The Walking Dead

'I spoke, Dickie, of the kid who's been brought in to do the business. I'd like to focus on him and—'

'I don't want to seem rude, Joe, but the assistant director's waiting upstairs for me — I hope Mary's looking after you.'

'She's doing a fine job. Another day of this and I'll be fatter than a Thanksgiving turkey. Keep your man on hold a couple minutes. Imagine the kid. A Saudi Arabian boy, from the limited background of an upbringing in Asir Province, is in circumstances way out of his depth. He's far from home and has only his Faith to cling to. Where he is, in the safe-house, he has no friend. He is alone. I could almost feel sorry for him, Dickie — except that it was a kid like him who walked into the mess hall at Mosul. Those with him, except for the big man, are of an alien culture. They're not Arabs but Muslim Brits. They won't know how to talk to him, won't understand his feelings, and cannot offer him succour. His isolation is total. Some of those British will be jealous of him because he's going to be martyred and have that quarter of an hour of fame. Others' fear of death, eternity will have been heightened by his presence, proximity. Strains and stresses will create an atmosphere you could cut with a blunt-edged knife…and around them, bickering and complaining and wishing he was someplace else, is the big man. You following me? OK, so you have to go. Enjoy your meeting, Dickie.'

* * *

The trial lurched on.

After the lunch adjournment, the prosecution's barrister had started on his closing address to the jury; Mr Justice Herbert made a play at normality and busily wrote his longhand notes; the Curtis brothers glowered from the dock and the security round them had been reinforced by the presence of two more prison officers; the solicitor, Nathaniel Wilson, kept his head down as if that way he would not be noticed; the police guard in the public gallery had been doubled. The normality the judge had aimed for could not be achieved.

Some of the jury seemed to listen to the barrister's droning repetition of the evidence laid before them; others scarcely made the effort.

But in the morning when the jury had gathered in their room, and again during the adjournment, there had been lively anger, confusion, and an almost excited meld of gossip and anecdote between them. Confidentiality was gone, and something of a brotherhood in adversity had been shaped. They all — bar one — had difficulties with the new situation confronting them.

Rob, a mouthpiece for the general anger, had said, 'No one seems to have given us a thought. My darts team's on the board tonight, and I'm the fixture secretary. I'm expected to turn out — but I'm told I can't. Where am I going to be? Nobody's told me.'