Authors: Isabelle Grey
‘Tessa?’
‘Yes. Hello.’
‘You’d better call me Roy, at least until we get to know one another properly.’
As he released her hand and sat down, she realised that although from a distance he looked of average male height, he was in fact slightly shorter than her. Tessa took the chair across from him.
‘You’ve not been inside a prison before?’ He was regarding
her openly. His eyes were grey, she noticed, like her own, and his skin was pale, as if deprived of sunlight. Despite his scrutiny he seemed relaxed and confident, and it was she who was nervous.
‘No.’
‘It is what you expected?’
‘I don’t know. Probably.’ She glanced over to a door that she assumed must lead to the accommodation blocks, where a pleasant-looking female officer, middle-aged but with striking red hair, was exchanging a joke with the prisoner she had just let through. ‘I guess it’s more ordinary than I expected.’
‘Yes, all pretty mundane, unless someone kicks off. But most people here have longish sentences. They tend to settle down and get on with it. It’s the kids in for a few months who cause trouble, but we don’t usually get many of them.’
‘Right.’ She looked around again. Most people at other tables were intent on their visits, leaning inwards, studying each other’s faces; some of the young couples stared awkwardly past one another, fiddling with hair or a child on their knee as they got used to being with each other again. She looked back at Roy, met his steady gaze, and blushed. ‘Do you get many visitors?’ she asked.
‘A few.’ He leant forward. ‘So, Felixham thirty-eight years ago. And now here you are!’
‘Yes!’
‘So why not before?’ His question was the one she’d been hoping to avoid, or at least delay, not ready yet to
expose the secrets of her upbringing; but she had an answer prepared.
‘My mother went to live in Australia. Her latest visit made me think it was time to know more about myself.’
‘Erin Girling, you said in your letter.’
Tessa nodded. ‘Do you remember her?’
‘I remember a girl one summer.’ A certain wariness beneath his light facade made her heart go out to him; how terrible it must be to be branded forever by one’s crime.
‘I handed in some photos for you,’ she said. ‘Of Erin around that time.’
He nodded. ‘Good. Of you too, I hope, as a little girl?’
‘Oh, no, I didn’t think of that. Sorry.’
‘So what’s your story been, all these years,’ he went on, ‘about how you came to be?’
‘That the two of you had a holiday romance.’
‘A romance.’ He sat back. ‘That’s right.’
‘You’re from Manchester?’
‘Near there. And she says I’m your father? No other proof?’
‘No.’
‘She must’ve kept pretty close tabs on me for you to find me now?’
‘Not really.’ His close regard made Tessa wretched; she did not want to begin with lies, but neither was she confident of disclosing truths she had not yet fully absorbed herself. ‘She was very young. She said you were older, studying architecture. I think you made quite an impression.’
‘A good impression, I hope?’ He smiled ironically.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s nice. So what else do you know about me?’
‘Nothing,’ she admitted.
‘Erin said no more about our romance, then?’
Tessa shook her head. Roy nodded as if amused and sat back. ‘But you’re still in Felixham?’
‘Yes.’ Tessa was relieved that he seemed to have accepted her scant evidence of his paternity. ‘I inherited my grandmother’s boarding house. I run it now as an upmarket B&B.’
‘Which grandmother?’
‘Erin’s mother.’ Once again, Tessa felt in danger of giving away more information than she wanted to. ‘So now you can tell me all about my other grandparents,’ she said brightly. ‘Do I come from a big family?’
‘My parents passed away some time ago.’ Roy looked away, blanking further enquiry. But Tessa persisted.
‘You wrote that you don’t have more children, but do I have any uncles or aunts? Cousins maybe?’
‘Hey, slow down! Let’s take one thing at a time. Get to know one another before we bring anyone else into the mix.’
Tessa felt admonished, as if she had acted clumsily. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’
‘How about a cup of tea? I’m not permitted to fetch it, but if you’d like some, and have any tokens …’
‘I do, yes. Of course. What would you like?’
‘I feel bad asking you.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s only a cup of tea.’
‘But I can never repay you.’ He smiled wryly. ‘One of the many ways they find in here to belittle you. Each small twist of the knife adds up.’
Not knowing how to respond, Tessa looked at him in concern.
