Witness - [72]

Owen groaned and shook his head. Got to his feet.

‘Sex is great-’

‘Ugh, Mum!’

She felt her own face warm. ‘It’s a beautiful thing. It’s even better when you stay safe. Now that’s all I need to say,’ Fiona told him. ‘And don’t forget the dishwasher,’ she called after his retreating back.

This evening she reminded him about her court appearance.

‘Right,’ he nodded and kept on nodding as though if he did it for long enough he might dredge up something to say.

Fiona laughed and Owen scowled. ‘What?’

‘Nothing. You make me laugh, that’s all.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’ It was something to do with his awkwardness, the gap between the size of him and his childishness, the clumsiness and naivety. She found it funny when it wasn’t driving her to distraction.

The day of her court appearance was cool and grey with a fresh wind and she walked Ziggy early. Just a short run about the meadow, down to the bridge and back. There were gulls soaring high and circling over the river, the birds the same colour as the clouds. A cormorant took off from the far bank; its large wings made long slow strokes, powering it up and into the trees.

Fiona could smell the dark, sweet scent of water: earth, a hint of sewage and something flowery, reminiscent of shampoo. She wondered if waste-water ever got into the system, all those chemical fragrances. Ziggy chased a squirrel, then set out after a magpie. She called to him and they went back.

She had dreamt about Joe; a shameless, sexy dream that felt so real that when she woke she could feel the physical effects, the glow of warmth between her legs, the excitement fizzing on her skin, in her veins.

Now, when she met him at the witness suite, she was riddled with embarrassment, her greeting forced and brittle, barely able to take in what he was actually saying. He went to fetch her tea and Francine came into the waiting room. A Chinese couple were sitting in one corner with someone Fiona assumed was another volunteer. The other seats were empty. Francine gave Fiona her statement to read. Fiona’s hand shook lightly as she took the papers. A family passed along the corridor and with a start Fiona recognized them: the Macateers, Danny’s parents, Nadine, the grandma.

Fiona began to read. Remembered how she had sat with the police at the edge of the recreation ground, telling them what had happened. The sun high above, her palms, her knees, rusty with blood. Her eyes seized on the phrases stark and shorn of detail: theyalmost knocked me down, he wasn’t breathing, he waslosing a lot of blood, I performed CPR.

The room was warm, airless, no hint of the wind blowing outside. Fiona felt a stir of anxiety, a band of heat across her shoulders. She took a slow breath. Joe appeared with her tea. It was hot and she scalded her lip, the burn bringing tears to her eyes.

‘All okay?’ He nodded at the statement.

‘Yes.’

‘And you?’ he asked gently.

‘Just want to get through it.’

He wore a dark shirt, charcoal grey with a thin lilac stripe in it. No tie. Top button undone. No hair visible there. She was appalled at her own shallowness. A murder trial and she was like some lovesick girl. This was his job, that was why he was here. Nothing more. She wondered about his kids again, was tempted to ask what they were like. Tell him about Owen and Molly.

Joe’s phone beeped and he excused himself, went out to take the call. Francine came back and chatted to Fiona – would she want to swear on a holy book or affirm? ‘Affirm,’ Fiona said. She’d no religious affiliation, didn’t believe in a God.

‘It shouldn’t be much longer,’ Francine reassured her. Fiona drank her tea. The Chinese couple said something to the volunteer, who got up to leave with them. ‘Just going for a smoke break,’ the volunteer said to Francine.

‘Maybe I’ll join them,’ Fiona joked.

‘Do you smoke?’ Francine asked her.

‘No, but I could start.’

Francine smiled. ‘I’ll go and see where we’re up to.’

Fiona stretched her neck, rolled her ankles, then Francine was back. ‘Yeah, they’re ready. We’ll go down.’

Fiona felt dizzy, heard the hum in her ears, took a breath and blew out slowly and followed Francine into the corridor. Joe was there. He nodded at her. His soft green eyes shone. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

She couldn’t speak. She kept one hand against the wall as they went downstairs, not trusting her balance. It felt as if the building was listing to one side, and that she would make a misstep.

The humming in her ears grew louder, a static that interfered with her sight as well as her hearing. They went along and down some other stairs into a room where Francine asked her to wait a minute. Then she took her up a narrow wooden staircase and into court.

The drone in Fiona’s head persisted as she read out the affirmation. She could see the piece of card trembling in her hand and her own words sounded muffled. She took another slow breath, tried to focus on what she could see rather than the turmoil inside.

The jury sat in front of her across the court, two rows of them, a mix of men and women, different ages, most of them white but there were two black women and an Asian man. The judge up on his dais at Fiona’s right was looking at papers, and below, slightly to the left between her and the jury, were the benches with lawyers and clerks. Fiona could sense but not see the crowd of people in the public gallery; there were whispers from there and an occasional cough.