CHAPTER 75
What I think of as February weather hit us mid-January, those days without end that are grey and miserable and unfailingly damp.

The one bright spot was that we finally hit the day to move into our new house. I was lucky to have so many friends, but I knew that already; what it meant this time was a surfeit of people to hump and carry furniture, fittings and wardrobe. Tabitha sat regally on the mantelpiece observing our labours, and it amazed me in the end how it all fitted in. Three bedrooms, one without a proper bed at present, a conservatory that took two music stands, and a dining room that ended the day filled with plates of finger food as we wound down after the labour.

Home, finally. There is a lot that people have put into that word, and there is a huge difference between ‘home’ and ‘the place you happen to live’, but I suddenly felt that for the first time in years the two might be the same. Eventually we cleared the house of the herd of ravenous wildebeest and settled down for some homemaking. Not that sort, but the simple process of discussing, differing and agreeing on what went where.

It was also business as usual at work, and my business was also usual, after Kirsty’s intervention, and done in the ladies’. We were now warned for the trial, starting in a fortnight, and even though it was perhaps a little late I did my best to stay away from Darren. Naomi told me that she had explained it all to him, and he understood, but she said that he seemed to have fixed on me as a sort of big sister to turn to when things went a little askew in his life.

There is really nothing more I can say about those few weeks. We had a house. We had a home. We had regular descents of visitors. And we got steadily more comfortable in our roles, our life together. There were still hiccups, still awkwardnesses when my unusual anatomy made itself too obvious, but that was simply how Eric was wired. He did all he could to treat me as a woman…

No. That would not be a fair way to describe what Eric did. He saw me as a woman, full stop. He knew, all the time, what I had in the way of extras, and he just carried on as normally as any other man with his woman. He just stayed away from the problem area, for which I was profoundly grateful. Erogenous zones are not as obvious nor as simple as adolescent boys imagine. In my case, my back was one, and a massage from him would have me purring and happy, wanting nothing more than contact and intimacy. Comfort was the key, mutual comforting. On the odd nights when I had visitors, which were becoming steadily fewer with his presence, it was that comforting presence, the arms about me, which brought me peace. I spoke of that in the sessions I was still having with Sally, and I got some of the sweetest smiles I have ever seen on her face.

Finally, we had our day for court, and I was sweating blood with worry over Darren, as he came face to face with his recent past. There was also a real weight on my soul, worry about a little girl who had far worse to relive. My own minor inconvenience of having to stand up in court and explain my own status was nothing whatsoever compared to the ordeal the two children would face.

Eric walked me to the station for the ride up, kissing me as gently as he could but hugging me fiercely. Not a word, just that demonstration of how he felt, and then I was off on the slow train to Croydon. The walk from the station is pretty dispiriting, across the tram lines and up a grey street to an odd half-stepped area covered in dog ends and nicotine junkies awaiting their turn in court, and those are just the barristers. In through the security check, sit and read the paper till the case is called, then join the little group outside waiting to go in.

It was the normal pantomime at the start, as the jury were sworn in and the pleas were taken, and no surprise then that they were all ‘not guilty’. We were, after all, in for a trial. I took my cue and left, adjourning to the small interview room we had adopted and working my way steadily through the Guardian crossword. As usual, all sorts of things would be going on, none of which I would see until my time in the box was up. As it turned out, I was in reasonably early, and was soon standing in front of judge and jury in my stab vest.

Things have changed over the years. Time was when a constable would give evidence in tunic and mirror boots, whistle chain gleaming. Now, the fashion is to give evidence in your working rig, so I was stood there with my breasts squeezed inside a Kevlar top. Not comfortable.

“Do you wish to swear or affirm?”

“Swear”

I took the book and read the words, then as is normal gave my name, rank, number and station.

“Anne Jessica Price, Police Sergeant, shoulder number CW994, Crawley police station.”

Our silk began the process of sifting my story for the juicy bits, but first he set the scene, which was what I had been dreading.

“Sergeant Price, having examined the custody record for Darren Eyres it appears to have been written by someone called Adam. Can you explain, simply, the reason for your appearance here?”

