Fifty Years of Fear

by Ross Greenwood

  Discouraging news.

  ‘In your case, you've made good progress and we're now happy to go ahead with surgery. This isn’t a quick fix. If it’s successful, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to get back to around twelve stone. This extreme and rapid weight loss will hopefully change your biological make-up and it might be possible to return to eating normally.

  ‘There are risks. People have died although that is rare. Psychologically, the hardest part can be at the end of the process as you will be left with excess skin. That should be removed at some point. It’s unlikely the NHS will pay for that though. I would expect this whole process to take a minimum of two years.’

  As we walked out into the sunlight, I prayed for strength and luck. I didn’t believe in God, yet someone was listening.

  Chapter 32

  2007 – Age: 41

  It did take Clara the best part of two years to lose a significant amount of weight. A gastric bypass is far from a magic wand. I lost weight in sympathy, but wasn’t committed either. I’d done bad things in my life and forgot them. So it was strange that I was wracked with guilt over my sneaky Big Mac habit. While poor Clara was ticking off the minutes until her next crispbread, I would pretend I had to go to work early or stay late. Then, like a desperate junkie in a badly lit carpark, I took my fix.

  I must have smelt of fast food but Clara didn’t mention it. I found the odd chocolate bar and ice cream wrapper in the bottom of our bin or even once, hidden inside a book. She said some things still went down easily. I said nothing. She can’t have been cheating too much as just before Christmas the doctor informed her that she had lost ten stone.

  It seemed crazy that, after all this time, she was only half way there. The worst part was that she didn’t appear much different. You could have argued that she looked worse as the skin now drooped around her and it looked like she was melting. She would still sit in her chair in the same clothes anyway.

  She needed to keep going and then, when she stabilised, skin removal surgery came next. However, they wouldn’t pay for it. £15,000 was a serious amount of money, but if that’s what Clara wanted, that’s what she would get. I'd have to take a loan out to cover it. However, we were dealt an ace, and I didn’t need to.

  Clara always liked to watch the National Lottery show on a Saturday night. I hated it. The chances of you winning were negligible, so you were virtually guaranteed a depressing start to your evening.

  We’d just been informed that our neighbour had died of cancer. It only registered then that I hadn’t seen much of him. Should we have done more? We were hardly close. Nevertheless, we were subdued. That day I’d already endured some mind-numbing shows. The balance of power had shifted in our relationship. I daren’t upset her as I didn’t know what she would say.

  ‘Come on, Vinnie. You check those.’

  I thought my life was pathetic before that moment. It felt like it couldn’t get any lower. I would be wrong on so many levels, but that night was different.

  The first number came out, and I didn’t have it on any of my lines. The familiar sinking feeling began. I gave a half-hearted cheer for the second number and a whoop when I matched the third. Silence for the following two, then simply, ‘Shit’ as the last number came up. A few seconds later, I matched the bonus number.

  ‘I matched five.’

  'Check them again.'

  I did. I couldn’t believe it. ‘We won, we bloody well won!’

  ‘Shhh,’ she said.

  Clara got up and took the ticket off me. She looked at the screen and gave a small smile. As if life owed her that much. There were no cheers or high-fives. No hugs, or shouts of where shall we go. She flicked over to a Christmas quiz and I picked up my book, safe in the knowledge our marriage was over. The ticket wasn’t returned.

  I didn’t think matching five numbers would pay a fortune. A few grand perhaps, so it was the following afternoon when I checked. A hundred grand, as it turned out. I don’t know how Michelle downstairs found out, but she was aware. When I told Clara how much it was, she knew too.

  It’s funny how life can be like that. We didn’t need the money and yet we got it. Desperate others went without. I understood luck. It’s a volatile lover, and mine was about to run out.

  Chapter 33

  2008 – Age: 42

  Clara booked her first operation for May. She needn’t have done so as our world fell apart before that. I was allowed to buy a Porsche. That may seem extravagant, however it was possible to pick up a nice second hand one for ten thousand pounds.

