Chapter Text
The sensitive, slow questioning had been leading up to the other part of the trial. The event that pulled them from the family court into the spotlight of the jury.
“Tell me about the evening of the third of July”.
Julian’s eyes shot up, as though she had said something completely ridiculous. The screen shielded him, but he kept glancing over to check that it was there. “What about it?”.
“Everything. Walk me through it from your perspective, in as much detail as you remember”.
His breath hitched. “I— the evening?”.
“Yes”, she said, not unkindly. “The more detail, the better. Take your time”.
Will was drinking again. He could smell Smirnoff, and it was accompanied by a particularly bad day. The business trip had gone south, and he knew he should’ve been more understanding. But he was tired and a bit upset over the squabble with Victor and not in the mood to deal with Will’s outbursts. He wanted to sleep.
“I’m done with you. I’m going to bed”.
Will’s grip on his thigh tightened.
“f*ck off, Will!”.
“Look at you, telling your fiancé to f*ck off when he touches you. You’re pathetic. I’m pathetic for putting up with this”, Will was whispering. “Why do you hate it when I touch you? Do you hate me? I think you hate me. Answer me honestly, Julian, do you hate me?”.
He should have crafted a careful response. He should have been sympathetic, been understanding of the love the other man was seeking, the reassurance that he should have given and the promises he should have made. But for some stupid reason, he did answer honestly. “Sometimes”.
And that had been enough.
“I knew it”, Will mumbled furiously. “I’ll teach you to love me. You’ll love me, you’ll see”. There was a hand pulling at his trousers, which was his cue to put some space between them. He stood up and walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He’d wandered in aimlessly, with no idea what to do. That wasn’t right. He did have a clear aim — to get away from Will. Once he had achieved that, he didn’t know what else to do to get rid of the growing bad feeling creeping into him.
Then his attention fell on the music stand, next to the violin he hadn’t practised in a while. The shoulder rest was still on it. He opened the case and rested the instrument against his neck while he got out the bow and rosined it with an urgency that came out of nowhere. He tightened it too much, and it sounded scratchy, sliding all over the fingerboard and bridge.
“Oh my f*cking god, you sound like a windscreen wiper”.
His hands were trembling, forcing a wobbly vibrato that sounded nothing like his own. The sheet music ordered him to move into the third position, but he couldn’t manage it. He didn’t even recognise what piece it was, though it sounded vaguely like an old Tchaikovsky.
Then Will grabbed the violin and threw it across the dining table. He froze, not quite processing what had happened. There was something within him that broke upon hearing the wood crash into the floor. It was the most fragile instrument he had, the most beautiful and precious thing he owned — and it was his, wholly his, even the shoulder rest adjusted to his body and touch. How could something so priceless suddenly become so worthless? Foolishly, he shielded the bow with his arms, as if he had any use for a bow without a violin.
“Give it to me”.
“No”. He stepped back.
Will grabbed his shoulders and dragged him forward. “Give it to me, or I’ll f*cking take it from you”.
He shook his head, vision blurring behind angry, burning eyes. In the scrimmage, Will did succeed in taking it from him, but only after it had snapped in half. The rosin that had built up over time collected on the floor, making it sticky very quickly. He was on the floor, and he didn’t know how, but he didn’t want to be. It was sticky, and rosin was awkward to wash off once it dried.
He felt a blow to his stomach, and it instantly made him recoil. Then there was another one to his side and one to his back. But he didn’t want to be there, curling in on himself like a pathetic insect. Will wouldn’t kick him if he knew how much he hated it. And he hated it. He shouldn’t have provoked it.
“Get up. Get the f*ck up or I’ll f*ck you right here, right now”.
He got to his knees, and fell over. His body was aching, and he didn’t want to get up. But he didn’t want to be on the floor. He knew the sex was an empty threat — Will had always respected his wishes in the past, and would never break it, especially when they were so close to the wedding. Julian looked forward to the wedding a lot. Tensions were running high up to the lead-up, but after the thing itself was over, he knew everything would be fine.
