I barely sleep. As the hours trawl by mercilessly and I toss and turn, getting tangled up in the covers and watching with increasing frustration as Harry slumbers peacefully beside me, I come very close to waking him up and having it out with him once and for all. Asking him where he went yesterday. Telling him I saw him head off in the wrong direction, that I know he didn’t go to the language school, that I don’t believe him about the Skype calls. Several times in the depths of the early hours I almost reach out, touch his arm, whisper his name. Ultimately the only thing that stops me is the thought of Naomi’s hearing in just a few hours’ time.
Mingled with my restlessness are waves of mortification from yesterday’s failed chase across Quito. I had left the house with such determination, but instead of finally discovering what Harry was up to, I had only managed to lose him and end up even more confused and suspicious.
By the time the first dim rays of light begin to creep through the blinds of the apartment, I am sure of one thing. As soon as I get back from the hearing I have to confront Harry. No more sneaking after him and trying to use my non-existent detective skills to find out what he’s up to.. I am just going to come out and ask him, once and for all - what he is hiding from me, who he has been contacting, why he shows no sign of being ready to leave Ecuador and continue travelling as we had agreed. Some deep instinct tells me that after I confront him nothing will ever be the same again. But I also know we cannot go on like this.
As the sun slowly rises, the dull, overcast day outside adds to my sense of foreboding. This will be a decisive day not only for Naomi’s future, but also for mine.
By the time my alarm goes off and sounds of activity begin to filter upwards from Liza and Roberto’s house, it is actually a relief to distract myself with the methodical process of getting ready. Even if this does mean squeezing awkwardly into one of Liza’s suits. Dredged up from the 1970s with its thick olive green knit and woollen lining, the skirt comes up a little higher than it probably should, digging uncomfortably into my waist, and I can’t do the jacket up at all. I have to walk in very little steps, keeping my legs close together, for fear of the skirt splitting completely up the side. I stare at myself dubiously in the mirror, adjusting and readjusting the skirt waistband, wondering for the hundredth time since I stepped off the plane in Quito what the hell I have got myself into.
‘Oh, you look wonderful!’ Liza exclaims, pressing her hands to her chest, as I stand awkwardly in the kitchen doorway feeling strangely as if it’s my first day at school all over again. ‘That suit takes me back… I used to wear it when I did Mondays at the registrar’s office… doesn’t she look wonderful, Roberto?’
Roberto nods and comes over to pat me on the shoulder, saying gruffly ‘I think it’s very admirable what you’re doing. Naomi is a decent young lady. Wish her the very best of luck from us.’
I kiss them both on the cheek and turn to leave, then stop sharply at the sight of Harry, sitting on the sofa in the living room still in his pyjamas with his knees drawn up to his chin, watching me.
‘Are you really going to go through with this?’ His face is somewhere between disbelieving and sulky.
‘What does it look like?’ I reply, looking down at my clothing and the front door keys already in my hand. Only once the words are out do I hear the sharpness in my own voice – but to hell with it. It will all be over by tonight, anyway, I think fatalistically. Both for Naomi and for me.
‘You’re actually going to court?’ A hint of something close to panic flashes across his face. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re… why you can’t just…’ He falters into silence.
‘Yes, Harry, I am.’ I start towards the door, but then something ignites inside me and I turn back to look at him. ‘And you? Where are you going today?’
My aggression completely lost on him, Harry mutters something about meeting Ray and marking homework. I realise I have no idea whether what he says to me is true anymore, and for a moment – standing there in my heels and Liza’s suit with my hair up, about to do something significant – I don’t care. ‘Right, well, you enjoy that, I’ll see you back here for dinner.’ I turn on my heel and leave.
Now, making my way carefully down the stairs in the too-tight skirt, I hear a car horn honking and see Sebastian’s Land Rover pulled up outside, engine running. He winds the window down and lets out a low wolf-whistle, grinning at me. I ease myself into the passenger seat, swinging my legs round carefully and holding my stomach in where the skirt is digging in uncomfortably. My stomach lurches as I turn and take in his crisp dark suit, shiny black hair and the twinkling green of his eyes as they meet mine.
‘Ready?’
