Jane Corry 27 страница

‘I went in. Couldn’t resist a look at him. Then I realized he was still breathing. I kept thinking about how much he had hurt you. So I did it. I yanked out the knife. Blood shot out. He made this weird gurgling noise…’

I look away, choked with distress.

‘Then I scarpered. Later, I burnt my clothes and gloves – I’d brought my own of course. And waited for the police to track me down. ’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I couldn’t believe it when she was arrested. And then I heard you were defending her. For a while I thought you were playing the system. Trying to make her look innocent but using that bumbling brief to discredit the case and make sure she got convicted. I sent you Carla’s gloves to help you. But because, as it turns out, you didn’t use them, she got off. ’

‘So you really killed Ed, ’ I say slowly.

‘You could say that all three of us did. ’ His black eyes are trained on me firmly and squarely.

I wince again.

Joe is stretching out his hands to me now. I hesitate. Then I allow the tip of my finger to touch his. Just briefly. Much as I might try to fight it, Joe and I will always be bound together because of our shared history. He may have been in prison when we first met while I was on the outside – just dipping my toes into this new, scary world of double-locked doors, long corridors and prison guards. But because I was trying to get him out of there, it had felt like us against the rest of the world.

Add our one stupid tryst on the Heath, Tom’s birth, Ed’s murder, Carla’s conviction. You can see why the lines between right and wrong have become so blurred.

‘I love you, ’ he says with those black eyes focused firmly on mine. ‘I love you because you understand me. ’

Daniel used to say the same.

But look what happened.

‘I can’t…’ I begin.

‘I know. ’ Joe’s grip tightens on my hand.

I tug it away.

‘You’ve more strength than you realize, Lily. ’ Joe seems almost amused. Then his face saddens. ‘Take care of my boy. ’

I think of Tom’s wonderful drawings. The way he only has to look at something for it to appear on paper. It’s a new skill. One that I didn’t know he possessed until a new art teacher, fresh from college, appeared at his school. It’s amazing what a difference a supportive teacher can make. Someone who really understands a child with (and without) Asperger syndrome.

Gifts like that are usually inherited. Or so the teacher says.

Joe is still looking at me. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t want another DNA test. I need to pretend that Tom is mine. It will help me to keep going. And don’t worry about me. It’s only right that I should be back here in prison. ’

‘Time! ’

Joe drops my hand. I feel a quick sense of loss, followed by an overwhelming wave of freedom.

Then Joe’s voice changes. ‘Don’t come back, Lily. ’ He’s looking at me as if memorizing every part of my face. ‘Don’t come and visit me again. It wouldn’t be fair. On either of us. But have a great life. ’

Those black eyes lock with mine for one last time. ‘You deserve it. ’

Epilogue

Summer 2017

MARRIAGES

The wedding between Lily Macdonald and Ross Edwards took place quietly on 12 July…

‘Happy? ’ asks Ross as we walk back to the house after the church blessing.

Yes – Ross and I. It happened so naturally that I wondered why it hadn’t done so before.

Mum is wearing a rose silk suit and a delirious expression on her face. Tom is holding hands with Alice (their relationship is still going strong). My son looks just like Ed did at that age, according to the photograph albums which my former mother-in-law left me when she died. I feel more confident about caring for Tom now. No longer do I fear that I might tip him over the edge, as I did Daniel.

Meanwhile, Dad is overseeing the barbecue.

We could be just another couple getting married in midlife. There are plenty of us. Carla isn’t the only one to be getting married in prison. So, apparently, is Joe. There was a picture of his bride-to-be in the paper. I recognized her instantly as my old secretary who had announced her engagement so excitedly in the office. The one with the sparkling diamond on her left hand. He put the ring in the Christmas pudding! I almost swallowed it.

So she had been Joe’s source! All the time he claimed to have an obsession for me, he was playing her too. And she had apparently decided she still loved him, despite his being a murderer.

Proof, if any, that I need to move on. Ahead is a clean slate. I make a promise every day to let go of the past.

Yet the guilt still sometimes comes back to haunt me in the form of thrashing nightmares. If I told the police what Joe had told me about pulling out the knife, it is possible that Carla might have her sentence reduced. But Joe is unpredictable. I know that. And if the case is reopened, there is the possibility that Joe might tell the court about the key and claim that I as good as hired him, as he previously claimed Carla had done.

It’s a scenario I can’t even consider. How would Tom cope without me? How would I cope without him?

So Carla remains in prison for my son’s sake.

None of this sits easy on my shoulders. Trust me.

Since Ross and I have got together, I’ve done a lot of thinking. He’s helped me to forgive my younger self for my relationship with Daniel. I can see now that I made mistakes because I was young. Vulnerable. Daniel made me feel good about myself at a time when I was bullied at school for being fat. Yet ironically, as Ross has gently pointed out, my adopted brother was a bully himself. ‘It’s sometimes difficult to see that at the time, ’ he told me kindly. ‘Especially when you love someone. His difficult childhood, before your parents adopted him, couldn’t have helped either. ’

Very true. Sometimes people are just different, regardless of whether they do or don’t have a label like Asperger’s.

Ross has also helped me come to terms with my behaviour on the Heath that night, after I’d won Joe’s appeal. ‘You were on a high after the case, ’ he said. ‘You thought you had no future with Ed. Joe reminded you of Daniel. ’

Ross is a good man. He always sees the best in people.

But I still haven’t been able to tell him about Joe’s final confession. How Carla didn’t hire him. How Joe pulled out the knife that made Ed bleed to death. I suspect that Ross would tell me I had a moral responsibility to report that, whatever the consequences.