He laughed. ‘Don’t take any notice of me! That’s what prison does. Makes you oversensitive. I’d love a cup of tea! They do good Dundee cake too. See if you can get me a slice with cherries in it!’
Tessa went gladly. She stood at the counter while the pleasant WRVS lady refilled a gigantic brown teapot that looked as if it had done service during the Blitz, and found that she was trembling. She would have loved to know what people like this nice woman, nodding at her in friendly anonymity, really thought of people like her who came to visit serious criminals. She wanted to blurt out that she wasn’t like the others; this was a momentous first meeting with her father.
‘Sugar?’
Not knowing the answer, Tessa hesitated.
‘I’ll put some in the spoon for you.’
In front of Tessa was a tray of chocolate bars, biscuits and pre-packaged slices of cake, and she selected one slab of cake with two pieces of cherry in it. She didn’t want anything for herself, but then worried that Roy might feel self-conscious eating on his own, so she chose a pack of custard creams. She exchanged the cardboard tokens, loaded the mugs of strong tea onto a little tray and, thanking
the WRVS lady, carried everything carefully back to the table. She felt conspicuous as some of the inmates, marked out by their fluorescent tabards, automatically eyed up a passing female, and was grateful that Roy tactfully did not scrutinise her approach.
‘This is very kind, thank you.’ He reached courteously to take his tea and cake from the tray, and she noticed how he spent a moment aligning them to his satisfaction. His precision showed an attention to detail that she admired: it was how she liked things to be too.
‘You were an architect?’ she asked.
‘My degree was architecture. I lectured for a while, then had my own consultancy. Drawing up plans for loft conversions, that sort of thing.’
Tessa nodded, then took a deep breath: she still had some difficult questions to ask. ‘So what happened?’
Roy raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Well, the birds and the bees. You know!’
‘Oh, no. I meant …’ She knew she was blushing again, and lowered her head. ‘I actually meant, how come you’re here?’
When he did not answer, she looked up and found him staring at her sternly, waiting until she met his gaze. ‘It’s not considered polite to ask that kind of question in here,’ he said.
Tessa was disappointed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘I know what I am. But I was found guilty and I’m paying the price. The rest is in the past.’
‘But-’
He held up a hand to silence her. Surprised by the authority of the gesture, she obeyed. ‘It was a tragedy for all concerned,’ he instructed her. ‘A very traumatic event. Besides, I have too much respect for the dead to be able to talk easily about what happened. Believe it or not, I still grieve for the woman I lost that day. My sentence is that I have to live with what I did.’
She was touched by his dignity. ‘At some point I’d like to know though,’ she told him. ‘To try and understand.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Roy. He sat back, arms folded, observing her.
She waited, but he did not move. She was reminded of how she had occasionally to resist when strangers stood on her threshold demanding a room, of how it felt to stand firm. ‘One day?’ she prompted.
He gave the merest nod, still studying her face. ‘You have my eyes,’ he said, unfolding his arms and smiling at her. ‘Do you have children?’ He must have seen in her face that she did, and did not wait for a reply. ‘Do they take after you?’
‘My son does.’
‘How old are they?’
Tessa felt compromised discussing her children in this place, but could not refuse to answer. ‘Fourteen and seventeen.’
Roy nodded. ‘And when’s your birthday? Must be soon?’
She laughed that he had already calculated forwards from his summer stay in Felixham. ‘Yes. In June.’
His face softened. ‘My daughter’s birthday. I’m sixty-one,
and that’s the first time in my life I’ve been able to say those words.’ He whistled in quiet astonishment. ‘That’s quite something!’ He leant forward, stretching out his hand, but as swiftly withdrew it. Touched by his delicacy, Tessa placed her own hand palm up on the table. He hesitated, then laid his hand on hers, as if in blessing. They smiled into one another’s eyes. ‘My daughter,’ he breathed.
Half breathless with elation, Tessa was nevertheless half tempted to mock the mawkishness of this performance.
‘Thank you for coming here to see me,’ he went on. ‘It can’t have been easy.’
A bell rang, making Tessa jump. She followed Roy’s glance up at a big wall clock: it was almost half past four, the end of visiting time. She was ambushed by an unexpected sense of loss and looked at him, stricken.
He nodded sympathetically. ‘If you’d like another VO, let me know. I only get four a month, so I won’t send one unless I know you’d want to use it.’
