‘Because . . . because he was doing this for you.’
‘Doing what for me?’
‘Over the years he’s been talking about clearing your name. It was like an obsession with him. I told him to leave it, but he was convinced there was a way to prove you were innocent. I thought I’d got through to him, I thought he’d left it. But, no, he went ahead. He made contact with the Gorringes and now . . . And now look at him.’
‘I had no idea,’ I reply. ‘No idea at all. I would have told him to stop if I’d known. All of that was over as far as I was concerned. I spoke to Serena ten years ago, we settled things. I moved on. We moved on. My life is perfect as it is. The very last thing I would want is to drag that all up again. Do you or he think I’d want any of that around Betina? You think I ever want her to hear the stories, read all that stuff about me and Serena in the papers? I thought if I just left it, I could pretend it hadn’t happened. And now look at this.’
Bella is staring at me, and she doesn’t look like she wants to glass me. ‘I’m not angry at you. I’m pissed off with him and with myself. For not seeing sooner what was happening, for not . . .’
‘For not what?’
She flushes, lowers her head and hides behind her veil of long, brown locks. But I can see she’s shaking, trembling again like she did last night. And I suddenly understand what she’s really annoyed about, what has truly ignited her anger.
‘You’re pissed off for not asking if I did it,’ I supply. ‘You think if you’d asked, and I’d told you the truth, Logan wouldn’t have gone off on his wild goose chase in the first place.’
Even behind her mask of hair I can see her cheeks glowing with embarrassment.
‘You know what, Bella, I wouldn’t have told you even if you’d asked. I decided, after the last time I spoke to Serena, that I was going to move on from every last scrap of my past. I had you and Logan back. You two were the only ones I cared about having back in my life. The only people I’d be trying to prove my innocence to would be Mum and Dad. And whether I did it or not, as far as they’re concerned, I am guilty. I fucked my teacher, and I got caught out. Not by getting pregnant, but by going to prison. When I realised that, I just let it go. And now Logan has dragged it back into my life.
‘I’m not going to spend the next however many years trying to prove I’m innocent. I am not going to start living half a life to make you or Mum and Dad or even Logan feel any better. I have a daughter and she deserves the best of me. And even if I didn’t have Betina, I deserve to live my life without trying to prove anything to anyone. Innocent or guilty, I was punished; I spent twenty years in prison. I don’t have to answer to anyone.’
Bella has stopped looking so indignant and furious now. She seems mortified, that red glow growing stronger and more virulent with every passing second.
‘You know what, Bella,’ I say suddenly, her blushing, her embarrassment in this situation irritating every single nerve in my body, ‘screw you.’ This is why my beloved Tina died, this is why I still had to cut up. It was never enough. When you are a prisoner, a convict like me or Tina, you are lowly. And even if you go back to ‘real life’ you are still lowly, you are always that number. You are never completely human again. Innocent or not, people always expect a piece of you whenever they demand it. They always expect an answer. They always expect you to want to prove yourself worthy of being around them. It probably isn’t conscious, it rarely is malicious, but it is there. It is always there at the back of their minds. It is always there as something they wonder about and feel entitled to ask about. And I might expect it from others, from potential employers, from banks, credit card companies, even my supermarket loyalty scheme, but from Bella? Logan? No. Not from them. Not when they are all I’ve wanted these last thirty years.
‘Screw you,’ I say again. ‘Screw you for making me feel like this. My brother’s in a coma and instead of processing and dealing with that, you’re acting like I’m meant to be sneaking around feeling guilty for something I didn’t do. And you know what, screw Logan for doing this, for detonating this in our lives. And, actually, screw Mum and Dad for making me feel terrible all these years.’ They need to hear that, I decide. It’ll do no one any good if they don’t hear me say that to them.
I spin on my heels, the rubber on the bottom of my trainers squeaking on the floor. Bella says nothing, she just watches me leave.
In the corridor, waiting on the bank of uncomfortable plastic chairs, are my parents and my lover. I march towards them. I want to swear at them. I want to unleash the full Prison Poppy on them so we will all know that I’m done now. I’m not going to play this game any more. I’m not going to pander to their sensibilities when it’s clear from earlier that Dad can call me Pepper when he needs to, he can be affectionate and remember how much he loved me when it’s convenient to him. I’m not going to play any more when it’s been clear all this time that Mum is capable of overt displays of affection because of the way she is with my child.
Like I just said to Bella: screw them.
Alain is on his feet and in front of me in an instant. He’s obviously seen from my face what I’m about to do, what I’m about to say, and he’s decided to intervene.
He slips one arm around my waist, the other goes on my bicep, as he yanks me towards his body so he can stop me moving. ‘Don’t,’ he murmurs into my ear. He tries to take a step back, to push distance between my parents and me. ‘Don’t. Their son is in a coma. This isn’t the time.’ He holds me closer, blocks me from moving towards the couple holding hands, a swirl of sadness and worry shutting them off from the outside world. ‘It needs to be said, it does,’ he continues to murmur, ‘but not right now, Poppy. Not right now.’
I’m about to push him off, tell him to do one because I’m done with the scrabbling around for scraps of affection. I’m done with using my daughter as the only reason for them to tolerate me. And they need to hear it. They need to hear it all and they need to hear it right now. Before I can free myself, though, there is a flash of black over his shoulder. A black uniform. Following a person in normal clothes. Immediately my breath snags in my chest, my heart skips up to beat in triple time.
‘Mr and Mrs Carlisle?’ the plain-clothes officer asks my parents.
‘Yes,’ my parents reply and stand up. ‘That’s us,’ Dad adds.
They keep holding hands as they stare at the person in front of them. ‘Logan Carlisle has you down as his next of kin,’ the officer says. ‘I’m going to be your family liaison officer, so I’ll be with you throughout this investigation.’
‘OK,’ Dad replies. He looks at the officer suspiciously. I guess he hasn’t got over what happened, either.
‘We’ve been conducting an investigation since last night when your son was brought into the hospital. We’re very surprised but pleased to say that we’ve made an arrest.’
‘You’ve made an arrest? Already?’ I say.
The officer turns to me. ‘And you are?’ she asks.
I sigh, and then say, ‘I’m their daughter Poppy.’
The officer nods, while her eyebrows do a tiny dance of recognition. She knows who I am and she was expecting me. ‘Yes, Miss Carlisle, we’ve made an arrest. I believe you may know her. She’s called Verity Gillmare. She’s the daughter of your former accomplice, sorry, partner, Serena Gorringe.’