33
It was disconcerting at first to contemplate leaving Eccles Drive and giving up my pseudo bachelor life. But what was I leaving? I had gotten nothing but hell from next door. Then the cancer spread through the whole neighbourhood. Everyone seemed to have turned against me. No more ‘hellos’ or ‘how are you’s’ even from the otherwise benign neighbours along the street. I was prejudged and condemned to stride a lonesome path of endless cold stares, irritating and obstructive parking of cars, and sneers and kids’ hoots of ‘paedo’ behind my back there was only one cause: the stirrer Cilla and her new sidekick, Mr Gunfighter, riding shotgun. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing I ever did to goad the creep. But now I had a chance of a fresh start- a new dream, fresh grounds, and some anonymity at last. I couldn’t go without a few parting shots to the quasi-cowboy- Cilla’s new Milk Tray Man-her bouquet bearer of the moment. Suffice to say I applied some artistic and creative talents and made some ‘wanted’ posters to adorn my car windows overnight. Nothing too crude or offensive-just a whimsy or two for him to reflect upon as he passed from her doors in the morning after his night fishing expeditions trawling deep the murky bed for a Turkish catch outside EC waters-an anchovies dip of her sunken ship. Do you like my subtle play on words, Paul? Crave carbine hell? A little dry humour makes the point better in these instances. Would her lonesome cowboy be ‘blown away’ by the zing of a judiciously placed simile or witty synonym whistling past his ears? Perhaps my loaded jests were fired off to inflict mere flesh wounds? But would he know where to come gunning for me now? I’m going to be riding off into my own new sunset and I don’t think there will be any showdowns with him any more.
I wanted to tell Angela about my fateful decision to move in with Charlotte. I felt she should know, as she had been such a rock for me. I broached the subject the following Wednesday over tea at Calypso Cottage. Angela was well up on the furore going down in Eccles Drive and she was firmly of the view that my wife was my Jonah and should best be packed off back across the waters.
Angela: “ Marriage for life? That’s always going to be a lot of breakfasts.”
Leo: “ I know-I fear I’m one of life’s perennial wanderers in the relationships stakes.”
Angela: “ The term might more aptly be ‘serial monogamist’ my dear.”
Leo: “ Am I easily fitted into a category less pejorative than paedophile? That would be a welcome relief.”
Angela: “ I never had you down as one of them, Leo, you always struck me as a man looking for someone with a bit more substance.”
Leo: “ Thanks, Angela, the vote of confidence is welcome. I have felt a witchhunt brewing. It’s sickening to be typecast as the cradle snatching deviant.”
Angela: “ Well, I have come to understand you extremely well, Leo. A man of your broad outlook and sensibilities would never be satisfied by an immature facile fancy.”
Leo:” Oh, I never judge a woman by her chronological age like I would never judge her merely by her dress size or how many kilogrammes she registered on the scales, or her shoe size. It’s never about numbers-never would I give a jot about how many inches she spanned from her stockinged toes to the crown of her head. Let the statisticians pore over the figures. My senses will never be smitten by anything so abstract, cold and irrelevant.”
Angela: “ I find a man who expresses his views with such clarity and eloquence so very intriguing.”
Leo:” Thank you, Angela. You’ve made me feel far less of a wretch than most other women in my life.”
Angela: “ That’s what I’m here for my dear man. I feel you’ve opened up to me in a way you wouldn’t with those others. You see, it’s all about empathising and listening and gradually building up a bond of genuine trust and appreciation. “
Leo: “Exactly, we need to find something deep within our soul. The trigger of attraction catches us often unawares at moments of vulnerability when the soft lilt of a tender voice, the gait of carefree walk, a laugh, a spontaneous shared joke can fuse two people in an electric moment when eyes meet and you just know-something real is there.”
Angela: “ That’s precisely how I feel, too, Leo.”
Leo: “ I think I said to you before about my idea of what catches my eye most. It’s the way a woman moves. I just love to watch.”
Angela: “ I like being watched by a man. I think all woman love to be studied by a man’s approving eye. “
Leo: “ It’s all in the hip roll when I watch a woman move. How could I possibly be interested in anything other? It’s that special epicentre-the hips-it always goes back to hips and thighs-there where I find the alter of life.”
Angela: “ Yes, I do follow- that place of regeneration-the affirmation of womanhood it does seem to be an extraordinary masculine preoccupation….but very healthy- and reassuring to know-as a woman. I must confess I refuse to let myself go. My dearest departed said many a similar sentiment. All the running and exercising I do to keep my own figure is more to do with wanting to be desired by a man with your proclivities.”