She opened her mouth to reply, but again he held up a hand. ‘Don’t say now that you’ll come. You may feel differently once you get outside.’ He paused, as if struggling to suppress his own emotion. ‘Rejection is hard to bear in here.’ He gave a brave smile. ‘Prison gives you time to think. Too much time.’ He got up, pushing his chair in neatly and standing behind it. ‘If you do decide to return, better that you arrive earlier, so you can be among the first to be brought across. As I say, I only get four visits a month, so time is precious.’
‘Oh, yes. I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t know.’
He waved her apology aside, and continued kindly: ‘Go now before the rush, or you’ll get kettled on the way out.’
He kept his hands by his sides. Impulsively, Tessa held out hers and he took it, covering it briefly, before letting go and moving back to stand behind his chair again. She noticed that several other men were also now standing at attention like Roy – a vivid reminder of the restrictions the inmates lived under. Not wanting to shame him by registering her perception, she smiled briskly, felt automatically for her bag before remembering it was locked away in the Visitors’ Centre, and took a step away. ‘Goodbye, then.’
‘Goodbye, Tessa,’ he replied, pulling back his shoulders and standing upright as she walked away.
TWENTY
Mitch heard his mother’s voice below, thanking Carol for staying late. He felt bad about Lauren. He’d seen her sitting by herself on the bus home from school, munching her way through two packets of crisps, one after another, then heading straight for the fridge when she got home. He’d known for some time that things weren’t right with her, but had turned a blind eye, hoping someone else would notice and do something so he wouldn’t have to get involved. Besides, even if he did try to talk to her she’d probably just get furious and tell him to leave her alone. He knew girls could be peculiar about food, becoming anorexic or bingeing and throwing up, and hoped it wasn’t as serious as that. It was Tessa who needed to step in, not him.
It was precisely because Mitch understood some of the reasons why Lauren might be unhappy that he wanted to keep his distance. There just wasn’t enough room in his life right now for anyone else, and he needed to stay in the bubble of his own concerns. His exams were about to
start, and it was hard enough trying to focus on any proper revision when all he could think about was Tamsin. He couldn’t wait to see her again at half-term. Although they were keeping in touch online and through daily phone calls he still worried she’d forget him. And today she had texted again to say that it was looking increasingly likely that her mother would want her to fly out to Los Angeles for half-term. Mitch didn’t think he could last out until July. And with Charlie Crawford’s mercurial lifestyle, there was no certainty that he would even get to see her then. He was sick of being at the mercy of adults and their pointless whims.
He heard Tessa’s footsteps heading up to the attic. He waited, hoping she’d go and check on Lauren, notice all the chocolate wrappers in her wastepaper basket, get things sorted out. He didn’t understand how it could be so obvious to him why his sister was being such a pain while her freaky eating remained apparently invisible to both parents.
He heard his mother’s exasperated voice across the hall. ‘Lauren! You said you’d tidy up! Your room’s a tip!’
Mitch’s heart sank as he heard Lauren remonstrate in her whiniest voice. He had no interest in making out the words, and pressed play on his iPod to drown out the argument. The first track was halfway through when he heard the bathroom door slam. He knew this was designed to infuriate Tessa. It had been drummed into both of them since birth that guests were never to be disturbed, and they had long ago learnt to argue and fight in hushed tones.
He couldn’t wait to get out of here. In the autumn, if he got good results, he could start looking seriously at which courses and universities to apply for. The dream of escape was enticing. It was no fun feeling responsible for everyone. Hugo and Pamela had gone into retreat since Erin’s visit, and things were different with Sam since he’d moved in with Nula. Mitch worried that maybe it was somehow his fault, because he was so preoccupied with Tamsin, but however hard he tried to keep the flood of emotion under control, he couldn’t stop how he felt about her. And if he didn’t direct what energy he had left at his exams, he’d never ever get out of here.
There was a tap at his door and Tessa looked in. ‘Supper?’
Mitch nodded, hoping she’d come in and chat, but she gave a tight smile and went off downstairs, leaving his door ajar. Out of habit, he checked that his appearance was respectable enough to encounter a guest on the stairs, and went out onto the landing. The bathroom door was still closed, and he hesitated, considering what best to do. He went up close to the door. ‘Lauren?’ he called softly.