The Cheek Perforation Dance. Sean Thomas

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      — Art History

      — And you – Gregory pauses, half smiles – took first-class honours in that, am I right?

      — Yes

      With a slight turn of the body towards the jury the prosecutor pauses to let this important fact take root, then says:

      — OK. Now, fairly soon after this, as I understand …

      And so it goes on. As Patrick sits in the dock and tries not to stare, hard, at Rebecca, at the side of her blonde head, Rebecca is asked to describe the inception and genesis of their relationship: from the first meeting, the first date, the first sex. As she sees it; as she saw it.

      — I was seeing someone else but you see

      — We went to a restaurant and we

      — He was older than me so I

      And during this litany Patrick has to admit, despite himself, that his lying cow of an ex looks surprisingly sweet, trembly and believable in the witness box. Surprisingly young, fresh, and betrayed. And raped. And in turn Patrick feels cheated, intrigued, guilty, scandalised, stressed-out, odd and libidinous. Not least because of Rebecca’s get-up. Obviously she is wearing the schoolgirly dress as a deliberate move; self-evidently she chose the pale cardigan, unheeled sixth-former shoes, and the throat-exposing hairstyle this very morning – in a deliberate attempt to gain sympathy, as self-conscious props designed to assist her in her role as the wronged adolescent, the abused child-bride. Yet Patrick still has to admit to himself: the ensemble works. At least: it works for him. Looking at her looking all schoolgirly and vulnerable, gamine and young and quite-possibly-raped-a-year-ago, Patrick wants nothing so much as to take Rebecca into the Old Bailey toilets and press her pleading face against the cold Edwardian tiling, hard.

      — He was in the music business. He ran nightclubs and groups …

      — I’d never really fallen for someone like him before

      — I found him interesting and

      Stuck in the dock Patrick wonders. As he watches his ex-girlfriend do her evidence in chief, he has to ponder how well she is going down. How well is she going down? If he were in the jury box, the visitors’ gallery, what would he see here in this pale-wood-panelled Old Bailey courtroom? Would he see a farce, or a tragedy? Or would he nip to the pub instead? Would he just dawdle a while and listen to Rebecca and then turn to a mate and say – oh forget it, this bastard’s going down. Boring.

      And what precisely would he think of Rebecca? Would he empathise? Be repulsed? Find himself moved? Would he be touched by the pale rapeable baby pink of her lambswool cardigan? Or be appalled by this lying whore of a Jewess lisping her ex-lover into court?

      — So you became lovers when?

      — … On the fourth or fifth time

      — That’s mid-June?

      — Yes … I think so … it’s … – Rebecca lifts her blonde head and gazes frankly at the counsel – Difficult to be specific

      — We understand, Miss Jessel, we don’t need actual dates

      — I wish I could be more accurate … – She tilts her head and looks young – It’s a bit … you know …

      At this the whole court seems to nod in sympathy; even Patrick feels himself nod sympathetically, too. It is. She’s right. It’s … a bit … you know.

      — And you continued going out all that autumn … and over the new year?

      — Yes

      — Until eventually you moved in together … the following spring?

      — Yes …

      — So. Let me get this right – A slight adjustment to the wig. A slightly self-conscious adjustment – By this time, Miss Jessel, would you say that … – The prosecutor stops again; stares at the wall behind Rebecca’s head; he seems to consider something written on the wall, as he starts again – Would you say that you were in love with the defendant?

      Rebecca looks puzzled. The courtroom stares at her puzzlement, rapt. Only the stenographer and Patrick are not looking straight at Rebecca. Patrick is looking out the side of an eye. Stretching out an arm to steady herself against the panel of the witness box Rebecca swallows, shrugs, looks pained, looks at her hands, says:

      — … I suppose. Yes

      — Only suppose?

      — No. Yes. Definitely. Very much so

      — Why?

      — Why?

      — Why were you in love with him? What was it that … attracted you to him?

      — He was … funny, different. I …

      — He was fun?

      — Yes. Cynical but amusing, I mean … sort of sexy …

      In the dock Patrick tries not to puff with pride: sexy! Sexy and funny! I’m sexy and funny … and amusingly cynical! Then he remembers he is on trial for rape. Embarrassed by himself he leans forward and listens to Rebecca say:

      — But it wasn’t just that about him

      Alan Gregory QC:

      — No? What else was it?

      Rebecca shakes her head, turns her head to look at the judge; the judge smiles paternally as if to say go on; Rebecca turns back and goes on:

      — I don’t know. How can you define it?

      — It, Miss Jessel?

      — Love. Whatever it was … it was love – Again – We were in love

      The court goes more quiet, more still. From the dock Patrick can almost hear the jury’s huge enjoyment. He can sense their pleasure at this laid-on melodrama, this subsidised soap opera, its clichés withal. His life. His trial.

      — So you definitely would say you loved him?

      — … Yes. I would – Rebecca nods, and then swallows, apparently with difficulty. Doing his own bit, the judge asks Rebecca if she wants a glass of water; Rebecca shakes her head and says no and goes on – He was … he was … – Head high, she confesses – As a man, Patrick was easy to fall in love with …

      Rebecca stops. Patrick looks at her and feels again an unwonted pang of pride, and also gratitude for what she has said; he wonders how difficult it was for his ex-girlfriend to say that. Then he watches, trying not to be sympathetic, as Rebecca steadies herself again. Rebecca looks, now, as if she is resisting the urge to turn across the courtroom and stare at Patrick, to turn her delicate well-bred doesn’t-need-make-up face on Patrick. Sat on his plastic chair in the dock Patrick studies Rebecca not looking at him: he can see a very slight painterly pinkening around Rebecca’s delicate nostrils, as if she is flushed with difficult emotions. Patrick nearly flinches, seeing this, feeling Rebecca’s СКАЧАТЬ