by Martina Cole
Matty walked into the visiting room with her usual grace. Yet anyone looking closely would have seen the fine lines around her eyes and tightly pursed mouth. She glanced quickly around the room and her gaze settled on a dark-haired heavyset woman sitting alone by the officer desk.
Matty walked over to her, a wide smile on her face.
‘Hello, Angela.’
The woman smirked and lit another cigarette, staring at her.
‘You always had the poise, didn’t you? Always that nonchalant way with you. Nothing fazes you, does it?’
Matty grinned then.
‘Why should it? Now since you’re here, I’ll have a black coffee and a bar of chocolate from the snack bar over there. I’ve a feeling this isn’t exactly a sisterly visit.’
Angela stood up and took a purse out of her pocket.
‘You’ve got that right anyway. Still as shrewd as ever, I see.’
Matty watched as she walked over to the snack bar. Angela’s clothes were cheap, her shoes worn through. She smiled as her sister obediently fetched what she’d asked for. This might be easier than she’d feared.
As they settled at the table Matty spoke.
‘Don’t tell me, Angela, the money’s run out.’
The other woman grinned.
‘Got it in one.’
Matty shrugged.
‘Well, I haven’t got any so this was a wasted journey. All mine went on legal fees.’
Her sister shook her head sadly.
‘Shame. But then I do have an appointment with your brief later on. I’m sure she’ll be very interested in what I have to tell her. And then there’s the newspapers - they pay very well, I hear.’
Matty fronted it out.
‘What is there to tell, Angela?’
She looked into her elder sister’s deep green eyes and felt a prickle of apprehension.
‘Our family history for a start. I admit no one ever suspected you even when it was splashed all over the papers. Even Mother didn’t put two and two together. But then, she wouldn’t, would she? You left her brain damaged, didn’t you?’
Matty closed her eyes briefly. Even intimidated, she didn’t show any emotion.
‘That was an accident, you know that, Angela.’
She grinned.
‘Almost fatal, wasn’t it? Poor Mother. She fell two floors on to a concrete driveway while cleaning the windows. Of course, you and I know she never cleaned a window in her life. But that’s neither here nor there, is it? We put her in a home and divided up the spoils. Such good daughters we were. Only now I’ve gone through my money and I think I might want a bit of yours. You see, I understand you’ll be home soon and I’d hate to think of anything interfering with that, wouldn’t you?’
Matty sipped her cold coffee and sighed.
‘It was an accident, everyone knows that.’
‘No, everyone thought that, which is a different thing altogether.’
Matty for the first time looked worried and Angela glowed inside as she watched her sister squirm.
‘Matty you call yourself now. Very different from Tilda. But then, you changed your surname too, didn’t you? In fact you changed everything about yourself. Don’t you think people might wonder why that was if I brought it to their attention?’
Matty stood up and ended this torture.
‘I’ll send you another VO soon. Let me think and then I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.’
Angela smiled. She knew she was home and dry and she also knew not to push it. Especially not with her sister.
‘Don’t you want to know how Mummy is?’
Matty stared at her seriously.
‘Why on earth would I want to know about that?’
She walked away quickly but calmly. Angela watched her go with a smile on her face.
Susan came back on to the wing like a pop star. Everyone crowded around and started shouting questions. Even the POs were pleased that she had been let out to see her daughter.
Rhianna brought her through the throng and led her into her cell. Shutting the door, she took out a bottle of brandy and waved it high above her head.
‘A bit of a celebration, eh? How’s the girl?’
Susan sighed.
‘She’s okay. It was a half-hearted attempt really. Bless her heart, she don’t know nothing about killing herself. I think seeing me helped more than anything.’
Rhianna hugged her.
‘You’re all right, Susan Dalston, do you know that? The whole wing was rooting for you today. It was like it had happened to us all, you know?’
Susan took the proffered brandy. After a stiff drink she said gently, ‘I know. I’m lucky with me mates. Even luckier with me kids.’
Rhianna smiled widely.
‘We all know that, Susan. Even the POs were worried today. It was a real downer for everyone.’
‘Where’s Matty?’ Susan realised she hadn’t seen her.
Rhianna shook her head looking worried.
‘Came back from a visit like a bear with a sore arse. Fuck knows what happened to her, but you know Matty. Best not to ask. I’m glad I ain’t celled up with her, I can tell you.’
Susan shrugged.
‘You get used to her after a while.’
Rhianna poured them both another large drink.
‘You can get used to anything, or so they say. Fuck knows, I’m used to being inside. But then, I’ve been here so many times they send me Christmas cards!’
Susan roared with her. They laughed until they were spent then Rhianna said seriously, ‘You deserve to be home with them children, Susan, you got to try and get this appeal. You do realise that, don’t you?’
Susan looked into the other woman’s eyes, deep brown, full of affection and concern for her.
‘You’re a diamond, mate. You know that, don’t you? And you’re right. I have to get out. But it’s how I can do it, you know? I have a lot of things to sort out first. I have a hell of a lot of thinking to do.’
Rhianna looked at her oddly.