Leo: “ I’m glad you see me as I am, Angela. I can’t bear for people who know me to suspect I held anything other than normal healthy sexual desires. I just want to be accepted as normal.”
Angela: “ Oh, you are, Leo. You are. I do feel I understand you implicitly.”
Leo: “ And you know I don’t chase after under age girls. I worship women.”
Angela: “ Oh, I know, Leo. The thought police would bar us all from following our aesthetic principles if offended one group or other. “
Leo: “ Isn’t it so unjust?”
Angela: “ Oh, it is-it truly is.”
Leo: “ Just because someone has a few grey hairs, a sprinkling of crow’s feet and a barely detectible varicose vein or two doesn’t mean they have lost their desires for seduction, adulation and conjugal union.”
Angela: “ Oh, I am so with you on that, Leo.”
Leo: “And who says we must be kept only within the bounds of our chronological peers? A beautiful woman is beautiful and desirable at whatever age.”
Angela: “I am so glad we are being so candid on this, Leo. I felt you were the kind of man who appreciated the seductions of the mature mind as well as a fine body.”
Leo: “ Yes, Barb had all that when we first met but let it whither away with the complacency of time.”
Angela: “ I’ve never let myself become complacent. Some women do let themselves go once they have hooked their catch.”
Leo: “I just can’t see her and me ever getting it back.”
Angela: “ I foresaw that, Leo, it’s an awful shame. But your wife has done this to herself.”
Leo: “ Yes- it’s been a stale, platonic affair for so long now. I have kind of moved on in my mind.”
Angela: “ I have, too, Leo. I know what you mean.”
Leo: “ Please don’t think badly of me-maybe I’m shallow-but I can’t go for all that nostril hair, the hanging stomach apron as gravity does its worst. She can’t even be bothered to depilate her Sicilian moustache!”
Angela: “ You poor man- you simply need the right sympathetic woman who can put zest back into your life.”
Her doleful eyes and fawning manner grab me suddenly as I suddenly realise I have been sat knee to knee, hand in hand with my therapist for several minutes. I baulk as she leans her head further into my personal space and my back stiffens as I pull my hands away in unambiguous retreat. My rebuffed wooing widow in embarrassed fluster desperately tries to recompose herself by patting back her hair and readjusting her blouse and skirt that had ridden high up on her thigh. The brief moment of uncomfortable silence is soon broken by her suggestion we have some more tea. That was when I finally broached the subject about Charlotte. We were moving in together. How nice! I’m so pleased for you, dear man. Platitudes and palliatives. I drank the strong brew she made for me-storm in a teacup- and off home I went to Ms Mayes.
34
I took Charlotte with me to meet Mr Sheen of McCarthy, Pond & Carroll one scorching day in late May. Barb dismissed the dalliance as yet another ‘girl Friday.’ Charlotte agreed she was going to get involved now. Involved we me in every respect. A full commitment was at hand -soon forthcoming-and set both ways. My plan was to see to it that my stepdaughter gave Ben Sheen a full Section 9 confession to sending the texts before she left for New York. That ought to be the clincher to get the CPS off my back. I couldn’t count on Barbara or Lita flying over for my trial and it was only a matter of time before it all came out. To Charlotte’s credit she was fearlessly loyal. She held her head in resolute and poised fashion as she told my solicitor that she was with me when ten of the so-called lewd texts were sent. That was a job well done. I had succeeded brilliantly in getting all three signed defence statements from my wife, her daughter and my girlfriend. So ended the marvellous month of May. Or so I thought.
I had not counted on Sheen blowing the deal. He was a dullard of the first order. I only went with Sheen because he was the duty solicitor when I was first arrested in March. The man was more impressed with himself than any other person could be. He drove his little green British racing MG with the top down at every opportunity to draw the gaze of the women. Sheen mean in green. A typical young gadabout made of bluff, piss and wind.
He lost my confidence by spilling the beans to Lita about Charlotte. Why on earth he had to let my stepdaughter know I had a girlfriend is beyond belief. Mr Sheen had failed to shine umpteen things clean. Thereafter I had to modify my plans in every respect. I took Mick Mulligan’s advice and decided to go with the best criminal lawyers I could find. He reeled off a few names. That’s when I went with Punch, Deenan & Flynn and Brigid Kearney. I remembered my old sparring partner, Telemachus Johns had had a bit of a run in with some floppy floozy of his and I immediately recognised the marque.
