It's Game On

An expectant hush falls in the courtroom as one by one the members of the jury return and take their seats. There is a shuffle of feet as we all rise for the judge. Another shuffle when we all sit down again.

A few rows behind Ben, the defendant, I sit so still. My hands clutch the edges of my seat and my eyes bore into his back. An intense hatred erupts inside me. It runs through my veins and enters my heart and lungs, making it a struggle to breathe.

He must feel my eyes burn right into his spine because he turns, a slow calculated movement. He looks me in the eye and winks. His smile reveals a row of perfect white teeth.

I wish the hatred in me could make him spontaneously combust and wipe him out of existence.

He is handsome. No wonder he could lure my sister into his web of deceit.

Emma was so happy when she met him. After months of bad and even worse internet dates, she had finally met someone who ticked all the boxes.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Ben,” she gushed when I met her for a coffee after her third date. “He is so perfect, and he is keen to meet you, too.”

I hadn’t seen my sister this excited about anything since the end of her marriage three years ago. She couldn’t have children, and he floored her when he left her for someone who could. It had been a huge effort to get her to come out of her shell again.

“Anytime, I’d love to meet the man who’s making you this happy.” And I meant it, but he didn’t.

Each time we arranged to meet, something came up. A family emergency, a last-minute meeting at work, a stomach bug. After he cancelled for the fourth time, it was obvious he was avoiding me.

“Yes, next time. Definitely. I’ll call you when I’m home.” My sister hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, he’s stuck at work again. I so hoped you’d get to meet him at last.”

“Hmm.” I stirred my coffee, searching for the best way to approach the subject. My sister could fly off the handle very easily.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her tone was sharp. She already had her back up, and I’d yet to tell her what I thought.

I set my spoon next to the coffee cup and took a big breath for courage.

“I don’t think he wants to meet me.” There, I’d said it.

Her eyes widened, and she opened and closed her mouth.

“I mean, think about at it. Four times we’ve tried to meet up and every time there has been some ‘emergency’ or he’s been unwell.”

“I can’t believe you’d say that. I’ve told you how much he wants to meet you.” Her lip trembled and her fingers picked the serviette in her hands apart.

“Don’t get upset, but don’t you find it odd that every time we have tried to get together something has come up?”

I wouldn’t back down. There was something going on with her new boyfriend. I could sense it. Her eyes narrowed, and she scrunched what was left of the serviette in her fist.

“What are you trying to say? You think he’s lying to me?” Her voice rose an octave, and she squared her shoulders. An elderly couple at the next table turned to look. She lowered her voice to hiss. “What reason would he have to avoid meeting you?”

“I don’t know.” I hated admitting I had no explanations or even speculations, only my gut feeling.

“Exactly.” My sister smiled. Her shoulders dropped. She thought she had won the argument, but I wasn’t quite done yet.

“I know I can’t give you a reason. It’s just a feeling I have. Call it a sixth sense or something. It’s just so unlikely…”

But my sister had heard enough. She slammed her hand on the table, rattling the coffee cups on their saucers. The elderly couple jumped and stared at Emma.

“Sixth sense?” She was fuming and didn’t care anymore if the whole cafe heard her. “Where was your sixth sense when Dave left me for the other woman? Didn’t see that coming, did you? You always insisted he was such a good man. So don’t come to me now with your sixth sense. Ben is genuine and you are being jealous because you can’t meet or keep a decent guy. You never could.”

She spat her words at me, picked up her coat, and stormed out. I left the money for our coffees on the table and made a hasty exit myself.

Emma didn’t speak to me for two weeks. I tried calling and texting her, but she ignored my conciliatory attempts.

But I kept trying until one day she picked up the phone. I apologised, though I knew I was right about Ben, and she agreed to meet me.

Since spring had turned into summer, we met in St. James's Park. It had always been our favourite park in London and felt like the perfect location for our reconciliation.