‘What’s to think about? They need you so you have to get out.’
Susan finished her drink in one large noisy gulp.
‘If only it was as easy as that, mate. But it’s not and I can’t tell you or anyone why it’s all so difficult.’
Rhianna filled her glass.
‘Keep your own counsel, Susan, it’s all we have left in this place. The privacy of our thoughts.’
Matty popped her head around the cell door then, a strained smile on her face.
‘I hear everything’s okay now, Sue?’
She nodded, pleased to see her cell mate.
‘Any of that brandy going spare?’ Matty enquired.
Rhianna poured her a glass.
‘You okay, Matty? Only you look like you’ve had bad news. How was the visit?’
She shrugged her slender shoulders and laughed lightly.
‘I just have the prison blues, that’s all.’
Rhianna lifted her own glass high in the air.
‘I’ll drink to that, girl. The prison blues - and getting a good man one day.’
Matty put her hand into her overall pocket and passed Susan an air mail envelope.
‘Talking of a good man, this came for you today.’
Seeing Peter’s scrawly handwriting she felt her heart lurch.
‘He’s keen, girl. He must have written return post.’
Susan popped the letter into her pocket, the joy she got from seeing his writing all over her face.
Neither Matty nor Rhianna mentioned the letter again. It was as if they both knew that Susan wanted to hold it inside herself. She was frightened to be happy and they understood that.
It was what prison did to you.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Peter’s letter made her laugh. Susan read it and escaped into the world of meat boats, sunshine and camaraderie. He told her all about the chef on the ship, a homosexual called Bobby, describing his attempts at being m
acho though everyone knew he was gay. He told her all about his billet, a tiny room that sounded to Susan like an up market cell. He said how pleased he had been to hear from her and reminisced about them both as children, making her remember classes at school. The snow-covered winters and long hot summers seemed within her reach as he described events that had taken place twenty years and more ago.
It was just what she needed, light-hearted and without any pressure. They were mates, friends, people who had known each other for a long time and had a lot of catching up to do. There was no hint of romance and Susan was pleased. The other women had been ribbing her about Peter relentlessly but she knew he wouldn’t want her in any other way than as a good friend. He was handsome and he was nice. Far too good for the likes of her.
But she loved having a friend, a pen pal. Someone who’d known her before all the trouble. Before the upset. When she had been plain old Susan McNamara.
She put the letter in her cupboard and her thoughts strayed to Barry. Peter’s reminiscing had brought back her school days and now she recalled the way she had seen Barry as the answer to all her prayers. When his touch had set her alight and his voice had been like music to her ears.
A vision of him, faceless, rose before her eyes and her belly revolted. She felt her breakfast rise inside her.
Pushing the picture from her mind she forced herself to think about her daughter. To think about Wendy.
She felt a film of sweat all over her body, the sickly sour-smelling sweat of fear. If Wendy talked, then everything would be turned on its head and her daughter would have to face the consequences.
Susan could never let that happen.
Geraldine looked around her flat. As the doorbell rang she automatically straightened a white cushion on the sofa and tidied her hair. At the front door she glanced in an antique mirror and gave herself a quick once over. Then she opened the door.
Colin Jackson looked as usual as if he had just emerged from under the blankets of a bed he had slept in, clothes and all. His hair stood up in all directions and his jeans looked as if they were intended for someone twice his size. He needed a belt to keep them up. He wore a Ramones T-shirt and old brown desert boots.
As he looked at the white carpet he wondered if he should remove them. One glance at Geraldine’s face and he had the answer. He slipped them off outside the door and reddened as he remembered he had a hole in the toe of his right sock.
She smiled good-naturedly.
‘You do me good, Colin. You remind me what it’s like to be young.’
He grinned, showing even white teeth.
‘Not so young these days. I’m nearly thirty.’
He followed her through to the lounge, amazed at the luxuriousness of the surroundings. This place was like a magazine layout.
She smiled, pleased at his reaction. On the oak table stood a bottle of wine and two large goblets. There were also sandwiches and small cakes. He settled himself on the dark blue damask sofa with contrasting white cushions and immediately felt out of place.
Geraldine gave no hint that he looked like an overgrown college boy who had hit the jackpot in the female stakes. Instead she poured him a glass of chilled wine and sat down next to him.
‘You can put your eyes back in your head now. We’re supposed to be working, remember?’
She was wearing white silk trousers and a matching shirt. He could make out the dark shadow of her nipples through the fabric and wondered how the hell he was ever going to get a coherent sentence out without mentioning them.
‘Drink up and relax, this is going to be a long one.’
He smiled lewdly. She could say that again!
‘If Susan will see me next week then we must have something concrete to put before her. I have some new information from Roselle that sheds further light on the case but also makes it more difficult. It seems Barry Dalston had raped the eldest daughter.’
Colin nodded, his mind working overtime now, Geraldine’s appearance of secondary importance.
‘I knew it. I had a feeling there was something not being said. Susan adores her kids and would never have let herself be taken away lightly.’
He gulped at his wine.
‘The dirty bastard. The herpes is from him, I take it?’