35
So it was adieu wife. My game was rumbled. For her solace she had retreated to that Catskill mountain sanctuary. All barbed emails with vitriolic spike went into in the folder marked ‘Matrimonial Issues’ and left for another day, another battle. ‘This is not the end, nor is it the beginning of the end but it may be the end of the beginning.’ It was now Charlotte and Leo’s time. Right then I let all her taunts roll over me. Lead him not into castration and deliver him from teasers. Sometimes life can be like that- events take over and before you know it you’re living a whole new life.
I really loved our new garden. It was perfectly private and as good a suntrap as you could want. Quiet, peaceful suburban tranquillity and no more hounding phone calls from a shrill transatlantic lemon. This was a more salubrious lifestyle. I liked being a househusband. It suited my idea of how life should be. An hour’s chores in the morning comprising of kitchen duties, bed making and a light flit around with the vacuum and a duster. Then with the place looking ship-shape it was time to let the golden rays soothe my naked body. Hoc est corpus meum. This is my body and doesn’t it feel grand.
I would generally sprawl out on the wooden decking. With its ornate balustrade on three sides it had a comforting box shape appeal. Confessional like in way I could seek atonement from the brick wall before me, as I lay foetal-like, naked and in hope of absolution for my awful sins on this Earth. Does solitude corrupt me or does it protect others? I griddled my tortured flesh in the fires that beamed down from on high. Let me not consent to the fiction of Purgatory, with all the gross superstitions belonging to it. "Turn or burn" they say to awaiting martyrs. Join in this farce called justice or die in the flames. I turned over as I felt the warming sun burn deeper. What shall I do next for my salvation? Will we see proper penitence for the conspirators or shall I meet fate as told by the lurid prophecies of my impeding doom? Please let me find sanctuary from the doctrine of dark and cheerless infidelity.
I turned face ward to the neat and even pattern of the English bond. The redness of the brick was baked to match the glow of my pulchritudinous limbs. I contemplated the busy mini spiders content in their own frantic redness running up and down and across the trammels of the mortar courses. The yellow and green mosses completed the fine palette to paint my microcosmic landscape. For my musical accompaniment my ears discerned the distant low throb of traffic punctuated by birdsong. Within the ridges of the wooden slats of my garden griddle a much larger spider scurries away as if made suddenly aware of my nefarious intentions. I flicked at the unwelcome audience casting a long violet grey shadow of ill portent. In his short life I am made more starkly aware of the passage of my own. Suddenly a gust swipes across the canopy of trees lined up outside the wall and a cacophony of leaf chatter signals fine hairs on the back of my neck to stiffen. The punctuation is all but complete when wisps of grey cloud steal from me this timeless moment. I draw myself up onto my haunches, wipe the daze from my blurred eyes and strain to regain my focus. In this sublime instant of calm reflection a tingle shoots through my aching bones and the telegraph again signals my time is short. Up above those matutinal interlopers are chased away before they have time to set by the kind winds of the Gulf Stream. Caribbean call of tropical paradise I shall never see.
Flaming June then joyous July and upon us came the long school summer holidays. No more private garden moments as I played out my new role as the reconstructed father figure. I don’t know whether I felt flattered or under her control. But I guess you just go with the flow, don’t you two young smilers, and the best monolithic four-bed home from the developer’s catalogue all ensconced in the smartest corner of town. A light wind stroked her brow, fanning softly long strands of wild wispy blonde hair but to deceive as I caught those steely silver points of resolve in her eyes. Then quietly and stealthily a cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the sea in deeper green. Then those memories again beset my brooding brain. I try to let it be inconsequent. I want to lose the moody brooding but it was still there, her haunting soft compelling scent lingered vacillating around yearning synapses.
36
Another glorious summer evening had begun to wrap the world in its mysterious embrace. I delighted in the tactile pleasures of lifting handfuls of fine golden sand and letting it pour through my fingers pondering the passage of time. Just then, hand covering my eyes from the setting sun, I peered inland and from the beach I saw that golden orb lowering its face and sprinkling soft strands lovingly atop the rooflines of the Georgian terraces. To my left northwards, in the distance, stood proud and white upon the promontory was the old white lighthouse (52 29'.2 N 01 45'.5 ) signalling of sandbanks and shoals to vessels which crept by night in dangerous passage.
As the remains of the day slope off then in come the midges swarming gently in their silent haste. I watch them scurry about in the final long fronds of sunlight and thought of my dear mother and the times she took us to the seaside. Her loving, caring kindness and sacrifice was always felt most profoundly at these moments. She may be gone but I have her here in my heart and my soul. I see her soft black eyes set deep within sunken sockets that told a tale of harsh and forlorn marriage she endured to my father, a wastrel and scoundrel. She pitied me for following her misfortunes in love. But fate provided that I endure a materially less tortuous existence than hers. I consoled myself with that.