She hugged me tight when we met. I’d brought a bottle of Chardonnay for us to share. I didn’t mention Ben, and neither did she, until we were about halfway through the bottle.

“And how is Ben?” I threw the question in the air where it hung for a while. It floated unanswered for long enough for me to hope he was out of her life.

“Ben? He’s well. Everything is going really well with us.” She smiled, but her words tumbled out quick, like she’d practised what to say. The corners of her mouth twitched from the effort to hold on to the smile.

It was when she reached for the wine bottle and the sleeve of her shirt rose, I noticed the black and purple bruise on her bicep.

“What’s that?” I pointed to it. She hastened to pull her sleeve down.

“What?”

“The bruise on your arm.” I reached over, grabbed her wrist, and pushed her sleeve up to reveal the bruise again.

“Oh that, it’s nothing. I got it at work.” She pulled her arm free, but avoided my eyes.

I knew she was lying. She’d always been a terrible lier and the telltale signs I knew well from when we were growing up were all there. The avoidance of looking me in the eye, the nervous smile. Next, she’d launch into some concocted explanation with holes bigger than the craters on the moon.

“It’s a funny story, really, how I got it.” She’d forgotten to put the bottle back down and now sat picking the label. “I was in the stockroom and…”

“Stop.” I held my hand up to stem her cock and bull story. “You can tell me the truth. Did he do it?”

“You can’t be serious! First, you accuse him of not wanting to meet you, and now you imply that he’s being violent. Are there no limits to your jealousy?”

She banged the bottle on the ground where it fell over, spilling the rest of the Chardonnay on the grass.

“Ben was right about you. He said you were jealous when you accused him of not wanting to meet you. He actually suggested we could all meet this weekend, but you can forget that. You’d probably start questioning him, too!”

“Wait, Emma…” I tried to stop her, but she was already marching towards the exit.

I knew better than to try to speak to Emma for a while. She wouldn’t pick up my calls or texts. I needed to give her time to cool down.

As I watch Ben take his seat in the witness box, I wish I hadn’t given my sister time to cool off. I wish I had run after her and not let her walk out of the park without listening to me first. If only I had stopped her, convinced her to tell me the truth, then maybe we wouldn’t be here now.

He swears to tell the truth. His voice is quiet and forlorn. There is sadness in his eyes when he faces the prosecutor and the members of the jury.

“What was your relationship to the deceased?”

“I met her about three months before…” His eyes tear up and he pauses. Few of the members on the jury bestow quick compassionate smiles at him. I can’t believe it. They are buying his tears.

I want to shout at them. He’s a murderer, don’t believe his fake tears. But I bite my lip, swallow the words. Trust the system. Surely, he will show his true colours before long.

He composes himself, ready to continue. Ready to feed his utter lies to all gathered at the court.

“We met on an online dating website, messaged for a while, and then met up. At first she seemed great, just the type of woman I’d hoped to meet. But I soon realised she was unbalanced. She was on medication.”

“That’s a bloody lie!” I jump up. I can’t help it. I can’t let him tell lies about my sister. She had her issues, but she was not unbalanced. And she wasn’t on medication. I would have known.

I’m told by the judge to hold my tongue or leave. Fuming that they are all buying his lies, I sit down again. Let him continue with his fabrications.

“I first realised something was wrong when she didn’t want me to meet her sister. She said her sister was jealous and would not be happy for us.”

“But we have heard from the sister that despite her several attempts to meet you, she never did. According to her, you were the one who always cancelled the meetings.” I’m glad the prosecutor stops him. Questions Ben’s story.

“It’s my belief that Emma told her that to keep us from meeting. The thing is,” He addresses the jury, smiling sadly towards them. Few more nods of sympathy. “It was Emma who was jealous. And possessive. I realised this very quickly. Perhaps it was because her ex-husband left her for another woman that she had trust issues. That’s probably why she was depressed and needed drugs.”

That bloody bastard. He is tarnishing my sister’s name and I’m powerless to stop him.