He felt another strike to his face, and he was dragged up by his throat. The room around him was swirling, and he struggled against it. For a second, he was let go. He stumbled into the corridor like a drunk and fell headfirst into the door. It was locked, and he knew where the keys were. But he ignored that and tried to open the door anyway. He was scared and tired and he wanted to go. He wanted to sleep.
“Where are you going?”. His arm was held against his back, and it hurt. It hurt a lot. “I said, where are you going, you bitch?”. The twisting became more violent and all of a sudden, there was an audible crack. All he could think about was never playing music ever again, and the godawful screaming that he realised was coming from him, and the scalding pain in his left wrist that made it feel like it was going to fall off.
At least it meant Will released from the hold. Instinctively, he clambered to the stairway, looking for any sort of relief to the blood sliding down his hand. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Will caught up to him.
“Oh my god, Jules, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, please. Please forgive me”.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t forgive anymore.
But then Will picked him up, ever so gently, slowly placing his wrist on his chest so it wouldn’t dangle. He thought maybe he’d be taken to the hospital, and maybe the doctors would fix his wrist and the dull but growing ache in his gut, and then he could put it all behind him again.
Will was carrying him up the stairs. That would also do. He was very tired, but he didn’t know if he could sleep. His heart was racing too fast, body unwillingly pumping out adrenaline to combat the pain. At the foot of the stairs, he fell out of Will’s arms, through a mixture of his own body weight and Will’s intoxicated state. He tried to pretend Will was a different person when he was drunk; telling himself that it was the alcohol and not his fiancé somehow made everything better.
The pain had doubled and travelled up further, so he had definitely done something to his arm again. It was possibly exacerbated by Will dragging him up by it. He had never broken a bone before.
“Don’t hate me, Jules. You can’t hate me. I’ll show you how good it is”.
He was placed in their bed. It was soft, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into it and fall asleep, but he heard the soft metallic clack of Will’s belt being undone. He knew nothing would happen, but it sent alarm bells ringing in him. He forced his body to get up and made a beeline for the door.
“Where are you going?”. The door slammed in his face before he could get to it. “Don’t be difficult. Listen to me, and I’ll teach you”.
“I—”, he forced the words out. “I don’t want to learn”. He was pushed down to his knees and shielded his eyes like an embarrassed child when Will dropped his trousers and his underwear.
“Stop being so stubborn. Open your mouth”.
He refused. Gradually, Will was becoming more and more impatient, and he was beginning to panic. He could close his eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening. He could refuse firmly and stand his ground.
Until he couldn’t. He was on the floor and the floor was cold. It wasn’t sticky, but it was hard and the wooden panels were grating. His glasses were pressing into his face.
“My glasses— you’re going to break them—”. The words didn’t sound like his own. They were hysterical, and distant, as if there was someone else in the room watching. But then, Will gently removed them and placed them on the bed. Despite having perfect vision himself, Will was always very careful with his glasses, sympathetic of how near-impossible it would be to function if they were broken.
He felt the buttons on his jeans being tugged at and tried to wrench away from the grip. “Oh my god, stop being so f*cking difficult!”. He didn't know why, but he did. He felt his body go limp, and shut down, as if it had already accepted what was to happen.
“Please”, he resorted to begging, something he never did. It took another piece of him, being so degraded as to plead on the floor of his own house, a house that no longer felt like home anymore. “Will. Please”.
“Don't fret, Jules, it'll be okay”, Will murmured. “I love you, remember? I love you so much".
Julian stopped abruptly. His breathing became harsher, and his eyes darted around like a wild animal caught in a trap. Elise Sanders looked mildly concerned, and moved a bit closer to him. “Julian?”.
He gripped the ends of the stand until his knuckles were white, blinking more rapidly as tears pooled in his eyes and slid down his face in front of the court. Victor wished he could go up and pull him away from everyone’s eyes, but there was nothing he could do except watch him disintegrate at the stand.
“Julian, take a breath”, she said gently. Victor doubted if she was a pure law student after all — few had the level of empathy and care she was showing. GDL students were becoming increasingly common, making up half the bar as of recent, and in Victor’s opinion, they fared much better at the skill Elise Sanders displayed. “We’ve got plenty of time. Just breathe”.