As lotus-eaters we sat upon brightly coloured beach towels placed judiciously on the sand, lapping up the soft golden rays and the teasing warm breeze. Day after day that summer had been like this day. Many days were as perfectly serene as this in that sublime season of 2003.Our respective charges had us ferry them to that sanguine location. Lee and Annabel lazily tossed a Frisbee back and forth while Owen and Sian sought their mother’s approving praises by building her a fine sandcastle: happy as the day was long.
As I snuggled up to my dearest Charlotte a wisp of a breeze caught her frail summer dress and wafted up for me a glance of her firm flank as she pulled her knees up to point herself more prominently to warmth of the fading light. There in my tactile delight of the sand I sought further pleasures in the contrasts of her alfresco thighs. With my limbs half hidden I stealthily edged ever closer like a crab stalking its prey. Up her opalescent, firm-fleshed knee my heavy meat hand found warm dampness as its reward and my newest muse wore a smile of mischievous intent. I whispered into her shell how I needed her to relieve my aching in the cool blue waters unseen and deliciously novel.
As she pondered the impudent suggestion a young couple sauntered close by along the promenade, their baby in a pushchair. The young dad pointed approvingly our way and fairly chuckled with delight and with lovers arms locked they stood for a moment to admire the gambols before them. Sian and Annabel noticing their audience took their cue to go peer at the bundle and ask its age of the mother. She let them dally for a while.
“A perfect little girl!”
— Coochie, coochie, cooo!
It was plain to see Sian and Annabel were fond of children, both so patient and gentle in their ways. “ So good as gold- so cute in her pink and yellow shorts and top.” Yes-they all agreed.
Charlotte laughed with true joy in her sky blue eyes and whispered frolicsome and suggestive words secretly to me from her cherry ripe red lips. She offered to me security of the soul.
But then for her my spell was broken as there came yet another silly altercation between Lee and Owen. ‘Boys will be boys’ I exclaimed languidly for the umpteenth time. These two were no exception to this rule. She slithered away from my grasp and we both saw the apple of discord was a certain castle of sand that Owen had built and Lee would have architecturally improved with windows and a door. But if Owen was headstrong Lee was self willed too and, true to the maxim that every little man's house is his castle, he fell upon his rival and to such purpose that the would be assailant came to grief and so, too, the coveted castle. Needless to say such foolishness elicited the snarls of “ Stop Right now! “ from abstracted Charlotte that they fully warranted.
With a face tightened by anger Owen responded to her words as if they were law. Don't mope over it all day, she said. He sat foot gazing properly reproached for his show of will after his misadventure. His portcullis and turrets were sorely battered but then on came Annabel and Sian, as most of their sex, the girls proved adept in the art of smoothing over and these trifles. I caught again my woman’s blue eyes set off by lustrous lashes and fine expressive brows and kissed her tenderly upon her cheek. I put my arm around her and like a newly landed mariner I cheekily teased her ear with my tongue.
“What's your name, cutie? Strawberries and cream?”
A smile came to her face and it did not go unnoticed.
“Tell us, Lee, who is your girlfriend?” spoke Sian teasingly.
“Annabel says its Rebecca Vanilla-she’s your cream fantasy!” She teased.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend and shut your face about it!”
“Is Saddam Hussein your boyfriend?” Lee queried back.
With her quick mother wit Charlotte circumvented any repeat of discord and she summoned Owen on his errand to fetch us all fresh-fried chips from the busying booth.
As Charlotte stood up to shake the sand from the towels and gather up the discarded beach tools scattered by the boys I reflected on how I had been when I was their age. Often through sepia coloured, or was it rose-tinted memories I searched for the real forgotten Leo. Leo as a boy and Leo as the father of the man I sifted back through those fraying fragments of what made me become me as I am here today. I tinkered about half recollecting half fantasy half cinematic re-run of those imperious summer days spent with my mother and brother. I remembered those amazing brightly coloured, crazily patterned mushroom- balloon dresses she and her friends wore. That sixties era had me cast as the inquisitive skinny urchin in baggy grey shorts and scuffed knees and half rolled down socks. I kicked about in sensible sandals and for my first embryonic sexual pleasures would buckle up then unbuckle fussily at my feet only to get lower to the ground to better marvel at those hidden treasures under patterned mind-altering mushrooms. For a child of nine or ten sex was a concept not as yet understood but it was certainly a new game I was intrigued to play. It left me with the most curious and self-satisfying warmth, an inexplicable joy far more rewarding than catching a butterfly with my fingers or taunting a bee in a glass jar. Certainly, I could see little that was reprehensible in my silly under the kitchen table and bottom of the stairs peeks. Now I know what can be properly attributed as voyeurism but back then I am sure when Mrs Vent in the mini skirt just laughed and told my mother good old Mrs Bloom saw it as nothing more than healthy mischief. Of course, when Mrs Frigid sensed my unwanted submersions about her ankles the little chap crawling about the carpet to gawp at her stocking tops would have to wait until later years to realise what her exclamation of ‘perving little bastard’ actually meant.
