Prima Facie

初步举证 （第二部分）

PART TWO

TESSA is diferent now. Less articulate.

Less confident, less quick.

She gets worse once the cross-examination begins.

Scene Eight

Crown Court

NOW

This. Is. Me.

Outside looking in. Watching myself.

Through the doors.

Sound of my heels on the floor. The Inner London Crown Court.

This is me,

moving through the security system.

Detached.

Objective.

This is me,

bag on the belt. This time,

no barrister’s ID, no easy pass.

Just me.

Walking through the metal detector. Alarm rings,

take off my shoes, back through again.

This is me being swiped by the handheld metal detector.

This time I’m, I’m … [no one.]

Over there I can see black robes swishing,

horsehair wigs leaning in toward each other.

Paper, folders,

confident chatter.

Did one of them see me?

Oh God.

Head down.

This is me picking up my bag, mobile,

walking to the lifts with the witness support service.

This is me, Tessa Ensler, without my barrister robe. No wig.

This is what it feels like.

Same court, no armour.

This is me digging my nails into my wrist.

This is me walking into the lift, look at the floor.

Doors shut. Ding.

Solicitors, barristers, police.

Exit, enter, exit, ding.

Level two.

This is me walking out of the lift. Find the meeting room.

This is me sitting in a small windowless room. Plastic white table,

waiting. Waiting.

I’ve been waiting for seven hundred and eighty-two days, and now today is the day.

Three years at university,

one year of bar school,

and seven years of practice.

I have always believed.

Now I need to know that I was not mistaken.

That I can still believe in you. Can trust,

can still hold on to you.

Believe you’ll show me that

before the law there is justice.

But, I’m here and –

You look so different from this end.

From this seat in this windowless room.

The prosecutor, Richard, he comes into the room.

Richard Lawson. I’m lucky

he’s well respected, knows the law.

Now we’re here

at the London Inner City Court,

Richard in his silk robes, his wig,

ready to run the case.

After all those adjournments.

Paperwork.

Me,

thinking,

frustrated,

weighed down by it.

Today is seven hundred and eighty-two days since that first day at …

[the police station.]

Interrupted.

Scene Nine

Interview

JUMP backward to …

THEN

In the police station the morning after the rape.

We know this TESSA from Part One. At the counter.

Police station.

The officer was a big guy.

Posters of missing people.

One with a sad-looking woman with bruises on her face. ‘This is not love. ’

A sticker ‘Be a Hero. Stop Crime Before it Happens’ on the wall.

Not stuck straight.

Someone’s tried to deface it but looks like the pen didn’t work properly on the shiny sticker.

I was led into an interview room.

I’ve only ever seen video footage of rooms like this one.

Watching a client’s interrogation recording while sitting with my feet on the desk in chambers.

All my sass and outrage at the tricks the police play.

It’s different when you’re in here.

I’m cold, shivering.

Skirt, top, sandals.

Dressed in clothes from the spare room.

I want to ask for a woman, I need to,

but I don’t want to get the big officer offside. He must’ve read my mind.

Tells me I could come back another time ‘when the sexual assault unit is on,

or a woman’s on duty?’

But I just want to get it over with.

Puts his coffee on the table, scratches around.

The questions start. Ah, yes.

Tessa Jane Ensler. Um no.

No thank you. Yes.

I recognise I’m being recorded, yes. No, I um.

I wanted to report – Yes.

Because I think –

Because I WAS …

Something happened. To me.

I was just – um. Last night,

this morning … I,

I I was sexually assaulted … And I want to –

Yes he’s known to me. Julian Brookes.

No, we work together. I don’t know,

about five years. Um.

Arelationship?

Sort of. No,

I mean –

Well no –

Last night wasn’t the first time we’d … been together

but we weren’t –

We hadn’t defined anything. So no, not a ‘relationship’ .

Um,

last week we had – We had sex.

Well at work. Um.

No, no – it was after hours. His office.

It just happened like that.

Yes,

I consented. That time.

Silence as he takes this down.

Then he asks me.

This is where I have to describe the rape.

I don’t want to be a victim,

damaged. Nope.

No, I want to be a survivor, but …

Where was this hand?

Your leg? His arm?

So,

did you use your other hand to push him away? Kick him?

Will he have marks where you fought him? On his hand where you bit him?

Then …

Other body parts. More questions.

I can’t look at the policeman any more.

I don’t know.

I don’t know. Humiliation.

Distress.

Wrong or foolish behaviour? Was it me?

What did I do wrong? Was I foolish?

What should I have done?

He wants my phone. ‘No.

I need it!’