He nodded shakily, covering his face and trying to compose himself while avoiding everyone’s eyes, especially the defense counsel's team. Gradually, his breathing was calming back to near-normal, and she took that as a sign to continue.
“Alright, I’ll pick up from where you left off. What happened after he said that to you?”.
Julian stared, as if he had forgotten how to speak. And so Elise Sanders continued for him. “For the court, can you speak out loud, as in yes or no answers as opposed to nods, etcetera. Did he penetrate you?”.
Even Victor flinched at the clinical language.
“Yes”.
“For clarity, he penetrated you anally with his penis?”. She was emphasising the definition of the rape charge and clarifying it for the jury, but the words still made Victor's skin crawl with how detached they were. At the same time, he was relieved she hadn't explicitly used the word rape — Julian would have denied it, and that was the trial over then and there.
“Yes”. Julian looked like he wanted nothing more than to dig himself into the ground and disappear.
“What did you feel?”.
“Pain”.
“Can you describe it?”.
“Burning. Like my body was on fire. It wasn’t even mine anymore".
"Can you elaborate on the last part?".
"Like someone had reached in and taken something that I couldn’t get back".
"And what was going through your head?".
"I wanted to die”.
“How long did it go on for?”.
“I don’t know”.
“When did it stop?”.
His breath hitched. “When he— when he finished—”. She looked like she was going to ask him to expand and clarify, but after a side glance at the jury, she decided not to. They seemed to have understood.
“What happened after?”.
“Nothing. I lay there. He got off me after some time and maybe he said something. I don’t know”, his voice cracked slightly. “I don’t know anything. I can’t tell you anything more about this”.
“Okay, that’s perfectly fine, thank you Julian. Let's move on to what happened after the rape, then”. Just as Victor knew he would, Julian winced at the word. “So when the police arrived”.
There were people moving around the room and talking and trying to touch him. There was the sound of sobbing and screaming and a woman in a dark green uniform with curly blond hair trying to tell him everything was fine and that he was safe and it would all be fine. But it wasn’t fine. He would never be safe. But eventually, the screaming stopped. The pain blurred into one and everything else went with it. He could focus on that.
At some point, he pulled up his jeans with his working hand, trying to blink out the scent of blood and other things that he did want to think about. He tried to focus on whatever the woman was saying, but it was as though he was underwater and she was speaking to him from the surface in a foreign language. But he let her touch his broken hand and put it in a temporary sling. He could hardly feel the touch.
The pain and loss of blood was blissfully lulling him in and out of consciousness, so he barely noticed being led down the stairs into an ambulance. At some point, there was a shiny blanket over him and more people talking at him, but their words made no more sense than the woman’s. He knew they were asking questions and the questions were important but he couldn’t bring himself to process any of it. The numb halo around him was a blessing. It stopped all the thoughts and feelings before it reached his mind and with that, he could pretend that it was all fine and maybe it would be.
He would go to sleep in his home instead of some hospital and the next morning, everything would be normal again. It was the weekend, so he wouldn’t go into the office, but he could get some more of the cases done at home. He would cook waffles with chocolate for breakfast, even though it felt like he would never be hungry again, and he would eat all of it. Maybe for lunch he would have some soup. His throat was very dry for some reason — soup sounded good. He would then take a break from work and play some music on the violin, which he hadn’t done in a long time. He would then go for a stroll until it got dark, or maybe even pay a visit to the combat centre gym and do some boxing. Then he’d work on cases until dinner. Maybe he’d stay in and order a pepperoni pizza and some cloudy pink lemonade. And then he would watch some YouTube videos, maybe on zombie apocalypse survival or something equally useless and ridiculous, and then go to bed early because he needed to be up on time to get the train for work on Monday.
But then he was walked into the hospital and doctors were talking to him and a mask was held up to his face that made all the pain fade away and everything fade in and out. He knew they were fixing his arm, but every time they touched him, he felt like he had been shocked and he wanted it to stop. But he couldn’t move.
