She came to a halt in front of Tabitha. She was carrying a large bundle of papers in her arms like it was a new baby and now she laid it on the table, where it spread out in a chaotic heap.
“For you,” she said. “All for you.”
“But it’s yours, Vera,” said Tabitha in a kind of panic. She didn’t want to be in possession of these scrawled sheets of paper. They were like a wild version of her own notebook, a kind of warning of what she herself might turn into. “You’ve worked on this for years. I can’t take it.”
“No, no, no,” said Vera. “I gift it to you. You can’t refuse.” Suddenly her face took on a settled look; her eyes stopped darting around the room and met Tabitha’s. “It’s too late,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“My time’s over.”
“No, Vera.”
“Yours,” Vera said and pushed the papers toward Tabitha. Some of them fell into her lap and others to the floor. Like she was uttering a curse, she repeated, “I gift it.”
“Then thank you,” said Tabitha helplessly.
She watched Vera leave, empty-handed, listing as she walked and her feet sliding on the floor.
“Poor lady,” said the librarian.
“Yes.” Tabitha looked at the pile in front of her. “What shall I do with all this? I can’t just throw it away.”
“I’ll keep it for you if you want. Put it in a drawer for the time being.”
“Thank you.”
Galia picked up the bundle.
“This might come in useful, though,” she said, and pulled out a dog-eared paperback with an austere dark green cover. “I gave it to Vera myself a few months ago.”
She handed it across to Tabitha: How to Defend Yourself in Court. Tabitha opened it up and flicked through the pages. Vera had scribbled things illegibly in the margins and turned down the corners of several pages.
“I guess it might,” she said. “Thanks.”
It gave her something to do. She had lots of time so she read it through slowly, word for word, and she made notes in her moleskin book, which was practically full now and perhaps looked as mad as Vera’s pile of papers.
It is vital you understand the law relevant to your defense.
Call Judge “My Lord” or “My Lady.”
Never interrupt.
Preparation is the key: work out what your case is.
Support what you say with evidence: witnesses, documents, physical objects, expert witnesses.
Disclosure: you are obliged to set out in a numbered list all the documents that are relevant.
There are serious consequences in making a statement that you do not believe to be true.
Dismantle your opponent’s argument.
Fill everything with doubt.
Behavior and intent.
You can bring a friend, known as a McKenzie friend—this can be family or friend. They can help by providing support, taking notes, helping with case papers and quietly giving advice. (They cannot speak in court, except where in rare cases when they have permission from the judge to right of audience.)
Dress smartly.
Arrive early.
Speak slowly and clearly.
It’s all about performance: stand straight, keep still, use limited hand movements, don’t shout.
Tabitha looked at what she had written. Some of it didn’t apply to her. Some of it was too late—she had, for instance, already sent off her entirely hopeless defense statement with no supporting evidence, and she had no control over what time she arrived at the court. Mostly it didn’t tell her what she needed to know; but then, she didn’t even know what she needed to know.
She closed the book.
Fifty-One
“The search took ages. They did it once for security and once for fun. It’s that thin warden; she always hated me and she hates me even more now she can’t lock me into my cell. What do you think?”
Michaela held up the dark gray suit. The trousers were baggy, cinched at the waist, and the jacket had thin lapels and a ripped crimson lining.
“I think it’s nice. How much did it cost you?”
“Fourteen quid. A bargain. And I got these boots.”
She pulled some neat black ankle boots out of the bag.
“Size thirty-seven,” she said. “Try them on.”
“They look brand new,” said Tabitha suspiciously.
“I didn’t steal them if that’s what you’re thinking,” Michaela said. “They belong to my aunt’s partner’s stepdaughter.”
“That’s kind of her.”
“She doesn’t know. She won’t miss them though; she’s got a ridiculous number of shoes. You can just wear tee shirts under the jacket. I got a couple of basic white ones from Primark. They’re in the bag.”
“Thank you,” said Tabitha. “I owe you.”
Michaela waved her hand airily.
“Any luck on those searches?”
“Searches? Oh, that list you gave me. I’ll do it as soon as I leave here.”
“I was going to ask you something else.”
“Go on.”
“You’re still not working?”
“Only shifts sometimes. Why?”
“I was wondering if you’d be my McKenzie friend.”
“What?”
“I’m allowed to have someone in court. I’ve been reading up about it. To support me, give me advice, that kind of thing. It’s not like being a lawyer, of course; you’re not allowed to talk or ask questions.”
“You want me in court? Are you joking?”
“Well . . .” Tabitha faltered. “If you don’t want to—”
“Want to? I’d fucking love to.”
Three days before the trial, Tabitha started to feel sick. She couldn’t eat and beads of sweat pricked her forehead. Her tongue felt large and her legs unsteady; her stomach churned with dread.
Her eczema and her mouth ulcers flared up. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, which she tried not to do, she was unsettled by her thin, hollow-eyed face under the unruly mop of hair. She looked like a prisoner. She looked like someone who was not of sound mind.
Her sleep, when it came at all, was shallow and fitful and full of nasty dreams.
She sat in the library and read through all the prosecution documents. More had arrived over the past weeks, but she couldn’t see that they made any difference to anything.
She looked at the lists of witnesses they were calling. Alongside the pathologist, the forensic scientists, the police officers, she saw
