A Game of Proof

important than games and housework and cooking, you said, I’d understand that some day. You’d be a lawyer and I’d understand.

‘Well now you are a lawyer and I’m stuck in this stinking cesspit of a gaol, accused of a murder which I didn’t do — and I don’t understand. Not at all, not a bit of it. Why can’t you defend me? You’re a barrister, aren’t you — just as good as Sir Richard Filthy Ponceface — and you actually know all about my case, which he doesn’t and no other barrister does. I’m just asking you to use what you know. And you say you can’t because you’re my mother. Christ!’

He turned away, gazing blindly at the clouds outside the window. Sarah was shocked. It was the longest speech she had ever heard him make.

‘That’s just cruel, Simon,’ she said faintly. ‘I didn’t abandon you when I studied. …’

‘You may not have meant to, Mum …’

‘I didn’t mean to and I didn’t do it! You know I didn’t! You were fed, you were clothed, you had friends and a father — Bob, he spent hours with you …’

‘So why did you always have your nose in a book, then? Why?’

‘Because I wanted to get out of the filthy slum where we lived. That’s why. Because I wanted to make a life for myself and for you and all of us. A life in which we could be proud to hold our heads up and not scrounge around like victims blaming society for everything. That’s why, Simon. And I did it, too, didn’t I? Only you …’

‘Only I what?’

She shook her head, despairingly. ‘Only you didn’t understand, Simon. You still don’t understand, do you? I wasn’t doing it just for me, I was doing it for all of us, for you most of all! And now look…’ She waved at their drab, dirty surroundings. ‘What are we doing here, Simon?’

‘Do you think I want to be here, Mum?’

‘No, but you got us here. No one else …’

‘Well, now I want you to get me out! That’s what I’m asking, Mum. Please. You know how to do it, no one else does.’

‘You shouldn’t have such faith in me, Simon …’

‘Why not? I’ve seen how hard you work. What else was it for, all that study?’

‘God!’ She slammed her hand hard on the table. ‘You still have no idea, do you? If only you knew, if only you understood what it was like having you there all the time. Holding me back, and yet being the reason, the only reason I did it all …’

‘So are you saying you can’t do it because the law won’t let you? Or are you saying you won’t do it because you don’t care? Which is it, Mum? Tell me.’

Sarah’s anger left her as suddenly as it had come. She couldn’t answer; she didn’t know what to say. She looked at her tall, desperate son, his hands manacled in front of him, and was struck dumb.

‘Or did you do all that work, all that study, just so you could defend druggies and burglars who you don’t know and don’t give a shit about? Is that it, Mum? Is that your great profession which you studied so hard for all these years, to get us out of the slums?’

‘Simon, you don’t understand!’ She reached one hand tentatively towards his. ‘You need a cool head to defend you, not someone who loves you and …’

‘Love, my arse!’ He snatched his hands away. ‘If you loved me you’d defend me, that’s the truth of it. Not this …’

‘You need a top criminal QC — someone detached and brilliant who …’

‘Who doesn’t give a shit about me. No, I don’t, thank you.’

‘You’re just trying to make me feel guilty, Simon. What you really need is someone much, much better than me.’

‘What I want is someone who cares, Mum. Don’t you care about me?’

‘Of course I care, Simon. That’s the whole point. That’s why I shouldn’t do this. If I messed it up I’d never forgive myself.’

‘That’s exactly the point, Mum — don’t you see? No other lawyer in the world — not even Lucy — cares about this case much as you. That’s exactly why I want you to defend me.’

Their eyes locked, each desperate to convince the other. For once in her life, Sarah felt herself losing the argument. Losing, and despite herself, wanting to lose. She drew a deep breath. ‘You really want this, Simon? Even though I tell you it’s unwise?’

‘If I say I want it I do, Mum. Trust me.’

‘It’s you who’ll be trusting me, more like.’

‘Yeah, OK.’ A nervous smile flickered on his lips. ‘You mean you’ll do it then?’

She hesitated, struggling to maintain some detachment. ‘If you really want me to.’

‘Mum!’ He laughed aloud with relief. ‘I want you to. OK?’

‘All right, Simon.’ She felt like a priest giving a blessing. ‘I will.’

Only she wasn’t a priest, she didn’t believe in miracles. Especially not miracles performed by her.

‘Sarah …’ Lucy’s voice warned. ‘I’m not sure you can …’

‘I will if I can, Lucy, that’s what I’m saying. Simon, look, there are laws and precedents and the judge will have to decide about those. If he won’t let me I can’t do it. But if you really want me to defend you and the judge allows it then I will. That’s what I’m saying. I still don’t think it’s wise, it’s probably not wise at all.’

‘Yes it is,’ Simon insisted desperately. ‘It has to be. It’s the only thing that will work.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

The judge, His Lordship P. J. Mookerjee, frowned at the two barristers in front of him. On his desk was a letter from Sarah, briefly outlining her position. She was the mother of the defendant, who wished her to represent him in court. She was aware of no statute or regulation which specifically prohibited such a choice. Nonetheless, it was an unusual situation, which she would like to discuss in chambers before the trial began.

Judge Mookerjee was young for a judge. Sarah guessed he was in his late forties, ten years older than herself. He was a short, chubby man of Indian descent, with a luxuriant black moustache, and gold-rimmed glasses through which he peered at Sarah keenly.

‘Well, Mrs Newby.’ He smiled briefly, a gleam of perfect white teeth in his dark face, an attempt perhaps to put her at ease. ‘Do you mind if I ask whose idea this was in the first place? Yours, or your son’s?’

‘My son’s. I advised against it, but … he was very insistent.’

The judge nodded. ‘As children sometimes are. Don’t you find, Mr Turner?’

‘Indeed,’ Phil Turner answered non-committally. ‘Though mine are still too young to face me with dilemmas like this, thank God.’

‘Let’s hope they never do,’ the judge replied smoothly.

Sarah had a sense, not unfamiliar to her from judge’s conferences, that the agenda was already slipping away from her and being redefined according to some male world-view from which she was forever excluded. Or was she too sensitive, over-reacting to what was simply good manners, the public school veneer never acquired in Seacroft?

She studied the men keenly. The more she could learn about their ideas and prejudices now, the better. Whatever happened, these men would affect the future of her son. If her request was granted, she would face them in court. If not, she would watch from the public gallery, able to see everything but influence nothing. I would hate that, she thought. She hadn’t wanted to represent Simon at first, but the idea had grown until now she wanted it passionately. She wanted to be in there, fighting in every way she could. Even if she failed, at least she would have tried.

The prosecuting barrister, Philip Turner, was a big, bluff Yorkshireman, well known and respected around the northern circuit. Still a junior like herself, he had years of experience and a success rate second to none. Part of this, Sarah believed, was due to his straightforward, honest manner. There were no airs and graces about him,