Chapter 18
Oakley
My father’s lawyer, John Bee, was an intimidating man. Tall, shiny, broad shoulders, sharp features, and no soul. Everything about him screamed, I’m going to break you.
Jasper hadn’t said much about watching my father give evidence, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. Cole had given me what felt like a watered-down version. But I didn’t need to know everything if they didn’t want to share.
Screw what Dad said on the stand, it was all bullshit, anyway.
John stepped in front of me after I’d promised to tell the truth. He wasn’t even that close, but it felt as if he were just an inch from my face. I looked at him straight-on, determined not to show how nervous I was.
Today I was going up against the opposition.
“You claim that your father first took you to meet Mr Glosser, alone, when you were five years old. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I replied.
Without blinking, he fired off the next question, “And how soon after that did you stop talking?”
“I can’t remember exactly. About a month, I suppose.”
He started walking back, away from the jury. “So, there was a gap between the start of the alleged abuse and when you stopped talking?”
Alleged.
Bastard.
“Yes.”
“I see.” He clicked his tongue, turned to the jury, and held his hand up, extending his index finger. “And you claim that you were forced to remain silent forever because your father did not want anyone to find out.”
“I never said forever. He never said forever, but yes.”
He never mentioned a time limit, and I never really thought about it. I had been too afraid to talk again, so I’d tried living a new kind of life.
“So, between the start of the alleged abuse and when you stopped talking, there was nothing in your way of speaking out. Is that correct?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“You claim your father threatened you. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“That the truth would kill my mother. He’d also said my brother and I would be taken away. I was terrified that it was true.”
“You believed words could kill your mother?” He cocked his head to the side.
Patronising, word-twisting bastard.
When I was five, I believed my dad and every word he’d said. I had no idea what could or couldn’t kill a person then. I hadn’t understood any of it.
All I had known was that I loved my mum and didn’t want her to die.
I said nothing.
“Miss Farrell, did you like playing games as a child?”
What kind of question was that? “Yeah,” I replied.
What child didn’t play?
He nodded and swiftly moved to his next question. “Did you play make-believe games?”
“Yes,” I replied cautiously, knowing this couldn’t be leading anywhere good.
Jasper, Cole, Mia, and I used to play all sorts of games, pretending we were our favourite TV show characters from Power Rangers and programmes like that.
“Mm. And when you stopped talking, you liked the attention you got, didn’t you?”
My face fell. That was where he was going. “No, that’s not how it was.”
“You said you liked to play make-believe games.”
Keeping calm was almost impossible when I felt myself getting hotter and hotter. What kind of a person would make up something so evil? I hated that anyone could even suggest that I was lying about it. All I’d ever wanted was a happy, normal family. I never wanted any of this.
“I did not make that up.”
Keep calm.
John turned on his heel and took a few steps toward the jury. He had been walking around the whole time. He seemed so at ease here, as if this were his house and we were guests.
Stay still, fucker.
“Miss Farrell, you state that, from the first time Mr Glosser accompanied you and your father, he would be there every occasion after that. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did he meet you at your house?”
“No. My mum and brother were never aware he was with us on the trips.”
“He was waiting for you?”
“No, he always came after we’d set up and been to the local shop.”
Being on the stand meant that I was slightly higher than John, so I used that to my advantage and straightened my back, forcing him to look up at me.
“You said your father took payment from Mr Glosser?”
“That’s correct.”
“Could that have merely been Mr Glosser paying for his half of the food bill? You said he showed after you’d shopped.”
“No,” I growled through my teeth.
Linda looked up and widened her eyes, warning me to remain calm. I needed to, but I couldn’t help it. He was twisting everything I had said to make it look like I was lying.
I took a long breath in and out until I felt that floaty feeling in my head.
“How did you know what the exchange of money was for? Were you told?”
“No, but—”
“So, it could have been his share of dinner. Miss Farrell, you’ve also alleged your father took photographs during the abuse even though no pictures of you have been found.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
Frank had a photo of me.
It could be out there still, getting shared and exchanged on the dark web. Nothing was ever really removed from the Internet, right?
Don’t think about that.
I didn’t even bother looking at Linda’s face. No doubt she would be wincing at my knee-jerk response, which was exactly what the defence wanted.