It ended after they were finished, and at some point, the mask was taken off him. He was given other injections that he could barely feel due to whatever he had inhaled, and eventually, the haze went away. With the clarity, he wondered if the pain would return, but it didn’t. Once everything was less muddled again, a doctor with a very deep but calm voice started speaking to him and this time, he could hear it all. He looked around at the blank hospital room, confused as to why he was there, and looked at the doctor questioningly.
“You’ve been in shock for the past few hours”, the doctor said softly. “You fractured both your wrist and arm, but it’s nothing major. We set both back into place while you were out. Now, you need to look after it”. The doctor gave him a lot of instructions that he tried to register, and tried to hand him a waterproof cover. He flinched and stared at it, even though his brain was yelling at him to just extend his left hand and pick up the damn thing from the doctor, who was growing more and more concerned the longer he stared. Eventually, the doctor just placed it on the table beside him.
“My colleague Esther will be here soon. She’s going to perform a forensic examination on you. Do you know what that means?”.
He knew what it meant. He shook his head rapidly.
“So it’s a completely painless process that involves collecting evidence from your body. You don’t have to do anything with that evidence, but we’ll store it just in case you need it in the future”.
He kept shaking his head. The doctor seemed to catch on.
“Okay, we’ll wait until your secondary contact is located, and proceed from there”.
From there on, he stopped and Elise Sanders didn’t press him further. Victor assumed she already had everything she needed from the medical team’s testimony and from Victor himself.
But she did have one question that Victor knew Julian would not want to answer. “After you were kept overnight for the second time — why did you go back?”.
He stared at the stand, an unreadable expression across his face. “I don’t know”. His breathing was worsening again. “I don’t know. I thought—”. It deteriorated further. “I— don’t know”.
“Alright, that’s fine”, she said, a small amount of alarm evident. Victor recognised it as the beginnings of a panic attack and clearly, she did so too. “Would it be possible to take a short break, your honour?”.
The judge seemed to agree with the suggestion. “Now would be a good time to break for lunch”. It was longer than the short break Elise Sanders had asked for, but everyone in the courtroom seemed happy at the suggestion, and quickly scattered. Julian was still at the stand, and jumped when the usher approached him.
Victor headed out quickly before the rest of the Fulton crew could exit the gallery, and caught up with Julian. The usher had left him in a private room with the witness support officer, who was happy to stand back and let Victor talk to him as long as she could still keep an eye on them. Before he could do anything though, Adhira appeared from the gallery, and he felt a weight off his shoulders. Sure enough, she managed to calm Julian down enough for the panic to dissipate. The support officer had closed the door after Adhira, so it was only the three of them.
Even though he was no longer panicking, Julian was not well. His face was pale and clammy, and he jumped at touch, even from Adhira. He didn’t speak, and often stared into empty space. But he did nod occasionally and sometimes his eyes tracked the line of casual conversation between Adhira and Victor.
Adhira got out her sandwich, which she tried to split with Victor (he refused — she was a young woman with a working metabolism and he wasn’t). She had also come prepared with some chocolate for Julian, and tried to coax him into eating some of it, but even she knew that the chance of him doing so was very unlikely. She offered some to Victor (which he did accept), had some of it, and kept the rest for Julian after the trial. They spent lunch in the room before they were called back out.
Elise Sanders did not relent. She pressed him for all the information and detail she could get, regardless of whether he was suffering or not. Victor knew why she was doing it. Every seemingly little description built up the case against William, and she was determined to win, even after Julian looked like he wanted to die after describing the fourth assault which was one of the most disturbing things Victor had heard.
It had not been a shock to find out that he had been raped multiple times, even after the wedding, unlike what Julian had clearly believed. Every time he spoke about it, he hugged himself absentmindedly, or subconsciously reached for his throat and there was nothing Victor could do except sit and watch. It was obvious he was becoming more and more drained. There was no fight left within him by the time it got to the last hospitalisation.
Victor could pair many of the assaults to Julian’s demeanour at the chambers. He had never missed a day of work during that time, but the impact was poorly hidden behind a snappy, flighty demeanour and an uncharacteristic amount of defeats in court. His focus had all over the place at certain times, and basic things like writing and clasping his gown for court caused him unusual difficulty at unpredictable times due to shaking in his hands. Victor had noticed, but like everything else, he had never asked. In hindsight, no amount of hostility or distance should have stopped him from pressing, though that was what he used to absolve himself of that responsibility.
