by Roberta Kray
‘I… I don’t…’
‘Are you all right, Eden?’
‘I’m… it’s just… Sorry, I was going to tell you but —’
‘Caravaggio,’ he interrupted. ‘Didn’t he go on the run after he killed someone? I’m sure I read about it somewhere. Ended up getting murdered himself, I think. Or maybe I’ve got the wrong man. The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew – wasn’t that one of his?’
Eden, still in shock, hurriedly tried to regain her composure. She could feel her heart beating faster than it should, a hammering in her chest. Her mouth was dry and a thin prickle of sweat had broken out on her forehead. ‘Yes, yes, that’s him. Spot on. Absolutely.’ Before she could start gibbering, she quickly said, ‘So you’ll call me when you get to London? We can make arrangements then. Or I’ll book somewhere if you like. Should I do that?’
‘No, don’t bother. I’ll make the arrangements.’
Which, roughly translated, meant he didn’t trust her to choose a restaurant where the food would be to his liking. But she wasn’t going to get all antsy about that. She was too relieved to be off the hook. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you then. I’ll talk to you soon.’
As Eden hung up, her hands were shaking. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to blurting it all out. In an ideal world she would have been able to confide in him, tell him everything, but they didn’t have that kind of relationship. Her father always expected the worst and this was about as bad as it got.
Perhaps, depending on how the meal went, she would come clean on Friday. Would she? Eden pulled a face. In truth, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d been right all along about the marriage, and it was still possible – she clung on to the hope – that Tom’s innocence could be proved before the case went to trial.
Eden picked up the London A–Z and opened it at the page marked with a slip of paper. She wanted to be sure of the route to the jail before she set out. It didn’t look complicated but there was always the possibility of roadworks or accidents. With her finger, she traced the roads through to HMP Thornley Heath, trying to memorise the way.
After the conversation with her father, anxious thoughts were twisting and turning in her head. While she studied the map, she sensed she was starting on a journey that went way beyond some prison walls, a journey that would test all her reserves of courage and push her to the very limit.
12
Eden’s heart sank as she gazed up at the imposing grey stone walls of the prison. It was hard to think of Tom in there, to imagine exactly where he was and what he was doing. From the outside the place was bleak and depressing, and she couldn’t imagine the interior being any different. Worse, probably, with its pungent smells, claustrophobic cells and barred windows. Not to mention the constant threat from other inmates.
She stood for a while, taking it all in, before crossing the road. It had started to snow half an hour ago, white flakes tumbling from the sky and settling on the ground in a thin crunchy blanket. The air was cold and sharp, pinching at her face. She shivered as she turned up the collar of her coat, passed through the gate and walked up the short path to the booking-in area.
It was busy in the room and she joined the back of a queue. She had no idea what she was supposed to do and so just stood in line watching the women in front while she tried not to look too much like a fish out of water. The room had a curious smell, a combination of bleach, damp coats and perfume. There were a few plastic chairs lined up against the wall but not enough to seat everyone.
Most of the visitors – the ones who had already booked in – were standing around in groups, and she caught snippets of their conversations as she waited. There was talk of kids, money, bills, TV and gossip about mutual friends. There were complaints about the cold and the men inside, news of appeals and possible moves. The voices rose and fell like a wave rippling across the room.
As Eden shuffled forward in the queue, the girl behind moved too, bumping into her as they came to a halt again.
‘Sorry, hon.’
Eden turned to see a slim, pretty blonde wearing jeans and a black leather jacket. She was in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length hair, kohl-rimmed eyes and a wide red mouth.
‘Sorry,’ the girl said again. ‘God, they’re slow today, aren’t they? I’m sure they do it on purpose. Some of these screws are completely bloody-minded. Do you know if they’ve called any numbers yet?’
Eden stared blankly back at her. ‘What?’
‘You know, for…’ The girl stopped and stared at her for a moment. ‘Is this your first time here?’
Eden nodded, her attempt at nonchalance having lasted all of two minutes. ‘What are the numbers for?’
‘They’ll give you one at the desk when you book in. That’s if we ever get to the front of the damn queue. Then you just have to wait for it to be called before you go through to the visiting room. There’s the search first, of course, but that doesn’t take long. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to it.’
‘Christ, I hope not.’
The girl laughed. ‘Yeah, I know the feeling. You and me both. These places really piss me off; I’m sure they make it as hard for us as they possibly can. Here to see the old man, are you?’
‘Yes. How about you?’
‘My brother, Pete. His girlfriend dumped him last week so he’s feeling pretty sorry for himself. Not that she’s much of a loss, in my opinion. Sent him a Dear John, didn’t she, which is just what you need when you’re banged up in here. The cow didn’t even have the decency to tell him to his face.’ She snorted. ‘Some people are unbelievable.’