“The explanation is a simple one. I am a male to female transsexual now in the process of transition. Adam was the name I had before I swore a deed poll for change of name”

“Thank you, Sergeant. Now, I would like to take you through the events of…”

Bit by bit, we talked through Darren’s arrest, my suspicions, and Doc Khan’s examination, as well as Polly’s arrival. In practical terms, my evidence was very limited. Boy comes in, boy gives rise to concern, doctor and appropriate adult called in. To my relief, the defence didn’t seem to want to have a go at me. Perhaps my status was just too skewed to give them a way to attack me. I was discharged, and took a seat in the public gallery, Ma Pickstock’s glare competing with the curious stares of the jurors.

Darren was next up, and I was proud to see that he had refused the offer of screens to shelter him from the evil looks the defendants would be giving him. Once again, he was sworn in, and led through almost every crime he had committed in his short life. I could see several of the jurors hardening against him, and then our barrister changed tack.

“Are you a good thief, Darren?”

“Yeah, I can lift stuff real good, not get seen”

“So why were you in a cell so often?”

That slowed him down. He looked around for me, and I had to look away, he needed to do it on his own.

“Cause it was better than that other place, yeah?”

“In what way, Darren?”

“Joey weren’t there, I was safe, lahk”

“Safe from what?”

“His fists, yeah?”

Our man led him back into the nightmare, the beatings, Joey Harber, Harton, Petherick…

“What was it that you gave Harber?”

“OBJECTION! Leading the witness”

Justice Wetherby looked across her glasses at our man. “Perhaps counsel could reconsider?”

“I am grateful, your honour. Darren, are you aware of any reason that Joey Harber might have had for beating you?”

“I had to nick stuff for him, and he took it all and gave it to Ma Pickstock”

“How do you know he gave it to her?”

“Cause I saw it, loadsa times, she come round with a van, at the home, lahk”

“Was Mr Petherick aware of this, to your knowledge?”

“Well, he were there, yeah?”
“Are you aware of any reason Mr Petherick would involve himself in such a clearly criminal procedure?”

“OBJECTION! Opinion!”

Wetherby looked at our man again. “Yes, Mr Ballantyne?”

“Your honour, we have established quite clearly that the witness has a clear understanding of criminality, as he has been arrested, charged and convicted on a large number of occasions. He clearly understands that theft is proscribed, and one can safely assume that the disposal of the illicit haul would be, in his opinion and understanding, of a kind with the theft”

She nodded. “Overruled. Pray continue”

“Darren, do you know of any reason he would break the law in such a way?”

I could see the trembling start, even from the public gallery.

“Yeah…”

“Can you tell us? Can you tell the jury, Darren?”

His head was down, but the words were clear. “Was girls, yeah”

“Mr Petherick had a girlfriend?”

Oh, you snide bastard. I knew exactly what he wanted out, and I felt the same way, but it was so hard on Darren.

“No, Ma Pickstock brought him girls, him and Joey Harber, yeah? She were bringing them Chantelle, lahk”

“Who is Chantelle, Darren?”

He pointed at Pickstock. “She’s her nan, yeah?”

“Darren, please think carefully about this question. How old is Chantelle?”

“Dunno, she was twelve two months ago, dunno if she had her thirteenth yet”

That brought so much noise from the public gallery that for the first time ever I heard a judge threaten to clear a courtroom.

In the end, the defence had nothing to throw at Darren in cross-examination except for his criminality, but as the reasons behind that, and his attempts to escape it, were so well presented by the prosecution, he had to allow Darren to be released. He was crying, and one of Polly’s colleagues took him away to where Naomi awaited him. Polly herself gave her evidence, and then we went through the shootings, and Richard showed up well under some very hostile cross-examination, suggesting that he had not identified himself, he had appeared to be a burglar trying to break into the caravan, and so on. Richard bounced it all back like a pro. The afternoon ran down with a couple more of Ma’s juvenile thieves, and then we finished for the day.

The following day, Chantelle was due to give her evidence. I wanted to be in court for that. I owed it to her.