by Paula Daly
Tess looks at the phone and reflects that Steph must really hate Tess for what she did the other day. Hoodwinking Steph and concealing from her who she really was for the sake of Carrie’s case. She must hate Tess and that’s why she’s calling, to tell her as such, to scream at her, now that the shock has worn off.
Well, Tess doesn’t need to hear her say it out loud. She knows it was inexcusable. She knows she doesn’t deserve any kind of mercy from this girl.
So she presses ‘decline’. She presses ‘decline’ and slips the phone back inside her pocket.
Avril approaches and asks Tess what happens next. ‘What do we do now?’ she asks.
‘We prepare,’ replies Tess.
‘Prepare, how?’
‘The technical work is over. This moment, this decision to present to the appellate court, is what we’ve been working towards. Go home, Avril. Go home and get a good night’s rest. Because tomorrow is when the real work starts.’
Five Months Later
CARRIE IS WAITING. She has spent a lot of time waiting, at the mercy of other people, things, events that have been outside of her control, and she wonders if she will spend the next eleven years of her life waiting. Perhaps her prayers will be answered and she can stop waiting. She has no way of telling. Today, she admires the tulips outside C wing which she planted last September. They are in full bloom and she’s quietly pleased with the way they turned out.
Before her incarceration, Carrie would merely tell Alan, their odd-job man, what she wanted where, with vague instructions of how she wanted the overall effect to look. Alan wasn’t a gardener as such, more like one of those practical men who can do a bit of everything, so if she found a damp patch on the spare bedroom wall, or if she ordered IKEA furniture for Mia’s bedroom that Pete couldn’t be bothered/didn’t know how to assemble, or if they were going away for a long weekend and the cat needed feeding, it was Alan they called upon.
She wonders if Alan is still around. The cat isn’t. Luigi had curled up on Carrie’s knee and when she’d gone to gently nudge him on to the sofa, she’d realized he’d very considerately died on her. Which had been one less thing to worry about at the time because Pete had never liked the cat and she’d worried what would become of him should she be going to prison. Pete said he wasn’t a cat person, ‘Can’t stand them,’ but Carrie knew this was nonsense because his mother had always had cats and he’d mentioned an inquisitive Siamese he’d been particularly fond of as a child. What Pete couldn’t stand was the fact that their cat wasn’t interested in him, and Pete, being someone who needed to be centre of attention at all times, found this rankled.
She’d buried Luigi herself. Being by the coast, the soil was fine and sandy and it wasn’t a hard task. She’d been released from police custody earlier that day after being held for twenty-four hours. She’d been sent home in a taxi whilst they awaited the results of the DNA test. If her DNA matched the blood they’d found at the scene, she’d be rearrested and charged. When she got out of the taxi and put her key in the front door, she’d found Pete waiting for her on the other side of the door. ‘If you’re staying here, I’m not,’ he’d said simply, and he’d disappeared into the bedroom, banging cupboard doors, flinging clothes into suitcases. He’d left without saying goodbye and the next time she saw him was at the trial.
A prison officer heads out of C wing now carrying a large stack of toilet rolls and a dustpan and brush. ‘Any news?’ she asks, and Carrie replies she’s heard nothing as yet. ‘Takes time,’ says the prison officer, and she tells Carrie they all have their fingers crossed for her.
Carrie smiles.
The psychiatrist working for the prosecution had claimed Carrie was a high-functioning psychopath and Carrie had worried upon entry to Styal Prison how this would affect each prisoner’s view of her. She worried they would try to knock it out of her. That the head of the prison hierarchy would arrange for her to be beaten into submission. She worried the prison officers themselves would keep order using a system of brutality. Her first night inside the prison she stuffed her pillow into her mouth so her frightened sobs would not be heard by her cellmate.