Geraldine nodded.
‘It was in the coroner’s report in black and white. It wasn’t used because no one saw the relevance. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. No one seemed to think it would make him out to be a womaniser, a man who was promiscuous and obviously knew he was diseased when he took his own daughter. Roselle had been his long-time girlfriend. Don’t ask me what she saw in him. I can only surmise he was different with her. Maybe she thought she could change him, there are women that stupid walking the earth. But Roselle’s not stupid or doesn’t seem it to me. Though where men are concerned she may not be as intelligent as the rest of us.’
Colin grinned.
‘By the rest of us, you mean women like you, right?’
Geraldine was annoyed and it showed.
‘I have never yet met a man worthy of spending my time on. Believe me when I say many men have tried to get me to see them from their point of view but I always suss them out. It’s a knack I developed at a very early age.’
Colin was sorry to hear it. She was a sexy vibrant woman, kicking forty admittedly but all the better for that fact as far as he was concerned. Her words made him think of his spinster aunt, a real man hater if ever there was one.
‘Hey, we’re not all bad, you know.’
Geraldine looked him in the eye.
‘Aren’t you? I’m glad to hear it. Anyway back to Susan Dalston.’
She picked up her own wine and the gesture ended their previous conversation. He watched as her perfectly painted lips caressed the side of the glass and sighed inwardly. Why did she get herself so dolled up if she wasn’t into attracting men, for Christ’s sake?
‘Susan came home from a night out. Wendy had been looking after the children. Barry had been missing for five days - Roselle even knows the woman he stayed with if we need her. She’s really done her homework. Anyway, he took Wendy on the front room floor. Susan came home, the kids were all there and she sent Wendy to her mother-in-law’s. A very nice but very ill woman who I’m sure would do anything to help get Susan out. No one in authority realised Wendy had even been there. Even Susan’s neighbour Doreen kept up the charade.
‘It seems everyone saw Susan’s point of view about what had happened. She did what she did so her daughter would never have the stigma of rape by her own father hanging over her head.’
Colin was quiet. Standing up he walked to the window and looked out across the Thames.
‘This is some view, isn’t it?’
Geraldine didn’t answer him, she knew he wasn’t expecting an answer. He was trying to sort it all out in his own head. He was quiet for some minutes.
‘If Susan has kept it to herself this long, sat in prison knowing all this, she’s never going to admit it publicly. You realise that, Geraldine, don’t you?’
She sipped her wine and let what he had said sink in. Still she didn’t answer him. He turned from the window and stared at her.
‘Why didn’t Roselle tell me any of this? Why did she decide to tell you and not me?’
Geraldine shrugged. It was a very feminine, very graceful action. But it was lost on Colin. He was angry, hurt and humiliated.
‘Couldn’t trust a mere man, is that it? We’re all the same, are we? To the Geraldines and the Roselles of this world. Shitbags the lot of us. Is that it?’
He was looking at her now and she stared calmly back at him.
‘You’d really have to ask her that. I don’t know why she decided to tell me and not you. Maybe because it was easier to tell another woman about a friend’s private and personal business. Maybe because I had a better, plusher, more expensive office. I really don’t know. All I do know is we have to help Susan Dalston in any way we can. Even if th
at means getting her out some other way.’
Colin was nonplussed, not sure he had heard her correctly.
‘What are you talking about?’
Geraldine sighed and refilled their glasses.
‘What I mean, young man, is maybe we have to keep Susan’s secret and work on another way of getting her home with her kids where she belongs.’
He stared at her in amazement.
‘You cannot be serious!’
Geraldine laughed.
‘You sound just like that mad American tennis player. Listen to me, Colin. If that woman has sat it out for over two years to try and protect her child then she deserves to be helped in any way we can. I have Matilda Enderby on my client list, I have all the feminist organisations behind her, she’s as good as out. Yet I know in here,’ she punched her chest forcefully, ‘that she killed her husband and probably enjoyed doing it.
‘You know we tread a fine line daily. Even if people are guilty it’s our job to give them the best representation we can. No matter what a client has done. Even paedophiles are granted the best legal representation. Surely someone like Susan Dalston is as entitled as Matty Enderby or a child molester to be helped? I am commonly supposed to have one of the best legal minds in the profession. My name alone will ensure she gets a fair hearing. You know that’s true.
‘I am my father’s daughter - Terence O’Hara, the legal eagle of his day. I want to help Susan Dalston and I’d do it for nothing if I had to. Just once I want someone I know is a good person, whom I know does not deserve to be locked up, to walk free. It would make me feel that for once in my whole miserable, worthless life I really did make a difference.’
Colin stared at her as if he had never seen her before. The force of her words alone was enough to persuade him she was right. He sat beside her and smiled gently.
‘I never knew you had a miserable life.’
He looked around the expensive apartment. His eyes took in the bareness of the walls and surfaces. Not a photo, not a knickknack, nothing. It was completely devoid of anything that said Geraldine lived there. It was almost clinical.
In her eyes he saw loneliness and hurt. It grieved him.
‘So we’re in this together then?’