The repelling and physically real horror of lesbian rape – literally of being their beck-and-call sex slave – shattered Jennifer’s previous near catatonic shock of what had come close to happening to Emily.
It would have been trite – too easy, too simple a metaphor – for Jennifer to have thought about awakening from nightmare upon nightmare. But the return of Jennifer’s implacable determination to overcome everything and everybody was very much like coming to her senses after being too long asleep.
She positively refused to equate one nightmare against the other. Each, by itself, sickeningly revolting but with this new awakening she could separate them. Believed, even, that she could get them into some proportion.
It hadn’t been her, Jennifer Lomax, who’d attacked Emily. It had been Jane, like it had been Jane who’d murdered Gerald. Using her body. Not her responsibility then. And she had been raped and sexually terrorized: drugged at the very beginning and afterwards threatened with disfigurement if she’d resisted. Not her responsibility either. So it would be immature – ridiculous – to feel guilt or shame for what had happened, like rape victims did. No woman invited rape, of any sort. And she certainly hadn’t invited what had been inflicted on her. But which wouldn’t be inflicted again. Ever.
The grotesquely fat matron with the probing finger had shown her how to stop it and never in her life had Jennifer needed the same lesson taught twice: certainly not this lesson. The balance came at once. There was an equation here. Matching it was knowing of Jane’s presence, which in her apathy she’d almost forgotten, opening her mind to the unseen presence like she’d opened her legs to the monsters that she had very definitely been able to see and feel.
Something else she’d recovered, with her waking-up determination. And why she felt safe now, without any tingling to warn her of Jane. It was difficult to be sure, because she hadn’t kept any sort of count, but it seemed Jane hadn’t occupied her so much in the last few days: almost as if the accept-anything, unopposing indifference had taken the pleasure from the taunting.
Jane was going to be surprised at the reversal. Upset, hopefully, at not anticipating it. Jennifer hoped so. It would represent a victory – a triumph over a presence, a thing, that believed itself able to control her every thought and every word and every action. It was exhausting – draining – to fight against mouthing the rudeness and the profanities but she’d learned how to do it, as she’d realized how to be sedated to keep Jane as far out of her head at night as possible.
Now she had to control her body movements, too. Gerald’s murder should have been warning enough but hadn’t been: Jennifer had been taken utterly by surprise at the total possession that had made her attack Emily. After that episode Jennifer knew she had to be alert at all and every time for a physical outburst that could ridicule her – worse, possibly harm people – in any situation with another human being.
But she could do it, like she’d always been able to do anything she set her mind upon. The confidence ran through her, a good feeling, despite the caution that immediately followed. She’d never imagined – how could anyone imagine? – confronting what she had to do now. She still couldn’t imagine. Just knew she had to do it. Had to survive.
Would it become any clearer today how to do that? Perhaps, although she wasn’t sure. Pre-trial conferences with counsel, Humphrey Perry had called it in his pencil-pointing way. What about the long ago insistence – not long ago in terms of time but certainly in terms of what had happened in between – upon being represented by a QC? Something else she’d let go, hadn’t even thought about, after Emily. Was there still time? A question for Jeremy Hall, along with a lot more. She should have made a list, against the distraction of Jane appearing. Or should she? It would be a hell of a recovery if she was able to resist Jane’s intrusion and words and body movement and conduct a rational conversation with the barrister. More than a hell of a recovery: it would be that all important proof – proof to herself more than to anyone else – of her sanity as well as of her strength to resist.
Even the scars, on her arms and hands, didn’t depress Jennifer. The bribe-obedient matron (‘nursey will be good if you’re good to nursey,’) had removed the stitches that morning and left the bandages off, allowing Jennifer properly to look for the first time. The right arm was worse, the wound deep and jagged, in a zig-zag from wrist to elbow. She’d have to wear long sleeves all the time, until she was able to get plastic surgery advice. Have the left arm and her hands done at the same time. She was ugly, like this. Emily would be frightened. Abruptly the reflection dipped. Could Emily ever be more frightened than… Jennifer didn’t allow the thought to finish. She could only try to think of so much: the most immediate things. Too soon yet – there was too much in the way – to plan how to build things with Emily: to make Emily love her again. She would, of course. Plan. And recover. She had to. Emily was all she had left. Her life, as soon as she got rid of everything else in the way. Soon, she thought, now there was a trial date. She was impatient to get it over with. There was movement from the main ward entrance and through the window of her separate room Jennifer saw Hall and Perry approaching.
