‘I just fancied a dance,’ she says, filling the silence. ‘I didn’t know you guys were in here.’
‘No… I’m… eh… I was just eh… kiddin’,’ I say. Jesus. A girl’s never had me this tongue-tied before.
‘So… are you good friends with Jason?’ she asks.
Bollocks! She’s too into him. This is gonna take a whole lotta charm to win her over to my side.
‘Yeah – we’re best mates. Have been since we were kids. He eh… he could have any woman he wants in there,’ I say, nodding back to the club.
‘I’m sure he could,’ she says, putting her hands on her hips and nodding. I swallow hard; think about giving up the ghost until I notice two rickshaws parked up at the footpath a few yards down from the club entrance.
‘Hey… ever taken a rickshaw ride around Dublin?’ I ask.
She looks over her shoulder. Laughs.
‘Can’t say I have, no.’
‘C’mon then.’
I grab her hand and begin to run down the few steps towards the footpath.
‘What? No… I… I—’
‘C’mon, it’ll be fun!’
21:45
Sabrina
He’s just bought me two drinks; a shot of Baby Guinness that all three of us downed before I’d barely said hello to each of them, and then a glass of red, which I’m still holding as he throws himself around the dance floor in front of me.
It seems quite bizarre that he can’t dance. I would have thought a professional sportsman would have had at least some sort of natural rhythm. He seems to miss the beat every time he jumps… or claps… or does any type of movement. It’d probably be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the fact that everybody is surrounding him, as if he’s brilliant – as if he’s Justin Timberlake or something. His moves look awkward, but they’re kind of endearing in a way. He’s not taking himself too seriously, has a smile practically tattooed across his face.
I just stand at the edge of the dance floor, trying to get to know Li a little better. Perhaps if you want to impress a guy, it’s good to impress his mates first. I drift away in the Drake song that’s booming out, imagine myself as a footballer’s wife. A WAG. I picture the lifestyle: the cars, the swimming pool, the big house. I’ve never wanted much, am not that interested in money, really. But my thoughts are floating away, like a loose buoy in the ocean. Maybe I deserve all those luxuries, to compensate for all the shit I’ve been though over the years. That’d certainly infuriate Eddie… if he knew I was dating a footballer. It’d sting like hell. I’d love it.
He wasn’t all bad, Eddie. Just at the end. We started off like any other couple, dating in restaurants, bars, clubs. We used to come here a lot actually. But that all died off after about six months. Suddenly, we were just sitting in, watching crap on TV, barely talking. We had nothing to say anyway; we were bored of each other. He started going out himself, leaving me to watch the crap TV alone. I should have known then; should have known he wasn’t for me. But I stayed with him — just because I didn’t want to be single. Not again. I can understand why women stay in bad relationships. A bad relationship is only bad to them. But being single looks bad to everybody. I’d probably still be with Eddie if I hadn’t, by chance, bumped into Lorna a couple of years ago. I wonder how much better Jason is compared to Eddie. Maybe all blokes are the same. And he’s a footballer after all… that probably makes things even worse. He can score any girl, any night. The thought of this stops my buoy from drifting any further out to sea. Suddenly the big house, the swimming pool and the fancy cars disappear from my mind. Why was I even thinking that far ahead in the first place? I had barely introduced myself to him when he had his tongue down my throat, opening his jeans so I could wank him off. I sigh. A deep loud sigh; disappointed in myself for getting carried away. Then I turn to Li, realise I’ve gone quiet on him, that I have forgotten we were in the middle of getting to know each other.
‘Book?’ I ask him.
‘Eh, don’t really read that much,’ he says, disappointing me. I read constantly, sometimes consuming three books at the same time. I look at him with mock disappointment etched on my face.
‘C’mere for a sec,’ Zach says, butting in between me and my new best buddy.
He leads me towards the stairs. It’s quieter here, but not much. He tries to say something else to me, but I can barely hear him.
