Authors: Chris Curran
As I slammed against the metal gate it gave way and I lay shaking on the path, floored by pain and shock. Alice had warned me about the road that first day, and I’d always been careful before.
Eventually, I dragged myself to my feet, my legs shaking as I scrabbled for my key, my curses more like grunting sobs than words.
‘My God, Clare, are you all right? Here I’ll get your bag.’ Kieran was behind me, his hand on my elbow. ‘I saw that, chased after the bastard to try and get his number, but he was doing a ton.’ He opened the door and without his saving hand I would have fallen through. I muttered something about being all right and tried to shut my own door on him, but somehow he was inside too making me sit on the sofa.
Then he was holding a steaming mug in front of me and sitting beside me – too close. I closed my eyes to shut him out and sipped the drink, letting the warmth calm me, and ignoring the urge to rub my aching hip. ‘Thanks. I’m fine now.’
‘You don’t look it. Are you sure you don’t want me to call a doctor? Or I could drive you to Casualty.’
‘No, no. I’ll just have a bath and get to bed.’
‘Did you get a look at the car, or the driver?’
‘No, it was all so fast.’
‘I couldn’t describe them either, but we should call the police anyway.’
‘No.’ My voice was a seagull shriek, and Kieran put his hands to his ears, with a wince and a smile.
‘OK, OK, it was only a suggestion. Don’t suppose there’s much point anyway, as neither of us saw anything useful.’ He headed for the bathroom. ‘Right, you relax, while I run you a bath.’
Despite my throbbing side, the coffee and the soft cushions soothed me and I began to feel I could have slept. But I was too aware of Kieran, and when he came back to tell me the bath was ready I jumped up, anxious to lock myself away from him.
The world lurched and he caught my arm and steered me back onto the sofa. ‘Sit still for a minute more. Get your breath, then I’ll help you. Don’t worry, I’m not going to offer to undress you, but I think I should sit out here until you’re finished. Don’t want you drowning.’
I swallowed the rest of my drink and stood very carefully. ‘Just moved too quickly. Honestly, I’m OK.’ He followed me to the bathroom door, but I closed it firmly against him, calling from inside to say he should go home, I was absolutely fine. He shouted back something about checking on me soon, and I heard the door slam – there was no way I would let him in again.
As I sat in the warm water I began to cry, huge sobs with no thought behind them and, despite the heat of the water, I was shivering when I got out. I pulled on a sweatshirt, pyjama bottoms, and socks and sat on the sofa too weak to do anything else.
When I heard Kieran’s tap on the door I ignored it, but he called through, ‘Clare, are you all right? I’m coming in.’ Then the door opened and he was in the little hallway.
I went to the living room door. He was smiling and brushing a curl of dark hair from his forehead. ‘You didn’t drown I see.’
‘How did you get in?’ I was aware that my voice was shrill, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘I still had your spare key.’ He waved it in front of his face. ‘Couldn’t take a chance you’d collapse on me, could I?’
I could barely get the words out. ‘How come you’ve got my key?’
‘I told you, I helped out when the place was for let. Showed a few people round. Forgot I had it.’
‘Well, I’ll keep it now, thank you.’
He handed it to me with one word, ‘Fine,’ and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
I’m making love with Steve, his body pounding into mine as I clutch at him. Then a burst of light stabs the darkness and I realise the man isn’t Steve, but Kieran. Through the dazzle I see we’re in a prison yard, our naked bodies squirming under the brilliance of a spotlight. And then he’s gone and I’m alone, shivering under the harsh beam, as voices mock and catcall.
I woke to bright daylight, hot and tangled in the sheets, my bruises throbbing. The dream hung over me as I showered and dressed for work, and I could see just where it had come from. Last night I had wanted nothing more than to call Kieran back, to apologise for being so ungrateful. And, if I was honest, to have him hold me; to help me forget everything for a few hours.
But I had promised myself I would steer clear of men. I had thought Steve loved me, but, in Holloway, remembering the insinuations at the trial, I often wondered if I’d been fooling myself all along.
Stories of happy marriages were non-existent in prison and nearly every woman there had been through too many dreadful relationships, too many painful break ups. That didn’t stop them hoping the next time would be different, and affairs were starting up, and breaking up, all the time inside too.