Elise Sanders finished her questioning with sensitivity, calming him down before the cross-examination. Then, the defence barrister stood up, who Victor discovered was called Zichen Li.
“Mr Maurice—”, the defence began but before Sanders could object, the judge interrupted.
“The witness wishes to be referred to by his previous name, Mr Julian Sooks”, he stated. “Please comply”.
“My apologies, your honour”, Li said politely, but the damage was already done. The jury got the message. “Mr Sooks, can you describe the evening of your wedding?”.
Victor realised that prosecution had skipped over it, which was odd. He soon understood why. Julian spoke very fondly of the day. Although he did mention he missed his friends as none of them were invited, William had been affectionate and loving throughout the entire day.
Once the day was over, he dreaded the night, when he would be expected to fulfil his duties as a husband. But nothing happened. They talked about the past, the future and everything in between. They talked about holidays and where they would go for their honeymoon and dreams of travelling the world. At one point, there were whispers of adoption maybe, in the far far future, but he shut them down quickly — he could barely look after himself, let alone a vulnerable human being. Will respected those wishes, and they moved on to thinking about cats, perhaps, and how they would have three of them, named Inn, Bin and Din. He thought that was a bit unfair on Bin, but Will assured him that they would love them all equally anyway. They talked about university and the one time the conductor fell over on the Christmas concert into the first violins and the rumour about Robinson’s director of studies allegedly getting Bessie Hindley pregnant right before she got a training contract and all sorts of stupid things. They talked in the darkness until Will fell asleep in his arms, and he followed suit soon after.
“There was no sex?”, the defence barrister asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No”, Julian confirmed.
“Isn’t that a bit odd?”.
He looked confused. “I don’t know what you mean”.
“Well, for all the times you claim to have had sexual relations, one would imagine your wedding night would be most ideal, no?”.
“He was happy that day. And he usually didn’t — do things — if he was in a good mood”.
“Really? You claim these instances were sparked by anger or drunkenness, but what about the night of the the thirteenth of August?”.
“What—”, Julian paused and seemed to remember. “Oh. That was unusual. I don’t know why he did that”.
“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”.
“No!”. The abrupt attack took him completely by surprise.
“When he performed fellati* on you, did you or did you not gain any pleasure?”.
“What—”, he seemed to be struggling for words. “I don’t— I didn’t— I don’t understand what—”.
“Immaterial of whether you asked for it, Mr Sooks, did you experience any physical pleasure? Did you have an erection? Did you org*sm?”.
“Your honour”, Elise Sanders stood up finally, and Victor felt some relief. “Relevance? Surely any alleged feelings the witness experienced is immaterial to the lack of consent”.
“But we are yet to prove a lack of consent in this particular instance, your honour”, Li replied. “There is a presumption of innocence”.
“Agreed”, the judge declared. “You may continue, Mr Li”.
Victor wanted nothing more than to facepalm — he had expected Sanders to bring in an objection based on something more feasible, like compound questions or badgering, but she had immediately gone for one of the more controversial options. From her face, it was clear that she had not expected that outcome, and was struggling to get the line of questioning back in control.
“Please answer the question, Mr Sooks”, Li ordered politely.
“Which one?” At least Julian seemed to have picked up on the compound question, even in his distress. Elise Sanders let out a relieved breath she had clearly been holding.
“When William performed oral sex on you, were you erect?”.
“Yes”.
“Did you experience any physical pleasure?”.
“Yes”, he whispered, his face burning. He kept his eyes fixed down, trying to ignore the murmurs and scribbling from the jury.
“And so you wanted it to continue?”.
“No”.
“But you just admitted that it was enjoyable to you”.
“No”, Julian said firmly, some more authority and anger creeping back into his voice. “I hated it. It made me confused, and I was so f*cking scared and had no clue what was happening. So no, I didn’t want it to continue, I wanted it to stop”.
“Why were you scared?”.
“Because before then, the only thing I had ever felt when Will forced himself on me was pain, and I kept expecting it. Like with the — the other incident”. The court knew what he was referring to.
