Invisible

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  The rest of the room hadn’t skipped a beat. Me? I was totally confused. ‘What just…? Was she…? Did they find drugs on her?!’

  The guard had finished patting me down. ‘Aye, maybe,’ she said in a broad Glaswegian accent. ‘The dogs are trained to go sit by anyone they smell drugs on. They don’t bark, just sit quiet, like. When we see that, we know to check the visitor out proper-like.’

  ‘Right. Right. Right, okay,’ I stuttered. What the hell world am I now moving in? Rape, murder, drug smuggling…

  Finally, we were all allowed to go into the visiting room. The room was full of tiny tables and orange plastic chairs, so it reminded me of a school hall during exam time, and I scanned it anxiously. Men all wearing identical outfits of blue shirts and jeans looked up from their seats, many seeming equally eager and anxious. I watched as their faces changed to smiles when they saw their loved one…and then I saw Daryl.

  Oh my God, to describe that moment... I felt like I was flying through the air and plummeting off a building all at once. It was so wonderful to see him, but horrid because of the surroundings. Sounds corny, but I ran across the room and threw myself at him, calling his name like a teenager in a bad romance, and trying to breath in his smell.

  He hugged me back but quickly extricated himself from my grasp as a guard loomed and barked: ‘No long or passionate kisses or embraces allowed. Do it again and the visit will be terminated.’

  Bloody hell. We hadn’t seen each other in a fortnight, had been through absolute hell, but we could barely touch. I could look though; nothing could stop me doing that. I found myself gazing at him, trying to imprint every little look, line and crinkle onto my brain, trying to memorise every tiny thing he said. Trying to store him in my head until next time we met.

  ‘You look…well, thank God, you look okay,’ I smiled hesitantly through my frown. But his blue eyes looked so sad and wary, and there were dark circles beneath them. He looked like he’d lost weight too. ‘How are you though? How are you coping?’

  Everything I asked or said seemed trite and ridiculous. How was he? How’s he meant to be?! He’s banged up for a crime he didn’t commit, so funnily enough he isn’t exactly hunky dory. Worse, he’s listed as a sex offender in the prison, although luckily that does mean he’s marked out as vulnerable so he’s been put on special obs.

  The conversation was stilted somehow, as though we were two people who barely knew each other and suddenly found themselves stuck in a lift together or something.

  ‘Have you any cash with you?’ he asked suddenly. I nodded, a bit nonplussed by the question.

  ‘Great. Go to reception afterwards and deposit as much as you can into my IPC.’ He caught my frown and explained: ‘Inmate’s Personal Cash; it’s an account I can access to buy phone credit, groceries, toiletries, sweets, that kind of thing. The maximum amount allowed is £500.’

  Good job, because I don’t have more than £500 to give. I don’t have £500 in fact. Not that I told Daryl this. Actually, I’m a bit worried about money. I’m not sure I can run the house just on my wage, and I need to check our joint account because I’m fairly certain there’s not much in it because we cleaned it out to pay for our holiday.

  Still, me whining about money problems is the last thing Daryl needs right now, so I stayed quiet; and besides, he’s got to be able to buy phone credit otherwise we’ll never speak. These two weeks without contact have driven me nuts. Mind you, together at last in that visitor’s room I felt so awkward.

  ‘You seem to know all the lingo,’ I hazarded. ‘That’s good. You’re settling in. Finding friends. Discovering how it all works…’

  Heck, there was nothing else to say. I had to think of something.

  ‘I need the loo,’ I said suddenly, nerves apparently putting my bladder into overdrive as much as my mouth. ‘Do you know where the ladies’ is?’

  ‘Oh, well if you go then you’ll be accompanied by a female officer, who will search you before and after you go,’ explained Daryl.

  ‘Right, fine, I’ll…just hold it until after the visit, eh?’

  ‘Look, sorry,’ he sighed, rubbing the top of his bald head like he always does when he’s stressed. ‘I’m making your nervous, aren’t I? This is just really difficult. I’ve had to build some barriers to keep myself sane and protected and in here and…well, it’s hard to suddenly drop them and talk as if we’re safe at home.’

