500 Miles from You Page 25

  He went over to the door and knocked gently.

  LISSA FROZE. SHE had tried to keep quiet, but it was almost impossible; the lump in her throat was overwhelming. Oh God. She couldn’t believe it. Someone needed in. She was gasping for breath, didn’t know what to do. She tried to calm herself down.

  “Um . . .” Cormac listened. He could hear heavy breaths. If she was genuinely having a panic attack, adding an extra stressor by identifying himself was probably the worst thing he could do. If it even was her.

  Lissa put her hands on her knees, tried to suck in some air. “Just a minute,” she managed weakly.

  She straightened up slowly, trying to breathe properly. She didn’t recognize her face in the mirror. She was being ridiculous. This was nuts. She had to go and do this. She had to . . . she had to . . .

  She felt the tears welling up again.

  “Are you all right?” came a soft voice.

  She froze again. She hadn’t even thought so far ahead, just knew she had to escape that airless little room, the words in front of her, the memories.

  But time was moving on; they were going to call the case. There was a whole roomful of people waiting for justice, waiting for her to help Kai. She had to be there. But she couldn’t.

  THERE WAS A silence. Cormac cursed to himself. He couldn’t believe he’d spoken. Now what kind of trouble was he in?

  If he said who he was, she might get really upset or take umbrage, or it might be just incredibly weird. If he didn’t and she found out later, that would be awful too. But he couldn’t run away. She needed help. He knew she did. He couldn’t leave.

  That was when Cormac MacPherson, in a split second, made possibly the most ridiculous decision of his entire life.

  “Yeah, awright, luv, tell me what’s up, duck.”

  He winced at himself. He sounded more Welsh than Cockney, probably. Or just downright insane.

  Lissa squinted. The voice—she couldn’t tell where it was from—sounded kind. She threw some water on her face, trying to make her heart stop racing. She couldn’t stay like this, she couldn’t.

  Snuffling slightly, she moved a little closer to the door, tried to catch her breath. “I have to . . . I have to testify.”

  On the other side of the door, Cormac blinked. He wished he could go inside, hold her, tell her everything was going to be all right. But he didn’t know this person. He didn’t know her at all. Instead, he found himself saying, “Oh yeah. Innit?” Then wincing all the more.

  “I . . . It should be straightforward. Just . . . just say what happened.”

  “Yeah, that sounds awright.”

  “And . . . I’m just so scared.”

  “Wot ’appened, then?” said Cormac. “Tell me . . . duck.”

  He wasn’t at all sure about “duck.”

  “Weren’t rude or nuffin’?”

  Lissa slumped to sit down, her back to the door. Cormac sat down too, his back on the other side, separated only by a few centimeters of wood.

  “Oh . . . no,” she said, half smiling. “No, nuffin’ rude.”

  She squeezed her eyes together. A kind stranger on the other side of the door . . .

  “Sorry, do you really need the bathroom?” she said, suddenly gripped by the worry that it might be an actual wheelchair user outside.

  “You’re awright, luv,” said Cormac, begging himself to stop talking.

  There was a pause. And somehow, Lissa found her heart rate slowing a little, as everything went quiet.

  “I just have to tell them . . .” Lissa began.

  Cormac pressed his head against the door to hear her better.

  “I just have to say . . . that I saw the boys shouting and arguing. And then I saw the car. And the man in the car. And I saw him hit the boy. That’s it. That’s all I have to say. That’s all . . .”

  Her voice caught as she saw once again the phone whipping through the air, heard the hideous clunk of Kai’s head on the concrete.

  “Yeah,” said Cormac. “You can do that. You can tell the truth. Telling the truth should feel easy.”

  “I saw . . . I saw the car come round,” said Lissa again, her voice still wavering. “I saw it come round too fast. I saw the color of it. I saw it.”

  “Yeah,” said Cormac, more encouraging now.