“Except you enjoyed it, didn’t you? You enjoyed the pain”.
“No, I—”.
“That’s why you kept going back to him. You’re an independent man in every way — success, stability, a secure job as a criminal barrister at a good London chambers, a remarkable skill of manipulation — you had it all and you were free to walk out the door at any time. But you chose to stay because you loved the high-risk sex and being vulnerable to your partner. Then when he threatened to leave you, you became desperate and reported him falsely for rape and abuse in a desperate attempt at retribution”.
“Your honour, badgering the witness”, prosecution stepped in. She had learnt from her previous misstep.
“Tread carefully, Mr Li”, the judge ruled. “I am also issuing you a warning for speculation”.
He had the decency to look a bit abashed, but nodded and returned to face Julian, who muttered something.
“Could you repeat that louder, Mr Sooks?”.
Julian obliged. “That’s not true, what you said. I left him".
Clearly, the defence wanted to press him further and twist it, but there was nothing Zichen Li could do. He had to move on.
“Isn’t it true that you were ashamed of your relationship? You kept it hidden from even your close friends until your engagement, isn’t that right?”.
“Yes”.
“Were you ashamed because he was a man?”.
“No”, he replied honestly. “I kept it hidden from my work for that reason, considering the culture of the bar. I felt less pressure when there wasn’t that label on me”.
“Then why did you hide it from your friends and family too?”.
“My family cut contact with me after sixth form”, he said quickly, clearly not wanting to linger on the subject. Victor realised that Julian didn’t know that his mother had come to court that day. She had left before he took the stand, and didn’t return. He made a mental note to tell him about it after the trial.
“And your friends?”.
“I didn’t want them to know about the things he did”, he hesitated. “I knew it was wrong”.
“If you thought it was wrong, why did you stay?”.
“Where would I go?”.
“What about your friend Jack’s?”.
“He had a newborn at the time — there was enough on his plate”.
“Right”, Li paused. “Isn’t it true that you frequently hit yourself?”.
“No”, Julian replied, confused. “That’s not true”.
“So you’ve never harmed yourself in the past?”. It was an obvious trap. Even Julian, in his state, saw it.
“That’s not what you asked. I said I never punched or hit myself or gave myself bruises”, he replied coldly. “When I was at university, I did cut myself, but I’ve been clear of that since third year”.
“You mean to tell me that you never cut yourself since? Not even when you were staying with Mr Hughes?”.
“I’ve never cut myself since third year”. His eyes did divert though, which unfortunately, the defence barrister caught.
“But you've had thoughts of hurting yourself?”.
“Yes”, he admitted. Victor figured as much.
“And yet, for some unknown reason, you never acted on them?”.
“Victor was thorough”, Julian mumbled. “He removed all the blades in the house except the ones in the kitchen, and he was always in the kitchen whenever I had the urge. He kept a close eye on me”. Something about that made him feel very happy, that he had prevented a relapse that would have broken years of success.
The defence barrister did not look like he was prepared for Julian’s responses. Victor suspected William had grossly exaggerated the extent of the self-harm to spin himself in an innocent light, not knowing it would come at the expense of his credibility in the trial. Everything Julian said was the truth.
“On the night of the twenty-third of August”, Li started, and Julian’s face paled. Defence had clearly changed tactic, hinging on his distress to cause him to falter by bringing up more sensitive incidents. “You claim that during intercourse, you were penetrated with a bottle?”.
“Your honour, I am reluctant to rise”, Elise Sanders intercepted politely. “But this question has been asked and answered, and it is a subject matter causing severe distress to the witness”.
“But it is my job to look for inconsistencies in the testimonies, your honour”, Zichen Li pointed out.
“The witness is free to pause proceedings at any time if he wishes to do so”, the judge stated. “You may continue, Mr Li”.
“Please answer my question, Mr Sooks”.
“Yes”, Julian replied, voice barely audible. His face had lost all its colour.
“What brand was it?”.
“What?”.
“What brand of alcohol was the bottle?”.
“I—”. His voice was breaking. “I don’t know”.