  Of course. I totally understood. ‘Hey, you should not be apologising. You’ve done nothing wrong. And I think you’re coping brilliantly; I’m proud of you.’ Tears started blurring my vision as his eyes locked on to me and seemed to laser beam right into my soul. ‘I’m proud of you,’ I repeated, sniffing.

  He reached towards my hand, hesitated, glanced over at the guard for confirmation that it was okay, then continued until my hand was cradled inside his huge paw. Suddenly, I felt safe again. Like somehow, someway, everything’s going to be okay. Wish I could bottle that feeling.

  ‘I love you, Gorgeous. Never forget that,’ he whispered.

  ‘Never,’ I promised. After a minute of gazing at each other, I sniffed again, straightened myself up and wiped the tears from my cheeks, determined to be strong for him. That meant knowing exactly what we are facing.

  ‘So, did the police say why they’d picked on you for these crimes? It makes no sense to me. We have to get a bloody good lawyer, quick. The solicitor who helped me when I was arrested has recommended a couple of names –‘

  ‘I’ve got a barrister,’ Daryl interrupted. ‘I got talking to another inmate and he recommended someone. That’s all sorted. Give them a call when you leave here, introduce yourself; I’m sure they’ll be keen to speak to you and they’ve already started putting the defence together.’

  Bit of a shock that, but I nodded eagerly. ‘Great. I just can’t believe the police even charged you. They didn’t seem to listen to a word I said – was it the same with you?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t tell them anything. “No comment” was as much as they got from me.’

  ‘But…isn’t that a bit daft? It looks bad, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything they could twist and use against me; it’s up to them to prove their case, I’m not going to help them.’

  His face went from sombre to suddenly smiling at me indulgently, eyes crinkling. ‘Gorgeous, don’t worry about it. Seriously, I don’t want you worrying about any of this, or even thinking about it too much. It’s all going to be handled, don’t worry. All you have to do is come and visit me whenever possible, keep the house ticking over, and support me in court. And just be as gorgeous as ever. Look at you, so sweet and innocent, in a place like this – it’s obvious you don’t belong here.’

  He squeezed my hand gently, the oddest, faraway look on his face. ‘The judge and jury will take one look at my baby and know someone like you could never be with a monster,’ he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

  Even in all of this he is thinking of me first. I’m blown away by how strong he is being. If it’s possible for one good thing to come out of this nightmare it’s that I’m falling in love with my husband all over again.

  Wednesday 29

  He took care of all the bills. I don’t even know which utility group we’re with let alone the account number and I’m buggered if I know where Daryl kept all that stuff.

  After a root around I managed to find the information I needed, and get payments changed to be taken from my account rather than his as he’s no longer earning. Flipping hope he gets out soon because I can’t keep paying everything on my own, will have to dip into our savings to keep my head above water – and there’s precious little of those thanks to our break in Turkey.

  When I came to change the water bill the woman on the end of the line said: ‘Oooh, how unfortunate, your poor husband’s got the same name as that rapist, the Port Pervert. He’ll have to change it!’

  She laughed. I didn’t.

  Fri 31

  So,
the day that changed my life was Friday 10 July. It’s now three weeks on from that and the weight is dropping off me because I’m having trouble eating. I’ve been signed off work sick (stress) and have lost 9lb in a fortnight. To be honest, I’d have thought it’d be more considering Mum made me weigh myself after five days and it turned out I’d lost half a stone.

  It might seem strange that I’m obsessing about this when my entire world has fallen apart, but believe me, if I start thinking about that other stuff I’m going to fall apart too.

  I feel…broken. People always say ‘numb’ in these situations don’t they? And I suppose I can understand why because it is the oddest emotional experience I’ve ever had: I feel like I’m in the eye of a storm and everything is raging round me. But I’m not numb. That seems to imply a lack of sensation and feeling, but if I am numb it’s not in the normal way, it’s more like…okay, it’s like the time I burned myself on the iron. For a good second or so my body didn’t seem to register the pain, almost as if it was so hot that my nerve-endings were overwhelmed. Then finally the body and brain caught on to what was happening, and boy did my arm hurt as I finally whipped it away! Now it’s the same sort of feeling somehow; I’ve too many emotions tearing at me and I’ve overloaded and can’t react. What I wouldn’t give to simply feel numb.

