So Tony has been charged and is to be remanded in custody until he appears before the magistrate on the Tuesday morning. This is a court that is set aside to deal specifically with domestic abuse cases.
The knowledge that Tony is in custody does give a little bit of comfort, I feel a little bit safer though I surprise myself at just how jumpy I am. How the smallest of noises or move of hand has me diving for cover.
When Tuesday morning arrives I’ve managed to drag myself up and out of bed and get dressed, which is harder a couple of days after than it was on the morning following the assault. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to attend court. I'm not needed and I’m hardly going to give moral support but I needed to go, I needed to see Tony face to face I needed to put his face, his demeanor into some kind of perspective. I could barely walk let alone drive, but I got to the nearest court. I was then told that it was in fact being heard in the next town. I had to get there before I lost my bottle.
I arrived at court, quickly phoned my mum to let her know where I was and what I was doing, both her and my dad offered insisted that they would come and support me. No, this I had to do alone.
I introduced myself to the CPS lawyer who had recognised my from the photographs she had on file. This was apparently one of the worst assaults she had ever dealt with. This isn’t to be the last time that I’m told that. We had a chat, she explained what it was that they were hoping for i.e. Tony to remain in custody; apparently he had refused any kind of representation. The arrogance - he clearly assumed he could do a better job that any lawyer.
I’m sat in court with a layperson who is there on behalf of the police, she was incredible that day, tissues at the ready, a steady hand just at the right moment.
I heard the clerk tell the magistrates which case was on next, it was mine, I heard his name, then I saw the door open at the back of the dock and in he strolled, all swagger. He sat shaking his head as the CPS read through some of my statement he even mouthed the word liar at me across the courtroom.
I shook, I had sweaty palms, my heart was racing, I couldn’t swallow, I couldn’t hear a great deal above my own heartbeat ringing in my ears, BUT I never showed anything, not for a second, I sat as composed as I could, as hard faced and cold as possible until he left the court room then I collapsed. The police were amazing that day, their representative walked me to my to my car, having first took me for a coffee.
Despite the further physical torture I put myself through that day and every single day subsequent to that that he appeared in court I had no choice. It was the only way that I could pretend to him that I was no longer scared. If I could convince him that I wasn’t then maybe just maybe it would one day become true.