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Chapter 9

As Andrew sat in the courtroom Tuesday morning, waiting for his life to begin again, he was swept with a sense of déjà vu. Everything was the same as when his bodyguard, Reggie, had been sentenced in early December—the judge in her wig and red-and-white robe reading statements from the bench, the accused standing before her as she pronounced their fates. The only difference was the lack of Christmas decorations.

Once again Andrew’s family, including Colin, sat at the back of the crowded courtroom. They planned to make a quick exit after Jeremy’s sentence—the last of three scheduled this morning—to avoid the media jackals lurking in the front row.

Sitting beside him on the aisle, Colin kept a firm but gentle grip on Andrew’s hand. With their shoulders pressed together, Andrew was sure his boyfriend could feel every tremor running through his body.

He glanced at his parents to his right, admiring how stoic they appeared. His siblings sat in front of him, and while Andrew could see only the back of George’s head, he had a clear view of Elizabeth’s stony countenance. He tried not to stare at her, as she’d always had preternatural peripheral vision.

To corral his racing thoughts, Andrew focused on the words of the judge, Lady McIntyre, while she sentenced a seventeen-year-old lad who’d pleaded guilty to culpable homicide. As the stabbing incident was recounted in hideous detail, Andrew noticed Colin’s free hand begin to twitch where it lay upon his own thigh. Perhaps he was getting the urge to rub the scar created by Reggie’s knife, as he often did these days when he was agitated.

Andrew wondered whether Jeremy’s crime would seem mild compared to the brutal assault being described now. Each case was meant to be considered on its own merits, but still…judges were only human.

Finally the disturbed young man who’d slaughtered his foster mum was led from the courtroom. Before Andrew could brace himself, the door opened to the next accused—Jeremy Colback, his once-cherished friend and mentor, a man who’d been more of a brother to him than George had ever tried to be.

Jeremy couldn’t have looked less like a prisoner if he’d been wearing the judge’s own robe. His chestnut hair was carefully styled as ever, and he wore an elegant charcoal-gray Dunhill suit with a?—

Andrew’s fist clenched on the edge of his seat. Jeremy was sporting the same blue-and-silver-striped tie he’d worn the last day they’d seen each other, the day of the Scottish independence referendum. The day Jeremy had promised him a brilliant political future—a future Andrew had spurned in the most obnoxious way possible.

As he was led to stand in the dock, Jeremy scanned the back of the courtroom. Elizabeth’s hand began to rise in a wave to her estranged husband, but George grabbed it and put it back in her lap. She hunched her shoulders, face flushing at her reflexive show of emotion.

The judge cleared her throat and began without further ado.

“Jeremy Colback, you have pleaded guilty to the crimes of conspiracy to abduct and conspiracy to commit culpable and reckless conduct, in which you showed an indifference to the potential injury and suffering of others. You and Reginald Murdoch subjected your brother-in-law, Lord Andrew Sunderland, to a sustained campaign of harassment and intimidation, the final act of which endangered Mr. Sunderland’s life and resulted in the grievous bodily harm of his partner, Colin MacDuff.”

Jeremy’s head bent slightly, and his elbows tucked closer to his sides. From the back, he looked almost like a child awaiting a beating. An unwelcome pang of sympathy poked at Andrew’s gut.

“There is no doubt,” Lady McIntyre said, “that you were the instigator and driving force behind this conspiracy and that Mr. Murdoch simply went along with your instructions. He has already received a four-year sentence for his crimes of stalking, possession of a knife in a public place, and culpable and reckless conduct.”

Andrew scowled at hearing his former bodyguard’s list of crimes. It seemed preposterous that one could stab a person and not be charged with assault. But seeing as Colin had thrown himself at Reggie to protect Andrew, it was argued the wounding could have been accidental or even self-defense. Reggie had helped his case by cooperating fully with the police—and, no doubt, by being a retired detective himself.

The judge adjusted her reading glasses on her prominent nose and went on. “I have read the victim impact statements prepared by your brother-in-law and his partner.”

Andrew felt his jaw tighten. Colin had said the specific details of their statements probably wouldn’t be mentioned, but there was no guarantee. What if the world found out how damaged he was?

