Chapter 12

Marty was not happy. To start with he had had to come down from his high on drugs. Then, in the presence of the duty solicitor, he had been subject to a gruelling examination by the police. Next, he had been left in a cold cell with a thin mattress and an equally thin blanket. The next morning, he was whisked in front of some poncy magistrate who had remanded him in custody until he could be brought before a Youth Court on Tuesday. His mother came to see him on Saturday afternoon but the selfish bitch had just told him he had got was coming to him.

"Who was she to fuckin' talk?" he thought. "She's up to 'er eyeballs most of the time. I might even drop 'er in it. Serve 'er fuckin' right. Bitch!"

He was left to stew in his own juices all of Sunday which damped him down quite a lot. The police and those who brought him his meals were polite but showed no inclination to talk to him. He became rather lonely and self-pitiful; not that that produced any real change in his outward attitude, which remained surly and aggressive.

Monday brought a new duty solicitor who explained that he would represent Marty free of charge before the Youth Court on Tuesday.

"What's wiv a Youf Court?" asked Marty.

"Much the same as a Magistrates' Court but the magistrates are specially trained to deal with people under eighteen."

"And they're all in their fuckin' fifties," spat Marty.

"Not necessarily."

"Do-fuckin'-gooders!"

"Marty, your attitude is not going to help you."

"So whatcher want? Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags fuckin' full, sir?"

"That might be nearer the mark."

"Balls!"

"Marty, if you maintain this attitude you're liable to be referred to a Crown Court and get something in excess of six months."

"Whaddya mean?"

"A Youth Court can sentence you to a maximum of six months in prison. A Crown Court can put you away for a lot longer."

"Prison?"

"Yes, Marty. Prison."

"Is that what I'm goin' to get?"

"Almost certainly. The evidence against you is overwhelming."

"Eh?"

"What Mrs Morris, Roy, Fred and the police will say is going to land you in prison."

"Fuck!"

"Can you deny anything they're going to say?"

"No," he whispered, completely deflated.

"Well, in that case, I advise you to plead guilty to all three charges."

"But that's just askin' to be sent to prison."

"Right but it might get you a shorter sentence."

"Whaddya mean, a shorter sentence."

"As I said, a Youth Court can only send you to prison for six months. If they refer you to the Crown Court you could get a lot more. Now, if there is an open and shut case against you, which there appears to be..."

"Open and shut?"

"One you can't refute, argue against, and if you try to say you're innocent the magistrates are also going to consider you to be a liar and untrustworthy."

"So?"

"They'll consider sending you to the Crown Court where there will be a trial by jury. They won't believe you and the judge is liable to add extra time for your wasting the court's time and lying under oath."

"Oaf?"

"You are going to be required to swear on the Bible that you will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"Yeah, well I don't believe in God so that's it, ennit?"

"No, Marty. In that case, they'll require you to make a solemn affirmation."

"Whossat mean?"

"Much the same. You have to tell the truth and if you're believed to be lying you'll be in even bigger trouble."

"Shit!"

"Yes, Marty, deep shit."

"OK, so you want me to plead guilty to everything."

"Yes. However before you're sentenced you will be asked whether you have anything to say."

"Like what?"

"That if you hadn't been high on drugs you would never have behaved like you did. That actually is no excuse but it might soften their hearts. Then you say that you are very sorry to have caused Mrs Morris such distress."

"Eh?"

"Unhappiness."

"Oh, yeah."

"Now, have you got all that."

"Yeah! Guilty, guilty, fuckin' guilty an' I'm sorry for makin' Mrs bloody Morris un'appy. Load o' crap."

"Marty, all I have done is to give you my considered advice. If you don't want to follow it that's up to you but I warn you, if you don't I shall be unable to assist you in court."

Marty looked at him.

"Either way I'm screwed, aren' I?"

"Yes, but less screwed if you follow my advice."

"Yeah!"

"I'll leave you now. The police have my phone number if you wish to speak to me. Otherwise I'll see you in court on Tuesday."

He did not offer to shake hands. "What an arrogant, nasty piece of work!" he thought. "I wouldn't mind seeing him sent down for a very long time. However, I've given him my best advice. I can't do more."

Marty threw a tantrum. He threw his bedding about. He shouted and swore. He kicked the wall. Nobody took any notice so he retrieved his bedding and lay on his bed in a sulk. Still in a sulk he refused lunch. That meant he was ravenous by the time his evening meal was brought round and that was only a small meal. Lunch was the main one.

No, Marty was not happy.

Indeed, it was a very subdued Marty who arrived at the Youth Court on Tuesday morning handcuffed to a policeman. He was not allowed contact with his mates and was only allowed briefly to speak to his mother.