No More Tomorrows

by Corby, Schapelle

  I’ve become numbed to things. I have changed in some ways: I can sit calmly reading my book on my bed with a cell full of girls screaming at each other and barely notice; I can switch off, I’m like the calm in the eye of a storm.

  Most days and nights we can hear the cries of prisoners in other cells humming through the concrete walls, like a dull constantaching all night long. I’ve grown accustomed to this sound, so now it doesn’t affect me. It used to sadden me greatly that I couldn’t reach through the walls to comfort the girl whose heart was breaking. My own heart would be burdened by that sound, and I’d usually lie on my bed listening and end up crying myself to sleep with them.

  Now I still hear this sound, but I’ve grown to not let it affect me as it did. I can’t allow myself to drown with every sound of pain that penetrates these walls, as it eats away my strength and energy; I need to be in control of my mind and feelings, it’s my mind and feelings that I need to concentrate on, not others, for me to get through this.

  But I am slowly losing myself. When I go back to the women’s block, I change, I disappear. I can go three weeks without talking to anyone. I keep to myself. I’ve become introverted. Only on the rareoccasion when the Schapelle I once knew comes out to give me a visit do I realise how alone and terribly lonely and lost I am.

  It’s so lonely in here. I see my family, I’m surrounded by lots of people, but I long for male company: that of a cute guy, nothing naughty and rude, just small stuff like a caring hand to move the hair out of my teary eyes and kiss my forehead, give me a warm hug, hold my hand. Little things like that. I’m usually a very touchy person. When will I have that again?

  I do not want a relationship in this place, but I have thought that if I’m here years from now, maybe I would have a child – somehow. It is life’s most precious gift, and I don’t want to miss my chance. The prison rules would allow me to keep my baby here for two years. Maybe it seems cruel, but he or she would be just as loved as any other child. Maybe I could build a cell, so that it’s clean. It’s just all silly daydreams at the moment.

  Maybe I will serve this sentence in an Australian prison. It is a question everyone seems to try to answer for me but one I have not seriously contemplated. I will wait and decide in time.

  I long to be free and live again outside these walls. So many simple things from the outside world now seem so precious. When my brother Michael comes in to visit me straight after a surf, his feet are always covered in wet sand. I forget what it feels like to get sand between my toes. I rub the sand off his feet and onto mine. In a weird way it gives me a little comfort, makes me feel a little closer to where I long to be.

  But I do realise that this is where I must stay until that day in the future when someone in authority grows some balls to help fight for my innocence, my freedom, for what is right, to get that cage door unlocked. The culprits who did this have watched this play out like a sick TV soap opera. I’d like to think they’d put their cowardly hands up, but I gave up any hope of that a longtime ago.

  I will never understand WHY, why this happened to me. Why my bag? I still sometimes go over it in my head but never get an answer. I live day by day but don’t look into the future, as the future means only these four walls, heat, dirt and too many stinky people. The future means sixteen more years locked in a cage. I feel sad and broken – my hopes have faded to nothing. They’re dead. I waited for justice for four years, since that very first Monday in Polda when I was sure I’d be free to finally go and enjoy my holiday. I always seemed to be waiting, waiting for the next answer, for the court’s decisions, waiting on my appeals. But my wait is over. I’ve lost. My judicial review was rejected on 28 March 2008, exhausting the last legal avenue.

  Right now, I’m empty, lost and numb. I used to have a clear fresh sparkle radiating within, showing through my laugh and my eyes, I never had a problem looking in the mirror, I knew who I was, I didn’t question myself. Lately now, four years on from that fatal date, and after repeated blows, I’m finding a confusing, distant reflection in the mirror; it’s dull, my eyes don’t seem to speak any more, they’re lifeless, as though my soul is drying up. Where have I gone, where am I going? I can feel I’m gradually losing the essence that makes me me.

  It’s strange and it hurts, indescribably, to become aware of your own fading soul reflected through your eyes each time you look in the mirror.

  I was once so vain and preoccupied with trying to keep my face youthful and line-free. I’d buy all the latest creams and products, fighting the signs of ageing. Now, how I’ve changed; I would love to be the owner of deep ingrained laughter lines. It’s been so long since I’ve felt peaceful and happy. So long since I’ve smiled and laughed on the inside and out.

  I want touch, affection, to feel as a woman being loved, I want daily life responsibility, normal life problems. I want to feel angry at the price of petrol or bananas in Australia.

  I’m breathing in a dull anger with each breath from this injustice, from who put me here. I breathe it in daily in this monotonous existence.

  I sound like a broken record, but I will keep saying it: I’m innocent, I’m innocent, I’m innocent.

  Epilogue

  AS I LEFT A VISIT WITH SCHAPELLE RECENTLY, I TOLD her, ‘Don’t lose hope.’ She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes and stated matter of factly: ‘It’s gone. It’s already gone!’

  This has been a shattering year for Schapelle, perhaps the most deeply shattering of all so far. After five years of battling prostate and bone cancer, her beloved father, Michael Corby, finally passed away in January.

  Schapelle didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

  It has broken her heart. Tears spring to her eyes at the mention of her dad. She is in such unbearable pain that she is unable to write about his passing herself.

  Michael Corby lived for his three children, Schapelle, Mercedes and Michael – they were his whole world. He shared a special bond with his youngest daughter that was clear to see. She put a sparkle in his eyes. She lit him up. She was always his baby girl, and he adored her.

  His last words before slipping into unconsciousness were to ask if Schapelle was OK.