“If this really did happen, you must remember, surely?”.
Julian tried to stay composed, but the line of questioning was clearly working. “Hennessy”, he forced out after a minute that felt much longer.
“Are you sure? Didn’t you say it was Jack Daniels before?”. The question had never been asked previously, but Julian did not seem to be in the appropriate mental state to catch that.
“I can’t say”. He was becoming increasingly erratic.
“What colour was the alcohol? Think back to the event”.
“I can’t say”. It was blatantly clear to Victor that he was not thinking back to the event at all.
“The duration of the alleged incident?”.
“Can’t say”.
“The shape of the bottle? The make of it? Any labels? The amount of alcohol left in it?”.
“Stop”.
“You can’t say because it never happened, did it?”, Li pushed, his voice growing louder. “All that happened was you and William had consensual sex that you later regretted and decided to spin into a web of lies”.
Julian looked like he wanted to say something, but no words left his mouth.
“I’ll take that as a yes”.
There were murmurs travelling through the jury. He looked too stunned to speak.
“No further questions, your honour”, Li stated.
The court was cleared, everyone’s eyes fixed on him. He did not look like he had processed what had just happened. Victor left the gallery with Adhira, who also looked somewhat disturbed by the questioning; he remembered that as a public law barrister, she was not as familiar with jury trials as they were. If it affected Victor, it definitely would have done so to her too.
They located him at one of the seating areas with the witness support officer hovering by. Victor noticed that there was another man with them already, particularly noticeable with bright red hair. He was speaking to Julian, one hand around his shoulder. Julian was staring at the empty space ahead of him, as though he was separate from the rest of the world and what was going around him, but the fact that he was not in panic over the touch indicated that the man was close to him.
“Hey Jules”, Adhira said, making their presence known. The redhead looked her up and down suspiciously. “How is he doing?”. The question didn't seem to ease any of his hostility.
“The f*ck do you think?”, he muttered. “After that sh*tshow? Don’t your lot stand up and object and sh*t?”.
“Objections in cross examination are an American custom”, Victor interjected politely. He did not want to make the man more irritated than he was.
“Well make it British then. That’s how customs are formed”, he scoffed. “Pathetic system. Pathetic people”.
Victor thought he was being a bit harsh on Elise Sanders, who in his opinion, had done quite a good job. Some amount of aggressive questioning was bound to happen in any trial involving rape, where putting duress on the victim was a great tactic to twist the truth. Watching it play out on his ex-pupil, though, had been a real shock to Victor, even with decades of experience employing that same tactic as a barrister.
“Jules?”, Adhira called softly. He did not seem to be listening.
The man got to his feet and stood Julian up with a gentleness that did not match the rest of his demeanour.
“Where are you going?” Victor asked.
“Home. I’m getting him the f*ck out of here”. He started walking without waiting for them.
“Wait—”. He ignored them. “Look, at least collect his things first. I’ve got them in my car already, it’s not far from here”.
The man hesitated. “Why do you have his things in your car?”, he asked, clearly dubious of Victor’s claim.
“We were planning on staying in London tonight, in case he wanted to go and watch the rest of the trial, or if he wanted to go to work tomorrow. We left Kent this morning”.
He gave Victor a very disgusted look. “Why the f*ck would he want to watch the trial? Are you f*cking stupid? And he’s taking the rest of the week off work”. He looked at Julian, who still showed no signs of improvement. “Fine”.
“I’m Victor, his old pupil-master”, Victor introduced himself as he started walking. The man left a good gap between them, keeping Julian at his side at all times.
“I know who you are. I was there”. He looked over at Adhira. “I forgot your name, though”.
“Adhira”, she said. Victor noticed that the man was slightly kinder to her. “I never caught your name”.
“You’re that witness prosecution kept going on about, aren’t you?”. He ignored her question.
She nodded.
“Well, I’m Jack”.
“Oh!”, she said in a release of pleasant surprise. The man — Jack — seemed to ease a little bit at her recognition. “He told me about you. You were best friends at university”.
Something fleeting crossed his face. “Yeah. Fun times”.
Julian suddenly murmured something.
“What was that bud?”, Jack said, stopping.