He’s not happy about this. He leaves the room.

I'm alone again.

Waiting.

Waiting.

He returns.

Again about the phone. ‘I can’t …

Won’t. My family, my friends, my work!’ He gives me a look.

I know I’m being difficult, but I …

He says a car will take me to … To The Havens.

A forensic medical examination.

I have to tell him,

it might not come up with much.

‘Because um, um, I had a shower,

straight after. ’

Oh God,

I’m an idiot,

I had a fucking shower, washed everything away.

‘What if he says we didn’t have sex? How can I prove –

No, he’s not that stupid,

I mean he would agree to that fact surely? He’d say –

Just,

that it was consensual sex.

Won’t he?’

I look back at the policeman.

He’s chewing gum.

‘Once he gets a bastard defence barrister they could say anything. ’

I tell him that Julian IS a ‘bastard’ defence barrister.

He stops chewing, rolls his eyes.

Looks back at me as if I have done it deliberately. Picked the most challenging defendant.

I hear myself, small voice, I mention

I, too am a defence barrister.

I don’t know how to interpret the look I get. Smug or, or

is it genuinely sympathetic? Can’t read it.

Not now.

Flat voice,

‘Now you need us though don’t you?’ ‘Sorry?’

Revert back to present.

Richard has said her name.

Scene Ten

Waiting, Waiting

NOW

Richard has asked me a question. Something about being ready?

Calm?

I answer, but I don’t,

I can’t, I don’t know what I said.

Look at the table,

white plastic turning dirty cream.

Richard asks me if I’m sure about refusing video evidence. Yep.

I want to look Julian right in the eye. This is me,

waiting for the court to call the matter that has Julian’s name on it.

The King v Julian Brookes,

on the court list,

for every single person to see.

The King v Julian Brookes.

This is me knowing that the jury are being empanelled.

Courtroom number one.

Julian’s barrister, his KC, is probably hoping for as few women as possible.

Talking strategy.

Julian there, giving his opinion.

Making sure that he has the best possible chance of being found not guilty.

Me,

I sit here, waiting,

until I’m allowed in.

Richard has to return to the courtroom, he puts his hand on my shoulder,

I flinch.

I can’t help it.

He’s talking to me, mouth moving,

‘Is someone coming to be with you?’ Nod.

Without opening her mouth. ‘Uh-huh. ’ Fuck.

I will not cry.

Scene Eleven

Forensic Examination/Evidence

THEN

Jump back to …

Hospital after statement to police.

It's seven hundred and eighty-two days since the …

Hospital bed. The Havens Rape and Sexual Assault Unit. Forensic medical examination.

White gown,

waiting for the nurse.

‘Name please?’

‘Tessa Jane Ensler. ’

My phone beeps. A text. Oh God.

It’s him. It’s Julian ‘Date ofbirth?’

‘Where are you? Don’t tell me you’ve gone into work! J xx. ’

The phone feels contaminated.

I delete it, instantly regret deleting evidence. What’s wrong with me, I keep doing this?

Should have given the officer my phone.

‘Residential address?’

I go cold,

he’s still at my fucking flat.

I overcome my urge to throw the phone to the ground,

smash it to bits, it beeps again.

‘PS – hope you’re okay after everything? I’m heading off home. ’

I’m confused,

‘After everything?’ question mark.

‘Blood pressure. ’

Is he worried about himself? About what he did? ‘Temperature. ’

This time I’m smart,

I save the text. I even screenshot it.

It’s eight-thirty a.m. and there’s a woman with gloves

examining my vagina. Photographs.

My eyes on the ceiling. Grit teeth.

And Julian is in my flat,

taking a shower in my bathroom? Looking through my fridge?

Yesterday I had imagined, hoped,

that we might be eating breakfast together this morning and –

What am I doing here?

I want to get up and leave.

I tell the nurse, ‘I’m not sure. ’

She stops. Stands.

The nurse says something kind, I don’t register it,

but she’s done. I will not cry.

She asks if I have somewhere to go? Someone to be with.

I don’t know.

I feel out of control;

what if I’m overreacting? I’m not.

I’m not.

But am I?

I know Julian,

I’ve known him for years. ‘This is not love. ’

‘Are they going to arrest him now?’ The nurse doesn’t know.

Do I want to speak to a social worker? ‘No,

no thank you. ’

‘Can I just leave?’

Nurse calls the policeman in to speak to me.

Big officer says he’ll take the forensic evidence with him,

he’ll ‘be in touch’ .

But.

But,

‘Will you arrest him?’

‘Yes.

Unless …

Do you want us to arrest him?’