  The car, crazily, changed my enjoyment of life. At least for a while. I felt cocooned in its plush interior. I got a small buzz whenever another Porsche driver would give me a nod or a wave. Inside that car, I was a different man. A fast man with places to be.

  I cleaned and valeted it with purpose. I tinkered with every free moment. Silent Kevin came over and shared my passion. I would never leave Clara. That’s not what marriage is all about.

  However, as we bonded again over the car, I realised Kevin and me could go to rallies. Or even go on a driving holiday. How cool would that be? Maybe around Scotland, all the scenery, hills and deserted roads would make for a fantastic time. It’s strange, but I could have done all these things before. I’m sure Clara wouldn’t have objected. You often see clearly when it’s too late.

  Clara lost focus and put three stone back on. I hadn’t noticed but the lad next door and his mate had stolen some cigarettes. Ben and Jake knew I smoked and came to my door. The price was too good to be true, so I agreed.

  When I went to get my wallet from the lounge, for some reason the little shitbags followed me. I’m not sure who was most surprised, us or them. I suspect they’d never seen Clara. Maybe they thought she didn’t exist, or that I’d killed her. Anyway, the look of amazement on their faces when they entered the room renewed her efforts.

  That same afternoon, one of the little toads threw a golf ball through our second-floor window. It was closed at the time. It landed in a bowl of soup I was eating, splashing the boiling hot contents on my groin. I leapt out of my seat, spilling more of the scalding product on my thighs. I had to pull my trousers and pants off to stop the burning sensation.

  When I got to the window, I saw them both running away. Clara watched me for a few seconds. Then burst out laughing. It was a sign of our marriage that, as the tears rolled down her face, I couldn’t remember the last time she laughed like that. Despite the window, I considered joining in, but my nuts were stinging.

  Those young lads had spoken about ten words to me before we had that win. Not all of them had been complimentary. Now I had a sports car they waited for me when I came home from work. I would often take them out for a drive, one at a time. I felt like a celebrity. It was a good feeling.

  It made me pine for the children I knew I would never have. There would be no son to share life’s experiences. I saw little of Kirsty or her mother. Both would avoid me if they could, and I them.

  The police turned up in mid-May, just before I left for work. I was staring out of the window as my car looked like it had dirt on it. I kept it pristine and idly wondered if I had time to take it to the wash. My loyalty card owed me a free one.

  I allowed myself a smile as I assumed the boys in blue were there for the scallywag next door. I was surprised it had taken so long to put an end to his thieving ways. Two vans and a squad car seemed excessive for one urchin. It was a shock when our door rattled in its frame. Then, even though I had done nothing wrong, I realised I somehow expected them.

  I opened the door and in they swept. A badge blurred my vision. They ushered me into the lounge where a plain-clothed man read me my rights. Rape of a child under thirteen. I was stunned to silence. There was a lot of aggression in that room. I could hear them looking in the rest of the flat. They cuffed me where I stood, staring at Clara. Her face was impassive. It was only as they forced me out of the room that I called out to her.

 
‘Clara, tell them. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please.’

  Nothing from her and a growled, ‘Move,’ from an officer.

  They weren’t gentle as they shoved me down the stairs. Michelle’s door was open. She bobbed there with a hard, determined look on her ravaged face. I couldn’t see Kirsty, and for that I was grateful. My shoulders hurt as I reached the last step and leant back to stretch them.

  The officers saw that as resistance and my head was lowered further. They bounced me through the main door and out into the light. My first sight as my vision cleared was my beautiful car. It wasn’t perfect anymore, far from it. In fact, there didn't appear to be a single piece of it that wasn’t damaged, cracked or pierced.

  There were more uniforms and gawping passers-by as I strained to see. The next image was the face of my neighbour’s son, Ben, whom I had thought they had come for, as he came back from the bins. Our eyes met and nothing. That hurt more than the car. We’d lived next door to each other for a decade, and I didn’t matter enough for him to be bothered.

