The Kindest Thing by Cath Staincliffe Read Free Book Online Page B

on the back wall.
    Being a prisoner, I enter the court up steps that lead from the cells beneath. When I hear the clatter of our shoes on the marble, my thoughts seem to fly apart in fragments, like spilled beads
rolling into the shadows, under furniture, out of sight. I cannot remember what the solicitor said. There’s an urge to run, to flee or buckle.
    The room bristles with attention as I appear. Afraid, I do not dare look round yet. I need to place my feet one in front of the other and turn so as to reach the dock. The usher nods that I may
sit and I do, letting my gaze fall on the warm, worn wood of the ledges around me. My cheeks are aflame and my pulse thrums heavy in my neck. There are whispers and muttered conversations and the
rustle of papers – all the lawyers have great big folders. They march around with them, in one arm, all importance. Well, it is important, the reports and records and documents that speak to
liberty or incarceration.
    Little by little, I raise my eyes, glancing to my left, across the people seated in the main well of the court. My barrister, Mr Latimer, the one in charge of my defence, is a bullish man with
an unfortunately appointed nose and beefy skin. He stammers but he has a technique for overcoming that in public, a sing-song delivery that reminds me a little of the comedian Kenneth Williams
stretching out his time on the radio quiz Just A Minute , though Kenneth was way more camp. Beside Mr Latimer is his junior. And beside them my messy solicitor, Ms Gleason, takes her seat.
She’s the one who’s held my hand for all these months. Today the hair has been pulled back in a barrette. She smiles across and nods. She is watching me and the others are talking
shop.
    Beyond them is the prosecution table. I have already been told about their team but the names escape me now. The main prosecutor is a woman and she has a male aide.
    My heart squeezes as my eyes light on Adam in the public gallery. My boy. I am so glad he has come. That seems bizarre. What mother wants her child to see her tried for murder? Next to him,
Jane. Jane and I are the same height but she’s a bigger build. More padding, she says. She’s on a diet every few months and shifts a few pounds. Then it creeps back on. She can’t
stop smoking either. She’s done the lot, everything from patches to acupuncture.
    I try to smile but my lips jerk about in some ghastly jig. Adam bows his head suddenly, close to tears, I think. Jane gives a wry smile. She has always been there for me. Have I been as good a
friend? Jane is giddy, gregarious. She’s never really left the hubbub of her childhood, competing with her three brothers for a spot in the limelight. The phrase ‘good for a
laugh’ comes to mind. Not that she is frivolous or shallow, more that she has a ripe sense of humour. She sees the funny side and points it out. People mistake her comic vision for happiness
but Jane has had a hard time of it. Since Mack left her she’s never found the right man. And she’s very lonely. She’s a manager in the NHS, her working life a mire of reports and
strategies, evaluation and targets. She and Neil had plenty to moan about together, swapping anecdotes of bureaucratic lunacy and governmental folly.
    Sophie isn’t there, or Veronica or Michael. There are other faces – I’m startled to see two of Neil’s colleagues, and people I don’t recognize. The gallery is full.
I’m quite a draw. Who are all these strangers? What brings them here?
    The team have dressed me in mumsy clothes, Marks & Sparks, a plain light blue blouse, navy skirt, opaque tan tights. The skirt rustles against the tights when I walk. I hate these clothes.
I’m a fraud. I’ve never worn things like this in my life. School uniform came closest. But I will do whatever they tell me now. At their mercy. They even brought earrings, small gold
studs. My fingers seek out my wedding ring. I twist the familiar smooth metal.
    We bought our rings