It was down to Billie now, to put things right if she could and not just for Stan. There was more at stake. Once inside, if she had the bottle and could find the words, if the time was right, Billie was going to give him a tiny shred of hope. Something to cling onto.
4
Stan’s mouth was bone dry and his hands were sweaty. He had to keep wiping them on his joggers as he lined up with the other inmates who were waiting to be let into the visiting hall. His heart was pounding as he focused on the officer up ahead, watching for movement. At least it kept him occupied otherwise he’d be counting down the minutes again, in sixty-second bursts.
He’d woken at 5am, too wired to sleep. It was almost impossible to eat. Nerves were whipping up acid in his stomach, causing it to swirl but he knew he’d be starving later so swallowed down his ridiculously small portion of cereal and warmish milk that had been stashed in his locker. There was no way of keeping it cold because they gave it to you at teatime to keep in your cell until the following morning. Stan actually looked forward to breakfast. It was the crappiest cereal in the world, but at least it spared him the trauma of mealtimes with the other inmates and broke the monotony of spending twenty-three hours in a cell watching daytime telly. That was when he was in the most danger, as prisoners from different wings crossed paths on their way to or from collecting food from the canteen. Everybody hated the men in Stan’s queue.
After breakfast he’d spent the whole morning looking at photos and keeping an eye on the clock. He swore the hands moved in slow motion just to torment him. One image in particular had kept him mesmerised, his mermaid photo. He’d already committed to memory the slope of Billie’s nose, perfect full lips, long lashes closed over pale-brown eyes, the line of her collarbone and slender arms that were wrapped around her waist. Stan had copied the original photo and packed it with the rest of his meagre belongings before the trial. His mum had said he’d be coming home and wouldn’t need them because she knew he was innocent and so would the jury. Pity the twelve men and women, good and true, didn’t agree.
There was movement up ahead and then the sound of a metal door opening and everyone began to shuffle forward causing Stan’s heart to flip. Swallowing down nervous bile he wished they would get a move on because he was desperate to see Billie. As he stepped into the white-walled room dotted with blue plastic chairs separated by Formica tables, he began to search for his blonde mermaid, expecting her to stand out a mile amongst the pale insignificant faces and bodies in front of him. His first sweep produced nothing and then the light dawned. She’d changed her mind.
And then it started, the slow creep of a panic attack. Stan knew the signs because he’d been suffering them since he was arrested and once he was charged they became a regular occurrence. It began with a rush of heat, sweeping through his body and setting his face on fire. Then his heart would start to pound followed by a choking sensation, invisible hands around his throat. Once the attack took a firm hold, Stan’s only thoughts would be of escape, fresh air, somewhere to breathe. The thing was, in prison there was no way out.
He became aware of bodies passing him by, nudging him out of the way just as the familiar trembling began and a current of pain made its way across his chest. Stan was becoming disconnected. This was another familiar occurrence and he knew he had to go back to his cell otherwise he’d make a fool of himself. By the time his metamorphosis was complete, he’d be a sweaty gibbering wreck with jelly legs and chattering teeth. Just as he turned to go his attention was drawn to someone standing tall above those already sitting. A waving hand attached to long arms led to a face he recognised, but it wasn’t swathed in mermaid locks; it was topped by short, pale-pink hair. In that second Stan almost cried out with relief and on shaking legs, made his way towards Billie, sucking in deep breaths with every step.
When he reached the table he couldn’t speak, especially when she wrapped her arms around him for the briefest of hugs that gave him a few seconds to gain composure and reattach himself to the here and now. His arms enveloped Billie, his hands clung on tight but there was no time to relish the feel of her body, the softness of her mohair jumper or even consider the skin that lay beneath. Within seconds they were detached, only their eyes connected them, locked on.
There followed a moment of awkward silence where neither he nor Billie seemed to know what to do. Aware that the guard was eyeing them and not wanting to draw attention, Stan found his voice as he lowered his body onto the chair. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. Thanks for coming, Bill. For a second I thought you’d changed your mind. I actually didn’t spot you at first. You’ve changed your hair. You look great by the way.’ Stan was talking too fast, nerves were getting the better of him but he was just so relieved. She was here, in front of him and he couldn’t stop staring at her.
‘I should have told you about my hair… bit radical I know but I started hacking away at it because it’s so hot over there and it was getting on my nerves. In the end I chopped it all off. The pink is new though.’ Billie touched her hair that was cropped close in an elfin style, with a barely-there fringe swept to the side.
‘And the piercings. I bet your mum had something to say about those.’ Stan was taking it all in. The diamond nose ring and the three matching studs on each lobe, and a tiny one on the floppy bit. ‘Did that not hurt, what’s it called anyway, that part of your ear?’ He pointed as he studied closely every part of Billie.
‘Tragus, it did sting a bit and yep, mothership had plenty to say but, as usual, I just ignored her.’ Billie rolled her eyes and smiled.
‘I’m just glad she passed on my letter. Did she know it was from me?’ Stan had always been wary of Claudia who was best described as a ‘pushy mum’. She was also Billie’s worse critic, in fact everyone’s, and had thought both her daughter and Stan were a pair of all-round let-downs. In the end they proved her wrong, both did well and made a go of it. But then in a way, when it all fell apart, they proved her right again. Dragging his thoughts away from Claudia, Stan concentrated on what Billie was saying.
‘It was Dad that posted it on, not Mum. She didn’t even get to see it because he suspected it was from you so hid it. Hardly any of my post goes to theirs, never mind a handwritten letter. You were lucky she was in the garden when the postman came otherwise she might have binned it. You know what a cow she can be.’
Stan could only nod in agreement. He could never understand why Mike had ended up with such a control freak of a wife, but maybe that was how she snared him… he knew the feeling well. ‘Will you thank your dad for me? He’s a decent bloke, always was. To be honest I was beginning to give up hope and then I got your reply. Hopefully, I can use the email service soon but you have to earn that privilege and I haven’t even been assigned a job yet. But then again it’s safer if I stay in my cell. People like me are the lowest of the low in here, apart from the paedos.’ Stan had to swallow down a wave of shame and anger, followed closely by desperation.
‘Is it bad, Stan? Are you safe?’
‘For now. I just keep my head down, get my food and go straight back to the cell. I dread going to the shower. I try not to get into conversation with anyone apart from my roommate. I’m on a vulnerable persons unit where, for various reasons, prisoners are segregated. It’s for our own safety but I don’t trust anyone especially when I’m labelled as a sex offender, cos that’s what they all believe I am.’