  The craziest thing is the constant deluge of death threats. I don’t understand why people want to hurt me; I’m a decent human being who’s done nothing wrong. But they don’t seem to think of me as a person…

  Why can’t people leave me alone? Well, because the press won’t let them forget about me and Daryl, I suppose. Journalists are everywhere, all the time – not that they can currently write much about me because they’ll be in contempt of court right now if they put too much about the case. Peter assures me that this is the calm before the storm and that things will be worse after the trial, but I’m not worried about that; after the trial, when Daryl’s home again, I’ll want to tell our story anyway, so that the world can know the hell this innocent man’s been through.

  I’ve learnt a new technique to help with sleeping, incidentally. I turn one pillow sideways so it lies alongside me, and I put my arm over it, as if it’s Daryl’s chest. Tragic, isn’t it, pretending I’ve got my arms around my husband. At least I’m now managing about three hours’ sleep a night, on and off. Still not enough. I still feel wide-eyed and on the edge. But at least I don’t feel like I’m literally going mental any more. Well, not so much, anyway.

  AUGUST

  Monday 3

  The moment of truth couldn’t be put off any longer; today I had to go back to work. I’m exhausted from being a figure of so much hate. No one could look me in the eye, and yet everyone was staring at me the minute they thought my back was turned. No one spoke to me, yet I was the only topic of conversation. As for my boss, he danced around me like a barefoot tourist hopping across hot sand at the beach.

  I may have to quit. I can’t afford to quit. I really, really want to quit.

  Kim wasn’t even there. I didn’t ask where she was because that would have involved talking to someone and the prospect was way too awkward. I want to contact Kim, she if she’s okay, but the fact she hasn’t been in touch with me speaks volumes. I’m hurt by the way mates have dumped me but in a weird way I’m not that surprised – but I did expect more from Kim. And knowing there was just one friendly face in the office would have made the day tolerable.

  As it was it felt like torture. Every single second seemed to last forever, I’d glance at the clock constantly and be stunned that just a minute had passed by, and I couldn’t even kill time by making a cuppa because the kitchen became a no-go area. I’d walk into it and conversation would be killed instantly, everyone disappearing like mist so that I was left alone, feeling even more awkward than before.

  At lunchtime, unable to eat because my stomach was churning too much, I wound up walking the streets around the office. Even that didn’t feel like escape though; I felt exposed and scared that someone would recognise me from the news, so scuttled along, head down and my shoulders tense around my ears. At least I had the protection officers with me, trailing along behind, to make me feel safer.

  I don’t think I did a jot of work either. I couldn’t concentrate, paranoia sapped all my energy. I don’t know about resigning, at this rate I might be sacked.

  Thank God for Mum and Dad though. It was good to get home to friendly faces, and Mum had done a lovely roast chicken. I could get used to that treatment, and managed to eat a good few mouthfuls.

  But as I tucked in Dad cleared his throat, which is always a precursor to him saying something he isn’t looking forward to.

  ‘We’re going to have to go back home tomorrow, love,’ he said.

  ‘It’s Dad’s job,’ added Mum. ‘We don’t want to leave you, but your father has to get back to work, like you have.’

  I swallowed, the chicken almost sticking in my suddenly dry throat, and forced a smile. ‘It’s fine, honestly. I don’t expect you to stay here forever. We’ve all got to try to get on with life until, well, Daryl’s released and we can really get back to normal.’

  Normal. What’s that? It seems so long ago that I honestly don’t seem able to remember.

  Tues 4

  Kim called late last night! She’d heard through the gossip grapevine that I’d been into work and about the wall of silence that had met me. It was so good to hear a friendly voice, I’ve been feeling very isolated and abandoned since, well, everything.