I can’t say yes and I can’t say no.

But Julian can’t just get away with it! Can he?

Pretend it didn’t happen?

I want him to know what he did,

I don’t want a text asking if ‘I’m okay?’ I’m not fucking okay.

I am not okay.

‘Will you be prepared to give evidence in court?’

‘I do not want to discourage you from moving forward, but it will be tough. ’

And then he says,

‘The Crown Prosecution Service will decide if the case is good enough to go to trial. ’

I know this,

of course I know it. But it’s like a slap. I don’t get to decide.

My life is in the hands of the police, the Crown Prosecution Service, the court system.

I have no control.

So much at stake:

my privacy, my family, my friends.

My career.

Everything, everything. I’m scared.

But there’s this person inside me,

the girl who fought and fought to be seen.

Look left, look right,

who won’t make it?

She’s brave and

if I do nothing,

I think I could lose her.

‘Yes, I will give evidence in court. ’

Scene Twelve

Trial

NOW

In the courthouse but still in a witness room.

My mum arrives [at the witness room.]

Sensible pants, sensible shoes.

Clutching her straw bag,

the one I gave her for her birthday.

It’s a beach bag I told her, ‘Pop your towel and sunscreen in it and off you go. ’

TESSA is Mum saying this, while holding her cigarette.

‘When do I have time to go to the beach?’ Fail.

She looks afraid

and she’s here because of me.

Everything feels like my fault these days. For seven hundred and eighty-two days I cannot stop all the voices:

‘You fucked a guy on a sofa at work,’

‘You bring him home to your bed, you’re so drunk you even vomit. ’

Berating myself:

‘You didn’t scream or kick enough,’

‘You froze, in the middle of it all you just froze – what’s wrong with you?’

‘You’re pathetic – you let him sleep in your bed after he had done that to you, while you just cried in the shower. ’

‘Julian’s a good barrister, he does lots of pro bono work, what are you doing to him?’

‘What if he really thought you were consenting?’

I dig into my thighs with my nails, make myself feel the pain.

Trying to …

‘Come on Tess, remember. ’

The law says, it says

you can’t do this to a woman.

Can’t hold her down, ignore her, keep her trapped while you push –

While you, you, push yourself inside of her. You can’t rape,

and then pretend it was consensual. Can you!?

Mum

hands me a sandwich. Strawberry jam.

My stomach can’t take it but she looks so worried.

She looks so old now,

deep bags under her eyes. Silence.

Chew white bread,

the taste of overly sweet strawberry with butter.

She gets up, and

completely engulfs me into this gruff hug.

‘Be your strong self, don’t let the bastards get you down, even if they get away with it – just don’t let them ruin our Tessa. ’

Without opening her mouth, while nodding.

‘Uh-huh, uh-huh. ’ But I won’t cry,

I won’t.

The trial will run for three days.

And it is only me giving evidence.

Not Julian.

Today Julian is pleading not guilty, he will not admit what he did –

But I know he knows, I know he must know.

Julian is not stupid, he’s just convinced himself and all the

people he has asked to write letters of support for him – people I know – he’s convinced himself and all of them that I am lying and I am doing it to, to …

I am doing this to destroy him? He has convinced himself

he is the victim.

While me;

I’m forced to say the words, relive it all,

IN FRONT OF EVERYONE.

Why? How does he get to sit there?

AND NOT BE CROSS-EXAMINED?

He is the one who DID this to me! I’m the one on trial.

Mum’s face.

I can’t help thinking she knows what it is to be violated somehow.

I’ll never ask.

The white bread is in lumps in my mouth. Swallowing is hard.

Scene Thirteen

Witness for the Prosecution

NOW

Richard appears, ‘We have a jury. ’

‘How many women?’ ‘Four. ’

‘Is that good?’ my mum asks.

I’m not sure,

women can be just as bad at believing other women. Why is that?

Why is that?

Mum has gone off to find the loo, I am waiting again.

Mia,

I need her.

Scroll through my phone, find this morning’s text. She’s doing Shakespeare.

On a cruise ship. I feel stronger,

Mia is on Team Tessa.

Richard is now in the courtroom.

Once he does the prosecution opening address, I will be called as the first witness.

Julian’s in there

able to listen to everything.

The opening,

sitting back knowing he will not have to say a word.

Psych myself up for what’s to come,

I get out my mirror, fix my make-up.

Outfit chosen from my lawyer wardrobe.

A perfect blend of ‘I am strong woman, not ashamed, and, I am not a slut. ’

Mum walks in just as a police officer enters, a young woman, so tiny in her uniform.