‘We can’t really talk here. Let’s pop outside for a minute,’ he shouts while pointing up the stairs. I look over my shoulder, towards Jason. He’s just followed Li to the bar, barely noticing me walking off with his mate. I silently tut, then follow Zach up the steps, playing over in my mind whether or not I should just go home.
‘So, what were you saying?’ I ask when we get outside.
‘I was just asking if you came to Coppers lookin for me?’
What the hell is he talking about? He can’t be serious…
‘I just fancied a dance,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know you guys were in here.’
‘No… I’m…eh… I was just eh… kidding,’ he says. Wow. If that was him kidding, this guy ain’t gonna make it as a stand-up comedian, that’s for sure.
‘So… are you good friends with Jason?’ I ask, trying to suss whether or not Jason is actually into me.
‘Yeah – we’re best mates. Have been since we were kids. He eh… he could have any woman he wants in there,’ he tells me. My heart sinks. I know what he’s trying to allude to. Jason’s not interested. Maybe this guy’s just trying to get his famous mate’s cast offs. I’m sure that happens all the time. I check the time on my phone again. 21:54. I should probably get a taxi — call it a night.
‘Hey… ever taken a rickshaw ride around Dublin?’ he asks, his face beaming like a kid at Christmas.
‘Can’t say I have, no.’
He grabs my hand, jumps down the three concrete steps onto the footpath and leads me towards one of the rickshaws lined up on the pavement.
‘What? No… I… I.’
‘C’mon, it’ll be fun!’
I remain silent, hop on the back of the rickshaw, then laugh at him when I notice his big grin. You’d swear he was a ten-year-old after being allowed on his first roller coaster.
‘Where d’yis wanna go?’ the guy cycling the rickshaw asks us.
Zach looks at me. I’d like to say, ‘My house in Drumcondra if your legs can take you that far’. But I don’t. I remain silent as I try to figure out in my head what the hell I’m doing.
‘Just around town,’ Zach says. ‘About fifteen minutes’ worth. How much is it?’
‘Fifteen minutes around town, eh… twenty quid.’
‘Cool – let’s go, mate!’
I’ve never been on one of these before; don’t know why the hell I’m on one now. But here I am, sitting on an uncomfortable wooden bench while some poor young fella cycles as fast as he can to bring us nowhere in particular. I don’t wanna be here. Not just because it’s uncomfortable on my ass, but because it’s uncomfortable in general. I’m pretty sure Zach is about to come on to me. How can I tell him I’m not interested, that I was only hanging around because I liked his best mate? His famous mate. Though maybe he’s used to it. Maybe he won’t mind being told that.
‘Are you a magician?’ he asks, turning to face me.
‘Huh?’
‘Are you a magician? Because every time I look at you everybody else disappears.’
I laugh. Properly laugh. Not because his line is funny. But because it’s so not funny. I’ve had guys come on to me before, but not as if they’re reading Christmas cracker jokes.
‘Was your da a boxer?’ he says, ‘because damn! You’re a knockout.’
I laugh again, almost snorting into my hand as I hold it to my face out of embarrassment for him. Zach sure is funny; just not in the way he thinks he is.
21:50
Jason
I love these tunes; could bounce around the dance floor to this shit all night. Though in truth, I’d love to be
doing nothing more than kissing Sabrina right now. But I’m trying to play it cool with her; feel I probably pushed things a little too far when we first met in the Hairy Lemon earlier. Perhaps I don’t need to be this stand off-ish given that she’s followed me here, but I’ll just refrain from being all over her a little more; give her the impression I’m not desperate. She is cute. Very cute. But it’s not just that. There’s a connection. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But I have a feeling – or probably a hope more than anything – that something could come of this. And I need this. I need a bit of fortune back in my life. Maybe I’ll give it another couple of songs, then I’ll drag her aside, try to have a quiet word with her. Try to get to know her.
Bollocks.
I watch as Zach acts before me, taking her aside, walking her towards the stairs. He can be such a selfish cunt sometimes. I stop dancing, walk towards Li and ask him if he fancies another drink.
‘You not worried he’s gonna fuck things up with her?’ he asks me.