I take a deep breath. ‘I think so. As long as I’ve got this…’ I hold up the notepad in which I spent all evening yesterday writing out the Spanish and English versions of every possible relevant legal term I could think of. ‘I think I’ll be okay.’
‘You’ll be more than okay,’ Sebastian winks at me, then manoeuvres the car out up the hill away from Liza’s, and we’re off.
The courtroom itself is just another floor of a plain concrete building advertising public notary and lawyers’ offices. I have to sign five or six different documents and show my passport and copies of all my qualifications. A uniformed, armed guard motions for me to follow him, and it is only then that I realise Sebastian has hung back near the door, talking to a small, plump man wearing a suit that is even more ill-fitting than mine.
I shift from one foot to another nervously as I watch Sebastian hand the other man a pile of folders and paperwork, his face deeply serious and businesslike, a totally different person to the man who flirted light-heartedly with me all the way here in the car. Finally they look up and Sebastian introduces the man as Dr Vélez, a member of the Public Defence and Naomi’s government-appointed lawyer. I already knew Naomi hadn’t been able to afford a private lawyer, and therefore had the right to free legal representation from the state. There is something reminiscent of a gerbil about this man as he smiles warmly at me, extending a clammy palm, and it occurs to me he looks even more nervous than I feel.
‘Good luck in there,’ Sebastian says gravely to us both, starting to back away. ‘This is where I have to leave you.’ Irrationally I’m reminded of Gandalf bidding farewell to the hobbits as they begin their lonely journey to Mordor. Casting a frightened glance at the guard still standing beside me, it takes all of my self-control not to fling myself at Sebastian’s feet and beg him to come in with us.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ he smiles encouragingly at me. ‘I’m going to wait here to see Naomi when she arrives. And I’ll be back here in about two hours, when it finishes.’
Two hours?
‘I shouldn’t even really be here now,’ he mutters more quietly, stepping forward and – before I can realise what’s happening – wrapping me in a hug. For a brief second I feel my heart thumping against his jacket and his arms locking tightly around me. Then he releases me and I’m following the guard away down a corridor next to Dr Vélez, Sebastian’s last words of ‘good luck’ echoing in my ears.
God, if I’m this nervous, how must Naomi be feeling? I must keep it together for her sake.
The three Tribunal judges are already seated in a row at the front, each deep in concentration as they leaf through papers, presumably details of Naomi’s case. I only know who they are because of Sebastian’s briefing in the car on the way here. They look just like ordinary office workers in suits and ties, although my heart soars with hope to see that one of them is a woman. Maybe, just maybe, a woman might be more sympathetic to Naomi’s case?
The room is not much bigger than the living area back at Liza’s flat, with plain tiled flooring and a row of bare wooden chairs opposite the judges. The guard guides me towards these chairs now and I sit down with Dr Vélez beside me. The walls are bare except for a print of the Ecuadorian flag on the wall behind us and a tiny window with the blinds half-drawn, allowing pale rays of sunlight to slant in across the room and make Liza’s thick woollen suit feel hot and scratchy. I don’t dare take the jacket off, or do anything else that might draw attention to myself, and concentrate on sitting very still with my hands folded in front of me, watching the door for Naomi’s arrival.
As my heart continues to thud in apprehension, I remind myself I will only be translating what is said and the outcome of today does not actually depend on me. Somehow, though, that only serves to make me more nervous as I consider that I will be Naomi’s ears and voice for the next two hours. Her Spanish is so good that I’m sure she will understand most of what is going on, but as Sebastian reminded me in the car, conversational Spanish learnt in prison is no comparison to speaking the language at an academic, professional level. She will be relying on me for this.
The next person to arrive is the Prosecutor, the state-appointed lawyer charged with presenting the evidence against Naomi and arguing the case for her to serve the longest sentence possible. He strides past without acknowledging anyone and takes a seat to the side, at a right angle to the judges, looking out across the room. He is trailed by a younger man, presumably an assistant, carrying an armful of folders and paperwork. As he opens a large briefcase and carefully begins to remove pieces of paper, I feel acutely aware of the angle of the seating and the uncomfortable clinging tightness of Liza’s skirt, and try to surreptitiously pull it down further over my legs.