‘Good morning,’ Jennifer said, brightly.
The vague numbness registered seconds before the voice in her head said, ‘ And good morning to you.’
Jeremy Hall was surprised. It was almost three weeks since his last meeting with Jennifer Lomax. She’d been zombie-like then and according to Perry had remained so, apart from the shouted outbursts, at every remand hearing in between. Today she appeared more in control of herself – her hair and make-up immaculate, sharp-eyed, aware of everything around her – than at any time since the murder. Completely normal, in fact.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, smiling.
‘ Tell him how much of you the dykes have seen!. And played with .’
‘You’re looking much better,’ said Hall, as much for Perry’s benefit as well as for Jennifer’s.
‘ Show him your sore cunt! ’
Jennifer resisted for the second time: she hadn’t fully decided what to do about the rape and sexual assault, satisfied enough for the moment that she could prevent it. ‘She’s being obscene.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Hall.
‘It does!’ contradicted Jennifer, at once. ‘I’m fighting her: refusing to say what she’s telling me to. And for that I feel very much better.’
‘ You stupid bitch. You really are mad to think you can resist me! ’
Jennifer saw the strained look pass between the two men before Hall said, There’s quite a lot we have to talk about, now that we have a trial date.’
‘It’s not going to be delayed?’ demanded Jennifer, at once.
‘No,’ assured Perry. ‘But we have to make a positive decision upon a defence.’
‘ There isn’t one! ’
‘There is only one defence,’ insisted Jennifer. ‘Not guilty because I didn’t do it.’
Hall sighed. ‘Jennifer, I want you to listen very carefully. Sixteen people saw you do it. The evidence against you is overwhelming. Incontrovertible. And with Rebecca Nicholls the prosecution has a motive. You don’t have a not guilty plea: it’s pointless – ridiculous – persisting with it. All you have is a mitigating submission…’ He paused. ‘And I have been given guidance by the judge and the prosecution that they’ll consider a lesser charge and consider psychiatric evidence-’
‘No!’ said Jennifer, too loudly. She saw the matron’s head emerge questioningly from her office, at the far end of the long ward.
‘You don’t have an alternative, Jennifer,’ insisted Hall, almost as loudly. He was suddenly aware of calling her by her christian name.
‘What do the psychiatrists say?’
‘ Barking mad! The rest of your life among the loonies.’
‘There’s a conflict,’ conceded Hall.
‘No-one will definitely say I’m mad!’ seized Jennifer, triumphantly.
‘The American is prepared to testify to Multiple Personality Disorder,’ said Perry. ‘Everyone else talks of some indications of mental imbalance.’
‘But they won’t say I’m mad,’ persisted Jennifer.
‘ Of course they will. You’ve got a voice in your head.’
‘No,’ admitted Hall.
‘ Bastards! ’
It came with a roaring scream and Jennifer put her hands over her ears and kept her arms tightly against her sides, holding herself against giving in to the agony. Which she managed to do. Uneven voiced she said, ‘She’s very angry. Yelling.’
‘Jennifer, you’re not understanding the implications of what I’m saying,’ said Hall, gently. ‘Even though the experts disagree there’s enough for a defence of temporary mental instability. There’s supporting evidence to call with what happened with Emily-’
‘WHAT!’
This time the matron hurried the length of the open ward, bustling through the door at the same time as knocking. ‘What’s going on? She mustn’t be distressed.’
‘Nothing. Please leave us,’ said Perry.
‘Perhaps I should-’
‘Leave us!’ said Hall, not looking at the woman.
‘ Aren’t I doing well! Trapped whichever way you turn! ’
In her anger it was easier for Jennifer to ignore the intrusion. Tight-lipped, she said, ‘It was Jane who attacked Emily. Which you know. But I won’t have Emily brought into it. Into any of it. Which is the strongest reason I have for not agreeing to your defence, quite apart from it not being true in the first place.’
‘Jennifer, you’re not making it easy for me. For yourself.’
‘I’m not interested in making anything easy! If you won’t accept my instructions, then you’re fired.’