  In the police car, I was in shock. My brain was so startled by what I heard that it shut down. There must have been a mistake. Kirsty, the neighbour’s daughter from downstairs, had accused me of abusing her. For years. The contempt and scorn on every single face as I was taken in the police station was vivid. I imagine if they’d wheeled an enormous rotting pumpkin in, their expressions would have been the same.

  When they described the charges, I tried to explain. No one believed me. I told them I did occasionally get in bed with her but just so I could offer some comfort and warmth. The girl was vulnerable, I said. Yes, she had been coming over for years and of course I cared for her.

  Did we cuddle under the blanket on the sofa? Yes, we did. It was all innocent. I didn’t do any of those terrible things. There were pages and pages of incidents with dates. Almost as if someone had been keeping a diary.

  Each time that I nodded to confirm that I had indeed taken her for a ride in my new car, or bought her sweets, they grimaced and scribbled in their books. I said I didn’t need a solicitor as I was innocent. It was a terrible mistake.

  The scornful looks in their eyes flashed between disdain and incredulity. They were rough with me as I was forced back to the cells. I realised the severity of it all and called for a solicitor. When he turned up he was about as respectful as the man who brought me my phlegm-filled sandwich.

  Hours later, they allowed me a phone call. I have no idea how long afterwards that was, but night was falling. I should have rung Frank because Clara didn’t pick up. There were no second chances and again I was frog-marched back to my blue mat. It felt like I was in the bowels of the building. Time had no meaning in that place. I would find the true horror in that statement over the coming months.

  The following morning, I appeared at the Magistrates’ court. All I did was confirm my name, and the judge ordered me to silence when I tried to speak. It was too serious a case for them. I was remanded in custody and taken to the basement of the courthouse. The solicitor finally came to see me. At least his professionalism had returned.

  ‘Do you understand what happened there, Mr Roach?’

  ‘No, can I go home now?’

  ‘Sadly not. You’ve been charged with extremely worrying crimes. Some of which carry a life sentence.’

  ‘I haven’t killed anyone?’

  ‘Rape of a child under thirteen. Repeated occurrences over many years. Cold and calculated. You admitted to being there on all the occasions too. What were you thinking?’

  ‘I was there, but we only cuddled.’

  ‘If you don’t understand what’s wrong with that statement, with a neighbour’s child, then you will be sent to prison for a long, long time.’

  ‘What? I’m just going to get taken to jail, right now? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?’

  ‘It’s not a case of that because there’s a minor involved. You live in the same block of flats. Her safety is paramount. The police will want to know where you are. You can apply for a bail hearing through your new solicitor. They'll look to offer you bail if you have somewhere to go. As long as they don’t think you are a danger to that poor young girl.’

  ‘New solicitor?’

  ‘Yes, this is beyond my experience.’

  He looked relieved as he continued.

  ‘You need a specialist solicitor and a knowledgeable barrister. Preferably both of them would have successfully defended paedophiles. I warn you, they are expensive.’

  ‘This isn’t right, I’m innocent.’

  ‘Vincent, they have a signed statement, saying you got into the bed of an unrelated ten-year-old girl. Whether you cuddled her or fucked her is neither here nor there. You will go to prison. It’s just a matter of how long for.’

  Chapter 34

  They dragged me from the cramped darkness of the prison van and I understood my predicament. Barbed wire, stark walls and unforgiving faces greeted me. As I was processed, stripped and searched, I began to think straight. The hostility of the police and courts had gone. Here, I was just a number. I thought they must have seen every kind of person through there.

  When they put me in a room to wait to see the nurse, I mentioned that hopefully I shouldn’t be there long. A glare of complete disinterest closed my mouth. I was on a production line. Speed and efficiency made them happy, so I kept my silence.

