Читать книгу Flawed / Perfect - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 23

I notice the boy in the cell sit up, too. I see the flash of red before I see him. Judge Crevan is like a winged man with his floating blood-red cloak. I see his sparkling blue eyes and his blonde hair, and I think of Art and I feel at home. He smiles at me through the glass, his eyes crinkling at the sides as they always do, and inside I relax. I feel safe.

“Celestine,” he says, as soon as Tina lets him into the cell. He flashes his perfect white teeth and spreads his arms, and as he does, he looks like he’s lifting his wings, about to take off. I run straight into them, and he closes his arms, the red robe wrapped around me. I feel protected. In his cocoon. It will be all right. Bosco will take care of me. He won’t let this go any further.

As he hugs me, my cheek is pushed up against the rough crest on his chest. I am face-to-face with the Guild’s crest and motto, “Purveyors of Perfection”.

He kisses the top of my head and releases me.

“Right, let’s sit. We have a lot to discuss, Celestine.” He fixes me with one of his infamous stern gazes, and just as I always felt before, it looks comical, cartoonish. This is not the man I’m used to seeing in his house.

I hide the nervous smile that is twitching at my lips. Laughing now would not be good.

“Things are going to be very difficult for you over the next few days, but we’ll get you through them, okay?”

He glances at Dad, who suddenly looks completely exhausted, and I think for the first time what he’s had to tell people at work. How can he work at a news station when his own daughter is making the headlines?

I nod.

“You’ll have to listen to me and do as I say.”

I nod again, feverishly.

“She will,” Mum says firmly, sitting poker straight in her chair.

Bosco looks at me to respond.

“I will.”

“Good. Now.” He takes out a tablet and taps and swipes his documents. “This nonsense on the bus this morning.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Art told me all about it.”

I’m not surprised by this. Art wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter, and I am sorry again for how my actions have affected the people I love. I assume Art told him the truth. Art would never lie to his dad, but would he to protect me? I’m suddenly unsure of the story I am to tell, particularly after being told by my parents to lie.

“Unfortunately, already there are people using your connection to Art to take advantage and undermine the work of the Guild. The minority, of course. You may be used as a pawn in their game, Celestine.” He looks at my parents and then back to me. “This is just extremely bad timing in light of the Jimmy Child verdict this morning, where people think I was too lenient. But, Celestine, you have always been one of my greatest supporters. You’re going to be just fine.”

I smile, relieved.

“I have my notes, but I want you to tell me what happened this morning.”

I wonder what Art has said, but then I settle for the truth, hoping I’m not getting him into trouble. After all, there were thirty other people on the bus who will testify to seeing exactly the same thing. All I have to say is that I know I was wrong. That should be easy.

“There were two ladies sitting in the Flawed seats. One had broken her leg and sat there because there was room to extend it, and the other was her friend. An old Flawed man got on the bus. He had nowhere to sit. He started coughing. He could barely stand. He was getting worse and worse. I asked the lady who didn’t have the broken leg—”

“Margaret,” Bosco interrupts me, staring at me intently, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips, narrowed in suspicion, analysing my every word, every facial expression, every little movement. I concentrate on the story.

“Right. Margaret. I asked her if she would move so he could sit down.”

“Why?”

“Because—”

“Because he was disturbing the passengers on the bus, that’s why,” he interrupts. “Because his Flawed, disgusting, infectious cough was infecting the good people in our society, and you were concerned about them and yourself.”

I pause, mouth open, unsure of what to say. I look at Mum and Dad. Mum is nodding coolly, and Dad’s bloodshot eyes are focussed on the table, not giving anything away. I don’t know what to say. This is not what I expected.

“Continue,” Bosco says.

“So she wouldn’t move, and eventually I called out for a doctor—”

“To stop his disgusting condition from spreading,” he says. “You were thinking of the people on the bus. Protecting them from the dangers of the Flawed.”

I pause.

“Continue.”

“So then I called for the driver to stop the bus.”

“Why?”

“To help—”

“To get him off the bus,” he snaps. “To get rid of him. So that the air of your fellow passengers would be cleaner, wouldn’t be polluted. You are, in fact, a hero. This is what the people outside believe. This is the story that Pia has been telling for the past two hours. People are gathering outside to see you, the hero who stood up to the Flawed.”

My mouth drops and I look across at Dad, now understanding why he looks so shattered. Has he spent the whole morning spinning this story?

“But there’s a problem,” Bosco says. “You helped him into a seat. A seat for the flawless. And that is where my colleagues and I cannot agree, and I have spent the past hour discussing it with them. We have failed to mention this part to Pia, but, of course, there were at least a dozen people on that bus who will come forward with the story. They probably even have video.”

He looks at my dad again and my dad nods. He has received a video already, something recorded on someone’s phone on the bus and sent directly into the news station. He’s probably spent the morning fighting for it not to be shown. He knows what will happen if it is.

“Rest assured, your dad will do everything in his power to make sure that video doesn’t hit the airwaves.” It sounds like a threat.

“I told you I’m doing everything that I can,” Dad says, looking him firmly in the eye.

Bosco holds his stare; they look at each other coldly.

Mum clears her throat to snap them out of their stare.

“So,” Bosco says, “after hearing that testimony, I would say this accusation is a grave injustice, as someone who was, in fact, aiding the Guild cannot be condemned to life as a Flawed. However, my fellow judges disagree. With me and with each other. Currently, Judge Jackson, who is normally a sound man, regards your act as a moral misjudgement and would like a Flawed verdict. Judge Sanchez sees your act as aiding and assisting a Flawed, which carries a punishment of imprisonment.”

Mum gasps. I freeze. Dad doesn’t do anything. He probably already knew this.

“As you know, the minimum prison term for aiding a Flawed is eighteen months, and considering this act was carried out so publicly, on public transport, in full sight of thirty people, it carries the highest penalty. We have argued this back and forth.” He sighs, and I hear the weariness, the genuine discontent, at what is happening. “And we have reached an agreement of three years. But you will be released in two years and two months.”