“You should bring back the black”.
Victor had no idea what that meant, and from the looks of it, nor did Adhira. But Jack clearly did. He hit him around the head lightly, similar to what Victor used to do in the earlier days of Julian’s pupillage, when he was far less flighty. “Plonker”, he grumbled, but he smiled. “Lindy actually likes this better, you know? She says it’s easier to spot me at Tesco’s when she gets lost in the tea aisle”.
There was a brief silence. “Where are we going?” Julian asked, as if he had just woken up from sleep.
“To your boss’s car, to get your things. I’m dragging you back home to mine”.
“I can’t—”, he stammered. “I have work tomorrow—”.
“f*ck off, you’re taking this week off”.
“I can’t—”.
“You can and you will”.
“But I can’t impose on your home — what about your daughter?”.
“One, I’m inviting you. Two, you’re not a guest. And what about Daisy? She’ll be every excited to meet you properly. You’ve never met her, have you?”.
“I can’t— I’m not— she can’t see me like this”.
“Shut up. Honestly, let me win this just for once”.
Julian paused, hesitating heavily. And then he did surrender. “Okay. Thank you”.
“I dare you to say that one more time”.
Something briefly resembling peace sat in Julian’s eyes, as if he had forgotten where they were and was mentally in a different place. “Thanks. Much obliged. I express my gratitude”.
Jack shot him a look, but smiled. “Insufferable git. Good to know that hasn’t changed— sh*t”. They were passing through the back of the court house, and at that moment, half the defence counsel had chosen to congregate in that spot. Except William was with them, absentmindedly combing his hair during the presumed break they were on. Victor didn’t know why he hadn’t expected there to be a break between prosecution and defence’s witness swap-overs. Or if so, why he hadn’t expected people to be stepping outside for some fresh air. William put his comb down — he had seen them. He didn’t waste any time looking at Victor or Adhira, but his eyes went straight past them and to the person his gaze was targeted at.
“Come on”, Jack nudged with some urgency. Julian seemed frozen on the spot. “Let’s go”. He gently grabbed his arm and moved him away, but he stiffened more and flinched at the touch. Jack ignored it and dragged him away anyway.
Once they were off the road, Julian shoved him away and put some distance between him and the rest of them. Fortunately, they were on some public footpath and out of sight of everyone in the courthouse. There was a light brook running nearby; the sound of the trickling water was calming.
Julian found a place to sit by the brook's end, facing a small gaggle of robins running across the grass. “I didn’t lie”, he muttered.
“I know”, Jack replied quietly.
“I’m not a liar”.
“I know”.
“The jury think I’m a liar”.
“No, they don’t”.
“They do”.
“Well, then, f*ck the jury”, Jack said in good intent, but Victor knew it was not the best response.
“That was all for nothing”.
Jack seemed to have realised. “No, hey, you’ll win this. You told the truth and they’ll see that. And then that f*ckwit will be locked up”. They couldn’t see his face, but his body was shaking. “It wasn’t for nothing”.
He was muttering something that none of them could hear, and Victor only noticed that he’d been struggling to breathe again when he heaved into the back of the shrubs. Jack let Adhira approach him and ease him through it while Victor decided to go collect Julian’s things himself and meet back at the footpath. The way to his car was clear when he left, the proceedings presumably having resumed, and the weather stayed dry. When he found his way back to the footpath, the situation had seen little improvement, and so Jack decided to bring his car to the area. By the time he parked at the side of the road, Julian was no longer physically ill except for being generally shaky, so it was reasonable to get him into the car.
Jack spoke to Adhira for a while and they exchanged contact numbers and addresses, but he stayed relatively cold with Victor. He did ask him to visit on Saturday along with Adhira, however. Victor found out that Jack lived in Essex which was quite far from Bristol, but only an hour’s train from London.
The hardest part, at least, was over. Victor told himself it would all be worth it in the end. Justice always prevailed, or so most people liked to think. And in that moment, Victor wasn't a qualified barrister who had spent decades seeing case after case where the Crown repeatedly failed the most vulnerable people and defendants accused of the most harrowing crimes walked free — in that moment, he was most people.