It wasn’t just the real lesbians who fell in love either, many women became prison bent, as they called it, reaching out instinctively for love and companionship. These affairs nearly always ended badly: one of them would be released and go back to the man who hadn’t bothered to visit her, or a new girl would arrive on the block to cause a split.
Ruby and I became the closest of friends, but maybe because we only ever hugged we were able to support each other through the bad times. She always said she was done with romantic relationships. ‘All the troubles I’ve had have been caused by the bastard men I’ve got myself involved with. And I’m not gonna make the same mistakes again, even with a girl. It’s gonna be just the kids, me, and my mum when I get out.’
At first, I couldn’t even imagine getting out and it seemed wrong, after what I’d done, to think of a life in the real world. But, along with Alice and Lorna, Ruby helped me see that I was being selfish and that Tom still needed me. ‘He might give you a hard time, and I guess you deserve that,’ she said, ‘but you gotta be there for him.’
She was right and I had to be there for Tom, with no distractions. So perhaps it was just as well Kieran might want to avoid me in future.
I could hear his usual jazz playing upstairs, so I felt safe to leave the flat, but as I reached the door I froze. A creak on the stairs told me someone was coming down. I waited, my breath caught in my mouth, as the soft footsteps paused in the hall. I imagined him contemplating my door, but then another door – it must have been Nic’s – opened and closed quietly again.
At work, Stella was shocked by my bruised face, and despite my protests, she told me to go home early.
When I got in, the flat felt grubby and neglected, with my holdall spilling clothes in the middle of the living room. It smelled even mustier today and suddenly seemed far too big, with too many windows, too many doors, and I was tempted to go for a walk rather than face what I knew I must do.
Gritting my teeth, I dragged the DVD from the bag, slotted the thing into the machine,
then walked over to unlock and push up one of the windows, the movement sending condensation dripping down onto the sill. A draught of cooler air touched my face and shook me into action.
Just do it, will you.
I pressed
PLAY,
my finger moving at once to hover over the
STOP
button.
Whoever held the camera was no expert, zooming in and out at inappropriate moments, giving sudden drunken close-ups of doors and chair legs. Here were Emily and Aunt Rose in dressing gowns, laughing with her bridesmaid and waving the camera away as they fiddled with headdresses and shoes. A stomach-churning view of the stairs, the banister, swaying in and out of shot, and Uncle Alan, in the living room adjusting his buttonhole and tugging at his silk waistcoat. Another drunken lurch upwards showed Emily descending the stairs, in her froth of white, the clapping and whistles off-camera making her laugh and press her bouquet to her face.
Then inside the church, just recognisable as the one I’d been in the other day, but full of people and resembling a wedding scene from Thomas Hardy, with pews garlanded with flowers and trailing ribbon. The camera, more steady now, panned over the congregation, and I moved to kneel in front of the TV, peering hard, my heart loud in my ears.
The off-key organ wheezed into
The Wedding March
, and there was my lost self, turning to smile at Emily. She, Clare, was mouthing something and I lip-read the word ‘Lovely’. Next to her, Steve, oh so handsome, turning and smiling too. That other Clare – young, uncrushed, undamaged – looked almost beautiful in a violet silk dress, a chiffon stole over her shoulders.
And I was biting my hand and stifling the groan that wanted to burst from under my ribcage as I watched the laughing crowd in the churchyard ignoring the harassed photographer.
A little girl, in a pink dress and angel wings, romped round the gravestones, chased by a boy – my boy – my Toby. He was laughing straight into the camera now, as that other, long-gone, Clare gestured for him to join the family group. With the little girl in tow, he bounced back behind another gravestone, peeping out to shake his head, as the video camera zoomed in. It swayed for a moment over the headstone, the words
In Loving Memory
standing out black against the white marble, then moved to focus on Toby. I pressed the pause button and leant forward on my knees to stroke his laughing face, smoothing his hair with my finger. He’d had it cut specially for the wedding and I remembered for the first time since that morning how tender the strip of pale skin, newly exposed at the back of his neck, had looked in contrast to his tan further down.
