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 silentforeverbecause 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 believedwordscould 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?”