‘That must be tough.’
‘He’ll get over it. How’s your old man doing?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to speak to him yet. He’s only been here a week.’
‘He’ll be okay once he settles in. It’s always hard at first.’
The thought of Tom ‘settling in’ served as a reminder to Eden that they could be in for a long haul, months and months, before he was finally released. That’s if… but she refused to dwell on the alternative. It was too awful, too upsetting.
‘I’m Tammy, by the way.’
‘Eden.’
‘Hi. So where have you come from?’
‘Only Islington. How about you?’
‘Shoreditch,’ Tammy said. ‘Two buses and I had to wait for ever. Bloody freezing it was too. Not that it’s much warmer in here.’ She rubbed at her arms. ‘You’d think they could put some heat on, wouldn’t you?’
The queue shifted forward again and eventually Eden reached the front. She gave the prison officer Tom’s details and passed her driving licence through the narrow gap in the security glass. The man studied Eden’s photograph for a while, glancing between her and the licence as if she might be trying to pull a fast one. He shoved a laminated cardboard square with the number nineteen on it across the counter. ‘Want a locker?’
Eden shook her head, not knowing what she’d want a locker for. ‘No, thanks.’
‘Are you sure?’ Tammy said from behind. ‘You can’t take your bag in with you so you’ll have to leave it somewhere safe. No cash either, apart from loose change. You’ll need that for tea and coffee. No notes or anything.’
‘Oh,’ Eden said. ‘Okay. Thanks, I didn’t realise.’ She looked at the officer again. ‘Sorry, I will, then.’
‘Fifty pence deposit. You’ll get it back when you hand the key in at the end of the visit.’
Eden pulled her purse out of her bag and found the necessary change. She was given a key with a tag that identified it as being for locker twenty-eight. She thanked Tammy again, and made her way through the crowd to the far wall which was lined with grey metal lockers stacked on top of each other.
A couple of minutes later Tammy joined her there. ‘Twenty,’ she said, holding up her visitor’s card and making a grimace. ‘It’s usually quieter than this during the week. They’d better get a move on or we’ll be waiting her
e for ever.’
Eden, who was staring down into her purse, glanced up. ‘How much do you think I’ll need in there?’
‘A few quid should do it. The drinks don’t cost much, but there’s chocolate and crisps and the like. Depends how hungry he is. Pete scoffs everything he can lay his hands on.’
Eden put four one pound coins into her back pocket, placed her bag and coat in the locker and locked the door. Now that the time was drawing closer to seeing Tom again she felt a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. ‘What’s it like?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I don’t mean the visits, I mean the prison. What’s it like being here? Is it awful? Has Pete told you anything?’
Tammy gave a shrug. ‘Pete’s used to it. He spends half his life in and out of the nick. This the first time your old man’s been inside, then?’
Eden nodded. She had to fight against a sudden urge to let it all spill out, to tell the whole sorry story. But she caught herself in time. It wouldn’t be a smart move. She had to be cautious in case word got around that Tom had been charged with the manslaughter of Paddy Lynch. ‘He’s never been in trouble before.’
‘He’ll be all right. Don’t worry. He just needs to keep his head down and try to stay out of bother. Which is something Pete isn’t good at. Can’t help himself, can he? He’s a complete idiot. I tell him over and over but he never listens to anything I say. I don’t know why I waste my breath.’
‘You’re used to visiting, then?’
Tammy barked out a laugh. ‘God, yeah. I’ve lost count of the number of jails he’s been in. I’ve been all over the place. But at least he’s in London for now.’ She put her hands on her hips and sighed. ‘And he’s not really a bad person. It’s the booze that does for him. He has a few pints, gets in a fight and the next thing you know he’s down the nick looking at another stretch. You’d think he’d learn but he doesn’t. Still, that’s Pete for you.’
Eden was aware of the silence that followed this information, a space she was probably supposed to fill with something about Tom. But what? She searched her mind for an innocuous comment – and came up with nothing. In the end she settled for a nod and a sympathetic smile. ‘That’s a shame.’
‘Yeah, it’s that all right. But what can you do? He’s his own worst enemy.’
They started to call the numbers, taking visitors through in small groups of three or four. Eden shifted impatiently from one foot to another, eager to get inside, each passing minute feeling like an hour.
‘You’re keen,’ Tammy said. ‘What’s his name, then? Your old man.’
‘Tom.’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Only a year.’ Eden, realising their first anniversary was still a couple of weeks away, quickly corrected herself. ‘Almost a year.’
‘That’s a tough break. How long is he looking at?’
Eden skirted around a direct answer. ‘Who knows? Anything’s too long. I’m trying not to think about it.’
‘It is. You’re right there.’ Tammy crossed her fingers and held them up. ‘Here’s hoping, eh?’
