They both laughed. It felt good. Stan couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled, which then made him feel sad. Pushing the thought away he asked his questions. ‘So, question number one is why did you decide to come home? You never actually said and from the sound of it you were settled on the island. And question number two is, what’s with the tattoos? I noticed the one on the inside of your arm. What does it mean?’
For Stan the first answer was really important. The second would merely satisfy his curiosity so he held his breath and waited for Billie to explain.
‘Dad’s not been well and is having tests on his lungs and you know what Mum is like, bombastic and not the most soothing person in the world so I thought I should come home and be there for him. You know, lighten the mood and keep her off his back. And the tattoo is one of three. I’ve got one on my foot and a small one on my hip. One of my friends has a tattoo shop in town and after I had the first one done I was hooked.’
Stan felt slightly deflated now he knew the reason for Billie’s return wasn’t to reunite, but he wanted to see where the land lay and to know if this was a flying visit. And she hadn’t said what the Greek writing on her inner arm meant. Not only that, she had blushed when he asked and he now suspected it was a man’s name.
‘So are you living with your mum and dad?’
‘Yes, for the time being. The holiday season is over in Greece so I’ll hang around for a while and spend time with Dad, and Mum wants me here for Christmas. If I go back it will be around March.’
Stan’s heart had lifted on hearing the word ‘if’. ‘Does that mean you might stay permanently?’
‘I honestly don’t know. Dad’s got early stage COPD and he’s probably going to slowly get worse. His lungs are knackered and he has terrible flare-ups where he coughs so badly with an infection that it wipes him out. I think I should be here in case he needs me, so I’m in a dilemma. Not just that, it depends on how much Mum does my head in. Up to now she’s been bearable, just.’
Despite the relief, Stan felt bad for Mike. ‘I’m sorry about your dad. But I bet having you home has cheered him up. What did he say about the tattoos? You didn’t say what that one means.’ No way was he giving up, he had to know.
‘Loosely translated it means “colours of the rainbow”.’
‘Ah, so that explains the hair and the change of style… have you gone all hippy on us?’
‘You could say that. Living on an island amongst a close community definitely rubbed off on me. It’s so peaceful there and it helped me get my head together. The pace of life is slower, though it can be busy when a tourist boat comes in. I’d describe it as a place full of colour, bright, I suppose. It lifted my spirits and got rid of some of my demons. But never mind Greece and my tattoos. Tell me what it’s like in here. Is your cellmate okay?
Stan grimaced. ‘Well that’s one way to ruin a conversation… please describe in one sentence your life as a prisoner. Here you go then: this place is infested with rats, and cockroaches and it’s freezing and draughty. The food is disgusting. It’s totally depressing, scary as fuck and completely and utterly shite.’
The second he said the words Stan regretted them because for the first time during the visit, Billie looked like she was about to cry.
5
Billie was repeating the words ‘don’t cry, don’t cry’ over and over again to prevent herself from falling apart in front of skinny Stan the Man. She had been so naive and hadn’t equated her training and meagre years of service in the police to visiting the man she used to love – still loved – in prison. It hadn’t prepared her for this, nothing could.
Stan looked so changed. His almost black, unruly curls were definitely peppered with grey at the sides and Billie knew he’d hate that. He’d always taken pride in his looks, especially his hair that used to be groomed and tamed but was now far too long. No matter how many times he pushed it away as he spoke it refused to remain swept off his face, flopping over brown eyes that looked tired and puffy. His skin – what she could see of it – was sallow, the rest was covered by his beard that was longer than she’d ever seen it and needed a bloody good trim. Where had her burly, fresh-faced rugby player gone?
It was as though he’d shrunk, shrivelled, and her rabbiting on about a paradise island was borderline cruel especially when he looked in need of sun on his skin and some fresh air. She could’ve kicked herself for speaking of Votsi, the village where she lived on the small Greek island of Alonissos. The pastel-painted houses, the golden orb that shone from the cloudless blue sky that was reflected in the Aegean Sea, on which bobbed fishing boats and tourists with their multi-coloured lilos. There was no darkness there because even at night the heavens were illuminated with crystal stars while the coastline was dotted with fairy lights and the glow from seafront tavernas and restaurants. Alonissos was all the colours of the rainbow and it had brought her back to life.
For a while it had also taken away the nightmares and cured her of the crippling disorder that had taken over everything. It was so easy to describe the idyll of living in Votsi because the place and people had soothed her soul, invaded it, actually, and she was already missing the sand beneath her toes and the sun on her face.
Billie had run away to Greece, after her oldest school friend Marissa offered her a bed and a job for as long as she wanted. Marissa had fallen in love with an islander when she went back to visit her grandmother and now worked for her husband’s family doing a bit of this and that. Billie had fitted right in. After a month-long rest, Billie started work at the beginning of the holiday season in March. It wasn’t hard graft, cleaning holiday lets or serving in the little tourist shop that sold the usual holiday knick-knacks. She kept herself busy and partied hard, embracing a bohemian, carefree way of life while trying to wipe Stan from her mind. She really thought she’d cracked it, had found her place and then boom, everything changed.
Now she was back in rainy Manchester, prison visiting. The contrast was stark. But no matter how much she yearned for that heavenly life, mentioning Votsi, and bloody Christmas was cruel and insensitive and akin to torment when you were trapped in hell. Billie made a note to watch her tongue and think before she spoke, and to be brave.
It was no use though, a tear leaked from her right eye so she had no option other than to swipe it away and divert Stan from the mundane and hideous to something positive, a ledge to cling onto. That’s if she could find the words, pick her moment. ‘Stan, I’m sorry, that was a stupid question. I wish I hadn’t asked.’ Billie pushed her fingers closer and felt him do the same.
Stan sighed. ‘No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you but honest, Bill, there’s nothing I can say about being in here that will cheer you up. I’m on a wing full of nonces which means everyone classes me the same. I share a cell. We have a telly with Freeview channels, oh and a radio. It’s a really long, boring day but on the other hand, there’s nowt I can’t tell you about antiques and how to renovate a shagged-out house.’
Billie tried to picture it in her head but had to rely on what she’d seen online. A stupid mistake and she’d wished afterwards she’d not taken to Google and looked. ‘What’s he like, the bloke you share with?’