It was in my later more tortured adolescent crisis that bespotted and husky voiced secretive and lustful Leo would repeat incessantly and insistently his nocturnal cinematic playbacks. Press play, rewind, play again, then pause at the perfect millisecond where Mrs Frigid’s tight suspender elastic trussed those thick white thighs of my tasty chicken and I imagined my tongue, my nostrils and eyes full of her stocking tops and the casual parting of her upper legs to better savour the soft, damp folds of her womanhood and musky heaven.
37
THE ‘GET OFF ME’ CONSPIRACY. Thank god I was rid of the incompetent Ben Sheen. ‘Enhanced CD number 37’ was the most crucial piece of physical evidence related to the charges for assault. It proved everything that needed to be proved. My new solicitors seemed far more clued up on how to beat this case than that Mr BS.
The first time I got a copy of the prosecution’s version of the police transcript was at the meeting with my solicitor, Brigid Kearney. I met with her that chill overcast September day. I had already dealt with three other solicitor colleagues of hers at the firm of Punch, Deenan & Flynn, the most reputable criminal specialist law firm around these parts. But I was frustrated. I felt I was being passed around from Britannia pillar to post and no one seemed to grasp my sense of frustration at the interminable time delays in getting my defence prepared.
Mrs Brigid Kearney, formally of Co. Kildare and of the wedding band cultivated that elegant, efficient tall middle-aged redhead look with thick-rimmed glasses to either hide her good looks or give up an air of gravitas. Whichever way she had it she held all the prerequisites to inspire confidence in her clients.
“ Good morning, Mr Bloom. Glad you could make it-traffics not a problem today? A sorry state of affairs has developed since our last meeting, I’m afraid.”
I sensed from her tone that all was not well. A sense of foreboding fell over me. I look around her murky, sombre office. She had innumerable volumes of law books. And conspicuous on her wall she had her law degree and other legal citations in gilded glass frames. Her finely detailed wooden office chair matched her massive dark oak desk. I fidgeted nervously in my chair.
“ Oh, don’t look quite so worried Mr Bloom. It’s not down to you, it’s this audiotape business.” I tried to make myself look more comfortable. I loosened my tie and undid the top button of my stiff white shirt.
“ Yes, please, do relax, this may take quite some time, I’m afraid.” She called for cups of tea on the intercom and then she began to go through her notes skimming over some then reading some aloud.
“Ah…here we are…. I have finally received from the prosecution a bundle of witness statements, the all important audiotape on a Compact Disk plus a transcript to accompany it.”
She tapped her pen on what I assumed was the transcript.
“This is pretty damning against you.”
I felt I knew where she was going with this and interjected.
“ Look Miss Kearney, I had it all from my first solicitors, McCarthy, Pond & Carroll. If you’re going to tell me that on the tape I am heard to say ‘fuck’ twenty-right times and it will convince a court to convict me then that is just plain absurd.”
She appeared to baulk at my assertive raised tone.
“ No, no, Leo. May I call you, Leo? Please call me Brigid.”
She had no issue with the swearing at all but was concerned at what seemed like ‘variances’ as she put it, between the recording and the police transcript.
“ Look, Leo, I honestly don’t know if this will amount to much but I’d like you to take the CD away with you and have a good listen. It may help you. If you feel able, could you do your own version of what’s on the tape?”
I still felt such a gnawing twinge of insecurity about the legal advice I had received previously from Mr BS of McCrazy, Pout & Carrots that I actually felt more empowered if I did this task. I didn’t really need to be asked twice. Hope, I Plead.
“ Yes, of course…..er.. Brigid. I’d be really curious to hear what is on that recording. I know I am innocent and I am sure that piece of evidence is going to end up helping me-not hurting me.”
She nodded, “ I admire your spirit. If that’s what you would like me to do, Leo. I’ll confirm with the CPS that we are adamantly going for a ‘not guilty’ on the assault charge.”