‘Yeah, here’s hoping.’
Finally their numbers were called and they went together into the search area. For Eden, the worst part of the procedure was the female officer peering into her mouth – ‘Lift your tongue, please’ – as if she was the subject of some bizarre examination by a prison dentist. It felt even more intrusive than the general pat-down and the inspection of the insides of her shoes.
After the search, six of them were taken through a door at the back and accompanied by a guard across an internal open courtyard. The snow was still falling, coming down in great white drifts. Their voices sounded odd, muffled in the icy air. Everyone hurried along, shivering with cold and eager to be back inside.
As Eden lifted her eyes to the sky, she saw only the high sheer walls rising on every side. For a moment she felt trapped, as if the building itself was closing in on her. She swallowed hard, her hands balling into two tight fists in her pockets. Her mouth went dry. She thought of Tom, condemned to spend God knows how long in this awful prison. A feeling, dark and menacing, wrapped itself around her body and shrouded her in dread.
13
Eden was still feeling shaky as she stepped inside the visitors’ room. There were about thirty tables in all and most were already occupied. She had a fleeting impression of pale walls and bright fluorescent lights, of windows set up near the ceiling, as she quickly scanned the faces looking for Tom. When she finally saw him, her heart gave a leap. A tangle of emotions instantly wound their way through her: love, pity and sorrow battling with an indignant rage that he’d been wrongly accused and locked up in this terrible place.
Tom stood as she approached, his mouth curling into a small strained smile, his arms reaching out for her.
‘Eden,’ he said.
Their embrace was swift, fleeting, a brief coming together overlooked by a stern-faced prison officer.
‘Take your seats, please,’ the guard insisted.
They sat down and gazed at each other across the table. Eden could feel her pulse racing as she studied her husband, taking in every nuance, every change. He had a dazed look about him, she thought, as though he was still in shock. And had he lost weight? It had only been a week but already there were hollows under his cheekbones, a certain gauntness that hadn’t been there before.
‘How are you?’ she asked, and then quickly shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I’m even asking that.’
‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘I promise. I’m coping. You don’t have to worry.’
But asking Eden not to worry was like asking her not to breathe; it had become second nature over the past seven days. Every hour of every day, every restless night, was coloured by fear and anxiety.
‘We’ll sort this out. We will. We’ll get you out of here.’
Tom placed his hand over hers and looked directly into her eyes. ‘I swear I didn’t do it, Eden. I swear on my life.’
Eden gave a start. ‘Why are you even saying that? You don’t have to say that to me. Of course you didn’t. I’ve never doubted it, not for a second, and I never will.’
Tom bowed his head briefly, his face full of emotion, before raising his gaze again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… It’s this place. There’s too much time to think. Stuff goes round and round in your head. You start questioning everything. One minute I was in the studio and the next… It’s mad, crazy. Nothing makes any sense. God, it’s all such a bloody mess.’
‘No one believes you’re guilty, at least no one that matters. The police have got it wrong and we’re going to prove it. You’ve got to believe that.’ There was so much more she wanted to say, but what words could give him the hope he needed? Aware that the time they had together was limited, she knew she had to gather as much information as she could. ‘So has Castor got a name yet? Does he know who’s accusing you?’
‘No, he reckons the cops are in the process of moving the guy, making sure he’s somewhere safe before they reveal who he is.’
‘Do you think it could be Jack Minter?’
Tom frowned. ‘Jack?’
‘Why not? It makes sense. He’s the one who organised the Epping robbery, who left that bloke to die. And now he’s been caught he needs to point the finger at someone else. So he’s turning it around, saying that you stole his identity and that you were behind it all. And he gave you the bracelet. Obviously he couldn’t have known that you’d still have it, not after sixteen years, but… I mean, it could be him, couldn’t it? Perhaps he came back to London, saw you in Covent Garden, and then after he was arrested decided he could use you as a scapegoat.’
Tom listened patiently. ‘So what about the rest of the crew? Why would they go along with the story? There’s nothing in it for them, nothing at all. If Minter turns Queen’s evidence, they’ll all go down for a long stretch.’
She didn’t have an immediate answer to that question, but wasn’t prepared to relinquish her th
eory just yet. She thought about it for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s not going to name the others or maybe, if he does, he thinks that the police won’t be able to arrest them. They could be dead or…’ Eden had heard about gangsters retiring to the Costa, living a life of luxury on their ill-gotten gains. ‘They could be in Spain or anywhere. And they’re hardly going to turn up at court to complain about Minter telling lies.’
‘And if it isn’t him?’
‘Then it’s someone else trying to set you up. We’ll find out who it is. Have you figured out where you were in July ’sixty-six yet?’
Tom shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. I moved around a lot back then. I’ve been racking my brains but —’
‘Did you watch the football, the World Cup?’