  A large bald officer sat me down and took my photo. A minute later, I had an I.D. card. I waited to be bundled to the next area. Instead, he smiled.

  ‘That’s some serious charges.’

  ‘I know. I’m innocent though.’

  ‘All sex-offenders are.’

  I considered that piece of information while he got some paperwork together. I could see how this was going to go.

  ‘No one cares then?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Whether I did it.’

  ‘Here, no. Everyone lies here. Me included.’ He tried to make a joke, but it wasn’t funny. ‘Perhaps the truth’s too horrible to admit.’

  Guilty, until proven guilty. Prison all the way.

  ‘So, best just get on with it? Do your time, don’t complain too much, because nobody gives a shit?’

  That didn’t sound fair.

  ‘That’s it. You got it. Now, you’ve come with nothing, so you will receive a prison tracksuit and pumps to wear if you want. You’ll get personal items on the wing; towel, toothbrush, soap etc. You have induction tomorrow, where they will explain everything. In the meantime, keep your head down.’

  ‘What about getting bail and a solicitor?’

  ‘They’ll explain tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘You’ll need to sign this compact for the Safeguarding Wing.’

  ‘What’s a compact?’

  ‘It’s an agreement that you will abide by the rules on the Safeguarding Wing.’

  ‘What’s a Safeguarding Wing?’

  ‘It’s where they put prisoners like you.’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Yes, people who have been charged with sex offences.’

  ‘So, I go to a wing with rapists, perverts and kiddy-fiddlers, even though I may not actually be one.’

  He looked confused for a second.

  ‘Why can’t I just be on the normal wings? They won’t know what I’m in for, unless I tell them.’

  Then he looked amused.

  ‘Mr Roach. I don’t have time to be kind to your feelings. I say it how it is. I’ve been here long enough to have learnt that’s the best way. If I put you on normal location, they will ask you where your paperwork is and when they see you are in for offences against minors, you will be assaulted. Seriously.’

  ‘What if I don’t tell them?’

  ‘It’s not Mastermind here, so you won’t be allowed to pass on the question. Unfortunately, you look a bit like a sex offender with that quiff. You also don’t appear very threatening. Fair game for any bully. I suspect you
may get your head kicked in even if you were only in for fraud.’

  I signed the paperwork.

  ‘You can make one phone call here too. I’ll need to dial the number and introduce the call. Just to ensure that they want to speak to you.'

  I was about to complain when I realised they thought I might contact my victim. I knew this call was important for my immediate wellbeing. I didn’t waste it this time, and Frank picked up on the first ring.

  ‘Frank, it’s Vincent.’

  ‘Heh, how’s thing’s Vinnie? Long-time no hear. Your phone been broken?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’m in prison, Frank. It’s serious. I need a solicitor. A good one. You’re my only phone call, so I need to know you’ll help. Can you go to my house and make sure Clara is alright? She will explain. I don’t understand how it works here, Frank. I’m scared.’

  I could almost hear Frank’s brain clicking through the facts.

  ‘No problem. I’ll sort it out. Try not to worry and of course I’ll look after Clara for you.’

  ‘Frank, I think I have to go. Apparently, I will be able to ring again tomorrow from the wing. Please pick up.’

  ‘I won’t let you down, Vinnie. You can always rely on me.’

  As the line went dead, I realised I hadn’t even told him why I was there. He also hadn’t asked. In fact, he didn’t sound surprised.

  The officer explained that it was ‘after bang-up’ as we walked to the wing. I assumed that meant everyone would be in their cells. I hadn't been looking forward to arriving to a busy wing in chaos, and my pulse eased. He passed my file to an officer with a lined face who peered at me like he was checking the small print on a contract.

  ‘Stick him in twenty-three.’

  When we got to the door, the man produced a bunch of heavy keys and slid a stiff bolt across. He stared through a panel before he unlocked it and gestured for me to enter. There was a sour smell in the room and I could hear guttural snoring as I walked in. I stopped and reversed out.