Finally, Naomi arrives. All eyes in the room turn towards the doorway as she enters, and at first I barely recognise her. Wearing plain black trousers and a baggy navy T-shirt, her hair scraped back in a ponytail and face clearly devoid of make-up, she looks younger than her thirty-three years and reminds me suddenly, inexplicably, of my little sister Chloe. My eyes are drawn to the metal handcuffs clasping her hands together in front of her, twinkling in the sunlight and sending little juddering reflections off the walls as her hands tremble. Flanked by a uniformed, armed guard on each side, she lets herself be guided to sit between Dr Vélez and me. I shimmy along one seat to make room, praying my skirt doesn’t split, and we exchange a fleeting, nervous smile as the guards unclasp her handcuffs, then close the door and take up their positions either side of it.
Then, suddenly, Naomi springs to her feet, sending the wooden chair scraping loudly back across the floor. ‘Wait, where’s Dr Silva?’ she cries, in a high-pitched, nervous voice. She’s looking down at Dr Vélez then up at the judges, her eyes full of panic.
‘Señorita Barker, please be seated,’ one of the judges says sternly.
‘Dr Silva couldn’t be here,’ Dr Vélez says tremulously, pushing his glasses back up on to his nose. ‘But I have also been closely following your case, and I have been assigned to represent you today in—’
‘No!’ Naomi’s voice is getting higher, and she switches from Spanish into rambling, almost incomprehensible English. ‘This isn’t fair! Dr Silva has been there right from the beginning, you can’t just swap him for someone else at the last minute, the moment when I most—’
‘Señorita Barker!’ The second judge booms, cutting all noise short across the room. ‘Dr Vélez is the most senior Public Defendant in this whole province, and an extremely experienced lawyer.’
Both Naomi and I cast dubious glances at the little man beside us, his thick spectacles and chubby, innocuous face.
‘Also, he is your only option for today,’ the judge continues coldly. ‘So you have the choice to retake your seat and allow the hearing to begin, or for it to be cancelled and postponed to a later date. Sometime in the future.’
Naomi slumps back down into her seat, looking resigned. The judge’s tone was more than clear – if the hearing should be called off today at Naomi’s own instigation, there is no knowing when she will get another chance.
‘They do this sometimes,’ she mutters to me. ‘It happened to a few of the other girls. It’s probably Dr Silva’s kid’s fucking school sports day, or something. So I get someone I’ve never met representing me – bloody great.’
I don’t know what to say, and don’t get the chance to say anything as the first judge has now stood up and is reading a summary of Naomi’s arrest, the six years already served of her nine-year sentence, and her current appeal for release based on the revised criminal code for drugs crimes and further compassionate grounds, supported by a thick folder of paperwork provided by the British Embassy.
It is to this folder that the judge turns first, and asks Dr Vélez as Naomi’s representative to summarise the documents within, and explain why they support her appeal.
Dr Vélez clears his throat, and I notice with a flash of unexpected irritation that his hands are shaking as he takes the folder and gets to his feet.
‘Ahem… I would first, er, like to begin by reminding everyone present of Miss Barker’s role as a mother to her three children – Dario, aged seventeen; Leo, fifteen; and Maya… eight.’ He is about continue when the cold voice of the Prosecutor carries across the room.
‘Which means Miss Barker’s youngest daughter would have been only two years old when her mother embarked upon a journey to transport cocaine halfway around the world,’ he comments, not even looking up from his notes.
Naomi jerks to her feet, shaking all over. ‘None of you will ever understand how much I regret that I ever even considered—’
The middle judge’s voice cuts across her and orders her to sit down. ‘Miss Barker, you will have the opportunity to speak at the end.’
Naomi stares back at him, still shaking and seeming not to comprehend, so I take hold of her arm and gently tug her back to a sitting position. The judge lets out an elaborate sigh. ‘Dr Vélez – please continue.’
Dr Vélez stares at Naomi for a few moments, then, seemingly reassured she will not leap up and savage him with her bare hands, he clears his throat again.
