma held a hand out to her husband to steady herself. Of course this was no secret, but hearing it out loud made it sink home.

  ‘Yes,’ Bain said. ‘But a guy with all these privileges inside isn’t going to risk all of that for the kudos of getting at a beast.’

  Norma watched as Amelie slowly shook her head. This was almost too much to take in. And not for the first time she thought about this strange and dangerous world her kind and gentle son was being forced to navigate.

  In court, after they had taken their seats, Norma looked at the young woman sitting beside her out of the corner of her eye. She watched her for signs that might suggest how she was bearing up. She knew Amelie had stayed in a city-centre hotel rather than go home and be next door to the people who had made such horrible accusations against Dave.

  Despite not having her home comforts – and who sleeps well the first night in a strange bed? Norma wondered – Amelie looked as if she’d dropped down from Planet Beautiful to spend time with the ordinary people. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, her face was bare of make-up, her clothes were plain, but clearly expensive, and yet she had an air of something other­worldly. Norma often teased her husband about how Amelie had the Robbins men under her thumb, but she had to admit that even she was affected by the younger woman’s star quality.

  At that moment Amelie turned and looked at her.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she asked quietly, and Norma felt the heat of her hand on the back of hers as she gave it a little squeeze.

  Norma looked into Amelie’s eyes and could see that she was suffering hugely. She placed her free hand on top of Amelie’s. The last time she spoke with Dave he’d said they were entering a make-or-break period. Whatever that meant. He hadn’t gone into detail. So she was aware that Amelie and her son had been going through a difficult time before … all of this. She also knew that Dave crossed her off his visitors’ list. Well, the whole world knew that. Still, whatever was going on between them, it was clear she still loved her son. Why else would she be here? A woman with her connections and money could be anywhere in the world.

  ‘Thank you,’ Norma whispered. ‘It means a lot to me that you’re here.’ At this Amelie’s eyes misted over, and for a moment it looked like she might lose a little of her obviously hard-won self-control. They’d never really got on, and in this moment Norma accepted responsibility for that, and felt huge regret. ‘You are a good woman, Amelie Hart.’

  Amelie sobbed a little and held a hand to her mouth. She closed her eyes and squeezed Norma’s hand hard. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, and then wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

  The first witness called for the prosecution was Claire Brown, and as Norma watched Damaris’s mother walk to the stand and sit to be sworn in she hoped that her antagonism towards the woman wasn’t showing. Because as sure as eggs were eggs people were going to be watching her for a reaction. She held her hands tight in her lap and forced her face into an expression that wo
uld give nothing away. This woman with her hand on the Bible, and her long, carefully styled hair, light make-up and blouse buttoned to the neck was the architect of all of Dave’s suffering, Norma was certain of it, and it was all she could do not to get to her feet and denounce the woman.

  But she knew that they were on this train of justice and there was no way to get off it. She had to face up to this helplessness and pray that they all ended up in the right place, with Dave free and clear. At that thought she looked over to him, sitting at the side of the court, flanked by a pair of policemen.

  As if he was aware of her attention he turned to face her. A faint, quick, smile sketched itself into his carefully compacted expression, and as it did so it pushed up the white dressings that had been at­tached to the burn wounds on the side of his face. This cost him a stab of pain, judging by the way his brow immediately furrowed.

  Oh, son.

  Norma felt tears sting her eyes. This was so unfair. This fine human being was being sacrificed on the altar of Claire Brown’s get-rich-quick scheme. What sort of mother was she? What could her motive be? She’d chatted with Amelie over the phone the other day and shared her thoughts. Was her friend Lisa correct when she said it was all about money? If this was true, how could they prove it? How could they use it in Dave’s defence? She looked at the broad, well-clothed back of Dave’s lawyer. She’d have to have a word with him at some point and see if this was part of his strategy.

  ‘And you saw your daughter Damaris up at the back of your neighbour’s garden with Dave Robbins?’ Mr Melville was asking. Earlier he’d been introduced as the advocate depute and looked uncompromising in his wig and black robes.

  Pay attention, Norma told herself. She was missing so much, being so caught up in her worries.

  ‘Yes,’ Claire Brown answered.

  ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘From where I was sitting I couldn’t be sure … but now I know.’ As she added this her face crumpled.

  Oh, for God’s sake, thought Norma. Even I’m not convinced by that. She turned to examine the fifteen men and women of the jury and tried to assess what they were thinking. A couple of the women in the front row were clearly affected by Claire Brown’s apparent emotion.

  Mr Melville continued to ask Claire about the time Damaris spent in Dave’s company, and she managed to convey a sense of wrongness in her answers, without actually saying anything con­crete. Norma hoped the jury recognised the lack of anything definitive in her testimony.

  When it was Joseph Bain’s turn to question Mrs Brown he slowly got to his feet.

  ‘Mrs Brown, you say you saw your daughter in the garden with the defendant, Mr Robbins, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said and crossed her arms as if setting up to defend herself against whatever this man might throw at her.

  ‘Precisely what did you see, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘I saw my daughter. And that man.’ She threw a look of pure hate in Dave’s direction.

  ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘Talking. Playing.’ She managed to add a stress to the word ‘playing’ that suggested there was much more than that going on.

  ‘Playing at what precisely?’

  ‘Damaris has a frisbee. It’s probably her favourite toy.’

  ‘It’s been a while since I had the occasion to throw a circular piece of plastic around. Please remind me what this game entails.’

  ‘They stand a few feet apart and throw it to each other.’

  ‘With what aim in mind, Mrs Brown?’