‘Nah. She followed me here,’ I say. I’m trying to remain calm. But I am a little pissed off. Sabrina’s way out of Zach’s league but I wouldn’t put it past him pulling her. He’s pulled out of his league loadsa times before.
‘Yeah, but he’ll get antsy won’t he, if she tells him she’s already been with you? I’m more worried for him fucking our night up than anything,’ Li says.
‘We’ll see how he handles it,’ I reply as I watch them head up the stairs, hoping that she stares back at me. She doesn’t.
‘Where the hell are they going?’ Li asks. I don’t answer.
‘Two Heineken,’ I say turning to the barman.
Tonight’s the first night I’ve drank alcohol in almost a year. I stayed off it all season. Was doing my best to have my contract renewed. I’m not sure anyone at the club noticed, to be honest. The club’s a fucking mess. Top to bottom.
I only enjoyed my first season at Sunderland, after that it turned into a cluster fuck. We’ve been relegated in each of the last two years, from the glamour of the Premier League down to the averageness of League One. I miss my days at Everton; miss the thrill of a proper Merseyside Derby, the excitement of being on the television almost every week.
Sunderland offered Everton eighteen million for me in the summer of 2014. I had another offer; could have gone to Crystal Palace. I wish now that I had. But at the time, Sunderland looked in better shape than them… felt I was going to a club with aspirations. I was thirty-one at the time, had a feeling it would be my last major contract. They were paying me twenty grand a week, until we were relegated to the Championship and that was halved. I know things could have been worse – a lot worse. But it’s difficult to transition from significance into insignificance.
If I had never made it, never played in the Premier League, I wouldn’t be depressed now. But because I did make it, because I was somebody, the crash back to reality has been hard to take in. Such is life, I suppose. There’s not much I’d change looking back. Maybe a few things. I’d have signed for Palace over Sunderland for one, would definitely have worked harder at keeping Jessica. Oh yeah – and I certainly wouldn’t have let Li drive the car that night. I never forgot her face, never forgot her name.
I’ve searched for that name all over the internet, but I haven’t found her. I’d say I think about Caitlin Tyrell as much as I think about my own dad. Practically every day. Certainly every time I’m praying.
‘Cheers,’ Li says as we clink glasses again. ‘She’ll be back in looking for you in a few minutes — don’t worry about it.’
We stay at the bar, in the quiet, staring out at the crowds of people. This place is starting to get pretty packed. I think of a technique my therapist often recommends to me – ‘think of the positive’. I don’t really have much positivity going on in my own life, but Li’s news is reason enough for me to be upbeat. I should be really happy for him. I guess he’s the only one out of the three of us who’s truly happy, who has managed to get practically everything he’s ever wanted.
‘I’m so proud of you, Li,’ I say, nudging his shoulder.
‘You’re gonna be a great husband. Niamh’s a lucky girl to have you, and you’re lucky to have her.’
He smiles; a big wide grin that has a ripple effect on me. Suddenly I’m smiling — even if it is someone else’s happiness that’s doing it for me. I play over the possibility in my head of opening up to Li; finally telling him I’ve been depressed for two years… that I’m really unhappy… that I have no contract for next season… that my career is over. But I don’t want to ruin his excitement. Instead, I grab him in for a hug.
‘I love you, man.’
‘I love you too.’
I can see tears form in his eyes when I release him.
‘I eh… nah,’ he shakes his head.
‘What?’
‘I can’t.’
‘Ye can’t what?’ I ask.
‘I can’t tell you… well I really shouldn’t tell you…’
‘You can tell me anything,’ I say, grabbing onto his shoulder.
‘Niamh will kill me. It’s early. She’s only two months—’
‘Yesss!’ I say, picking him up and spinning him around. ‘Oh man – whatever about being a great husband, you’re definitely going to be a great father!’
And I mean it. He will be.
He’s been such a great older brother to Jinny. Nobody cares more about other people than Li. If anyone had’ve pointed out the nerdy Korean kid in Primary School and told me he’d be the person I’d be most envious of in the whole world in thirty years’ time I would have thought they were fucking insane.