  “I saw it hit . . . I saw it hit the boy. I saw it. I saw him. I saw him hit the boy, and Kai . . . Kai’s . . . the boy’s . . . Kai’s phone. Went up. In the air. I saw it. And he went up, he was thrown up, and . . . and he killed him. I saw it. I did. I saw it. I was there.”

  “’Scuse me.”

  Cormac blinked, the spell broken, and looked up. A large girl with a lot of straw-colored blond hair and a crop top that seemed slightly unusual in a court situation was glaring at him.

  “Need to use this loo.”

  She didn’t seem obviously disabled, but Cormac knew better than to judge that. On the other side of the door, Lissa had gone totally silent, just, Cormac thought, as she needed to speak up.

  “There’s just someone in,” said Cormac. “Is it urgent?”

  “Fuck off,” said the girl.

  There was a slightly awkward standoff. Cormac stood up carefully. “Could you just give us a minute?”

  “No,” said the girl. “I’m gluten intolerant?”

  “Oh,” mumbled Cormac. “Oh, okay, I see . . .”

  On the other side of the door, Lissa struggled to hear what was going on outside. She had been so caught up in the moment. She stood up and threw some more water on her face.

  Oddly, she felt better. She’d said it. Aloud. She’d said it, seen it in her head as she spoke aloud.

  Even talking to a stranger—or perhaps exactly because she had been talking to a stranger—had let her say the words out loud, the words she needed to say; to prepare to point the finger she needed to point, to get justice for the Mitchells, to see justice be done without letting anyone down.

  She decided to open the door, thank the odd chap who’d been there, start to move back . . . Roisin must be wondering where she was; she’d left her phone on the table. And her bag. She couldn’t decide if your handbag would be safer in a crown court or much less safe.

  She took a deep breath and moved toward the door. Which was the precise second the fire alarm went off.

  Chapter 64

  WEEEEEEEEEE!!

  The round girl eyed Cormac crossly. “Did you just set the fire alarm on me?” she said, looking murderous.

  “What? No!” said Cormac in consternation. If Lissa burst out now . . . well, awkward didn’t quite cover it . . .

  There was a loud pummeling noise and shouting barreling down the corridor, and as Cormac stepped toward it, he realized what he was looking at.

  The hallway was full of fighters, gang members—the boys who were there as witnesses—and the huge and intimidating family of the defendant himself. The court was specially set up to absolutely avoid this kind of thing from happening, to keep families and gangs apart. Cormac didn’t know what had broken down today, but something obviously had.

  The woman waiting for the bathroom turned around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she yelled. “I told you all to stay in your rooms!”

  Ah, well, that explained a lot, thought Cormac, as the melee bowled ever closer, and a high-pitched squeal burst from someone. Cormac didn’t hesitate: he headed straight toward the trouble.

  Chapter 65

  Violence had burst out in the constrained space of the corridor: a mass of youths against a family of mixed ages and sizes, many blond. Screams and curses filled the air. Cormac saw one boy unleash a huge fist and start punching a man full in the face, unusually not immediately pulling back his hand with his fingers broken. He obviously had boxing experience. The smaller and older man beneath him was cowering, his nose squashed to a pulp. As the huge boy raised his fist again, Cormac jumped on him from behind, took his arm, and tried to twist it upward in a restraining position.

  “Come on, lad,” he s
aid, in as reasonable a tone as he could manage. “Settle down.”

  There was considerable swearing from all sides at this. Someone glanced a blow off Cormac’s ear, but he didn’t let go of his grip on this chap who was far too big for him. Terrible tragedies were caused by young men who didn’t know their own strength, who didn’t know they could fell a man or break a neck with one punch; that they could spend the rest of their lives in jail for one fatal white-hot moment. The man on the other side, with the jelly nose, was whimpering and trembling and didn’t seem able to move at all. Cormac had seen a million fights, in the army and in hospitals. They were always like this and never like the movies: slightly pathetic, very noisy, and completely confusing for everyone involved.

  “Come on!” he said, as the big youth spun around trying to dislodge him, and one of his other mates grabbed Cormac’s ear, which was ridiculous, though it also hurt like hell.

