Take It Back. Kia Abdullah

had traded better pay and conditions for something more meaningful.

      Zara manoeuvred her way to the Lincoln meeting room, a tiny square carved into a corner of the pit. She carefully set down her armful and divided the folders into different piles: one for cases that had stalled, one for cases that needed action, and another for cases just starting. There she placed Stuart’s latest addition, making a total of twelve ongoing cases. She methodically sorted through each piece of paper, either filing it in a folder or scanning and binning it. She, like most lawyers, hated throwing things away.

      She was still sorting through files when half an hour later she heard a gentle knock on the door. She glanced up, taking just a beat too long to respond. ‘May I help you?’

      The girl nodded. ‘Yes, I’m Jodie Wolfe. I have an appointment?’

      ‘Please come in.’ Zara gestured to the sofa, its blue fabric torn in one corner, exposing yellow foam underneath.

      The girl said something unintelligible, paused, then tried again. ‘Can I close the door?’

      ‘Of course.’ Zara’s tone was consciously casual.

      The girl lumbered to the sofa and sat carefully down while Zara tried not to stare.

      Jodie’s right eye was all but hidden by a sac of excess skin hanging from her forehead. Her nose, unnaturally small in height, sat above a set of puffy lips and her chin slid off her jawline in heavy folds of skin.

      ‘It’s okay,’ misshapen words from her misshapen mouth. ‘I’m used to it.’ Dressed in a black hoodie and formless blue jeans, she sat awkwardly on the sofa.

      Zara felt a heavy tug of pity, like one might feel for a bird with a broken wing. She took a seat opposite and spoke evenly, not wanting to infantilise her. ‘Jodie, let’s start with why you’re here.’

      The girl wiped a corner of her mouth. ‘Okay but, please, if you don’t understand something I say, please ask me to repeat it.’ She pointed at her face. ‘Sometimes it’s difficult to form the words.’

      ‘Thank you, I will.’ Zara reached for her notepad. ‘Take your time.’

      The girl was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice that was soft and papery, said, ‘Five days ago, I was raped.’

      Zara’s expression was inscrutable.

      Jodie searched for a reaction. ‘You don’t believe me,’ she said, more a statement than a question.

      Zara frowned. ‘Is there a reason I shouldn’t?’

      The girl curled her hands into fists. ‘No,’ she replied.

      ‘Then I believe you.’ Zara watched the tension ease. ‘Can I ask how old you are?’

      ‘Sixteen.’

      ‘Have you spoken to anyone about this?’

      ‘Just my mum.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘I haven’t told the police.’

      Zara nodded. ‘You don’t have to make that decision now. What we can do is take some evidence and send it to the police later if you decide you want to. We will need to take some details but you don’t have to tell me everything.’

      Jodie pulled at the cuffs of her sleeves and wrapped them around her fingers. ‘I’d like to. I think I might need to.’

      Zara studied the girl’s face. ‘I understand,’ she said, knowing that nerve was like a violin string: tautest just before it broke. If Jodie didn’t speak now, she may never find the courage. She allowed her to start when ready, knowing that victims should set their own pace and use pause and silence to fortify strength.

      Jodie began to speak, her voice pulled thin by nerves, ‘It was Thursday just gone. I was at a party. My first ever one. My mum thought I was staying at my friend Nina’s house. She’s basically the daughter Mum wished she had.’ There was no bitterness in Jodie’s tone, just a quiet sadness.

      ‘Nina made me wear these low-rise jeans and I just felt so stupid. She wanted to put lipstick on me but I said no. I didn’t want anyone to see that I was … trying.’ Jodie squirmed with embarrassment. ‘We arrived just after ten. I remember because Nina said any earlier and we’d look desperate. The music was so loud. Nina’s always found it easy to make friends. I’ve never known why she chose me to be close to. I didn’t want to tag along with her all evening – she’s told me off about that before – so I tried to talk to a few people.’ Jodie met Zara’s gaze. ‘Do you know how hard that is?’

      Zara thought of all the corporate parties she had attended alone; how keen she had been for a friend – but then she looked at Jodie’s startling face and saw that her answer was, ‘no’. Actually, she didn’t know how hard it was.

      Jodie continued, ‘Nina was dancing with this guy, all close. I couldn’t face the party without her, so I went outside to the park round the back.’ She paused. ‘I heard him before I saw him. His footsteps were unsteady from drinking. Amir Rabbani. He—he’s got these light eyes that everyone loves. He’s the only boy who hasn’t fallen for Nina.’

      Zara noted the glazed look in Jodie’s eyes, the events of that night rendered vivid in her mind.

      Jodie swallowed. ‘He came and sat next to me and looked me in the eye, which boys never do unless they’re shouting ugly things at me.’ She gave a plaintive smile. ‘He reached out and traced one of my nails with his finger and I remember thinking at least my hands are normal. Thank you, God, for making my hands normal.’ Jodie made a strangled sound: part cry and part scoff, embarrassed by her naivety. ‘He said I should wear lace more often because it makes me look pretty and—’. Her gaze dipped low. ‘I believed him.’

      Jodie reached for a tissue but didn’t use it, twisting it in her hands instead. ‘He said, “I know you won’t believe me but you have beautiful lips and whenever I see you, I wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”’ Jodie paused to steady her voice. ‘He asked if I would go somewhere secret with him so he could find out what it was like. I’ve never known what it’s like to be beautiful but in that moment I got a taste and …’ Jodie’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I followed him.’ She blinked them back through the sting of shame.

      Zara smarted as she watched, dismayed that Jodie had been made to feel that way: to believe that her value as a young woman lay in being desirable, but that to desire was somehow evil.

      Jodie kneaded the tissue in her fingers. ‘He led me through the estate to an empty building. I was scared because there were cobwebs everywhere but he told me not to worry. He took me upstairs. We were looking out the window when …’ Jodie flushed. ‘He asked me what my breasts were like. I remember feeling light-headed, like I could hear my own heart beating. Then he said, “I ain’t gonna touch ’em if they’re ugly like the rest of you.”’ Jodie’s voice cracked just a little – a hairline fracture hiding vast injury.

      Zara watched her struggle with the weight of her words and try for a way to carry them, as if switching one for another or rounding a certain vowel may somehow ease her horror.

      Jodie’s voice grew a semitone higher, the tissue now balled in her fist. ‘Before I could react, his friends came out of the room next door. Hassan said, “This is what you bring us?” and Amir said he chose me because I wouldn’t tell anyone. Hassan said, “Yeah, neither would a dog.”’

      Jodie gripped her knee, each finger pressing a little black pool in the fabric of her jeans. Her left foot tap-tapped on the floor as if working to a secret beat. ‘Amir said, “She’s got a pussy, don’t she?” and told me to get on my knees. I didn’t understand what was happening. I said no. He tried to persuade me but I kept saying no …’ Jodie exhaled sharply, her mouth forming a small O as if she were blowing on tea. ‘He—he told his friends to hold me.’

      Zara blinked. ‘How many were there?’ she asked softly.

      Jodie shifted in her seat. ‘Four. Amir and Hassan