Baton in her holster.

‘They’re calling for you now Tessa. ’ ‘Can you take my mum with you?’ She nods, takes my mum’s arm.

Before she leaves she turns back then …

Squeezes my upper arm like a friend, a sister.

This is me walking toward the courtroom to give evidence, this is me bowing to the judge as I walk in and up toward the witness stand.

This is me standing in the witness box

as the words coming out of my mouth declare ‘that the evidence I shall give shall be truth, the whole truth and nothing but the

truth’ .

The air is still.

I look up

Julian’s dad

with his mum and brother

seated up front in the gallery,

how they hate me.

I look at the jury.

They will be the ones; these strangers.

I look at the judge,

he’s looking at the file on his laptop.

The bar table, the bench. Panic.

All the barristers are men! The judge,

judge’s clerk, the prosecuting counsel, the police and instructing solicitor.

I’m the only woman.

Even the court usher is a man!

I am the only one. The only woman.

Heart’s thumping.

Can feel the blood actually rush through me. And then,

after seven hundred and eighty-two days

after being asked over and over again,

‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’

After all the snide or embarrassed looks at work, the doubts people have expressed about me.

After the statements, the rape kit, the ongoing scouring of my own body.

After all the nightmares, the vomiting, digging into my own flesh.

I am here. Right here.

And the system I’ve dedicated my life to is called upon, by me, to find the truth. To provide justice.

I turn, look at Julian. Suited up,

seated in the dock.

His KC and a junior barrister. At the starting gate.

Julian looks back at me.

It feels like he is going to mouth, ‘I’m sorry,’ but

instead, almost imperceptible, a shake of his head, saying ‘What have you done?’

And then the prosecutor, Richard, stands to start the prosecution case.

‘Can you tell the court your name and occupation?’

Scene Fourteen

TWICE

THEN

Freeze.

Remembering.

Twice I have seen Julian since he …

The first time

the police hadn’t arrested him yet. They called, said it was imminent

but wouldn’t do it in his workplace. Right!

‘It’s an interesting case though,’

two defence lawyers fighting it out was an interesting concept for the Crown Prosecution Service.

I’d tried to prep my case on Sunday. Tired and weepy.

Couldn’t concentrate. Slept badly.

Then Monday,

catch the train in.

There reliving – in the moment.

Across the street from my chambers.

Knees weak

head spinning.

Sit down on some steps,

call Alice, ask her to meet me outside across the street. I’m hyperventilating

I ask Alice to run my case that day, I tell her I have a virus.

She puts me in a cab home.

I’m terrified,

how will I ever go back to chambers – to work – with Julian there?

I finally, finally call my mum.

She is not happy to hear from me, she’s at work.

But I tell her and, and … within a couple of hours she’s at my place.

I tell her what happened in as little detail as possible. She doesn’t seem shocked or desperate,

she does seem filled with a fury that she is trying to control.

I tell her not to tell my brother. We both know why.

She’s very clear with me, ‘You go back to work.

You do not let this ruin everything you’ve worked for. This is your job, your income, your career. ’

I try again on Tuesday,

manage to get inside chambers.

Everyone’s busy.

I head to the photocopier,

and smack bang run right into him.

‘Hey. ’

He scans my face for something. ‘Are we good?’

I guess my look says ‘NAH!’

‘Tess, I’m sorry if I have upset you in any way, let me buy you lunch this week?’

I want to say something,

but I’m just – He hesitates.

‘I can barely remember I drank so much. ’ He waits then …

‘Well, we both did. ’

We could put it down to that and this whole thing would go away

wouldn’t it?

Couldn’t I just put it down to a really bad drunken sex night? ‘Well anyway, sorry if I upset you somehow. ’

The words are screaming but only inside my head. Upset me?

Somehow?

You raped me.

You held me down and you … But Alice is suddenly upon us, and then I’m photocopying.

Later that day I have coffee with the KC I ran into on Friday. He tells me all the attributes of his chambers – the amazing barristers

I would be working with.

I tell him I would be delighted to take it. We shake hands.

I tell myself I’ll just work harder

to cover the price of the new tenancy.

The second time I have to face Julian is after he’s been arrested. It’s an afternoon.

Court foyer.

I know I should walk right past, we’re not supposed to talk.

Stupidly my eyes look right at him, I freeze.

‘How could you do this to me?’ He’s convincing.

‘I really like you Tessa,

I was hoping we’d find something special together, I held your hair while you vomited for christsakes. But this.

What you have said!

Are you out of your fucking mind?’ I look him in the face

‘You know what happened. ’ ‘Whatever it was

I’m not a criminal Tessa that’s not who I am. ’

‘And God, you’re not a victim!’