  “GERROFF!” shouted Cormac, in what would have surprised him to learn was an exceptional London cabbie accent.

  They stumbled backward, hitting the wall, and Cormac was about to give up, hissing at the man in front to move out of the bloody way before he got punched again, when the worst thing happened.

  Chapter 66

  Lissa unlocked the door, and as soon as she did, the other woman pushed her way in and locked it behind them both.

  “It’s kicked off,” she said.

  The two women in the loo looked at each other rather awkwardly as the shouting and fighting continued beyond the bathroom door.

  “Weird sort of panic room,” said Lissa in a waver, attempting to break the ice.

  The fire alarm was still going off, but nobody was moving. Lissa assumed, correctly, that someone had set it off on purpose to get everyone out in the corridors. Certainly you couldn’t smell anything. The woman had her phone out and was tutting loudly.

  “Sorry,” said Lissa. “Did you really need to use the loo? I can stand in the corner if you like.”

  “You don’t look very disabled,” said the woman crossly.

  “I know,” said Lissa. “I’m sorry about that. I was having a panic attack. I know that doesn’t count.”

  The woman shrugged. “Oh. Well. Maybe that should count.”

  “Not if other people need it.”

  “I’m gluten intolerant.”

  “Oh,” said Lissa. “Oh, well, I am sorry to hear that . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Why were you panicking?” said the other girl eventually, giving up tapping on her phone.

  “I . . . I’m meant to be giving evidence. It’s scary to think about it,” said Lissa. She couldn’t believe she’d even managed to say that out loud. “I never used to be frightened about stuff. Then I saw a horrible accident and it really knocked me over.”

  She paused. This was . . . this was exactly what Anita had told her to do. Talk about it, over and over. Relive it till she couldn’t be scared of it anymore. That guy too.

  “The guy outside . . . the guy I was talking to. He said I should just talk about it.”

  “He’s probably right,” said the woman. “Mind you, he went off to have a fight, so God knows.”

  “I know . . . bit weird taking advice from a bloke on the other side of a toilet door.”

  “Take it where you can get it, I say,” said the woman, looking at her face in the mirror and adjusting her carefully painted-on eyebrows. “I have some advice for you. If you’re meant to be sitting with five lads in a jury situation, don’t go to the toilet.”

  It took Lissa a minute. “Oh God,” she said. “Is this . . .”

  The woman looked at her. “Shh,” she said. “I’m a youth worker, yes. But I really did have to go.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Not so much now.”

  “I mean, please do . . .”

  “I can’t now, I’m too uptight.”

  The alarm stopped going off.

  “Phew,” said Lissa, feeling oddly better now that she was comforting somebody else. “How about now, without the alarm?”

  “Nope,” said the woman. “Still not feeling it. It’s like all the pee has hopped back up me.”

  She frowned.

  “This is going to do nothing for my gluten intolerance.”

  “Well, no,” said Lissa truthfully.

  They both approached the door. The noise seemed to have died down.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” said Lissa.

  “Well, either that or they’re just a pile of corpses out there,” said the woman. “I’m joking! I’m joking! Wish me luck!”

  She paused.

  “And listen. I know they sound rowdy. But they’re just lads. Tell the truth and shame the devil, and it’ll all be fine.”

  “That’s what Toilet Guy said. He said I should talk about it.”

  “Well then.”

  And they smiled tentatively at each other, and Lissa turned the handle on the door.

  Chapter 67

  “But I was just passing by!” said Cormac uselessly, as the two policemen marched him into the van.

  “That is what they all say,” said a slim, bespectacled police officer with a wispy mustache.

  “I know!” said Cormac. “But I’m a medical professional.”

  “And I am the uncle of a monkey,” said the policeman—unnecessarily, Cormac thought. The local copper in Kirrinfief knew every single person in the village and spent a lot of time posing with tourists and trying to stop toddlers escaping from the nursery.

  There was a paddy wagon ahead. Surely not, thought Cormac. This was a joke. But there it was. He was being arrested, as was everybody else.

