Private Lives

Farley County Court December 2019

They arrive in court separately. Bry first, early, perhaps to avoid the worst of the demonstrations outside. She keeps her dark, hollow eyes fixed right ahead of her, her head bowed as if in prayer, Ash’s arm around her, before she crumples into her seat just in front of the judge’s bench.

The last time I saw Bry or Elizabeth was months ago at the now infamous party. I remember watching them and feeling – as I always did when it came to those two – a tug of envy, like a great hook in my abdomen, pulling. It wasn’t what they said or did, quite the opposite in fact; it was the absence of explanation. There was a calmness between them, a knowing, because each was absolutely confident of the other. Their friendship made them seem untouchable somehow. I’ve never had that with anyone.

It’s a few minutes before the doors open again. The whole court shifts, sits more upright, as Elizabeth walks into the large, serious room, Jack a couple of paces behind. Her eyes cast about, scanning to see who is there to support them. She nods at a couple of people. Her gaze lands for just a beat on Bry and Ash. Her expression doesn’t even flicker before she moves on. Her composure is impressive, silently letting us all know she is blameless, unafraid. She takes her place on the other side of the court to Bry. Her solicitor leans forward to whisper something and Elizabeth nods in agreement, careful not to smile.

Next to me, a woman I recognise from the school gates says quietly, ‘It’s so sad, so sad, isn’t it?’

She sighs, then she finishes whatever she was doing on her phone before dropping it into her coat pocket and turning back to me.

‘I always found their friendship a bit weird, to be honest. I mean, they were so different, weren’t they?’

I nod and wonder whether she feels it too. This sense of something lacking – the hook, pulling – that behind all the gossip, all the bullshit chat about school plays and football teams, we are starving for each other, for connection. Is she, like me, desperate to see and truly be seen by another woman?

‘I heard Elizabeth was almost assaulted by one of those anti-vax demonstrators yesterday.’

Her voice is light, bouncy with glee. Her phone buzzes and she snatches it out of her pocket. I turn back to face the court. And I think, ‘No, not her, she doesn’t feel it.’

Now, sitting here, I realise it was stupid of me, stupid to be jealous of Bry and Elizabeth, because if this court case is the cost of true friendship – families devastated, lives destroyed – then it can’t be worth it. Maybe women like us are the lucky ones after all, maybe our distance from each other keeps us safe, helps us to hide our wounds, our fears, so we can’t be injured by others, lone wolves making our own way as best we can.