‘You know if you continue to go through with this that you’ll destroy my career.

You do realise that don’t you?’

He walks away.

I consider telling the police,

He spoke to me,

breached his bail conditions, but …

I’m not supposed to speak to him either.

I go to the toilet, lock the door,

I stay there for a long time.

I vomit and wash my face, and I cry and cry and cry.

Scene Fifteen

Evidence-in-Chief

NOW

Right now. In court.

Richard clears his throat,

gives me a sympathetic smile, then it’s all professional: ‘Can you tell the court your name and occupation?’

I won’t take my eyes off him,

‘In your own words can you tell the court about the first night you spent with Julian Brookes?’

When I speak about that first night in chambers I hear a snicker, I involuntarily dart my eyes out to seek who it is.

There are extra people in the public gallery, a group of Julian’s friends.

Old school buddies? Uni mates?

They all look the same, this is their show of support for one of their own.

‘And then after the vodka in Mr Brookes’ office?’

My mum hears how her daughter had sex with this man in an office on his sofa.

I cringe when I’m asked about a detail, catch her face, she doesn’t change her look in any way.

‘Turning to the night in question, can you please tell the court, in your own words, what happened?’

I look at the jury,

the man sitting in the middle. I feel anxious.

A woman juror is looking at me,

I avoid her eye; I don’t want to do anything that suggests manipulation.

I speak.

Japanese, gelato, Uber, my place, wine. Having sex early in the night.

‘And then?’

I have to talk about the vomiting in the bathroom, was I naked? How long was I there?

Julian carefully carrying me back to bed.

It occurs to me in this moment,

in court, as I’m answering this question, that Julian carrying me back means

he wasn’t too drunk that he couldn’t remember. He lied when he told me he was so drunk.

He was able to lift me and walk steadily back, and, he didn’t fall or stumble.

He knew what he was doing!

But this will be used against me,

they’ll say I was the only one drunk in this story. So I am the less reliable one.

I answer the questions aloud.

In my head I’m cross-examining myself,

using my own defence skills to doubt my very own story.

I realise I have been doing exactly this for two years and fifty-two days.

Finding fault in my story.

Trapped again and again and again. Dig my nails deep into my palms.

I will not freeze up this time,

I will not question my memory.

I will not minimise what happened, I will not embellish.

I know what happened that night.

And then Richard. The rape.

‘Explain where each of your limbs were. ’ I try to tell Richard,

but I’m not as clear as I need to be.

‘Can you tell the court what you were thinking at the time?’

‘How I didn’t want this. Felt trapped.

Couldn’t move properly. ’

‘Did you make it clear to Mr Brookes you were not consenting to sex?’

‘I did. I told him no. Stop.

I, I tried to push him away,’ didn’t I?

‘Did you say anything else? Scream?’

‘Yes, I tried

but his hand was over my mouth. ’ ‘What happened then?’

‘Could hardly breathe, was terrified,

I froze then

pain

searing through my body. Shock.

Dissociation. ’

It’s happening even now.

More questions.

More details.

More humiliation.

This is me,

giving my testimony in court.

Final questions from Richard. Then he sits down,

he smiles at me,

pleased with the examination-in-chief. It’s gone well.

I’m alone again. Waiting.

Fingers jittery,

hands, armpits, shins sweating.

Look up,

Alice and Adam are standing at the back of the court. Adam has a beard now,

it’s been so long since I’ve been in touch with either of them. I have been in the new chambers for over two years now and have avoided all of them.

Adam wrote me an email telling me that he believed me. He intimated that Julian had had another experience,

not as serious, but …

Not admissible; hearsay.

Wrote that if I needed him I should just call. I never did.

Why didn’t I reach out to Adam? Was I ashamed? Yes.

Check Mum,

she hasn’t moved a muscle.

Beach bag clutched on her lap, the young officer by her side.

Waiting.

And,

I know,

more than anyone,

this next part is where the real work is done.

Take a sip from the glass of water on my left, shaking hand. The defence counsel stands slowly.

This is it.

The cross-examination.

By the best King’s Counsel money can buy. Thoroughbred.

And. Bang.

Scene Sixteen

Cross-Examination

aka

The Silencing

NOW

Following in right on from the last scene.

No break.

Yes.

Yes. No.

No.

I think so.

No it was the second time.

Yes I think so, sorry?

No.

Yes I’m sure. I don’t know.

Maybe my idea. I think so.

Do I agree? Yes.

Yes,

yes.

A few.

Quite a few, yes. Six.