When I feel in need of justifying myself (something which happens quite a lot), I remind myself of that piece of advice I was given by one of my tutors at law school. ‘Believe it or not, some criminals will get away with it. Some will go to prison for crimes they didn’t commit. And a certain percentage of those “innocents” will have got away with other offences before. So you could say it balances out in the end. ’

Maybe she was right. Joe should have gone to prison for Sarah. Instead he’s there for Carla and Ed. Carla shouldn’t have been fully blamed for Ed’s death. Perhaps her sentence is her punishment for murdering my marriage. For wanting something that wasn’t hers to take.

Anyway, Carla’s sentence might be life. But as her lawyer quite rightly pointed out, it doesn’t mean that nowadays. She’ll be out before she’s old.

Yet my own sentence will stay with me until the day I die. Because that’s the kind of person I am. Someone who wants to be good but hasn’t always made it.

‘Ready? ’ asks Ross. Gallantly, he sweeps me up into his arms, to carry me over the doorstep of the barn conversion which Mum and Dad have just had done in their grounds to give us some privacy.

As everyone throws confetti and shouts out good wishes, I silently vow that with Ross’s help, my life will be different from now on.

‘I love you, ’ he says before gently bringing his lips down on mine.

I love him too. Yet strangely, part of me still misses Ed. It’s the little things that I remember. Ed liked his tea weak, with a quick dunk of the teabag. He knew I liked my Rice Krispies without milk. Small nuggets of understanding like this, built up over the years, create an inescapable bond.

And then, of course, we shared Tom. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t take a paternity test because I wasn’t sure if I could cope with the results. Rightly or wrongly, it’s easier for me not to know if my beloved son is Ed’s or Joe’s.

The fact is that Ed brought up Tom as though he was his (even though he had no reason to believe otherwise). And now Ross has promised to do the same. ‘I will always be there for him, Lily. And for you. ’

I know. I don’t deserve him. At least, my dark side doesn’t. Yet maybe we all have layers of good and bad inside us. Of truth and deceit.

Now as Ross and I prepare to slice the wedding cake with all our friends and family around and Tom by my side, I know one thing for certain.

I’m no longer Mrs Ed Macdonald.

I’m my new husband’s wife.

For better.

Or for worse.

Author’s Note

It was my first day at work. I had butterflies pounding in my stomach. And no wonder. As I stared up at rolls of barbed wire on top of a high concrete wall, I felt sick with nerves. What on earth was I doing here? Had I been crazy to apply for – and get – a job at a high-security male prison? How was I going to cope for two days a week in the company of criminals, some of whom were psychopaths? Would I be safe?

Until that day, I had always thought prisons were for other people who had done horrible things. The idea of being in one – either as an offender or a member of staff – was not something I’d ever entertained. But after my first marriage ended, I spotted an ad for the position of writer-in-residence at a certain HMP near my old home. It coincided with the ending of a ten-year column which I had been writing for a weekly woman’s magazine. (The editor had left and new changes were being made. ) I needed to do something else. This was the only job I could find.

During my time ‘Inside’, I discovered a world which I could not have imagined without actually being there. A world in which no one was quite who they seemed. A world which I grew to adjust to. Even get addicted to and – dare I say it – enjoy. But all the time, there was a hidden undercurrent of fear and unknown.

In prison, I learned that there were countless contradictions. There was laughter. Yet there were also tears. There was kindness. And there was anger. I made some great friends there with staff but a handful were, understandably, suspicious of a ‘do-good’ writer. One day, I was suspected of smuggling in crisps to ‘bribe’ the prisoners. I was subsequently searched and found to possess one packet of cheese and onion – for personal use. I complained and no one ever questioned my lunch box again!

I also found that trust has to be earned even though this might involve taking risks. For instance, there were no prison officers present when I ran workshops or even one-to-ones. One day, I found myself without a room. The men suggested I ran the class upstairs, near their bedrooms. This wasn’t usually allowed but on that day, the staff gave me permission to do so ‘if I wanted’. Consequently I was in a tricky position. If something happened to me, the newspapers would have a field day about a writer who put herself in an awkward situation. But if I refused, my men would think I didn’t trust them. I went upstairs, my heart in my mouth… and everything was fine. Indeed, on the whole, the men treated me with great courtesy and found huge satisfaction in writing life stories, novels, short stories and poetry. All this, I was told, can increase self-esteem which, in turn, reduces the risk of re-offending.

Yet appearances can be deceptive. Some of my students were ‘shipped out’ overnight (moved to another prison) if they did something wrong such as possessing drugs or mobile phones. Men could hurt each other (one inmate murdered another when I was there). And I also heard the odd rumour of past relationships between employees and prisoners.

When I first started, I thought I’d want to know what crimes my men had committed. Then I found out that, in accordance with prison lore, it’s not ‘done’ to ask. Yet sometimes my students wanted to tell me. One confessed he was a rapist. Another a murderer. How I wish they’d stayed silent. Far better to see them simply as men who wanted to write. After all, words are a great leveller.

All this – and more – inspired me to write My Husband’s Wife.

I hope you have enjoyed reading it.

Jane Corry

Jane Corry is a journalist who spent three years working as the writer-in-residence of a high security prison for men. This often hair-raising experience helped inspire My Husband’s Wife, her debut thriller. It also led to her role as a judge for the Koestler Award for prison writing. Until recently, Jane was a tutor in creative writing at Oxford University, and she now runs writing workshops in her local area of Devon and speaks at literary festivals all over the world.

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