  She looked at him as if he was mad. ‘To catch it; what else?’

  ‘Is Damaris good at this game?’

  ‘I guess,’ she answered. ‘More often than not she manages to catch the thing, so I would say yes.’ There was a little glimmer of mother’s pride in the way she finished her reply. When those words, ‘mother’s pride’, settled in her mind, Norma felt as if she was going to be sick. She reached out for Peter’s hand and gave it a little squeeze.

  ‘Did Damaris and Mr Robbins play with aforementioned frisbee regularly, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘Every chance he got he was round ours playing with her.’

  ‘Doesn’t Mr Robbins’ piece of the garden abut on yours?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘So it would hardly be, as you say, every chance he got. By all accounts Mr Robbins is a keen gardener. He has every right to be in his garden. Would I be right in saying that when Mr Robbins was in his garden, Damaris took every chance she could to have someone to play with?’

  ‘That’s not…’

  ‘Have you ever played with Damaris and her frisbee, Mrs Brown?’

  She paused as if wary she was about to enter a trap.

  ‘Please answer the question, Mrs Brown.’

  ‘Well, no, not really.’

  ‘No, not really,’ Bain repeated and looked over at the jury members. ‘This favourite toy, this game that your daughter loved, you never, ever played with her.’

  ‘No, but…’ Her face twisted. ‘What kind of grown man plays games with a small girl?’

  ‘A kind man who sees a lonely, bored little girl and feels it might be a kindness to keep her company.’

  ‘But…’ Claire’s face was bright red and she jumped to her feet.

  ‘Please stay seated, Mrs Brown,’ the judge said from her perch directly under the massive, gilded court symbol on the far wall.

  Norma looked at the judge properly for the first time. Under her court wig she appeared to be sweltering, her face ruddy and glistening with sweat. Norma wondered if that might mean she might try to rush things along.

  ‘Mrs Brown…’ Bain continued as if he hadn’t noticed her brief outburst. ‘How many times did you see Damaris and the defend­ant in the garden?’

  ‘Loads of times. Too many…’

  ‘Too many times to count do you think?’ And Norma thought how clever Bain was to head off that potentially tricky response and turn it into something benign. ‘And on any one of these oc­casions did you ever see them do anything other than play with a frisbee?’

  ‘Sometimes it was a football.’ Claire scowled.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There might have been a doll now and again.’

  ‘And during these many games under your direct supervision, where were you directly supervising from, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘My kitchen.’

  ‘And it offers a good view of the garden?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what were you doing while Damaris and Dave Robbins were having a little bit of harmless fun?’

  ‘Mr Bain,’ the judge warned. ‘Thin ice.’

  ‘Apologies, your honour, let me rephrase.’ He nodded in the di­rection of the judge. ‘Mrs Brown, please tell the court what you were doing while Mr Robbins and your daughter were kicking a ball about in your garden.’

  ‘Working.’

  ‘What kind of work do you do, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘I’m a book-keeper.’

  ‘Are you aware that Mr Robbins works for his father, who has one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the country?’

  At this Norma looked to her husband. He was stock still, giving nothing away.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did you once apply, and fail, to get a job there?’ Bain looked meaningfully in the direction of the jury.

  This was news to Norma. She gave her husband a nudge and then had a look over at Dave to check his reaction. From his ex­pression it was news to him too.

  ‘I know what you’re trying to suggest. Very clever, but you’re not going to trip me up.’

  ‘Let me remind you, Mrs Brown, that you have sworn in front of this court to speak the truth and nothing but the truth. Do you intend to speak the truth, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, in that case I wouldn’t worry about being trip
ped up. Now back to your work. A book-keeper. One who failed to get a job in the accountancy firm owned by the accused’s father. Does this failure’ – each time he used the syllable ‘fail’ Bain managed to add a little emphasis – ‘mean you harbour any malice towards the Robbins family?’

  ‘My learned friend,’ the depute advocate spoke from his seat. ‘appears to be on a fishing expedition. Perhaps he should stick to trying to ascertain the facts of this case, your honour?’

  ‘Agreed, Mr Walker,’ the judge said. ‘Mr Bain, I can see what you’re up to. Please stop there.’ She turned to the jury. ‘You can disregard any mention of Mrs Brown’s past job history.’

  ‘Very well, your honour.’ Bain gave her a solemn little nod, then undeterred faced the witness. ‘Book-keeping is a job that is very particular and requires an eye for detail I imagine? Do you have many clients?’

  ‘Mr Bain,’ the judge warned.

  ‘Please may I have your forbearance, your honour. This is per­tinent, I assure you.’

  The judge sat back in her seat and fixed Bain with a glare for a moment. Then, as if reading something in his expression that sat­isfied, she said, ‘Carry on, but I’m on to you, sir.’

  ‘Very well, your honour.’ Another nod. ‘Mrs Brown, you perform book-keeping services for some local business people from what I can make out from your website, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And some family members?’

  Claire’s mouth hung open a little as if she suddenly knew where he was going with this line of questioning. She looked to the judge to see if she was going to get any help there.

  ‘Please answer Mr Bain’s question, Mrs Brown.’

  ‘Yes,’ she huffed.

  ‘Including your brother, one Cameron Walker.’

  ‘And what does your brother do, Mrs Brown?’

  ‘He’s a businessman.’

  ‘What kind of business?’

  ‘A bit of this and a bit of that.’ It occurred to Norma that every­one in the court could see that Claire was squirming.

  ‘A bit of this and a bit of that,’ repeated Bain. ‘Is it not true that he has served time at Her Majesty’s pleasure for passing on stolen goods?’