But none of what she’d feared occurred. Not even close. In all the time she’s spent with this ragtag group of women she has not witnessed one episode of physical cruelty; in fact, she’s not witnessed anything but support, and a camaraderie she’s not sure she’ll ever experience elsewhere. Even the prison officers, who must have their own ideas about who is guilty and who is not, seem to take great pains to make each offender feel as if what got them into this mess was probably not entirely their own doing, and, more likely, the product of circumstance. When this particular officer, the officer with the toilet rolls, tells Carrie she’s rooting for her, Carrie believes her.
But the wheels of justice turn slowly. And it’s now been months since she was visited by Tess Gilroy, Avril Hughes and a solicitor she’d not met before by the name of Tom Robinson. They would need to prepare for the meeting with the appellate judge meticulously, Tom informed her. He explained that it was his job to ensure that all of Tess’s and Avril’s findings were documented correctly, to ensure there were no questions raised by the judge that could not be answered and backed up with evidence. He seemed rather young to have a position of such responsibility and doubt must have registered on her face because Tess leaned forward, squeezed her arm and said, ‘Tom has a brilliant mind, Carrie. You are in very capable hands.’
Before leaving they asked that she be patient. No news means good news and all that. They told her that if they were not in touch she was not to worry, it was simply that these things had a habit of taking three times as long as anyone wanted them to, but it was the system they were stuck with, and railing against it didn’t do anyone any good.
She wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or not but both Tess and Avril appeared to have aged somewhat in the time since she’d last seen them and when she’d commented on this – covertly, of course, saying they both looked a bit tired – Avril explained that getting all their ducks in a row, so Carrie had the best possible chance of an acquittal, had been, at times, ‘challenging’.
So now Carrie waits. She waits and watches her perennials emerge from the soil and she gets some satisfaction from being able to see the cycle of life in action as opposed to watching it on a TV screen. She lives for the phone calls and visits from Mia and baby Phoebe. She listens to Mia recount her struggles and the moments of elation that come from being a new parent, and though her heart feels as though someone has it between their hands, and they are wringing it, twisting it, she smiles at her daughter, and she coos, and she delivers the advice Mia needs to hear – softly, softly – and she hopes, as she waits, she hopes that one day she’ll have her two girls to herself, and that no one will be limiting their time together. No one will be checking the baby’s nappy for contraband, and no one will remove Phoebe from Carrie’s arms when their time is up.
TWO GOLDFINCHES AT the feeding station are spitting seed from their beaks on to the ground. Tess watches from the kitchen window. They have been at this for a full five minutes now, ejecting nine-tenths of what they peck, and sometimes Tess wishes they would be just a little more grateful. Sunflower hearts do not come cheap and this wanton disregard for her feelings goes on most days. If the robins and tree sparrows were not there to forage for cast-offs, Tess might stop putting seed out for the birds altogether.
Tess is nervous. Today they will hear whether Carrie’s case will progress to the appellate court. She tries to keep busy. Tries not to check her phone every five minutes. She has another case to be getting on with, another mountain of paperwork to get through – it’s a further murder case, a 37-year-old man imprisoned for killing his boss, and again the boxes are stacked from floor to ceiling in her office, and again her back is complaining after carrying the said boxes from her car. Her full attention should be on this new case but it’s not.
Avril is on standby. They have agreed that the minute th
ey find out they will travel to Styal Prison to let Carrie know in person. Carrie does not know that today is the day, but they have warned her that if she sees their faces in the visitors’ area, she must not automatically assume it is good news. Good or bad, they will be there either way.
Tess takes a shower. She blow-dries her hair and applies a little make-up – just enough to combat the grey pallor of her skin. She’s never found a lipstick that suits her but she goes through the routine of swiping it across her mouth, pressing her lips together twice, checking the result in the mirror, before removing it again. She opens the bedroom window and sticks her hand out to test the air temperature. It’s dry but there’s a slight nip in the air so she selects a short-sleeved shirt, a sweater that she can slip off if it gets too warm, and pairs them with some navy cords. She goes downstairs, makes herself a cup of hot chocolate, and waits.
