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He could be a marble statue chiselled by a master craftsman.
“Miss Deighton?” Bob calls gently. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the front of the room. “I’m going to help you through this by asking you some questions okay. Don’t worry about anyone else, just tell me your story. Can you do that for me?”
I nod.
“Good. I want you to begin by telling me about Lizzie…”
I take a deep breath and begin.
“Being Lizzie’s twin was amazing. She was pure light and sunshine, able to light up any room just by being in it…”
It’s emotionally draining, rehashing our childhood and the discovery of an estranged grandmother we knew nothing about. Of course I immediately wanted to reach out to this woman, but Lizzie was more cautious. She wanted our parents' story first. I tell the judge all about the first meeting, the slow relationship building, the offer of a lifetime for Lizzie in the form of an education at West Prep.
And then it gets so much harder to continue. With shaking hands I reach for my glass of water, wishing it were a Coke or something stronger. I explain about the diary, our letters, our code writing. About how Lizzie changed. What I witnessed at the winter concert and how distant she was over the Christmas break. How everything seemed to fray and break.
Baxter stares at me the entire time and it’s through his steady gaze that I find the strength to explain her death, the diary, going to my grandmother for help, and the plan she hatched afterwards. I realise now that I was a pawn in a much bigger game.
I’m almost sick when I have to say Michael’s name for the first time. My stomach churns with bile as I tell of his duplicity towards both me and Lizzie. It burns the back of my throat when I reveal what he did.
What I did.
When I break down in tears, the judge calls for a break and I rush into Baxter’s arms the moment we clear the room.
“You’re doing amazing. You’re perfect.”
“Baxter, I just confessed to murdering my sister’s rapist.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I laugh humourlessly. I feel slightly hysterical. Oh, to have the confidence of Baxter Branson. Wouldn’t life be great?
“Are you sure this is necessary?”
“Absolutely. I promise I would never make you relive this if it wasn’t absolutely crucial. You’re so brave...Are you ready to go back in?”
I shake my head no even as I sigh “yes”. I just want this over and done with now.
Once we continue it’s easier to talk about myself. I can handle the shit Cordelia put me through if Lizzie isn’t involved. But as I talk about how Cordelia became increasingly controlling and demanding throughout my pregnancy, it dawns on me that it was abuse. I never looked at it that way before, always trying to convince myself that she was acting with my best interests at heart, but just missing the mark.
With hindsight I wonder if my mother’s experience was actually similar to mine, only they would have been fighting over an ‘inappropriate’ boyfriend and not the life of a child. She would have been a nightmare if my mother had stayed and raised us there. Things would have been so different.
Speaking about the first time Cordelia got the courts involved is hard. I have to talk about depression and the dark places it took me, but I’m able to emphasise how much better Nix made me feel and how the stress of Cordelia’s demands made it worse. I explain how difficult those early meetings were, how much harder it was to give her up for weekends and later holidays.
I speak about how devastated and traumatic it was to have Nix taken from the house, screaming for me, and being unable to even say goodbye to her.
Tears stream down my face as I relive every moment in the bright technicolour high definition of my memories.
By the time I have to explain how Baxter brought Nix back to the house with a broken arm, I’m hoarse. It’s the holding her under the water that breaks me.
“I’m s-sorry,” I sob.
“It’s okay,” the judge says kindly. “I think we’re about done. Are you happy for me to play Phoenix’s testimony for the lawyers to hear?”
I nod, and once again Nix’s small voice fills the room with the help of the built-in speakers. I grip the edge of the chair and let the tears silently stream down my face until it stops and the judge allows me to return to my seat. Baxter wraps his arms around me and passes me a handkerchief.
“If the lawyers don’t have anything to add, we’ll adjourn for lunch. When we return Cordelia will be here, so please prepare yourself for that Miss Deighton. The verdict will be delivered.”
We rise. The judge leaves. And then we wait.