  She asked about me and Daryl, of course, and what could I say? That it’s all horrific but we’re trying to stay strong for each other? Nothing I say can cover it, so that’s pretty much all I said. Instead I wanted to hear all about her.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she replied. But I could tell from her voice she wasn’t. Eager to hear about anything to take my mind off my own troubles, I pushed her for more info. Finally she caved.

  ‘It’s Sam,’ she sighed. ‘He’s been back on the scene, making a nuisance of himself. I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this though, you’ve enough on your plate. That’s why I haven’t been in touch sooner though; I’ve been trying to deal with all this.’

  ‘Well what do you mean, he’s back on the scene? In what way?’ Then I gasped in horror as a thought occurred to me. ‘You’re not back together are you?’

  ‘No! God, no! But I thought he’d gone forever; he took it so well when we split and he moved out that I should have known I hadn’t heard the last of him though… You know what, honestly, you don’t need to hear about this.’

  ‘Tell me!’ I demanded. It’s amazing, the restorative powers of hearing about someone else’s problems. That sounds awful, and I don’t mean it as if I’m enjoying it, just that I suddenly felt more awake, more connected with the world again than I had in a long time. I felt needed and human again, I suppose. Maybe this was a problem I could actually help solve, instead of feeling like a useless piece of flotsam.

  ‘Okay…he broke in the other night.’ She was trying to sound matter of fact, but her voice cracked just a little. ‘I woke up and just knew someone was in the room. I flicked on my bedside lamp and he was standing there, staring at me.’

  ‘What did he want?’ I whispered.

  ‘H-he wanted me. He was raving on about how he wanted me back, couldn’t live without me. Then he…’

  My heart pounded as I waited for her to explain. Had he hurt her? Forced himself on her? She seemed to read my mind.

  ‘He pulled out a knife. I thought he was going to kill me and Henry, and I was just frozen to the bed, too scared to defend myself. He stepped towards me…then slit his wrists. Said again and again that he couldn’t live without me.’

  ‘So what happened then?’ I wondered.

  ‘He burst into tears. He wasn’t a threat any more as he stood there like a little boy, all sobbing and snotty, and falling to his knees to beg me to take him back. I called an ambulance and the police, and they took him
away. He hadn’t even cut himself properly, they were just scratches, it was all for drama and show…

  ‘That was just after Daryl was arrested, and I’ve been sorting out an injunction to keep him away forever; in fact, your solicitor, Peter Simpson, has been helping me a lot and giving me advice. I contacted him because you seemed so impressed with him and the way he put you at ease.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad I’ve helped somehow, even without knowing it,’ I smiled, relieved. I’m so, so glad she’s finally seen what we all could have told her a long time ago; that Sam is a proper, full on, looney tunes nutter. Why couldn’t she have seen it earlier?

  ‘Are you sleeping okay after all that?’ I asked.

  She gave a wry laugh. ‘Not so great. You?’

  ‘Bloody awful,’ I smiled back. ‘Listen, if you’re awake in the small hours, feeling a bit crazy and lonely, just call me. I’ll be awake. I’m always awake.’

  She said she might just take me up on that. I hope she does. There is no lonelier time than the hours between 3am and 4am. Everyone in the world seems to be asleep and peaceful but you. That’s how I always feel, anyway, and it’s when the worst thoughts stalk me: will Daryl ever get out, is he really innocent, will someone somehow get into the house and hurt me…?

  Anyway, today I endured another day of being ignored and hated at work. Shame Kim chose this week to take off as holiday, but never mind; simply knowing I still had one friend in the world made things a little easier to deal with.

  On the way home I remembered I needed some milk. To be honest I need quite a few things but I couldn’t face the supermarket and I’m not exactly eating a lot right now anyway so… I nipped to the corner shop for the first time since, well, the arrest. Mum and Dad have been getting bits in for me. Anyway, just like the good old days, I walked into the shop and the bell over the door tinged. Ric looked up, usual smile on his face…which rapidly slid away when he saw me.