The call from Tom comes in at 9.37 a.m.
By eleven fifteen they are at the prison.
As Tess suspected, the day has now warmed, and she takes off her sweater and leaves it on the back seat. The other side of the chain-link fence, women prisoners sit in groups on the grass. Some are plaiting each other’s hair; some are lying down, propped up on their elbows, their faces angled towards the sun. The scene takes Tess back to high school, when the first glimpse of summer had them rolling down their socks and rolling up their sleeves in an attempt to absorb any scrap of sun they could before the afternoon bell went, signalling their return to class.
Tess casts around the visitors’ room but cannot see Carrie. She and Avril have been granted permission to visit Styal out of the usual visiting hours, which are between 2 and 4 p.m. each day. The visiting room is empty, save for a prisoner pushing a Hoover around at the far end. The prisoner wears an orange tabard and a pleasant expression that suggests she seems to obtain some small satisfaction from her work. Tess and Avril nod in her direction. The woman cuts the power and asks them if she’s OK to continue or, if they’re holding a meeting, would they like her to finish this later? Tess says it’s no trouble. They can do what they need to do whilst she continues with her work.
At eleven twenty-six Carrie enters the room. She keeps her eyes on the floor and, as she walks towards them, she looks rather odd: she’s neglecting to swing her arms in the usual fashion, instead keeping them pinned to her sides. Tess can also see Carrie is biting the inside of her cheek and has lost quite a bit more hair since the last time she saw her. Tess swallows. She needs to do this right. She can’t imagine how Carrie is feeling right now. She can’t imagine the toll this has taken, not simply on her body but, well, on everything.
How do you go from complete freedom, freedom to go wherever you like, whenever you like … How do you go from having money in your wallet, a car in the driveway, from a safe, warm home, from making your daughter’s breakfast each day … to this?
Tess has worked with criminals her whole life, she knows what makes them tick and from her early days as a probation officer she saw what set them apart from the rest of society, and she knows Carrie is not of that ilk. Carrie doesn’t have the icicle in the heart, the misguided self-belief, the deluded certainty that she is intelligent enough to outwit the system.
Carrie shuffles towards them and both Tess and Avril rise.
Tess came across a poll recently. What’s worse: a guilty person being acquitted or an innocent person being incarcerated? Over 95 per cent of respondents thought it far worse that an innocent person could be sent to prison for a crime they did not commit.
Tess smiles at Carrie. ‘We have a court date,’ she says.
MORE TIME PASSES, and when Carrie’s case eventually reaches the Criminal Court of Appeal, Carrie is another dress size larger, has developed Type 2 diabetes, and is now fully in the thick of the menopause. Baby Phoebe can feed herself with a spoon, is eager to start walking, and can point to pictures of animals whilst making the correct sounds: moo, meow, baa, woof, neigh, cluck.
Yesterday, Carrie was brought to the Royal Courts of Justice in London where the Court of Appeal is. She has never been to London. Why not? she wonders now. She’s never been a big one for musicals, so perhaps it’s that.
Today, in the holding cells below the court, she is dressed in a plum-coloured suit from Debenhams and a pair of court shoes with a block heel from Clarks. These items were picked out for her by Tess and paid for by Innocence UK. Tess also arranged for a hairdresser to visit Styal Prison in the week preceding, and Carrie’s hair has been cut and highlighted. The hairdresser showed her how to backcomb the roots on the crown of her head (where she is thinning the most) and fix it with hairspray so her scalp is less visible. Tess also provided Carrie with some basic make-up essentials: blusher, mascara, a golden-brown eye shadow that has the surprising effect of making Carrie’s dull blue eyes shine and appear almost aquamarine in colour. If the appeal goes her way she will buy more of this eye shadow and wear it every day.