‘If that’s your wish then I will make the case file and notes available to you,’ said Perry, at once.
Hall wished the relief hadn’t been so obvious in the other man’s hurried voice. ‘You’ll have great difficulty getting anyone else to represent you at this late stage. You’ll probably end up defending yourself. It would inevitably mean a postponement of the trial.’
‘ How long do you think Fran and Emma and Harriet with that sharp little razor blade can be bought off! And sticky-fingered nursey? ’
‘You promised me a QC,’ reminded Jennifer, no longer strident. She didn’t want a postponement: to remain here for a moment longer than she had to. Jane was actually right. Bribery wouldn’t work for ever.
‘No QC in Mr Hall’s chambers is prepared to lead in this case,’ announced Perry, irritated that the young barrister hadn’t accepted the escape that had been offered them.
‘Help me,’ said Jennifer softly.
‘I want to,’ said Hall urgently, matching her plea. ‘But you’re making it impossible…’ He hesitated. She’d already suffered enormously – maybe in ways he didn’t know – and he was nervous how she’d react if he consciously tried to frighten her further. But he couldn’t think of another, kinder way. ‘If you don’t agree to plead guilty to a lesser charge and the case runs its full course you’ll inevitably be found guilty. As a sane person, the murder was the calculated, premeditated action of a wife being cheated by her husband. You’d probably be sentenced to at least twenty years…’ Hall paused again, remembering Julian Mason’s belief of sexual abuse. ‘… You’d probably serve a minimum of twelve. Do you think you could survive twelve years in a place like this, as opposed to a custodial sentence in a secure hospital unit, where you’d be eligible for release probably much sooner on the advice of doctors?’
Jennifer was gouged by fear and Jane said, ‘ That’s how you’re going to feel for the rest of your life ’
For the first time Jennifer responded. ‘I won’t!’ Then, quickly although spacing the words through tight-together lips, she said, ‘I – won’t – give – in!’
‘ I’m always going to be around when you do. And you will, over and over again.’
Hall slumped back in his chair, defeated. Perry actually shrugged.
‘I accept your instructions to plead not guilty to the charge of murder,’ said Hall, momentarily as pedantic as his instructing solicitor.
Perry said, ‘Don’t forget Jarvis’s religion.’
Hall nodded. ‘All the clinical and medical tests have been completed but I want to suggest something further. You’re possessed, correct?’
‘You know I am.’
‘We’d like you to undergo exorcism,’ announced Perry.
‘ Don’t bother. It won’t work! ’
‘You mean by a priest or vicar?’ queried Jennifer.
‘Yes.’
‘Who’s Jarvis? And what’s his religion got to do with it.’
Hall looked uncomfortable. ‘He’s the appointed trial judge. A very strong Anglican.’
‘Who’d be impressed by the involvement of a minister?’ recognized Jennifer.
‘Yes,’ admitted Hall.
‘I didn’t believe in any God before all this happened,’ said Jennifer. ‘I certainly don’t after what I’ve gone through.’
‘That’s not really the point,’ argued Perry.
‘So I’d go through the motions of praying and whatever else is involved to score points with a judge!’
‘Scoring points with a judge is what trials are all about,’ said Hall, matching the older man’s cynicism.
‘If I don’t believe it wouldn’t work, would it? So Jane would still be there and I’d have achieved nothing.’
‘You wouldn’t know that until you’d tried,’ said Perry.
Jennifer shook her head. ‘I’m satisfied with none of the psychiatrists being prepared to say I’m mad.’
‘She must be mad!’ erupted Humphrey Perry, when they reached the courtyard outside the main prison gates. ‘Only someone completely mad would have failed to see the only way out, with a plea to a lesser charge!’
‘I know,’ said the younger man, resigned.
‘We had a chance to get out. Why didn’t you take it?’
‘I want to help her.’
‘How the hell can you do that? She won’t let herself be helped in the only way available.’
‘I’ll enter the plea she wants, go through whatever pantomime the voice in her head causes and let Jarvis instruct the jury to return a verdict of the lesser charge made obvious from her behaviour in court. That way she’ll get the care she so obviously needs.’
Perry gazed across the car at the other man, acknowledging the ploy with an admiring nod but not immediately starting the engine. ‘Jarvis doesn’t want court time wasted on a full trial.’