“Mr. MacDuff suffered a life-threatening injury,” the judge said, “which will have permanent health ramifications. Mr. Sunderland was in fear that serious violence might be visited upon him and that his life was at risk. Understandably, the experience has had lasting psychological effects.”

Jeremy tilted his head as though surprised. Andrew fixed his eyes on the gilded seal on the wall behind the judge, feeling curious glances flash his way.

To his relief, Lady McIntyre moved on:

“I take into account the following factors as mitigation: You appear in this court as a first offender, you are a respected and productive member of society, and you have demonstrated substantial remorse for your offending. Also, I accept that while the consequences for the victims were potentially catastrophic, no physical harm was intended by you, and that while your conduct was culpable and reckless, it lacked the wicked intent of an assault.”

Andrew’s stomach grew cold. Was she about to give Jeremy a slap on the wrist—a fine or community payback or some rubbish like that?

“Having listened carefully to all that has been said in mitigation on your behalf,” the judge continued, “whilst also reminding myself of the content of the two victim impact statements, I am satisfied that there is no appropriate alternative to a custodial disposal.”

Jeremy went stock-still. Andrew held his breath, his staticky mind untangling the meaning of her last phrase.

“Had you been convicted after trial,” the judge told Jeremy, “I would have sentenced you to twenty months in prison. With a twenty-five percent reduction for pleading guilty and avoiding a trial, you will serve fifteen months in prison.”

Andrew exhaled, so slowly it made his lungs ache.

Colin leaned into him and whispered, “It’s over.”

Is it? In a daze Andrew turned to his mother and repeated Colin’s words, hoping that saying them twice would make them true. “It’s over.”

As his mum hugged him, Andrew heard the macer call, “Court!” Then came scattered squeaks of folding seats as the audience stood for the judge’s exit.

Escorted from the dock, Jeremy turned one last time to look at his wife’s family, his eyes round with regret. Andrew swallowed hard, simultaneously wanting to embrace and punch the man he’d once trusted.

In front of him, Elizabeth pivoted suddenly, wavering on her high-heeled Louboutins. George reached to steady her, but she brushed him off and stepped into the aisle, where she paused for an instant to meet Andrew’s eyes.

He felt the blood drain from his face. Never had an expression said so much with so little.

“I need the ladies’,” Elizabeth said as she lurched toward the courtroom exit. Andrew wanted to run after her, but his feet felt stuck to the floor.

With a heavy sigh, George picked up their sister’s coat and draped it over his arm. “Well.”

No one added to that statement. Andrew kept his gaze on the wide oaken doorway where his sister had vanished. He wondered how she would break the news to Gwyneth and Tyler. At eight and ten, Andrew’s niece and nephew were old enough to understand—and old enough to be humiliated at school for having an incarcerated father.

He heard Colin speak his name softly.

“Yes?” he answered, still staring at the door.

“Let’s go home.”

“Yes.” Andrew let Colin help him on with his coat, barely feeling the weight of the heavy wool against his skin. It seemed like he was floating above himself near the courtroom’s high arched ceiling, watching these consequences from afar with a sudden, agonizing clarity.

My God , he thought. What have I done?

* * *

Desperate for air, Colin loosened his tie as he followed Andrew’s family out of the courtroom. Reggie’s sentencing last month had been tense enough, but with Jeremy’s political ties, today’s High Court felt like the center of the world.

Lady Kirkross hurried to the women’s toilets to find Elizabeth, while Colin and the rest of the family loitered in the corridor outside.

“You all right?” he whispered to Andrew. “You look a bit peely wally.”

“Do I?” Andrew touched his own face, as though he could feel its paleness. “I’ll be fine. I just want out of here.”

“Then let’s go.”

“No, we leave with my family. It’s safer that way.”

Colin nodded, pressing his shoulder to Andrew’s to offer subtle support. Getting justice would help them move on, but it couldn’t be that simple. No prison sentence could erase the memories of that September evening.

“I’d rather hoped to make an immediate exodus from the building.” Lord Kirkross cast an anxious glance back at the courtroom door, where the journalists were now emerging, heads swiveling in search of prey.

“Shall I fetch security?” George asked his father.

