“Have you seen her?”
“No. She was gone when I came home from the hospital. Rhett didn’t even see her leave.”
“Do you think she’ll come back?”
“Don’t worry about that right now. We have to concentrate on getting you out of here.”
“But what if she comes back? She could set light to the house, or… or… anything!”
I must have raised my voice a bit too much, because the people at the next table turn round to stare.
“Don’t worry about me, Isabel. I can look after myself.”
You can’t fool me. I know you’re scared. We both are. Alicia could come back any time.
I long to reach out and squeeze his hand, but I’m not sure I’m allowed. I’m also not sure how he’d respond. I couldn’t bear it if he rejected me. Not here. Not now. Not when I need every ounce of my strength just to survive.
After Deacon’s visit, I begin to get a few more. Kate, Rhett and Sonya all visit over the next few months. They barely mention the case at all but I find it hard to relate to their idle gossip. I suppose they are trying to keep my spirits up, but never once do they say: “I know you’re innocent.” Never once do they imply Alicia’s guilt. And if my friends think I’m guilty, how on earth can I expect anyone else to believe me?
I sink into a deep despair, don’t even care when a nasty prison officer pours gravy in my yoghurt, or when other inmates nick all my chocolate and cigarettes.
Then, just as I’m beginning to think all hope is lost, I receive a phone call from Brian and finally get the news I’ve been waiting for.
“Holly’s awake!”
I nearly drop the phone.
“Is she going to be OK?”
“Too soon to tell.”
As the days pass, news filters through that she’s getting better. Not her memory though, apparently. She still doesn’t remember what happened.
Or doesn’t want to remember.
“But her memory could come back at any time, couldn’t it?” I ask Brian, hopefully.
“It’s possible. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
He sounds just like my Mum did when I wanted something when I was a kid. Never an outright ‘no’, always a vague, indistinct answer – as if she hoped I’d just forget it.
I’m screwed, aren’t I?
Even if Holly does remember, that doesn’t mean she’s going to tell. If Alicia and Jody can turn my own brother against me, they can easily turn Holly. She is not going to be my ticket out of here. No one is.
My cellmate, Rachel, is undergoing a harsh process of detoxification. It’s not fun for anyone. There’s a lot of moaning and vomiting. The smell is enough to make me want to be sick too, so I keep right out of her way. I spend most of my time lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to work out how my life took such a rapid nosedive.
But it’s not just the other inmates I’m scared of. It’s her… Alicia. I get glimpses of her every now and then – a curly head at the other end of the exercise yard; dark, smouldering eyes in the queue for breakfast. Even the little doe-eyed girl in the visitor room. She is everywhere. I never get a moment’s peace. Not even here.
And although I sleep more deeply these days, I dream badly. My dreams are littered with cryptic memories:
I turn around urgently, looking for Wednesday Adams.
“You were going to tell me something,” I beg her. “Something important.”
She looks at me, derision in her face. Suddenly, she is not little Wednesday anymore. She is grown-up Alicia. And her eyes blaze with fire.
“You had your chance and you blew it. Now I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
“No, don’t! Come back and talk to me. I promise this time I’ll take you seriously. I promise I’ll listen.”
She fixes me with a terrible scowl. “It’s too late now. The damage is already done.”
And she spins on her heel and storms off.
The long months I spend at Gillmore might as well be years, or decades even. I have gone from outright panic to gloomy acceptance of my fate. This is where I belong now. This is my home.
The night before my trial, Rachel is carted off to the healthcare wing so I have the whole place to myself for once. A little quiet before the storm. Before I climb into bed, I do something I can’t really explain. I get down on my hands and knees and pray to a god I don’t believe in. Pray that I will be spared from this life of misery and torment. Pray for a sign that everything will be all right. My prayers are met with the banging of cell bars and the abrupt descent of darkness – lights out.
I lie down but I can’t get comfortable. I fumble under my pillow. It feels like there’s a rock under there. My hands close around something cold and hard.
A mobile phone.
Mobiles are strictly forbidden in Gillmore. Either someone is trying to get me in trouble or they want to get in touch with me. I stare, stupefied, as the display lights up. It’s ringing.
“Hello?” I whisper, grateful for the nosy wailings of my neighbours in the next cell. I really can’t get caught doing this. Not on the eve of my trial. And yet something compels me to continue.
“You really don’t remember, do you?” says the voice in the darkness.
“No.”
I hear an elongated sigh.
“I had hoped you would by now. Lord knows I’ve done my best to jog your memory.”
“I know you have.”
“I came to you in confidence and told you my deepest, darkest secret. I risked everything to tell you. I looked up to you. I thought you would help me.”
“You were ten years old. Just a kid…”
“Yes, I was just a kid. But you were an adult. You were supposed to do the right thing.”
“I…”
“Instead, you laughed in my face. Told me not to be so dramatic. Then you repeated everything to my dad, as an amusing story on Parents’ Day.”
“That’s all I thought it was.”
“You could have looked into it. You could have checked the facts. He burned me that night, you know. Branded that word into me as punishment for telling you. Burned it into me.”
“I… I didn’t know…”
“You didn’t try. It’s a terrible thing, to not be believed, Isabel.”
“I know. I know that now.”
“And I’m never going to let you forget.”
I flush the phone down the toilet. The hours tick slowly by till morning, a long, arduous journey into my personal day of reckoning. The day I’ve waited for, for so long now. My chance to prove my innocence – to finally get out. But it doesn’t feel as I thought it would. There is no sudden burst of adrenaline. No flicker of hope. Just resignation and reconciliation to my fate.
“Ah, Isabel. How are you feeling?” asks Brian, at our final meeting before the trial. His breath smells faintly of the espresso he had at breakfast. “I hope you managed to get some sleep? I just wanted to go over a few things before we go in.”
Without thinking, I put my hand up to stop him.
“Brian, wait. I’ve changed my mind. I want to plead guilty.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brian looks absolutely stunned.
“What are you talking about? You can’t plead guilty. You didn’t do it!”
I look down at the ground. “I’m just not sure it’s worth the fight.”
“What?”