Well perhaps,

yes, maybe eight.

Richard

on his feet.

‘Your Honour.

I have already given evidence about … ’ Blah blah blah.

I feel hot.

Overruled. Yes.

Yes.

Um, I don’t remember. No.

I don’t know. I vomited.

No I don’t know for sure. Um, I don’t understand.

I don’t know. Yes I was.

Yes I did like him at the time.

I only told two friends,

Mia

and Alice.

Not sure,

I don’t know. Yes.

I think so.

Richard is on his feet again, I don’t follow,

Richard looks worried my throat feels dry.

Then it’s me again.

No I think I could have walked back to the bed.

No.

Well,

I know because I walked to the shower after the …

Richard is saying something. Sits down.

KC is back to me.

Yes, I liked him THEN. But /

I’m cut off.

I don’t know. Weird pause.

They haven’t made their major defence arguments but I can feel them coming. Richard is in the dark as much as I am, he looks alert.

I go from Richard’s face to the KC’s face to Richard’s face. And then,

when the first of their points arrive I’m dumbstruck.

I’m sorry what are you saying? No.

No, no.

I don’t understand the question.

No, it was not my hand on my mouth. My own hand?

No.

It was Julian’s hand.

My breath. Yes.

I might have touched my own mouth, but – Yes.

No.

That’s not what happened. I didn’t want to have sex

I felt sick.

No you’re wrong.

I didn’t want to have sex because

I felt awful, not just because my breath was sour from vomiting. No I remember it very well –

Yes but –

What?

She tries to spell it out.

No I did not put my hand over my mouth to protect Julian from my sour breath.

No I –

That’s not what – No, but –

Then all these questions about Julian’s arms, his hands. Which one was holding down which of my wrists?

And I realise they’retrying to say that if Julian had one hand on each of my wrists

then he had no extra hand to cover my mouth.

So, I was mistaken, I wasn’t actually pinned down, and of

course I could breathe. In fact the hand on my mouth must have been mine, just saving him from my bad vomit breath.

The KC is saying that

if it was my hand on my own mouth, as he ‘suggests’, then

I could have just used it to push Julian away. Or I could have

removed my own hand from my own mouth and just screamed.

My mind is messy.

I can’t catch up.

No. No.

I tried to get away.

I told him, I said no,

I struggled.

It was his hand on my mouth. How?

Yes I did.

Yes. I think that’s how.

I pushed him as best I could, but but –

He was – No,

he was squashing me –

My mind is scrambled,

I can feel a terrible wrong being done to me right now.

That this line of questioning is making me look confused.

Because I am, I am, I’m really confused.

Julian told his barrister;

or did his barrister think it was a better story …

That I had put my own hand over my own mouth.

And therefore I was the only one stopping myself from

screaming or speaking, and that I could have taken it away at any stage to speak up or to push him away or …

He’s saying,

it was my hand over my own mouth. As it if it were a game.

Agame.

Like the game of having sex at chambers, that’s what Julian said?

Agame!

I look around briefly, thinking.

Thinking.

I see Adam,

I think I’m going to pass out.

Adam is willing me to remember. He knows I’m stuck.

And then I remember. Right there in court,

I remember.

I say,

With clarity. & lsquo;

Julian had both of my wrists in one of his hands, pulled high above my head.

And his other hand over my mouth and my nose as well –

I could barely breathe. ’ I’m shaking.

My eyes on Julian now.

How dare you? How dare you?

And why am I up here being made to look like a liar?

Julian doesn’t meet my eye.

He looks over to his family, his father gives him a confident nod.

The KC apologises for making me uncomfortable.

He’s being nice to me now,

and like every victim I have cross-examined before I fall for it.

I ache for niceness.

I feel so broken that I want to go with him, just to get it over with, I want to be reeled in.

Questions start again.

First compassion.

‘I understand that it was a terribly difficult and confusing night for you.

You were ill. ’ I sway a bit.

Then flattery.

KC suggests to me,

that I am a top barrister,

a woman that other people speak about in such high terms.

‘A barrister who was seen to be easily the smartest of her bar call; of her generation. ’

This is going somewhere awful I feel it.

He brings up my new chambers,

calls it a larger room at a more prestigious chambers. What?

Says it was between Julian and myself who would get that room.

Has the shortlist in his hands right now. It has only two names on it:

Mine and Julian’s.

I have never seen this list, I never knew this.

Was there a question?

‘My name might be on that list, but I,I, I … never applied for that chambers. ’

I go on, even though the KC is intimating he doesn’t need me to,

I speak over him.

‘I would never have applied for that room – it was much too expensive for me.