  He remembered back a few short hours when he had woken up with the sun on his face, full of happiness and feeling like singing out loud. What a wonderful day he had planned. Surprising Lissa at the courthouse, and seeing her lovely face beam the same smile on him as he’d seen in the photo . . .

  Rather than, of course, what had actually happened, when he’d ended up sitting down in a dirty corridor doing a fake accent while she sobbed uncontrollably. Not exactly what he’d had in mind.

  Oh, and now he had handcuffs on.

  It struck him that this wasn’t remotely funny, and also that he should probably let her know that he wasn’t coming for lunch. He scrabbled around in his back pocket for his phone, which promptly fell on the floor.

  “I’ll have that,” said the young officer, taking it peremptorily and putting it in a bag.

  “What! I need to call someone!”

  “You’ll get your call at the station. Until then, all phones are confiscated.”

  There were general growls of annoyance all around. Cormac blinked. If he had only one call . . . could he call someone he’d never met to come bail him out? That really was an almost worse introduction to someone than meeting her for the first time when she was collapsed sobbing on a dirty bathroom floor. Oh God.

  “Seriously, I’m not involved!” said Cormac in desperation.

  “This is why we had to pull you off someone in the fray,” said the constable. “Okay. Got it.”

  Cormac winced. This could be bad.

  And who the hell was he going to call?

  Chapter 68

  Once order had been more or less restored, Lissa crept back to the witness room. Roisin was waiting for her, arms folded.

  “Well, you’re here now,” she sniffed.

  “Sorry,” said Lissa.

  “I’m sympathetic,” said Roisin, sounding anything but. “But you’re lucky it got delayed. We can’t do this without you. You’re the only witness who wasn’t involved!”

  “I know,” said Lissa, breathing deeply. “But I think . . . I think I’m all right.”

  “Good,” said Roisin, as a number flashed up on the wall.

  “Okay, that’s us. Let’s go.”

  THE COURTROOM—A windowless room with stained cheap carpet and pinboard walls, that smelled of stale coffee and dusty lighting—was not remotely impre
ssive. The judge sat looking half asleep, not a flicker of interest on her face as Lissa entered.

  The big group of Kai’s friends had all gone, likewise the family of Marcus, the defendant, who stood defiant in a cheap suit and a razor-sharp haircut, swaggering in the dock facing the judge’s podium. A stern-looking lawyer was sitting behind him, scribbling; a hodgepodge lineup of people sitting expectantly to the side, she realized, of course would be the jury.

  “Alyssa Westcott called to the stand,” said a bored-sounding woman on the side.

  Lissa took a deep breath. She wished that she’d asked her mum to be here—or even, she thought suddenly, Cormac. He would have come. Still, she would see him after this. All she had to do was to get through with this and . . . she checked her mobile phone. She hadn’t heard from him, but that’s okay. She’d WhatsApp him when they were out and then—well, she’d probably better redo her makeup and, Christ, her hair. But then . . .

  “Phone off!” hissed a court clerk, and Lissa immediately passed it on to Roisin.

  But she still held on to the idea as she walked slowly up the stained carpet toward the chair with the microphone, where she swore an oath, her hand a little shaky on the faded Bible they offered her. Just think of what happens next, she told herself. Just think about what happens next.

  “Can you tell us what happened on the nineteenth of March of this year?” said Roisin.

  And slowly, haltingly, Lissa told the story all the way through, even though the man with the razor-cut blond hair stared at her menacingly, as if he could beam malevolence and fury toward her, even as she avoided his gaze. And when Roisin asked her very clearly whether the car slowed down or sped up as it turned the corner, she answered carefully so she could not be misunderstood by the jury, the judge, or anyone else.

  “Yes. He sped up.”

  “And can you see the driver in this courtroom?”

  “Yes. He’s over there in the box.”

  The man hissed at her, actually hissed, and was immediately disciplined by the police officer standing to his left. Lissa was suddenly very relieved none of his family was in the room to see her.