She then proceeded to open a dark grey A4 lever arch file. On it was written ‘ Copies of witness statements- Crown v J Bloom.’ From it she pulled a large chunk of papers- well over a ream or so.
“ These are the papers the CPS has sent me-nearly all copies of witness statements. We need to look carefully at them. Again, I would be grateful if you wouldn’t mind doing a little reading for me…try to cross-reference the testimonies of the complainant and her boyfriend, Abel Tractabull, if you can. That would be most helpful. I have seen one or two anomalies we may be able to work on.”
She shuffled through the large wad and pulled out the relevant sections.
“ May I ask…have you ever met the complainant’s boyfriend?” I answered in the negative. Well, he’s saying he knows you well. Please take these witness statements home with you and if you can come up with anything then get back to me. Anything, however trivial it may seem might turn out to be significant.”
I was reassured that Ms Kearney appeared to have some faith in my abilities. She reiterated once more that this might be a big thing if the press got hold of it. The media would have a field day what with the allegations made by a school age girl against a teacher with threats of sexual coercion involved.
“Hold on… what do mean ‘sexual coercion’? I told you before…its all lies!” There was never anything remotely sexual going on between her and me!” I was taken aback.
“ Well, Leo, I think you need to read both of the complainants statements…its all in there. I will say no more about that until you’ve had time to have a look at it yourself.”
I watched her as she took the teaspoon in her hand and slowly began stirring the hot liquid before putting the cup to her lips to drink. I sensed there was more to come.
“ Now, we need to consider the second part of the prosecution case. Frankly, this element concerns me far more. You appear to have made an admission that you sent obscene texts to Miss.”
She began to tap a second pile of papers on her desk that she had so far left untouched.
“ I did no such thing. I arranged to meet her at the park, that’s all.” I pleaded.
She explained that when I was arrested and interviewed I admitted that I had set up an Internet account called ‘sexihunk’ for the purpose of proving that Rebecca van Hiller was a prostitute. I then admitted to sending anonymous text messages via the Internet to her mobile phone suggesting sexual acts with her for ten or twenty pounds.
She explained that under the Telecommunications Act of 1984 it was illegal to send sexually explicit messages over the telephone network. Full stop. Ever anarchic bell. No excuses. If I intended to use a defence whereby I had sent such messages for purposes other than giving offence to the girl then that was wholly insufficient. She explained that by merely using the telecommunications network to transmit obscene messages the court would have to find guilty. If a reasonable person would find such messages to be obscene and indecent then the court would decide that.
“ You see, Leo, we have a real quandary here because the prosecution are pressing three specimen charges against you under the Act. There were thirty plus texts sent altogether. I think it likely that any court will agree these are obscene messages. As you made an admission during a police interview while under caution, I don’t see how you can possibly plead not guilty and expect an acquittal. My advice would be to consider a guilty plea on those charges. If you do that then I think I may be able to get a plea bargain with the CPS to drop the assault charge. How does that grab you?”
I felt a sudden tightening of my stomach and a sense of nausea overtake me. The room around me seemed to be spinning. I could not believe what I was hearing. I realised for the first time that I may be about to lose everything: my teaching career, the respect of my family, friends, possibly my home, maybe even my marriage. I didn’t know what to say or do at that moment.
I wondered. Was Brigid Kearney fobbing me off? I looked up at her framed law degrees and thought. Somehow I composed myself. I felt I was very much on my own. I had been a fool and now I was backed into a corner with nowhere to turn. Was she getting me to examine these files and the audio recording simply because she saw this as a lost cause with no point in fighting? I put both my hands to my face. I wanted to bury myself just then.
“ Are you alright, Leo…would you like some water?”
“ er…can I have some time to think? I would just like to take everything home with me….if that’s ok with you? I mumbled.
Kearney gathered together the two large piles of papers and from them sorted out for me the witness statements of Rebecca van Hiller, Abel Tractabull, Cilla Karibdis and my wife. She added to those the transcript of my arrest interview, the tape recording of my arrest interview, the police transcript of the Rebecca’s audio recording, the police transcript of Rebecca’s recording and finally a copy of the prosecution case.
“ Honestly….Lita sent all the texts apart from the last few. I sent the last few just to arrange the meeting. Surely those ones are not obscene?”
She wrote something down on her pad then responded,” I understand Lita, is your step-daughter and she doesn’t live with you or your wife but lives in America?”
“Yes….New York….but she did say she would come to court if necessary.” I replied feigning confidence.
