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"Bloody hell," Jerome whispered as we sat in the gallery. "Your mum's laying the makeup on a bit thick, isn't she?"
Phil, seated on my other side, rolled his eyes and give silent assent. I have to agree, he signed. She looks like she applied it with a trowel.
Mum was indeed wearing makeup, and more of it than usual. Even from where I was sitting, she looked like she'd given even the most lavishly appointed clowns a run for their money. But her eyes were like stone when she glanced at me, and I shivered despite myself. Her cold stare told the story; she'd let nothing, not even a conviction, stop her from getting her hands on me again. But after months of counselling, I felt more confident; the next time she tried to glare at me, I glared right back, and she went white, hastily breaking off our staring match.
Presently, the judge entered, and once the housekeeping was underway, the trial began. Mum's face remained stone-like as the various witnesses were called to the stand, and when it was my turn, I used the strength I gained from being underwater to give me the courage I needed to give my testimony. Mum's lawyer grilled me relentlessly, implying that perhaps I was mistaking her abuse for genuine love, but I not-so-subtly shot down each and every one of the slimy woman's insinuations, and she finally capitulated in grumpy fashion. Mum herself never once flinched, but she refused to look me in the eye, and I knew I'd already won, even before the judge handed down his verdict; twenty-five years in prison. That was the moment Mum cracked.
"He's my son!" she screamed, rising to point an accusatory finger at Phil and Jerome. "His faggot friends put him up to it! Ask them! Why don't you cross-examine them, Your Honour! Or are you a faggot too?" 66Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWNpWjaBqku
Thankfully, her line of questioning got no further, but she continued to scream insults and the vilest insults known to man as she was led off, and I let out a long groan of frustration. Phil and Jerome were gobsmacked. "Your mum is a nutter," Jerome pronounced. "Bloody hell. You sure you weren't adopted, mate?"
I laughed, feeling better. "I can only wish," I said.
The judge soon restored order, and he shook his head in disgust as he dismissed us. "Your mother is, in my professional opinion, a woman in need of dire help," he confided. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, but you showed extrordinary courage today, young man."
"I have to," I said. "I'd rather they were locked away for as long as possible, and if it takes me having to look them in the eye while nailing them to the wall, well, I'll carry as many nails as I can fit in my pockets."
"You should become a lawyer," the judge said, open admiration in his voice. "You'd be one of the best we've ever had."
"I'd rather stick to my literature and my swimming," I admitted, "but thank you for the offer."
We shook hands, and as we went our separate ways, Phil added his endorsement. You couldn't go much worse, he said, as we left the courtroom. Just as a fallback.
"I'll have a think about it," I said.
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