“Things escalated rapidly. She wanted to know where I was at all times. I began to turn my phone off at work because it would ring constantly. If I’d told her I was meeting friends, she’d turn up. Eventually I had enough and decided to end it. When I told her I didn’t want to see her again, she threatened me with suicide.”

He stops talking, supposedly too distraught to carry on. In his silence, the whispers from around the courtroom reach me. Poor guy, one says. She clearly needed help, says another. I can’t believe they are all lapping up his falsehoods.

“What about the phonecall to her sister?” I want to applaud the prosecutor for this question. Even Ben will struggle to explain this.

After Emma left me in the park, I didn’t hear from her for six weeks. I gave her some time before I called and texted her, but she never responded. I expected that. My sister could hold a grudge, but when weeks passed, I grew worried.

I called her, texted her, even turned up at her flat, but to no avail. She kept her silence and her distance until she called me.

Normally, I never pick up calls from numbers I don’t recognise, but for reasons I could not fathom I made an exception.

“I’ve left him.” It was Emma, her voice strained. I clutched my phone and thanked heavens I had answered.

“Where are you calling from?”

“From a phone box. He took my phone. I’m scared.” She burst into tears. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You need to come to mine. You’ll be safe…” I didn’t get to finish the sentence before the call cut off. It was the last I heard of her.

When she didn’t call me back, I waited, hoping she’d turn up. I waited until midnight, but she never arrived.

In the end, I couldn’t wait any longer. I went over to her flat. I threw stones in the window and pressed the buzzer over and over again, but it was for nothing. She was not there. I went back home, hoping she’d turn up there.

Then, I called the police.

“I think the phonecall was her trying to hurt me. To have a revenge. I had told her it was over a few days before that, and she swore she’d get her vengeance. I guess making her sister and everyone else think I hurt her was how she planned it to go down. She threatened to kill herself if I left her. I blame myself for not believing she’d actually do it. I blame myself for not alerting her sister or someone else who might have been able to help her.”

His eyes, heavy with sorrow, sweep across the judges’ bench. An elderly judge reaches for her handkerchief and dabs the corners of her eyes.

“But I didn’t kill her.” He stares at his hands as a single tear winds its way down his cheek.

Two days after Emma called me, the police found her body in the pond in St. James’s Park. Our favourite park. Her body was full of antidepressants and vodka and her lungs full of water.

They searched her apartment and found her phone with messages she had written but never sent, pleading for help and accusing Ben.

Despite my grief, I felt vindicated when they arrested him on suspicion of murder.

He has finished with his evidence and sends another sorrowful smile to the jury and the judge. He is so convincing that even I almost believe him. But in the split second when our eyes meet, I read the coldness and the calculation. How come I’m the only one who sees this man for the evil he is?

After his testimony, the jury is adjourned. They need time to reach their verdict.

We are back in the courtroom the next day. Speculation fills the air until the jury walks in and we all rise for the judge.

“Have you reached the verdict?” the judge asks the spokesperson of the jury.

The spokesperson stands up. Clears his throat. Every moment waiting for the verdict is agony. I put my hands together and pray like I’ve never prayed before. I pray they have made the right decision. That they find him guilty and lock him away for the rest of his life. After what he did to my sister, he deserves to rot in prison.

“We have, your honour.” He clears his throat again. “We find the defendant not guilty.”

A silence, then a cacophony of voices fills the courtroom. Ben shakes his lawyer’s hand and his supporters crowd around him all smiles and happiness.

How could this be? Why am I the only one who can see through his lies? I collapse against my seat, stunned and nauseous. I have to get out of here.

I try to leave without Ben noticing, but he turns and catches me. From between his friends, he gives me a little wave with his fingers. "You're next," he mouths and leers.

It’s game on. I’ll be ready for him. I won't rest until I've avenged my sister. And until I do, I’ll be sleeping with a knife under my pillow.