Two Lady Justices and one Lord Justice will hear her appeal. She has met her barrister only once but Tess told her not to be concerned by this, he has been very well prepped and it’s quite normal. Innocence UK have a lot of faith in him and Carrie should be very optimistic. ‘If the appeal process has got this far,’ Tess said, ‘there is good reason to be hopeful, as many, many are dismissed in the early stages.’ Still, Carrie is not allowing herself to hope. Not yet. She has had her hopes dashed too many times and will not put herself through it again. Whatever the outcome of today is, she knows she will have conducted herself with dignity, and she will have spoken the truth. Those are the only things she is in control of.
At 10.15 a.m. she is led from her cell. Her stomach is in knots and a cold layer of sweat sits between her shoulder blades. It all comes down to this, she is thinking, as she enters the court and her gaze immediately lands on Mia. Mia has made the trip to London without baby Phoebe – something which they discussed at length. Mia was not ready to spend a night away from Phoebe yet but agreed the court was no place for an infant. As Carrie takes her seat at the front, she looks behind momentarily. Tess, Avril and Tom are also in attendance. They are seated on one of the pews to the left. The place is rather church-like: there is a lot of wood panelling and it has the sombre, reverential atmosphere of a place of worship. At the front is a raised platform where the judges will hear the case. As they make their entrance, everyone stands, and it’s now that something odd happens to Carrie’s awareness. As she rises, the world tilts and blurs. And the only thing she can see in front of her now is Ella Muir’s face.
Ella was pretty: great big eyes that took up most of her face like a Disney princess. It’s been a long time since she’s thought of Ella. Within this whole process Ella got lost somehow. She became irrelevant and Carrie wonders, glancing behind her at Ella’s family, how they’re doing. Will they ever feel normal again? Will her mother ever wake and feel light, hopeful, glad to be alive? Carrie supposes not. Ella’s mother is in her own kind of prison and Carrie knows that if she were forced to choose between her incarceration, and what Ella’s mother has been forced to endure, she would repeat her imprisonment in a heartbeat.
She can hear her barrister speaking as if from another room. He is Welsh but his accent has been anglicized and as he begins running through the facts of the case she sees a blur of images: Richard Burton playing Hamlet, Anthony Hopkins in The Remains of the Day. ‘No reliable witnesses,’ he is saying, ‘no weapon, nothing in fact to place Mrs Kamara at the home of Ella Muir on the day of the murder. Yes, she’d been there before, we don’t dispute that, Mrs Kamara herself has never disputed that …’
When Carrie had rapped on Ella’s door that day she hadn’t known how Ella would react. Sure, she’d unnerved Ella in the café that day, but that was Ella’s place of work. This was her home. Her turf. Carrie had seen Pete disappearing inside on the few times she’d followed him, but she hadn’t seen Ella up close since the café, and when Ella opened the door, Carrie was a little taken aback by just how beau
tiful she was. She looked so different when she was relaxed. When she was waiting for Pete to arrive, presumably.
Carrie had stammered through her first few sentences, the power she’d felt in the café that day deserting her, and she was unable to keep eye contact with Ella. When her nerves did finally settle, and she was able to take a proper look at the girl, what was reflected back at her was sympathy. Ella felt sorry for her. And it was this more than anything which had caused her to become unmoored. Caused Carrie’s veneer to crack.
Her barrister pauses to take a sip of water. He is not a young man. He is tall and rangy with a long nose and hooded eyes. In his wig he appears rather villainous. ‘And when looking at the time frame offered by the prosecution,’ he says, ‘it’s very hard to see how one could do all that they’re suggesting and still get home in time for Mrs Kamara’s husband’s return at …’ His voice becomes faint again as she thinks about Ella’s face. This time she is seeing the crime scene photographs she saw at the first trial where Ella is dead-eyed and lifeless. Her skin is the colour of ash and the essence of her, that thing which must have caught Pete’s eye, is long gone. She wonders if Pete has ever got over the loss of her. He claimed she was the love of his life. He claimed he was going to marry her. Maybe he would have.