I never saw any reason to have such a large room when my old

one had more space than I have ever had in my entire life. ’ I note the tiniest moment when the KC does a mental shift. He’s never had to worry about money!

He assumed that I, as a successful barrister, wanted the big room, the prestigious chambers at any cost.

Jury members shift in their seats, they understand.

‘Don’t ever trust your own instincts sir,’ I want to say. ‘Day one law school.

Only trust your legal instincts. ’

He computes,

voice almost a snarl,

‘But I see you are enjoying that room now aren’t you Ms Ensler?’

No time to answer,

the next question comes fast to cover up for what he didn’t see coming.

He implies that I made up the story of rape as a payback to

Julian for telling his friends and colleagues about me having sex with him on his sofa at chambers.

Slap.

This is all news to me.

This is what Julian was telling people

while I was talking to Mia about a potential relationship?

I fade just a little, catch my breath, then find my way.

My body has been turned inside out with the evidence I have had to give,

this final humiliation is just a small cut.

‘I can honestly tell you sir that I had no idea Julian had spoken

to anyone about me like that. ’ He does an about-turn.

Did I admit that moving to my new chambers was a strategic move for me to increase my income?

I tell him I was offered the new chambers with a King’s Counsel I admire.

And I –

He cuts me off.

He implies I made up a rape story to discredit Julian and be the one offered the new tenancy.

I interrupt.

‘I moved chambers to get away from Julian, to be able to work

without fear. Do not forget that I made my statement to the police on the very night of the sexual assault, hours after it occurred / ’

‘This is not relevant to my question Ms Ensler, please refrain from elaboration. ’

But Richard is up,

‘Let her finish. ’ Judge lets me.

‘I don’t know any woman who would happily drink with a man, eat a meal, with all witnesses saying how much we laughed and got along and talked together and then / ’

Julian’s KC is on his feet ‘Your Honour. ’

‘Submission sustained. ’

KC: ‘Would Your Honour please remind the witness to answer the question and not make speeches. ’

‘And if you are implying that I planned the entire night so that I could stage something like this, then I have no words.

The last seven hundred and eighty-two days of my life have been something I would never wish upon any human being. ’

‘Your Honour! / ’

The judge: ‘Ms Ensler / ’

‘For you to stand there and suggest to me that I am in any way holding a vendetta against Mr Brookes is to suggest to me / ’ ‘Your Honour, the witness is not responding to a question. ’

I keep talking.

Scene Seventeen

Voir Dire aka

Finding One’s Voice

NOW

Following in right on from the last scene.

No break.

‘Mr Julian Brookes’ KC here will at some stage tell you the jury

about what Mr Brookes might have lost. But I will tell you what I have lost;

I have lost my dignity and my sense of self

I have lost my career path, friends, peace of mind, my safety. The sense of joy in my sexuality.

But most of all, I have lost my faith in this, the law,

the system I believed would protect me. The system I dedicated my life to. ’

Julian’s KC is calling out

asking the judge to intervene.

But after seven hundred and eighty-two days all ten tracks in my brain are lighting up.

I have found my voice.

It’s a different voice now, but it’s mine. I keep speaking,

I can hear

submissions over and over,

‘Your Honour, Your Honour,’ loud, outraged,

trying to drown out my voice, but I will not waver.

The judge asks me to ‘please just answer the question’ . I’m calm.

‘Your Honour, there are some things I am going to say. ’ Confident.

Like a lawyer.

Julian’s KC is on his feet. Requesting a voir dire.

Judge nods.

The jury start to file out.

Voir dire is a legal term. It’s where the jury is sent out so they don’t hear something that might be prejudicial.

Strangely the phrase originates from ‘to speak the truth’ .

I breathe slowly. In, out.

I find the face of the young police officer. She has her hand over my mum’s hand.

I see all the women who came before me and the ones who will come after.

I see Jenna

‘I’m not getting anything out of this,

I’m just doing this to protect other women. ’

The last juror looks back at me as he exits.

The media are poised.

The judge: ‘You have limited scope here Ms Ensler. Please be concise. ’

I look up at Julian’s ‘boys’ in the gallery. And I speak.

‘Your Honour, I am here in a unique position.

Usually I stand at the bar,

but now I am in this courtroom as a witness,

a complainant, a victim.

As a barrister I have questioned women in sexual assault cases

on the assumption that the evidence can be delivered in a clean, logical package.

But now I have seen through my own attempts here that it can’t be.

All my professional life I have participated in a system that has done this to women.

Now I know,

this is not right. This is not

“reasonable” .

