“Really?”
“Really.”
“I don’t even know if you . . . you know.”
“No.”
“Like men.”
“Ah.”
Shona waited a beat but Tabitha didn’t say anything else.
“Does he ever talk about me?”
“I don’t think so,” said Tabitha cautiously. “But he doesn’t talk much anyway.”
Shona nodded. “Still waters run deep. Maybe if he visits you could mention that I’ve broken up with Paul at last.”
Tabitha couldn’t stop herself from giving a snort of disbelieving laughter: she was in prison charged with murder and Shona wanted her to act as a matchmaker.
“I should go.” Shona stood up. “I’m on call this afternoon and some of my mothers are about to pop. But I’ll come again, if you’d like me to. It must be lonely.”
Tabitha tried to smile. “I’ll be home before long.”
Eight
Tabitha sat at the little table in her cell. It was so narrow that her back was almost touching the bed. She opened the unlined notebook. She tried to remember the last time she had written a letter on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope and posted it. Probably it had been to a grandparent to say thank you for a present she hadn’t really liked. Her mother had told her that it was important to write proper letters to grandparents. Emails didn’t count.
Now her mother was dead and her father was dead and all four grandparents were dead and she finally needed to write a letter.
For the past two years, she had been working as a copyeditor for a London publisher. It was perfect for her. She could do it from home. She could do it whenever she wanted, just so long as she met her deadlines. But she wouldn’t be able to do it in prison.
14 January
AO3573
Dear Cathy,
Maybe you’ve heard by now but I’m writing this to you from prison. It’s all a mad mistake. I won’t go into the details. I’m sure it’s going to be sorted out soon but for the moment I’m not going to be able to do any work for you.
Also, I don’t think you’ve paid me for the Greenwood job or the psychology collection I did before that. I know there’s always a delay in paying and I don’t want to make a fuss, but I really need the money at the moment as you can imagine. It would be good if you could do it by bank transfer. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to deposit checks from here.
You can write to me here and I’ll let you know if things change.
All the best,
Tabitha
Tabitha looked over the letter. It felt like a mixture of too much information and not enough. And a bit whiny as well. It felt strange to be complaining about late payment when she was in prison charged with murder.
The second letter required more thought.
14 January
AO3573
Dear Michael,
After writing this, Tabitha stared at the wall for fully ten minutes. There was a poster on the wall, a photograph of a pine forest with a soft green floor, dropping gently into the distance. For a tiny moment, she had the illusion that she was looking through a window and the forest was just in front of her, tantalizingly out of reach.
Michael. What could she say to him? They’d had no contact at all for nearly a year. Things with him hadn’t ended disastrously, but they hadn’t ended all that well either. Just write, she told herself. Don’t think about it too much.
You’re probably surprised to hear from me. And you’re probably even more surprised to get a letter from me. I don’t know if you’ve heard what happened. The postmark will tell you something. There’s no point in me going through it all here. Just google me and you’ll be able to find out as much as you want to find out.
Short version. I’m in Crow Grange Prison. What happened is that a neighbor of mine was found murdered and insanely I was suspected of it. In fact, you’ll see after about two seconds of going online that I’ve been charged with murdering him and so I’m here on remand.
So why am I writing to you? All I can say is that I’m like someone who’s just fallen in the water and you were one of the names that came into my head to shout to for help. I was wondering if you might come to visit. I know it’s a lot to ask because it means coming all the way to Devon. But it would mean a lot to me.
If you can come, please write back with a phone number. I’ll need to ring you because visiting is a bit complicated. You have to fill out a form and bring ID and probably other stuff. I’ll check.
Let me know.
Love (if it’s OK to say that),
Tabitha
Nine
And, three days later, he came.
Tabitha made the route to the visiting hall. She saw him before he saw her. He looked so familiar. The unbrushed hair that was starting to recede, the gray jacket he always wore with too many pockets, his hands awkwardly in two of them. He always had the air of seeming just a little uncomfortable wherever he was. At least he had some excuse this time. There were the usual sounds of sobbing. Somebody shouted and a warden ran across.
Tabitha sat down opposite him.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said.
He shifted in his seat as if he was already preparing to leave.
“I didn’t know what to bring,” he said. “I brought some magazines and a couple of other things. They took them away. But the woman said you’d get them. I suppose they need to check them.”
“Thank you,” said Tabitha. “And thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for asking me,” he replied solemnly, absurdly. But then he added, “I was a bit surprised that you did, actually.”
She remembered the last time they’d met. She remembered shouting at him and him backing away. He had often seemed faintly puzzled and embarrassed by her. They’d