I pressed the button to play
again, but when Toby stepped from behind the gravestone, I paused it once more. My fingers curled on the screen as if they could hold him, as if, somehow, even now, I could pull him from behind the glass.
How long I stayed like that I don’t know, but there was only one thing I could do for Toby and that was to help his brother. I had to face this for Tommy’s sake.
The reception was in a marquee in the grounds of Matt’s parents’ farm, and during the best man’s speech the camera scanned the guests again. There was plenty of laughter, although the jokes were pretty lame, but I remembered what Emily had said about people being under stress and watched carefully.
Dad was smiling, but I knew how well he could conceal his emotions. Lorna was nowhere near him, on a table with some people I didn’t know, and was looking down at her plate when the camera stopped on them. She must have been aware of it because she looked up, touched her hair, and there was her usual serene expression, but was I imagining it or had there been real misery on her face as she stared at the table? I would have to look back again later, for now I was desperate to get to the end.
Matt was shaking the best man’s hand and standing to give his own speech. He was good, not many jokes, but he soon had everyone chuckling with genuine amusement. A glimpse of myself and Steve, both laughing, and another of Dad.
I pressed pause again – there was something in Dad’s expression as he watched Matt. Again I told myself it could be nothing, my own suspicions conjuring up something that wasn’t there. But I knew Dad and this time he wasn’t bothering to hide how he felt. And I was sure that look was one of dislike.
I played the moment back and forth. Matt was saying the usual silly bridegroom things. It wasn’t his words that had upset Dad, it was Matt himself.
I watched on. There were glimpses of that other me: the one I hated for what she was about to do, dancing with Steve, dragging a red-faced Toby up for a few uncoordinated turns to the music. And all the time I was smiling, a real smile. I looked happy. So if something had upset me, I was hiding it well.
Now I was sitting with Alice, both of us waving the camera away and looking a bit the worse for wear, although I only had a coffee cup in front of me.
A flash of the trial, here, as I recalled my sister in the witness box, insisting I’d seemed fine and she was sure I’d had nothing alcoholic to drink. The prosecution barrister asked her if most people were drinking all evening. ‘Well it was a wedding,’ she said, looking at the judge with those big blue eyes. He smiled at her and nodded, I remembered, and it almost made me smile.
‘And you’d been drinking yourself?’ the barrister pressed on.
‘Yes, but just champagne and I was getting a lift back to the hotel.’ She had looked so young and vulnerable all alone up there, but she spoke clearly and when he tried to get her to admit she was too drunk to tell what state I was in, she said firmly that she was quite capable. He rephrased and tried again until the judge told him to move on.
When my barrister asked if she thought Steve and I were happy together, she nodded and said, ‘Yes, very happy,’ turning to the jury as she said it. As she left the witness box she gave me a tiny nod and a tremulous smile.
Here were the older ones, watching the dancing: Lorna, Dad, Uncle Alan, and Aunt Rose. Dad still looked grim. Perhaps he was just tired, but that seemed unlikely, he always loved parties and was a real night owl. This was something I had to look into. Surely other people must have noticed his mood.
The camera seemed to have missed Emily and Matt’s departure because the evening was obviously coming to a close. Then a series of camera lurches towards the exit, as people began leaving. Alice went with a young couple who wanted to get away early because of their baby. She couldn’t be late either. She had to work at Newcastle General next day. In the end she spent that day and those following in a different hospital, by my bed.
Then, on screen, I saw Lorna, car keys in hand, waving to someone as she waited for the people she was driving back to the hotel.
Another twist of pain as I watched myself covering Toby with a coat while he slept on a pile of cushions. In the background, Steve’s slurred voice, saying something silly about yummy mummies, as the camera zoomed in on my backside. A woman speaking then, faint and muffled, obviously asking a question. We both turned to her and my husband’s reply was clear enough.
And there it was, the oh-so-simple explanation to one of the questions I’d agonised over all these years. ‘Don’t worry, Sylvia, you get off. Toby’s fast asleep, and it’d be a shame to disturb him. I’d like another drink anyway. Then I’ll prise Robert away and Clare can drive us all.’