Rees raises a thin hand. ‘You’ll get your chance, Mr Dardenne.’
She addresses Alison. ‘Are you frightened of your husband?’
Alison nods.
‘You’ll have to speak up.’
‘Yes,’ she murmurs.
‘Has he threatened you or your children?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘OK. Let’s hear what you have to say.’
She motions to the witness box. Alison makes her way to the front of the court, stepping onto a raised platform with a single high-backed chair. Having sworn the oath, she takes a seat and produces a piece of paper that looks tattered and damp from perspiration. She tries to read but falters.
‘Maybe if you use your own words,’ suggests the judge.
Alison begins describing the breakdown of her marriage, outlining her husband’s controlling and coercive behaviour; how he would read her text messages and block her friends from calling her. How he refused to let her drive, and gave her a weekly allowance to buy shopping, making her justify how much she spent on every purchase.
‘He wasn’t always like that. I loved him once,’ she whispers. ‘When I put on weight after Chloe was born, he wouldn’t let me eat. But when I tried to look good for him, he accused me of dressing up for other men … of flirting with them.’ She starts and stops and starts again, struggling to get the words out. I think I hear the word ‘ruffles’。
The judge interrupts her. ‘Excuse me, but who or what is ruffles?’
‘Our dog. Darren said she was dangerous, but Ruffles would only bite when she was frightened.’
‘What happened to Ruffles?’
‘I came home and she was gone. Darren said she ran away. Nathan was inconsolable. He’s my little boy.’
Alison wipes her eyes. A box of tissues is found for her.
‘Has your husband ever been physically violent towards you?’ asks the judge.
Alison is about to respond but she catches sight of Goodall and swallows the words.
Judge Rees asks her again. Alison nods, less certain now.
‘Do you have any medical evidence? Doctors’ reports? Hospital admissions?’
‘I was taken to hospital by the police, but I don’t have the photographs.’
‘Why not?’
‘The hospital couldn’t find them.’
‘This is bullshit!’ mutters Goodall. Dardenne puts a hand on his shoulder, urging him to be quiet.
The outburst unnerves Alison, who loses her focus. She begins speaking too quickly, jumbling her words.
Dardenne is on his feet. ‘My client strenuously denies that he has ever been violent towards his wife.’
‘He chokes me and brings me back, so he can choke me all over again,’ says Alison. ‘Each time he whispers to me that I’m going to die and my children will be next.’
‘More lies,’ says Goodall.
The judge points a finger. ‘One more word and I’ll have you removed.’ She turns back to Alison. ‘Have you reported his behaviour?’
‘Nathan did – my little boy made an emergency call.’
‘And you gave the police a statement.’
Alison shakes her head, looking miserable. ‘I was too scared. I mean – he’s one of them – a police officer.’
The last statement is delivered with rancour and also a strength that I haven’t recognised in Alison until now.
‘Do you have any corroborating evidence? A police report. A recording of the call?’
‘No.’
‘Where are you living now?’ asks Judge Rees.
‘With my parents.’
‘How old are your children?’
‘Six and two. They have nightmares. They don’t want to see their father.’
‘That’s very young to have made up their minds.’
‘Old enough to be frightened of him.’
Judge Rees thank Alison and asks her to step down. She glances to the opposite end of the bar table, where Dardenne gets slowly to his feet and slips his hands into his pockets.
‘My client is a decorated police officer who was badly wounded in the line of duty. He is a hero in anyone’s language, who has suffered from PTSD as a result of his bravery and has been undergoing counselling for the past ten months. He concedes that there have been problems in the marriage, but he categorically denies the allegations that he was violent or abusive towards his wife and children. Rather than being the perpetrator here, Mr Goodall is the victim. His wife’s behaviour has become increasingly irrational: unlocking his phone, reading his text messages, accusing him of having an affair.’
‘He was having an affair,’ says Alison, her voice shaking.
‘You’ve had your turn, Mrs Goodall,’ says Rees.
Dardenne picks up a document.
‘A week ago, my client went to his local police station and reported that he and his wife were having marital difficulties. Sergeant Goodall feared that his wife would make false accusations against him and he wanted his concerns to be documented to protect himself. This is a copy of the notes taken by the desk sergeant.’
A court clerk collects the paper and delivers it to the judge.
Dardenne picks up a second document.
‘This is a report from the social care team at Brent Council. Five days ago, Sergeant Goodall noticed bruises on his daughter’s arms that appear to be the result of the child being violently gripped and shaken. When he asked his wife about the bruises she lost her temper and threatened to blame him. Although reluctant to make a complaint against his wife, Sergeant Goodall contacted the social care team at Brent Council and registered his concerns.’
Alison lets out a squeak of protest and I glance at the judge to see if she’s buying any of this. Hard to tell.
‘Mrs Goodall is on antidepressants, which have been prescribed by a Harley Street psychiatrist, a Dr Helen Krause. I had hoped to persuade Dr Krause to attend today’s hearing, but patient-doctor privilege prevents her from discussing details. There is, however, another witness in court today. Mrs Jennifer Hammond, my client’s mother-in-law. She can testify to her daughter’s fragile state of mind.’
The look on Alison’s face is one of numbness rather than disbelief. She is staring at her mother, who has turned pale, clearly ambushed by the request.
Judge Rees seems to take pity on both women.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
Dardenne continues: ‘There is no medical evidence to support Mrs Goodall’s allegations. No photographs. No doctor’s reports. No record of the police ever being called to their address.’
‘But the ambulance came,’ says Alison, sounding defeated.
‘Paramedics attended the address because Mrs Goodall had threatened to harm herself.’
‘That’s not true,’ she says plaintively. ‘He threatened my baby. He hit my little boy.’
Goodall shouts, ‘They’re my children, too.’
Without realising it, I’m on my feet. ‘I’ve heard the tape.’
Everybody stops and turns. Judge Rees peers at me over the top rim of her glasses. ‘And you are?’
‘PC Philomena McCarthy. I’m with the Metropolitan Police.’
Goodall interrupts: ‘She’s not a serving police officer. She’s been suspended.’