“ Good… good….. we may need to work on that. Perhaps we can have her in sometime before trial and go through things with her…but we need to be clear on some points I think. I see we recently had her Section Nine Statement but it’s not clear which of the texts she’s admitting she sent-it’s all rather vague. I’m sorry-we need to tighten up on this pre-trial.”
She scribbled down some more notes then looked me in the eye and took a deep sigh. Her expression right then said it all. I swear she now appeared for the first time somewhat ill at ease. I scratched at my palms as they began to sweat. I had to get out of that office. I looked hard once again at the frames on the wall. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back. I was going to be up against everything they could throw at me. I was going to be a lamb to the slaughter.
I don’t think she felt I had a chance. Or she thinks I’m lying. I said my goodbyes and left carrying the paper pile she had given me. I had the mother of all headaches. I needed a drink. For the whole night my stomach was in knots.
38
It was six in the morning. I had been lying awake in bed for almost two hours since the first shaft of daylight had pierced through the gap in the bedroom curtains. My mind was going over and over. I looked up at the ceiling and pondered the greying swirls of grey-white artex.
My saintly ever so perfect first wife is going to be laughing behind my back right now. I wondered what Molly had been telling our kids. She’s a police officer right? She’s on the other side for sure. Where else would any copper be right now? To her and them and all those cronies I must look like I’m in the frame. They must all be expecting me to change my plea and to ‘cough to the crime’ in an open and shut case. A hard-faced image of my kid’s mother dressed in her stiff uniform kept gnawing at me. Why oh why had I been so imprudent as to have married and divorced a zealot like that?
I got out of bed and picked up the large grey box file that contained all the papers for my trial from on top of my bedside table. I shuffled through the papers until I found the section I wanted: ‘Transcript of Enhanced CD Number 37.’ There were four pages to it and the margins had in them the times shown on the tape counter. I looked at the total length of the time for which the transcript had been made. It showed that the police had just over fifteen minutes of transcription. This was odd- it seemed far too short. I pondered. Perhaps the tape must have shut off or maybe Rebecca switched it off prematurely. I clearly recollect that the meeting lasted from just on six and I was still talking with her as we got back to hers and my mine at just after six thirty. I will need to see what light the witness statements can show on that later. I wanted to put myself back there and sense exactly how I felt and recollect as much detail as I could. Snuggled myself back into the comfort of my bed. I began to read it carefully trying to refresh my mind about that awful night.
“ Sound of walking on gravel with faint inaudible conversation…..
00.56
JS Well the most important thing to do right now is to be extremely clear headed and to talk because if you get uptight ……………………really fuck your life up.
RL why do you want to fuck my life up, what have I done?
JS Well………this last few months………fuck, Jesus Christ
R yes
JS The only thing I can do is go the…………You can work with me or you can work against me. The easiest thing I can do is fuck up your………………….at college.
R What do you want to do that for?
JS Fuck……..fuck with my wife………..fuck with my daughter…….fuck with me………fuck with your family……..and I know everything. I know stuff that you don’t even think I know…….I’ve got power of you…….you don’t know what you are dealing with, Rebecca. I’m cleverer than you. I’ve got money. I’ve got influence. One thing you are never going to do is contact your sister……I know what you are………..Shall I tell you what you are?
R Go on!
02:36
JS You are a psychopath and I know you are a psychopath…….I know you better than anybody…….knowing what you have been like for the last three months…….come here
Sound of walking on gravel.
R You said I could trust you, you lied to me!
JS ………………………………You are not listening to me
R I won’t stay cool!
JS Rebecca, listen to me, I’m not your enemy!
R ……………………………………………………….
JS You’re not thinking, you’re not thinking! I told you, you’ve got a choice………………you are not thinking you are acting emotionally…………………Will you please calm down. Because if you walk way from me……………………………..I’ve not bothered you. Have I bothered you? NO! I let you get on with what you were doing………………and I let you……I HAD PEOPLE……….I watched you and people watched you. …I HAD PEOPLE!…. eight people. Eight who want to fuck your life up………………..If I do that they will…………….Lita knows so much about you …………………..me and my principals or your job…………..bullshit…………………she told me things about you that made my fucking skin crawl…………….
R I can do what I like!
Sound of walking on gravel.
JS Listen to me
R I’m listening. I’m listening to you……………..and why are you doing this?
JS Don’t walk away from me……………..problem…………..I’m either going to be your best friend or your worst fucking nightmare……………you got involved………………You need to sit down with me and fucking talk. You walk away from me now and I fuck your life up and I’m not joking.
R ……………………………..
JS Walk away then and see what happens.
Sound of walking on gravel.
JS Come here!
Sound of running feet on gravel
JS Rebecca!