The photos existed. I knew they did.
“Every phone, tablet, PC, and laptop in your father’s position has been searched, Miss Farrell. I can assure you that there aren’t any pictures of you to back up your claim.”
I didn’t know if I should be pleased they were gone and no one would ever see them or frightened that them being gone backed up Dad’s story.
“It happened,” I whispered. I looked to the jury.
Please believe me.
“Miss Farrell, could you at least tell me what camera was allegedly used? Or was it a phone?”
“Camera. Silver and square, but I don’t know the make.”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Were you there?”
He flashed a smile. “And was this the family’s camera?”
I deadpanned. “My father’s sick, not stupid.”
Linda stood up. “Your Honour, can we take a break please?”
John the Arsehole objected, but the judge agreed and called a recess since court had been in session all morning.
“Back in fifteen minutes.”
I followed Linda out of the box and out of the room in a daze. The world was spinning around me, but I felt like I was dead still. We went into another room to talk privately.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, dropping into the seat in the little room where I’d passed out a few days ago. “I know I messed up, but he makes me so damn angry.”
She grabbed me a bottle of water.
“Thanks.”
“Oakley,” she said, sitting down beside me.
“You’re doing great, but you need to try to keep your cool.
Their whole argument is that you’re a troublemaker who craved the attention.
Unfortunately, any sign of anger or temper from you—however understandable in the circumstances—will mean that you’re playing right into their hands.
I know it’s frustrating. I’ve been sitting there, wanting to throw my laptop at him, but I can’t. You have to stay calm.”
I nodded and roughly ran my free hand through my long hair. “I know.”
She was right. If I let John get to me, blowing this chance of getting Dad and Frank sent down, then I would mess up the whole reason I’d spoken out in the first place.
I had a drink, sipping water slowly, feeling my heart-rate simmer down.
For me and all the other girls, I had to do this right.
“I’ll be fine now,” I told her once I’d calmed down. “I won’t let him get away with it.”
She smiled. “Good. You can do this. He can’t trip you up because you’re telling the truth.”
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m ready.”
Linda squeezed my hand and stood again. “Let’s get back in there.”
The court was filling back up, the few remaining people taking their seats again. I bet everyone ran to the bathroom.
“Welcome back, Miss Farrell,” John said almost sarcastically when I stepped back into the box. This time I felt more comfortable. I wasn’t going to let this horrible little man get the better of me. Tall man, but whatever.
I wanted to give him the finger, but I smiled instead. “Thank you.”
Sarcasm probably wasn’t going in my favour, either, but I couldn’t help it.
“You said the alleged abuse lasted for eight years—until you turned thirteen?”
“That’s correct,” I said.
“And how did that make you feel?”
My heart dropped to the floor. He’d gone straight there to derail me. I had to talk about that.
Fine. I would. “Dirty. Worthless. Afraid. Alone. Broken.”
“So broken that you started a relationship with your childhood friend and neighbour… Mr Cole Benson?”
With shaking hands, I gripped the bottom of my top. “I was almost sixteen then and it was completely different.”
Why is he doing this? No one had the right to tell me when I could have a relationship or my reasons for doing so. There was no timeline for this. Enough years pass and then you’re allowed to date, allowed to want to be close to someone you trusted.
Fuck him.
No, it was different for everyone, and I would never apologise for my relationship with Cole. It might have been too soon to other people, but it was right for me.
I found a little bit of courage buried deep and pushed away the tornado of nausea in my gut. He was getting under my skin. I just had to make sure he didn’t know about it.
“So, your physical relationship with Mr Benson started in the summer of 2019, around July?”
My heart stuttered. I had known he might bring Cole up, but I’d had no idea he would be so personal. “Yes.”
His eyebrows shot up. “And when did you turn sixteen?”
Fuck.
My eyes flicked upward to Cole. No. Am I going to get him into trouble? I couldn’t. We hadn’t done anything wrong.
Cole nodded, telling me to continue.
“August.”
“Hmm. Your physical relationship with Mr Benson started relatively quickly, wouldn’t you say?”
“No. I’d known Cole my whole life. I trusted him. For the first time in my life, something felt right, it was my choice, and it was completely different to what Frank had done.”