Because now I know, from my own life, as both a woman and a lawyer:

The lived experience of sexual assault is not remembered in a neat, consistent, scientific parcel.

And because of that,

the law often finds the evidence “unbelievable” .

So now I understand that a witness can be “mistaken” in their evidence.

I have suggested it time and time again.

But this is not a car accident, a home invasion, this is rape.

A crime against the person. And now I know

that when a woman says “no”, when her actions say “no”,

it is not a subtle unreadable thing at all. Yet before this

I too would suggest that “she was mistaken” .

But when a woman has been violated, it is a corrosive wound,

one that begins with terror and pain deep in the body,

it then overtakes the mind, the soul. Yet before

I would suggest that “she was confused” .

The message is that if we do not deliver our evidence neatly

in a clear linear story,

with consistency in recall, then we are lying.

Yet before this,

I would point out inconsistencies as proof of doubt, Would tell the jury they couldn’t possibly be “sure” .

As a lawyer I know the law can’t jettison consistency entirely,

but in sexual assault trials can we keep using it as the litmus test of credibility?

Because,

as a victim-survivor,

let me tell you that the rape and perpetrator are vividly recalled, the peripheral details not so clearly.

If a woman is rattled by reliving the nightmare in court,

if a woman’s experience of the rape is not the way the court likes it to be,

then,

we conclude that she is prone to exaggeration.

And it is because of this

that she is so often disbelieved.

So here in court, I want to call it out. ’

There’s a flurry in the courtroom gallery,

I speak up:

‘The law of sexual assault spins on the wrong axis.

A woman’s experience of sexual assault

does not fit the male-defined system of truth. So it cannot be truth,

and therefore there cannot be justice.

The law has been shaped

by generations and generations of men. ’ I can see the KC on his feet,

Tessa dismisses him.

but I can’t hear him any more.

‘There was a time, not so long ago, when courts like this did not “see” non-consensual sex in marriage as rape,

did not “see” that battered women fight back in a manner distinct from the way men fight.

Yet once we “see” we cannot “unsee” . Can we?

Now I “see”

through my own experience,

that we have it all wrong when it comes to sexual assault.

We do not interrogate the law’s own assumptions instead we persist in interrogating the victim.

The law is an organic thing. Defined by us.

Constructed by us,

in light of our experiences.

All of ours, and so,

there are no excuses any more. It must change.

Because,

the truth is that

one in every three women are sexually assaulted.

And their voices need to be heard.

They need to be believed, for justice to be done. ’

I can see Mr Brookes’ KC is on his feet again.

I hear the judge now

I have gone beyond what I am allowed to say, well beyond.

Perhaps addressing the audience as/or the court gallery.

One in three women. Look to your left,

look to your right, one of us …

I feel my cheeks hot hot hot. I am done.

So done.

I see my mum, Richard.

The KC, and Julian.

I feel a wave of sadness.

Not despair just pure sadness.

I know the jury won’t find Julian guilty.

But a weight has been lifted.

I see three journalists writing madly, court artist staring at me taking notes.

The judge tells me to not speak until I am asked a question, he is calling the jury back in.

Voir dire over.

I hold my head up.

See Adam at the back of the court, he nods.

I see the open face of the young police officer.

This young woman in a uniform usually worn by men.

She locks eyes with me and

in this brightly lit, suffocating courtroom standing in front of everyone,

while my mum clutches her straw bag,

right here, right now

meeting the eyes of that one young woman,

makes me feel …

Something good.

Scene Eighteen

VERDICT

(Epilogue)

LATER

Not long after.

I’ve been a defence barrister for long enough.

You know when the jury come back fast that someone is ‘Not Guilty’ .

The defence team are all shaking hands with Julian. Julian is thrilled.

A roar from his boys in the gallery is loud and there is clapping.

Richard is telling me something but I can’t hear or I can’t compute.

The young police officer has materialised beside me, she puts her hand on my shoulder.

I know I have to stand, but I don’t.

The jury files out,

not one of them can meet my eye.

All of this and, and –

They didn’t believe me.

The legal system made me look like a liar.

Julian will never have to say sorry, never have to admit what he did, never have to …

The system feels faulty and mixed up, the legal system feels broken.

Look to your left, look to your right. I am broken too.

But I am still here.

And I will not be silenced.

Richard is beckoning to my mum, she gathers her straw bag,

stands,

comes over to us. ‘Come on love. ’

I don’t know what to

cling to, how to stand up.

How to walk out of the courtroom. How to leave the building?

All I know is that somewhere.

Some time. Somehow.

Something has

to change.

Pause.

Blackout.