cowardly scum.’
‘Mother!’ I reprimanded her. ‘We’re not in downtown Mogadishu. We don’t go around blasting the balls off rape suspects.’ I turned my attention back to our visiting pensioner. ‘So, what did he say, when he opened the door – the first man – and saw you aiming below his belt?’ I probed.
‘He said, “Don’t shoot me in the nuts! What if I wanna have babies?”’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said, “You? A father? I’m doin’ the world a bleedin’ favour.”’
‘Too right,’ Roxy agreed, patting Phyllis’s hand, which, I now noticed, had started shaking uncontrollably. ‘Clearly, his gene pool’s as shallow as a mud puddle. It was really just an impromptu vasectomy. Saved him the trouble.’
‘Roxy!’ I looked at my mother, wondering if it was too late to put myself up for adoption. ‘It’s grievous bodily harm is what it is. Attempted murder. You must plead guilty, Phyllis. With extenuating circumstances . . . We must also call the police immediately.’
‘We will,’ Roxy said. ‘I’m just getting the story straight. So, what did the other guy say? The second rapist?’
‘“Gimme a chance, lady.”’
‘And what did you say?’ I prompted.
‘“Okay, swing ’em.”’
Roxy snorted out a laugh.
‘Then I recocked the rifle . . .’
‘Unfortunate terminology, under the circs,’ my mother commented wryly.
I levelled another disapproving glance in her direction. Parents can be such a disappointment. It’s such a shame when they don’t fulfil the potential of their early years. ‘Roxy, what are you thinking!’ I scolded. ‘Two men have been maimed here.’
‘What I’m thinking is what a good shot you are, Phyllis. I mean, what was the angle of the dangle?’
I took aim, too, and shot my mother another scalding look. ‘Technically, you’ll be under arrest for attempted murder, as the victims might die,’ I sombrely informed the distressed gran. Her face was suddenly as rumpled as an unmade bed.
‘But you didn’t want to hurt them, did you, Phyllis?’ my mother coaxed. ‘No . . . Your granddaughter was raped. A fog came over you. You felt enraged. You decided to go door to door to find the culprits. You took the gun to arm yourself because that end of the council estate is very rough . . . You saw the men and felt overcome with rage and, before you knew what had happened, you’d shot them.’
Phyllis shook her head. ‘No. Those poxy bastards raped my darlin’ granddaughter. I wanted to take their balls off so they could never do anythin’ like this to any other girl.’
‘No,’ my mother reiterated patiently. ‘What I understand you to mean is that you took the gun around to wave at them, to frighten them. To warn them not to say anything that would degrade your lovely girl. That she was asking for it, or some such rubbish . . .’
‘Um . . . Mother, do you really think you should be coaching the defendant?’
Roxy darted a crafty look my way. ‘Coaching is contrary to the rules of practice, Tilly. I am merely assisting Phyllis to recall her confused emotions.’ She turned back towards the old lady. ‘Surely you just wanted to warn them not to say anything bad and untrue about your granddaughter, calling her a slut or a slag . . .’ Roxy shushed me with her hand. ‘You only took the gun to give them a scare . . . and to protect yourself.’ She was speaking in the calm, steady, authoritative tone of an air-traffic controller who has to instruct an untrained flyer how to land the plane after the pilot has lost consciousness. ‘And then, when they answered the door, terrorized by such frightening scum, before you knew it, you’d fired the rifle. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not listening to this, Roxy.’ My mother’s legal ethics were proving harder to find than a supermodel’s pantry. ‘Lawyers are not supposed to put words in a defendant’s mouth and create a defence,’ I explained to
‘Mother!’ I reprimanded her. ‘We’re not in downtown Mogadishu. We don’t go around blasting the balls off rape suspects.’ I turned my attention back to our visiting pensioner. ‘So, what did he say, when he opened the door – the first man – and saw you aiming below his belt?’ I probed.
‘He said, “Don’t shoot me in the nuts! What if I wanna have babies?”’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I said, “You? A father? I’m doin’ the world a bleedin’ favour.”’
‘Too right,’ Roxy agreed, patting Phyllis’s hand, which, I now noticed, had started shaking uncontrollably. ‘Clearly, his gene pool’s as shallow as a mud puddle. It was really just an impromptu vasectomy. Saved him the trouble.’
‘Roxy!’ I looked at my mother, wondering if it was too late to put myself up for adoption. ‘It’s grievous bodily harm is what it is. Attempted murder. You must plead guilty, Phyllis. With extenuating circumstances . . . We must also call the police immediately.’
‘We will,’ Roxy said. ‘I’m just getting the story straight. So, what did the other guy say? The second rapist?’
‘“Gimme a chance, lady.”’
‘And what did you say?’ I prompted.
‘“Okay, swing ’em.”’
Roxy snorted out a laugh.
‘Then I recocked the rifle . . .’
‘Unfortunate terminology, under the circs,’ my mother commented wryly.
I levelled another disapproving glance in her direction. Parents can be such a disappointment. It’s such a shame when they don’t fulfil the potential of their early years. ‘Roxy, what are you thinking!’ I scolded. ‘Two men have been maimed here.’
‘What I’m thinking is what a good shot you are, Phyllis. I mean, what was the angle of the dangle?’
I took aim, too, and shot my mother another scalding look. ‘Technically, you’ll be under arrest for attempted murder, as the victims might die,’ I sombrely informed the distressed gran. Her face was suddenly as rumpled as an unmade bed.
‘But you didn’t want to hurt them, did you, Phyllis?’ my mother coaxed. ‘No . . . Your granddaughter was raped. A fog came over you. You felt enraged. You decided to go door to door to find the culprits. You took the gun to arm yourself because that end of the council estate is very rough . . . You saw the men and felt overcome with rage and, before you knew what had happened, you’d shot them.’
Phyllis shook her head. ‘No. Those poxy bastards raped my darlin’ granddaughter. I wanted to take their balls off so they could never do anythin’ like this to any other girl.’
‘No,’ my mother reiterated patiently. ‘What I understand you to mean is that you took the gun around to wave at them, to frighten them. To warn them not to say anything that would degrade your lovely girl. That she was asking for it, or some such rubbish . . .’
‘Um . . . Mother, do you really think you should be coaching the defendant?’
Roxy darted a crafty look my way. ‘Coaching is contrary to the rules of practice, Tilly. I am merely assisting Phyllis to recall her confused emotions.’ She turned back towards the old lady. ‘Surely you just wanted to warn them not to say anything bad and untrue about your granddaughter, calling her a slut or a slag . . .’ Roxy shushed me with her hand. ‘You only took the gun to give them a scare . . . and to protect yourself.’ She was speaking in the calm, steady, authoritative tone of an air-traffic controller who has to instruct an untrained flyer how to land the plane after the pilot has lost consciousness. ‘And then, when they answered the door, terrorized by such frightening scum, before you knew it, you’d fired the rifle. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not listening to this, Roxy.’ My mother’s legal ethics were proving harder to find than a supermodel’s pantry. ‘Lawyers are not supposed to put words in a defendant’s mouth and create a defence,’ I explained to
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