“Too late for that.” Lord Kirkross drew himself up to his full height—even taller than his sons, which was saying a lot. “The buzzards are swooping.”

As the reporters rushed forward, calling their names, Colin felt Andrew shrink back. He put an arm around him, hoping to lend strength without making him look weak.

“Lord Andrew!” shouted the first journalist to reach them, a tall lass with fiery hair and an expression to match. “How did it feel seeing your brother-in-law hauled off to prison? Has justice been done?”

Lord Kirkross stepped forward. “I ask that you give our family the privacy we deserve, the privacy every victim’s family deserves.”

“But you’re not just the victim’s family,” said a lanky young man who had I blog in my mum’s basement written all over him. “You’re the accused’s family too. Is there a schism in the House of Kirkross?”

“Of course not,” the marquess said. “On the contrary?—”

“How will this incident affect the Tories’ chances in the general election?” another reporter asked.

“Let me finish,” Lord Kirkross said in a commanding voice that hushed his audience—for the moment, at least. “There are many who would like to make this case about politics. But at its heart, it is about family. Family have the power to hold one another up or tear one another down. In the wake of this betrayal, the House of Kirkross is more united than ever.”

Colin glanced at Andrew, who looked as though he’d rather be on Mars without a spacesuit just now.

“That’s all we’ve got to say.” Lord Kirkross began buttoning his black wool overcoat. “Now if you’ll excuse us?—”

“Actually.” Andrew stepped forward, holding his chin high. “I’ve a few words to share.”

“Here we go again,” George whispered. When Colin gave him an uneasy glance, the earl asked him, “What’s this about?”

Colin shrugged, keeping his mouth shut to listen.

“Thank you all for your support.” Andrew surveyed the gathered media as though they were his loyal subjects—which, to be fair, they often were. “It’s not been easy, these last few months. But I’ve learned valuable lessons. Firstly, the importance of family. I always fancied myself independent, but this ordeal has taught me how much I need them, how much we need each other.” He cast a loving glance at his brother and father—and then at his mother, who had just come out of the ladies’ to discover an impromptu press conference. “Secondly, I’ve learned that my boyfriend, Colin MacDuff, is the strongest man on the planet.”

Colin’s face warmed. As dozens of eyes turned his way, he felt Lady Kirkross’s hand slip inside the crook of his arm and give him an affectionate squeeze.

“Thirdly, I’ve learned…” Andrew paused. “No, this isn’t so much a lesson as it is a decision, one I’d like to make official right now.”

Lady Kirkross’s grip on Colin’s arm turned tight as a blood-pressure cuff. His own guts tensed as well. Andrew had mentioned nothing about an announcement. Still, knowing him, this could be fun.

“I once had great dreams of participating in politics,” Andrew said. “I’d hoped to serve my people in the Scottish Parliament, or even in Westminster. I’d joked about becoming this country’s first gay prime minister—well, first openly gay prime minister.”

Oh this will be fun. Colin bit his lip, trying to maintain the stoic facade he’d practiced in the mirror yesterday.

“But all that’s changed,” Andrew continued. “Obviously I no longer feel at home in the Conservative Party, seeing as one of their operatives nearly killed my boyfriend. Furthermore, I vehemently disagree with their opposition to Scottish independence.”

“So you’re joining SNP?” shouted a reporter near the back of the crowd.

“The Scottish National Party has reached out to me numerous times,” Andrew said. “As tempting as it was to ride their rocket-fueled bandwagon to a place of power, I said no. I oppose as many SNP policies as I do Tory ones.” He smirked. “As for joining what’s left of the Labour Party, I’d sooner boil my head in Irn-Bru.”

Colin guffawed, then wiped away a smile. This was his beloved drama queen who spoke without fear of consequences. Andrew had been sequestering himself for weeks, even staying offline to avoid making statements that could affect the legal case. But now with Reggie and Jeremy locked up, Andrew could once again shine like the diamond he was.

“My disillusionment runs deeper than any party’s actions or positions,” he continued. “You see, I disagree with my father’s assessment. What happened to me—what happened to Colin, rather—it was political. It happened because we live in an age when winning votes is more important than serving voters.”

