Miles’ dark eyebrows knotted. “That long?”
“Unfortunately. When they’re found guilty it should be dealt with then rather than making us all wait weeks for it to be over.” Mum shook her head in anger. I agreed with her completely; it would be better if it wasn’t drawn out even longer, but there was nothing we could do about it.
“Thanks for lunch. I’m going back up to read,” I said, taking my plate to wash it up.
“You don’t have to hide out, Oakley. You can stay downstairs too.”
“Of course you should,” Miles agreed.
I shook my head. Hanging around them and watching them smile at each other like teenagers wasn’t my idea of fun. “Actually, I’m really fine reading.”
“Does Lizzie have a particularly wide variety of books then?” Mum teased.
“Oh yeah, she has the whole series of Vogue and Cosmopolitan,” I replied sarcastically. “There’s a few things on the bookshelf that look pretty interesting though.” I nodded to the bookcase out in the hallway.
“Only if you’re sure, honey. You’re more than welcome to stay with us.”
“No thanks,” I replied, winking at her as I walked out of the kitchen. No doubt she would blush. I grabbed the first book of the shelf and went back up to Lizzie’s room, leaving them to it.
Chapter Sixteen
Oakley
My heart was beating as fast as it was the last time I was standing in the courtroom. I could feel myself losing control, and all the breathing exercises I’d learned went out the window. Don’t look at him, I told myself. I kept my head straight and refused to turn to where he was. I couldn’t handle seeing him again.
You can do this, for every girl he would go on to hurt if you didn’t speak up.
Strangely, I felt more afraid of him now than I did as a little girl. Back then, I still had hope that he would change, that he would be a proper dad again. That hope was lost the day he took me back to Frank when I was sixteen. I saw him for what he was now – a sick, evil monster.
No matter how afraid I was, I would not give up. No matter how hard things got, I would stand up and tell everyone what he did. He had to pay for what he’d done, and I was determined to make that happen. Linda stood up and walked towards me. She stopped a meter away and smiled discretely.
“Could you please state your full name?”
My heart crashed in my chest. “Oakley Ruby Farrell.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty.”
I was asked a few more straight, everyday factual questions like that. Where did I live? Who did I live with? Where did I go to school? And then things turned more serious. Linda straightened her back and glanced at the judge and jury. No turning back now.
Taking a deep breath, I focused on the end goal – to make sure my father never got the opportunity to cause damage to anyone else, and to get justice for those girls he had hurt, including me, and for my family.
“Miss Farrell, do you understand why we are here?” Linda asked. Her voice projected authority and confidence. The way she looked and moved was almost as if we had already won.
“Yes,” I replied. My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was like when you hear your voice in a recording. I wanted to elaborate and tell her, tell them all exactly why we were here, but I couldn’t. I had to keep it simple, not go into detail: one word answers whenever possible.
Linda nodded once. “Did you grow up here?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you live when you were here?”
“Eighteen Turner Road.”
“Who did you live with at that address?”
“My mum, dad and brother.”
“And how long did you live there?”
Those questions were still easy. I thought it was getting harder? “Sixteen years,” I said.
My parents moved when Mum was four months pregnant with me. It was the only house I had ever lived in before we moved to Australia.
“You just mentioned your father. Do you see him in the court room today? Can you point and verbally acknowledge that he is in the court room so our stenographer can enter your response in to the court records?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes. He’s there,” I said and pointed to him. I was careful not to look directly into his eyes though. I could feel him watching me, burning a hole in the side of my head. It made me feel weak.
Linda half smiled and briskly moved on. “Now, Miss Farrell, we are obviously here today because your father, Mr Farrell sold you and other children for the purpose of sex—”
“Objection,” my father’s defence lawyer, John Bee, cut in. He stood up and faced the judge.
The judge, a short plump woman, leant forwards a fraction. “Sustained.”
Linda was told not to lead the jury to a conclusion when the charges were alleged. Alleged. It made it sound like I was lying. Did the judge think I was lying?