Page 112 of The Stranger in Room Six
I don’t like to press Elspeth for information on her sister’s wedding; it wouldn’t be fair on her. And yet, I am desperate for any snippet of news.
I’ve told myself that I will block my hurt in order to protect myself, but I can’t.
More time goes by. I’ve stopped counting the months and just note the years instead. It makes my sentence feel more do-able.
Instead of using her law degree to become a solicitor, Elspeth has taken a job in the charity sector.
‘I want to help people,’ she says when she visits.
‘That’s wonderful, darling. You know, there’s a charity called Koestler Arts that runs competitions for writing and painting in prison.’
‘Really? Have you entered?’
‘Not yet,’ I say. I don’t tell her that I briefly considered entering the life-story category but then dismissed it just as fast. My life so far is loud enough in my head as it is. Writing it down would feel too real.
Then, one evening when I’m on duty as a Listener, a young-sounding girl comes in. ‘I’ve been given twelve years,’ she sobs. ‘How am I going to get through that?’
‘You will,’ I say softly.
‘But how?’
‘Take each day as it comes. Keep your head down. Don’t annoy anyone. Toe the line.’
‘They’ve taken my kids away,’ she weeps. ‘My mother-in-law won’t have them. They’re being adopted. I’ll never see them again.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘Do you have a mother who could help?’
‘She’s got twelve years too. We were in it together. She said it was safe.’
I don’t ask what the crime was. It’s an unspoken rule here. ‘Write to your children,’ I say. ‘Ask the officers to send the letters to the social worker or the probation officer so that one day, when your kids are old enough to read them, they will realize how much you missed them.’
Another prime minister comes and goes. And another, followed by a war with implications for ‘home security’ asThe Timesputs it. (I’m the only one who reads it.)
It’s almost impossible to describe the agony of wasted years. All I can do is keep my head down. Do the right thing.
The women who have threatened me before have long moved on, though that isn’t to say they’ve forgotten about me or my family.
How did I get by? Looking back, I don’t know. I just concentrated on my Listening work and hoped I was doing some good. It would never make up for killing my husband and depriving my girls of their father. But it was all I could do.
Sometimes I got letters from women I’d helped, including the girl whose three-year-old I had saved.
I don’t know what id have dun without yu, she wrote.
I put that letter on my noticeboard in my room, along with others.
I never forgot Mouse. If it hadn’t been for her wise words, telling me not to count the days, I wouldn’t have got through.
But at last, my sentence is almost up. At the parole hearing, it is decided that, thanks to my good behaviour and dedication to my Listening, I will be released immediately. I have to live at an approved address in a hostel, which my probation officer has found for me.
Elspeth, bless her, offers to take me in. But that wouldn’t be fair on her. She has a steady boyfriend and, although she’stold him about me, I’m aware she needs to live her life, without her ex-con of a mother under the same roof.
On the morning of my release, they give me a plastic bag containing my belongings. The beige skirt suit I was wearing when I was sentenced is now so loose that it almost falls off me. How my life has changed since that day.
They order a taxi to take me to the hostel, which is just five miles from here. As I wait, a car draws up.
Elspeth! She has come, despite me telling her not to.
But as I see the driver, my heart does five hundred flights to the moon and back.