‘The British Embassy has also requested that Miss Barker’s appeal for early release be considered with… shall I say, considerable expedition… on compassionate grounds, due to her father’s ill health.’ He opens the folder. ‘They have obtained a number of medical reports and photographs issued by St Mary’s Hospital in Croydon, which appear to corroborate the diagnosis of final-stage, terminal stomach cancer.’ He passes some sheets of paper to the nearest judge and my stomach lurches as I notice a flash of colour among the papers, reds and pinks and flesh colours, thankfully too far away to make out properly.
I feel Naomi’s hand slide over to rest on mine, light as a feather. I take a tight hold of it and we both keep staring straight ahead, hardly daring to breathe as all three judges peer closely at the reports.
‘Miss Barker’s family, including her father himself, have written imploring letters for her early release process to be concluded in time for her to return to the United Kingdom and, ah… say goodbye.’
I give Naomi’s hand a squeeze as more papers are circulated. My own heart is hammering in my chest as I realise any minute now they will see my translations of the further supporting documents issued by the prison. The judges’ faces remain expressionless as they examine the letters for a torturously long time.
Finally, Dr Vélez produces a thick pile of documents explaining that the prison has also issued a ‘large volume’ of good conduct reports and certificates, demonstrating ‘Miss Barker’s keen participation in workshops and activities, with the view to using her time in incarceration to improve herself and the future she will be able to offer her children once reunited with her family.’ I warm to him a little as he finishes that speech, and notice the female judge nodding faintly as she leafs through the certificates.
Naomi flicks a glance at me, and I see my own budding hope reflected in her eyes. Will this be enough?
Once Dr Vélez has retaken his seat, wiping his brow with a little embroidered handkerchief produced from his pocket, the Prosecutor is asked to speak.
‘It is a flagrant crime to use, possess, sell or transport illegal substances such as cocaine,’ he begins languidly, not leaving his seat. ‘This applies both here in the Republic of Ecuador and in the United Kingdom, Miss Barker’s country of origin, and in both countries is duly punishable with imprisonment.’ He sounds as if he is simply reciting a well-worn and long-rehearsed speech that has been used innumerable times before today. I wonder how many other nervous young women – mothers, daughters, sisters – he has addressed in this way, and whether the simple facts of repetition and similarity have numbed him to their circumstances.
‘On this basis, and to uphold the original sentence of nine years placed against Miss Naomi Ruth Barker, I will review the circumstances of her arrest and the subsequent evidence of her guilt.’ He gets up and drops a folder on the table in front of the judges, then returns to his seat and leans back, looking bored. ‘Here you will find photographic evidence of the five capsules of cocaine found inside Miss Barker’s body at the time of her arrest at Quito airport. The testimony of the arrest will be given by Inspector Ruiz and Sergeant Martinez…’ He pauses, looks up at the guards on the door, raising his eyebrows. ‘If you would? I believe they are already waiting outside.’
The door swings open and I feel Naomi stiffen beside me as a man and a woman are led in, both aged in their forties and casually dressed in jeans and trainers. Naomi watches them cross the room to sit next to the Prosecutor with the wide-eyed expression of someone suddenly faced with their old school bully, many years later.
‘Sergeant?’ The Prosecutor indicates for the man to speak. ‘If you would remind us of the circumstances that led to Miss Barker’s arrest.’
‘I was working a night shift at the airport,’ begins the man, speaking Spanish with a strange accent I do not recognise from the other people I have mixed with in Quito. ‘I’d been sent up from the coast, where I usually work, to cover for a week. Several night flights were leaving for Europe, and they wanted me to go to the departure lounges to carry out final baggage checks.’ He stops and his gaze lingers for a long time on Naomi, an expression I do not like at all lighting up his eyes.
I glance at Naomi to make sure she is understanding everything, but she is staring back at Sergeant Martinez with a look of such intense hatred that I don’t think she even remembers I am there.
‘At about the same time, Miss Barker had already gone through security and was waiting by the gate to board the ten-fifty-five flight to London, via Amsterdam.’ His eyes do not leave Naomi’s, and something about the way he says her name makes me shudder.