But it’s true. Li is living a life I could only wish for.
7
The ambience in the room heightened somewhat after the secret ballot result was revealed; most of the jurors beginning to feel eerily optimistic that a final verdict is just around the corner. The pace of discussions has picked up somewhat. Everyone – even Brian and Number One – seem to be giving their opinions in bullet-point bursts, keen to move the debates on as swiftly as possible. Though in truth, the secret ballot vote hasn’t made as massive an adjustment from their initial vote as they feel it has.
There was certainly a shift towards not guilty, especially in comparison to the earlier vote. But had they taken the time to think through the latest vote in more detail, rather than rush into the next discussion, they would have realised they weren’t really speeding towards a final decision at all. Three undecided out of twelve is still a lot of votes to play for — exactly one-quarter in fact. And if those undecided were persuaded into the guilty camp, then all matters would be tied: six each. The old adage of ‘it ain’t over till the fat lady sings’ is a well-worn saying in legal circles. It has even been known that eleven:one ratios have been overturned by jurors, albeit very rare. So the six not guilty, three guilty and three undecided result of the secret ballot means relatively little in terms of reaching conclusion.
The judge set these twelve off to find a unanimous decision; that is all twelve jurors must agree on the same verdict, as is the norm in every case of this magnitude. Some judges may call jurors back, as early as five or six hours into deliberations — though most likely after a couple of days — to let them know he or she will take an eleven:one vote ratio, maybe even a ten:two.
Judge Delia McCormick — who presided over the Sabrina Doyle versus Jason Kenny, Zach Brophy and Li Xiang trial — has a reputation for being quite patient with her jurors. She’s likely to not want to see them for at least another few days. Though this is certainly the most high profile case she has ever presided over and it’s conceivable that she, too, is feeling pressure like she’s never felt it before.
She did, to her credit, handle the whole trial particularly well. She was fair, yet stern, with both sides of the courtroom. The defence may have received a slightly harsher time of it — more of her raised eyebrows, more of her quick, snappy retorts — than the prosecution, but that w
as only because they were more experienced lawyers when dealing with cases of this magnitude. They knew just how far to push a judge.
Still, Sabrina’s lawyer — Joseph Ryan — didn’t have a free ride of it. McCormick kept him in check, was as short and snappy with the young buck as she was with the more experienced lawyers on occasion. Ryan tried all the original tricks everybody would recommend to a victim. He insisted Sabrina dressed demurely in the courtroom. Most days her hair was tied back into a simple ponytail. She always wore a skirted suit, all of them a dark shade. No make up. Ryan told her to try to look as vacant as she possibly could in the courtroom when witnesses were giving evidence. He wanted her to look like the everygirl as much as possible.
‘Don’t react. To anything.’
He said that to her over and over again, stressing the point on days he felt she may get particularly emotional.
He was delighted with her performance on the stand, though that was a self-congratulatory pat on the back more than anything. He coached her. His predictions about what questions would arrive from the defence were on the money. Her rehearsed answers were delivered with the expressionless face and tone he had drilled into her.
Judge McCormick would have been aware that Sabrina’s answers were rehearsed. Three jurors — Number Twelve, Number Ten and Number Nine — clocked that some answers came across as scripted too, but most jurors just didn’t even consider the possibility.
Truth is, these rehearsed answers paint no sign of guilt on her part. Both Jason’s and Li’s testimonies were rehearsed to some extent too. Though there was one real moment from Li when he broke down on the stand having informed the court that he had lost his fiancée, Niamh, and full access to his ten-month-old daughter, Sally, because of these accusations. Aside from that, he was always on script. A lawyer wouldn’t be doing their job properly if they didn’t pre-script answers for any questions they could foresee coming their client’s way. It’s part and parcel of the system. For lawyers, each case is like a game – a game they are intent on winning. And in order to win that game, they’ll take any advantage they can get.
She Said, Three Said Page 12
