I digest this piece of news with regret. Kamal Hadley’s influence no doubt.
‘Jack, can I ask you for a favour?’
‘Just name it.’
‘It might get you into trouble.’
‘My dull life could do with a bit of sprucing up.’ Jack grins.
I smile gratefully. ‘Could you find a way to deliver this letter to Sephy?’
‘Persephone Hadley?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Sure thing.’ Jack takes the envelope from me.
I hold his wrist. ‘You have to personally put it into her hand. Promise?’
‘I promise,’ Jack replies.
I let him go and watch him put the letter into his pocket. Sighing, I sit back on my bed, my back against the cool wall. There’re still so many things I want to do, so many things I want to find out. I would’ve loved to see my mum again, just once more. Just to say . . . sorry. But it hasn’t been allowed. Heaven only knows what she’s going through now. Her husband is dead. Suicide or murder – take your pick. Her daughter is dead. An ‘accident’. Her youngest son is going to die because of his own self-inflicted stupidity. And her eldest son is . . . missing? Wanted – dead or alive. Poor mum. What has she ever done to deserve all this? My thoughts are flitting around now. I wonder about Jude? I miss him so much. I’d love to know if he’s OK. Is he safe or in prison? Has he linked up with Morgan? Has he come up with a way to deal directly with that traitor Andrew Dorn? A newspaper article is all very well, but how can he be sure Dorn won’t weasel his way out or just disappear? Dorn doesn’t deserve to disappear after everything he’s done. Will Jude catch up with him? I’ll never know.
And Sephy, how does she feel about me now? Is she still going to have our child? I’m sure her mum and dad are doing their best and then some to make her get rid of it. Maybe she has already. Our time together in the rose garden was so brief. All those things I’d wanted to say to her – and now they’ll never be said. If I could just see her one more time then I could make sense of all this, I’m sure I could.
I hear the security door click at the end of the corridor. Jack jumps to his feet and heads out into the corridor to stand by my open cell door.
This is it then. I stand up and pull down my T-shirt. I can feel little prickles of heat break out all over my skin.
I don’t want to die . . .
Governor Giustini stops in the corridor outside my cell. He looks at the cards scattered on the floor and the bed and then at me.
‘Do you have a last request?’ Governor Giustini asks sombrely.
‘Just get it over with.’ My voice trembles over the last couple of words. I’m going to break down.
Oh, please God – if you’re up there, somewhere – don’t let me break down . .
No more words. I can’t risk it.
Don’t show them how terrified you are, Callum. Don’t show them how you want to clutch at them and beg them not to kill you. Don’t show them . . .
‘Put your hands behind your back, Callum,’ Jack says quietly.
I look at him. Strange . . . His eyes are shimmering. I try to comfort him. No words, just the briefest of smiles in gratitude for his pity before I turn around, my hands behind my back as I wait to be handcuffed.
‘D’you want a priest or some kind of spiritual counselling?’ Giustini asks.
I shake my head. I never really believed in it when I was alive, so it would be hypocritical to call for it now.
When I was alive . . .
I’m not dead yet. Not yet. Every second counts. There’s still time. I must have hope. Hope till the very end. Miracles have happened before. My cell door opens wider. Giustini leads the way, with two guards I’ve never seen before on either side of him. Jack walks next to me.
‘You’re doing fine, Cal,’ Jack whispers. ‘Be strong. Not long now.’
They lead me down the long corridor. I’ve never been this way before. Early evening sunlight streams in through the high windows and dances across the floor all around me. It’s so bright I can see the dust motes swirling through the air. Who would’ve thought that dust could look so eerily beautiful. I try to walk as slowly as possible, to drink in every sight and sound. To make each moment last a lifetime.
‘Good luck, Callum . . .’
‘Spit in their eye, Cal . . .’
‘Bye, Cal . . .’
Anonymous calls from the cells on one side of the corridor. I’m tempted to turn and study the faces behind the words but that would take too much time. And that’s the one thing I don’t have any more. I look straight ahead. The door opens at the end of the corridor. More blazing sunshine. Such a perfect day. We step out. I stop abruptly. Faces. A sea of faces, even more than when my father was about to be hanged. Lots of Crosses, come to watch the show. But the sun is before me and dazzling my eyes. I can’t see much. Besides, the scaffolding is in the way. And the noose up there, gently swaying in the evening breeze.
Don’t look at it.
I want to cry.
Please God, don’t let me cry . . .
Please God, don’t let me die . . .
Giustini and his guards move to one side of the scaffold. Jack leads me to the stairs. I climb up them. He follows.
‘Forgive me, Callum,’ Jack whispers.
I turn my head. ‘Don’t be silly, Jack,