‘However, she had flagged up a warning when passing through security.’ The slightest hint of a smile passes across his face. ‘And I was asked to go and retrieve her from the departure gate. At around ten-fifteen, not long before boarding began for the flight, I took Miss Barker into our secure detention area for…’ He openly smiles at Naomi now. ‘… Some additional checks.’
I notice Naomi has looked away and is staring at the door, facing away from everyone, wiping furiously at her eyes with her sleeve.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ the first judge says, his tone icy. ‘We will finish with the testimony of Inspector Ruiz, to tell us what happened subsequently.’
The woman who entered with Sergeant Martinez gets slowly to her feet. She stares at her companion for a long time, her lips pursed, before she finally speaks. When she does, her voice is clipped and her whole demeanour radiates the desire to be somewhere else, a long way from here. She keeps her eyes fixed on the wall opposite as she begins, her voice a monotone.
‘I was introduced to Miss Barker at around eleven-fifty p.m., on the day of her scheduled departure to London. By the time I arrived in the temporary detention centre, her flight had left. She had already undergone physical searches and a full body X-ray, which was being logged by Sergeant Martinez when I arrived.’ Her eyes flicker almost imperceptibly towards Sergeant Martinez beside her, then determinedly back to the middle distance again.
‘The X-ray revealed five foreign bodies in Miss Barker’s stomach.’
‘Copies of the images can be found in the annex,’ the Prosecutor interrupts, indicating the folder left on the judges’ table.
‘Miss Barker was provided with refreshment and access to facilities.’ Inspector Ruiz sounds like she is reading from an instruction manual, but the light twitch in her jaw gives her away. ‘A medical practitioner was located, following the advice of whom I remained with Miss Barker in our secure area for the next seven hours, until the objects passed naturally from her body.’
I can feel Naomi shaking with tears beside me now. ‘Pull yourself together,’ I whisper desperately, glancing at the judges, who have all turned as one to watch her. I flash her a look which I hope conveys that I cannot imagine the humiliation she is feeling, but that now, of all times, she must keep her composure. She makes a loud hiccupping noise and with visible effort sits up straighter and wipes the tears from her face.
‘Having been sent for analysis, the objects were identified as five latex condoms, coated in wax, and containing a total of 1.35 kilograms of pure cocaine powder.’
‘Itemised photographs are on page seven,’ the Prosecutor adds, leaning forward to the judges and pointing at the folder again.
Naomi’s shame utterly complete, she rests her head in her hands and sits rigid beside me.
‘Miss Barker was then immediately transported by police escort to the Flagrant Crimes Unit in the north of Quito, to await sentencing and transfer to the Central Women’s Prison.’ The Inspector sits down abruptly without waiting to be asked, letting out a sharp breath.
‘Thank you.’ The middle judge nods at her, then gathers all the papers before him together into one pile in a decisive gesture. ‘I think we’ve heard more than enough. Miss Barker – now is your opportunity if you would like to add anything.’
All eyes in the room turn to Naomi as she raises her head slowly from her hands and turns her red-rimmed eyes to me, then to Dr Vélez, then finally to the judges.
‘No.’ Her voice is barely a whisper, and I can see her hands still trembling under the table. ‘I have nothing to add.’
‘WHAT?’ I hiss at her, seeing the judges already look away and back down to their papers, ready to draw everything to a close. ‘Naomi, you have to. This is your chance!’
Naomi is shaking all over and can’t even meet my eyes. I try to reach for her hand but she has her arms wrapped tightly around herself in a protective gesture and her eyes squeezed firmly shut. I realise in horror the testimonies of the two police officers and the memory of her arrest laid out in such graphic detail have reduced Naomi to pieces. But if she doesn’t say something now, it could be the end of her case… the arguments made by Dr Vélez may not be enough, Naomi deserves for the judges to hear her side, to understand what being released would mean for her and her entire family… she has waited so long for this court hearing, it just can’t end like this…
My decision is made in an instant. Getting to my feet and opening my mouth to speak before my brain has even fully engaged with what I am about to do, I hear my own voice ring out confident and clear across the baffled courtroom:
‘I will speak for Naomi.’
My cheeks burning and heart pounding in my chest, I turn to face each person in the room in turn, daring them to stop me.