Some of the reporters looked impressed, but the blogger lad made a twisty-face. “Did you think politics was ever a noble calling? Did you believe in some mythical age when virtuous leaders cared about the people?”

“I don’t know.” Andrew shook his head sadly. “Perhaps it’s always been this way. Perhaps I’m being naive when I look to the past and see politicians who fought for the power of ideas rather than power itself.” He sighed. “In any case, I’m through.”

“What’s next for you, then?” asked the tall ginger lady. “Besides attending university and fabulous parties, of course.”

“Of course.” Andrew tried to return her smile, but his own faltered, and his eyes went distant for a moment. Then he blinked and said, “Perhaps I’ll write a book. That’s what famous people do, yeah?”

“God save us all,” George muttered as he sidled past Colin and Lady Kirkross to stand next to his brother. “The family has no more statements at this time,” the earl announced before putting an awkward arm around Andrew’s shoulders. “My brother deserves a bit of peace.”

“What about your sister?” asked a stick-thin blond man edging his way to the front. Colin remembered him from Reggie’s sentencing as a reporter for Scotland’s biggest tabloid. “How’s she feel about her husband getting sent down?”

Andrew’s mother stepped forward. “What kind of idiotic question is that? How do you think she feels?”

“It’s not my job to speculate,” the tabloid reporter said with wide-eyed fake innocence.

“That is precisely your job.” Lady Kirkross stared him down. “It’s all you ever do. You speculate, you gossip, you treat our lives like they’re storylines in a soap opera. But we’re as real as you are. So if you can, please reach down to the bottom of your twisted little heart, scrape together some basic human empathy, and use it to imagine how we feel. Then have yourself a strong cup of tea, as you’ll no doubt be exhausted after such exertion.”

Everyone gaped at her—the reporters, the family, and Colin himself. When no one moved, Lady Kirkross said, “Go!”

With scattered grumbles, the journalists dispersed, casting sullen looks back at the Sunderland clan.

“That was brilliant, Mum.” Andrew leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You realize it’ll be on YouTube in five minutes, right?”

“I’m counting on it.” She wrapped her red tartan wool scarf about her neck with a flourish. “Shall we depart?”

“What about Elizabeth?” George asked.

“She’ll be waiting for us in the car by now.” Lady Kirkross pulled on her gloves. “I gave her a wig and a hat so she could sneak out behind us whilst we distracted the reporters.”

They headed for the stairs to leave the building, but as soon as they rounded the first corner, Lord Kirkross stopped and turned to Andrew.

“Son, I’ve been wanting to say something.” He took a pause bordering on the theatrical. “Jeremy failed you as a brother-in-law and as a friend. But I failed you as a father.”

Andrew shook his head. “Dad, don’t?—”

“I pressured you to fit a mold you’d outgrown,” his father said. “It shouldn’t have taken me twenty years to realize you’ve got your own mind. You certainly proved that after the referendum result.”

Colin glowed inside, remembering how Andrew had posted a video of himself voting Yes for Scottish independence as he proclaimed his love for Colin, a video Andrew also tweeted at the Tory Prime Minister and his Conservative Party. Lord Kirkross then disowned him via a bizarre telegram-like message—which of course Andrew promptly Instagrammed, fanning the flames of family discord.

“Instead of accepting your independent thinking,” his father said, “I reacted with shame and fear. I’m sorry, and I hope one day you can forgive me.”

Eyes wide, Andrew wavered, and Colin worried his boyfriend would be the next Sunderland to make a dash for the toilets.

Instead Andrew opened his arms and embraced his father. “I’m sorry too, Dad. I never meant to embarrass you.”

Lady Kirkross pulled out a handkerchief and delicately dabbed it behind her glasses. Even George seemed moved, bowing his head and shifting his weight.

As they all moved toward the exit again, Andrew slipped a warm, steady palm against Colin’s. “Everything’s going to be okay now,” he whispered.

Colin squeezed his hand as hard as he dared. Perhaps all they needed was to put this incident behind them. Maybe they’d healed themselves by telling the judge how Jeremy had fucked up their lives. Thanks to their frank words, justice had been done.

Perhaps that was enough, and they’d soon be whole again.