R GET OFF ME!! (in loud voice)
Noise of feet on gravel
JS I’ve asked you to be calm……….I need to sit down with you, for an hour, one hour, please do that. Will you do that for me? One hour? And don’t walk away from me…..you are a fucking nut case……a psychopath and you won’t admit it………fuck the way they fuck…..sit down. I’ll be back in two minutes. Please wait there. Will you do that?
Sound of footsteps
07:55
JS ……………….my life and I protect those people who are close to me…………….And if you don’t talk to me now you will regret this for the rest of your life……………remember…………………..remember when Barbara and me………………………..
R Yes.
JS ………………..we said to you…………………………
R Yes.
Background noise and inaudible conversation
JS ………………at half seven………………offered to meet at eight………………what did you want to meet at six for?
R ………………..
JS ……………..what time with George Harrison?……………….
R If she’s going at half seven I have to be there for then.
JS ………………………be there before half seven……that fucking bitch! You know what she did the other night…………….she was so fucking dumb……with the fucking light behind her….thinks I can’t see her spying on me……………that woman is fucking obsessed with me……………you and fucking Paula, what’s that all about?…………You go the way around……walk the other fucking way, Athens Way.
R I always go that way…………….I walk there with them
JS You are weird!
R Why am I weird?
11:49
JS Have you had a call yet from the Benefits Agency? …………Fraud Department………….you are taking benefits.
R No. I’ve changed it.
JS When?
R ……………………..I’m here at the new Post Office now……….for three weeks now…………Benefit Book……….I’ve been given one…..And I’ve got the little stubs saying the date and everything.
JS SO Baz………………..you went out with him………………took you out for dinner…………………..
R We didn’t go out for dinner. He took me out in his car
12:40
JS Did he fuck you?
R No. He didn’t fuck me!
JS Did he pay you?…How many times have you had sex for money?
R I’ve never had sex for money
JS Haven’t you? What about now?
R ……………to find out who it was……………….I’m not stupid Leo. I have brains
JS You don’t Rebecca
R I do
JS Because if you’d read those texts…………….this guy was offering t6o fuck you with two, three other guys……………a threesone……………and you are coming here?
R …………..
JS fuck off Rebecca!
R Don’t tell me to fuck off, Leo
JS ………..my friends car………………threesome…………I’ve read it al/I’ve got it on computer. You are a liar
R So are you.
13:50
JS I’m trying to help you. I’ve done nothing to you…………Really fucked your life up. Do you know what? You should not be allowed near children. My professional judgement tells me you should be well away from children………you are a fucking psychopath……..I spoke with your fucking sister…….and your mother for three hours.
R Don’t say fucking sister. She ain’t a fucking sister, she’s a sister.
14:11
JS ……she hates you and I know that now…….do you know what your mother said? Rachel, have you something to tell this man before he leaves?………..Please tell her not to contact me. I don’t like it.
R ………………….my parents……………………
JS She didn’t know I was coming. Your mother didn’t now I was coming! Don’t you think I had it all planned? I just turned up at the door- I turned up at the door.
R …………………………….
JS Do you know why? Because you’re a fucking psychopath and you won’t take treatment. There’s something I didn’t tell you about psychopaths. They don’t know they have got a problem.
R Who you told you that?
JS ……………….they don’t want treatment and they wind up dead………………………because they’re fucking cars……………………………a psychopath guy……………………….rape and murder them.
R…………….no
JS fuck off! You are dumb!
R I’m not dumb!
15:06
JS No? Why are you the biggest whore in town? When are you called the biggest whore in town? Lita’s shagged more than you……………..did you know that Lita wanted to fuck me? Did you know that? Did you know she came onto me? She’s a fucking whore……………she’s cleverer than you. You’re the dumb one-you’re the fucking dumb one.
R ………………………..
JS ………………yes I’m telling you now…………….Lita’s got some………………..she never did it again……………you are under every guy……..every guy……………your are coming onto them.
R No I’m not……………..Lita tried it with Tommy Carroll once…………….once she tried it with his mate. Chrissy, too.
JS Do you know what?
R Leave her out of it for fuck sake.
Js ………………..do you know what? Truth doesn’t matter. It’s not about truth………..people believed to be true. You could be a virgin but if people think you are the biggest whore in town then you are the biggest whore in town. That is what you are Rebecca whether you like it or not. That is the picture people paint of you. Who did it? You did it. I didn’t do it. I did everything I could for you. You know, my wife and my fucking daughter have done more for you than anybody and you spit in their faces……….that’s real fucking back stabbing.
R …………………..
Tape ends.