‘Bugger what Jarvis wants!’ said Hall. ‘Show me a different way to achieve what has to be achieved, in the best interest of Jennifer Lomax, and I’ll take it!’
‘I wish I could,’ said Perry, solemnly.
‘So do I,’ said Hall.
‘Jarvis will feel-’
‘I don’t need to be told what Jarvis will feel,’ stopped Hall. ‘I know.’
The ponderous silence stretched interminably, Sir Ivan Jarvis staring fixedly at Hall, and even Simon Keflin-Brown, who normally would have found the temptation irresistible, didn’t attempt any courtroom idiosyncracies. There were no coughs, no foot scuffing.
At last Jarvis said, ‘Could it be that I failed to make myself clear?’
‘You made yourself abundantly clear, my Lord,’ said Hall. He’d wanted to cough but hadn’t and the assurance croaked out.
‘Then perhaps you haven’t made yourself clear to your client?’
‘I have, my Lord.’
‘During how many conferences, since our last meeting?’
‘Three, my Lord.’
‘Logged meetings?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘I am displeased, Mr Hall.’
‘I have explained, in the clearest possible detail, the courses open to my client. She repeats her instruction that she pleads not guilty to the major charge, that of murder.’
To the prosecuting barrister the judge said, ‘You have been apprised of this?’
‘I have, my Lord: I’m obliged to my learned friend.’
Turning to his clerk Jarvis said, ‘What’s the calendar allowance?’
‘Two weeks, my Lord,’ said the man, as usual not needing to consult the diary.
Coming back to Hall, the man said, ‘You will remember what I said about tricks, won’t you?’
‘I will, my Lord.’
‘If you don’t, I shall be very quick to remind you.’
In the corridor outside Keflin-Brown said, ‘I don’t envy you one moment of it. I’ll do what I can to help. My case is proven before it starts, after all.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You did make three prison visits, didn’t you?’ pressed the older barrister.
‘Yes.’ Jennifer had remained as brightly alert as before and boasted about resisting the voice, which she appeared to be doing: certainly there hadn’t been any unintelligible interruptions or swearing. She’d actually become angry when he’d pressed her to reconsider the plea, dismissing it and instead handing him a long list of clothes and accessories she wanted brought up from Hampshire for her court appearances.
‘Good,’ said Keflin-Brown. ‘You know the old bugger will check, don’t you? That’s why he asked if they were logged.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘There’s nothing ever funny about Sir Ivan Jarvis. Which you’re going to find out.’
He’d spent the two previous weekends engrossed in the case notes and been unsure if he could spare the time to come out on the river this Saturday. In the end he decided he needed the relaxation in anticipation of what the next fortnight might bring. But he was stiff, not concentrating sufficiently: at the beginning he frequently mis-oared and dug too deep to feather until he consciously forced himself to dismiss the case from his mind, to get the slide moving easily and build up the rhythm. Hall got it, finally, feeling the cramped tension ease from his back and shoulders, building up until the narrow boat was smoothly cleaving the water: as he thrust beneath Richmond Bridge a group of Japanese tourists leaned over the parapet to photograph him and Hall wondered how many times in the next two weeks his photograph was going to be taken. For what, he reflected, could be the obituary of a failed legal career.
It was inevitable that Jennifer would commit some outrage from the dock and just as inevitable that because of it Jarvis would intervene with instructions to the jury about diminished responsibility. And most inevitable of all that the old man would consider it the sort of trick against which he’d specifically warned, forcing as it would the court to make the decision Jennifer Lomax had failed to be persuaded to make for herself. Trick or not – and Hall didn’t totally agree that it was – it would serve Jennifer Lomax’s best interests. Which was his primary concern, as her counsel.
Jeremy Hall wished he could resolve the doubt in his mind that he was still in some way failing her. He abruptly decided to cut the row short and spend the rest of the afternoon and evening going yet again over notes and statements he’d already read so many times he knew them verbatim. His rowing concentration gone again, he missed his stroke altogether with his left blade, veering the boat abruptly sideways, and a group of people watching from Mortlake bridge laughed at him.
He finished reading everything and considered calling Patricia, who hadn’t telephoned him since the can’t-make-it message on the answering machine. Hall supposed he’d have to become accustomed to being laughed at in the coming weeks.