‘Please sit down, Miss…’ With a mildly bored expression the first judge consults a sheet of paper in front of him. ‘Morgan.’ He leans back in his chair disdainfully. ‘Miss Morgan. You are here as Miss Barker’s translator. Your opinion is not required.’
Anger and indignation spurring me on, I pull in a breath to let rip my reply. But another voice, quiet yet firm, beats me to it.
‘Wait.’
All eyes in the room turn to gape at the owner of the voice, the hunched figure partially obscured behind the briefcase on the table in front of him. Dr Vélez.
‘As Naomi’s defence lawyer, I would like to allow Miss Morgan to speak,’ he continues in his soft, almost timid tone. ‘Not as a translator, but as her friend. A witness. Miss Morgan is Naomi’s witness and has the right to speak.’ The idea seems to be dawning on him even as he voices it, at the same time as a defiant smile begins to spread slowly across his face as he meets my eyes. We both know that, named as an official witness for Naomi’s case, the judges have to let me speak.
Thank you, thank you! I convey silently to Dr Vélez with my eyes. He nods, and dips back behind his briefcase. Naomi reaches up and grasps tightly on to my hand.
After several seconds of silence, the female judge speaks. ‘Miss Morgan.’ She looks at me evenly, her expression unreadable.
I barely breathe but continue holding on to Naomi’s hand, feeling bizarrely like we are two teenagers being pulled up in front of the headmaster for misbehaving.
‘I understand you know Miss Naomi Barker personally and have visited her several times in prison.’ The judge doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Also that you are here today at her express request, not only as a translator but as a friend.’
The room is completely silent except for Naomi’s occasional sniffs and the sound of the Prosecutor impatiently tapping his pen on the table.
‘Therefore…’ the judge says, giving me an almost imperceptible, encouraging nod ‘…we will accept your testimony on Miss Barker’s behalf.’
A rush of adrenaline shoots through me. This is your chance. Isn’t that what I told Naomi, only moments ago? I look at her again, hunched and defeated beside me, and realise that the chance is now mine. Not only to defend Naomi, but also to vanquish my own fears.
I give Naomi’s hand one last squeeze, take a deep breath and turn to face the judges. I can feel Liza’s shirt sticking to my arms and back.
My voice is barely more than a whisper when I begin.
‘Naomi knows that what she did was terribly wrong.’ I pause, mustering courage to continue. ‘The personal reasons she had for doing it are not something even she would be able to explain here, now, to everyone.’ I glance down at Naomi, and her minute nod is enough for me to feel able to go on.
‘But I do want everyone here to know… how very deeply she regrets the decision she made, back in her former life, six years ago.’ My own voice sounds strange to me against the silence of the courtroom. ‘And I think it is fair to say that she has regretted it in every waking moment ever since. There has not been a single minute, a single second, of Naomi’s imprisonment when she has not been thinking about her children. Her two boys… and her baby girl.’ I feel a lump form in my own throat as I realise the truth of my words.
‘I don’t think I, or anyone in this room, could understand what it is like to miss your children for six years.’ I force my voice out loudly and clearly despite the stifling silence, and dare myself to look around the room, meeting the eyes of the judges and even the Prosecutor, defying them all to contradict me. ‘It is a special kind of hell. It is the most effective form of prison. Whether she was behind bars or not, Naomi was already in prison – because, for a mother, prison is being away from your children.’
I look at Naomi again. She has stopped crying and is staring up at me, eyes wide, her hands knitted together in her lap. As I search within myself for the adequate words to finish my speech she nods again, urging me, keep going.
‘All Naomi asks for now is compassion,’ I continue slowly, my eyes locked with hers. ‘She is not here to make excuses for herself, or say that there is any justification for the crime she committed.’ Now I turn to the judges, and muster all my strength to speak to them directly. ‘She just wants the chance to start again. Go home, get a job, spend every possible moment with her kids and never let them go again. See her dad and hold his hand one last time. It’s been six years… and Naomi has served her sentence.’
I sit down, feeling strangely calm. Naomi immediately grabs my hand again, squeezing it so tightly it hurts. As the sound of my voice fades away and silence descends in the courtroom, we sit side by side knowing the moment has come for her future to be decided.