  Seeing her unjustly caged in a cell, losing her precious life day by day in a dark nightmare that he was powerless to do anything about, devastated him. He moved to Bali in 2005 to do whatever he could to help, devoting his last good months to being with his daughters. Despite being in pain and terribly sick, he regularly did Schapelle’s grocery shopping and visited her almost daily in Kerobokan prison – sitting on the dirty concrete floor of the jail, ignoring the intense pain that caused him. But in 2006 he was forced to return to Australia for further medical treatment. Schapelle never saw him again.

  He failed to recover his health sufficiently to make a return trip. Father and daughter were each trapped, oceans apart, by their own tragic circumstances. The shocking injustice that keeps her locked behind the white walls of Kerobokan Prison stole her chance to say goodbye to her dad. His death has crushed her to a point where her family is seriously worried about her mental state for the first time.

  She’s acutely aware that life on the outside has now changed irreversibly. A few months after her dad’s death, her stepfather, Greg Martin, who was a big part of her life for the past fifteen years, also lost his fight with cancer. It is a devastatingly sad time for Schapelle and her family.

  But there was another cruel blow to compound her agony. After living with a flame of hope for the past two years while three judges in Jakarta reviewed her case, they finally delivered their deadly decision in March – her sentence will stand at 20 years.

  She has now exhausted all appeals. The flame is out. Her hopes are dead. She truly believes there are no more tomorrows.

  Kathyrn Bonella

  April 2008

  Acknowledgements

  THANKS . . . FOR MY SUPPORTERS, A BIG HEARTFELT THANKS goes out to all – you keep my name alive: your thoughts, prayers, letters all contribut
e to finding the light. The ‘Schapelle’ support action groups throughout Australia and New Zealand and the website administrators for all the hard work and dedication – you are all very much appreciated.

  Mum, Dad, Greg, Michael, Clinton, James, Meleane, Mercedes and Wayan – your lives have been shaken, but never once have you stopped the fight. Little Wayan and Nyeleigh – for being brats and making me laugh.

  Nyoman – though we are yet to meet, you’ve brought us all a renewed energy and excitement of new life, a welcome addition in our lives.

  Cus Melissa and friends – for organising such a successful fundraiser, and Morrison for support and keeping my fashion senses alive with your great clothes. Thanks to the founders of Natural Glow for putting colour back in my cheeks.

  Aunty Julianne, all my family, my friends, extended family, including you, Jet, and my Indonesian family – you are always there for me. Always. On verdict day, you were all there; it meant so much to me. Thank you. You are all a part of me, of who I am. This is so hard to understand but know I love you all so preciously; I couldn’t ask for a better family and friends. You do so much. I think of you all more than I see you.

  Pak Erwin – you’re a good man. I have faith in your ability as a lawyer and a trusted friend. If anyone is capable of bringing me home a free woman, it’s you. I know you always do your absolute best for me.

  Kathryn – it’s taken frustration, tears, patience, sleepless nights and a lot of time, but we’ve done it. Thank you for being sounder standing, so caring, especially on the odd awkwardness of my down days. You’re a true and wonderful woman with such qualities – one being a major asset in the world of journalism.

  Thank you, K, may this help to open the eyes to open the heart to open the door.

  Schapelle Corby,

  Kerobokan Prison, October 2006

  My heartfelt thanks to Christine Marie and James Foster for always being available to bounce things off, to Caroline Frith for her endless encouragement, to my mum Sue and sisters Louise and Simone for their love and support, and to my late dad Rod for showing me a passion for human stories. Thanks to publisher Tom Gilliatt for his patience and dedication, as well as to editor Jon Gibbs for his hard work.

  A very special thanks to the Corby family. They are an amazingly supportive and loving family. Thanks to Wayan for his untiring help. Thanks to Schapelle and Mercedes for letting me share their lives for almost a year to work with them on this book. They are beautiful women with huge hearts and very wicked senses of humour. I feel privileged to know them.

  Schapelle is one of the most inspiring people I’ve ever met. She is innocent, stuck in a hellhole for something she didn’t do, yet handles her situation with so much grace and dignity. Despite living in so much pain, her first concern is always her family. She tries to be upbeat and always – even through tears – finds something funny or interesting to talk about. She’s incredible and is loved by so many friends and family and even strangers whowrite and visit constantly.

  There is no question that Schapelle is innocent. None at all.

  It is a travesty that she has already spent four horrendous yearslocked up in hell for someone else’s crime. Every day, she hopes for justice, and if she doesn’t get it soon, her story will be one of Australia’s greatest travesties.

  To anyone who has ever flown overseas: her story could be yours.

  Kathryn Bonella

  Author Information

  KATHRYN BONELLA FIRST GOT INVOLVED IN SCHAPELLE Corby’s story while working as a TV producer for Australian current-affairs programme 60 Minutes. She produced the first exclusive TV interview with Schapelle a month after her arrest and then covered the verdict day in May 2005.

  To write this book, Kathryn spent ten months living in Bali to work closely with Schapelle. Together, they spent hours in the visiting area of Kerobokan Prison, doing interviews and working on chapters. Schapelle also spent time in her cell writing diary notes and stories too painful to relive in conversation.

  Since completing a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism in Melbourne, Kathryn has worked in television and print. She moved to London eighteen months after graduating and spent several years freelancing for 60 Minutes as well as numerous English and American television programmes, magazines and newspapers.

  She returned to Australia in 2000 to work as a full-time producer for 60 Minutes, travelling the world to cover stories ranging from the Bali bombings to Princess Mary’s wedding in Denmark. At the end of 2005, she resigned to write this book with Schapelle.

  Since the book’s release in Australia in November 2006, Kathyrn has returned to freelancing for various magazines, newspapers and television programmes.