‘What did she say?’ I glance from Mum to George, who’s standing by the door with a strange look on his face. ‘Was it about the parole hearing?’
‘That’s not for a few more weeks,’ Mum says gently, confirming what I already knew. The date is etched in my brain.
‘What, then?’ I demand to know.
‘He’s asked to see you.’
* * *
My stomach has tied itself up in knots as I wait on the cold plastic chair in the Visitor’s Hall. So much has changed in my life since I last came here back in April. I’ve lost Dad, moved home, and found George. I can scarcely believe he’s waiting in the car park. He offered to drive me here, and Mum urged me to take him up on it. I didn’t have the will to resist.
One by one, the guards bring in the prisoners, a sea of grey jumpers filtering out across the room. They settle themselves on chairs separated from friends and family by low tables.
I see him and my heart claws its way up my throat as a prison guard brings him towards my table. He looks better than last time. There’s more colour in his cheeks and he’s not as thin. He’s had a haircut too, a neat trim around his ears.
He sits down across from me. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he says in the raspy voice I’ve got to know.
‘I was surprised you asked me,’ I admit. ‘I thought you were finding it all too hard.’
‘I was,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry.’
I nod and swallow. ‘At least you’ll be out soon.’
His eyes fill up with tears. ‘I’m sorry about that too.’
‘Please don’t cry,’ I whisper. ‘You’ll set me off.’
Too late.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he repeats, as we both brush our tears away. ‘I wish it were him coming up for parole, not me.’
I don’t want to cry, but it’s impossible to stop.
I wish it was too…
‘I still don’t know how I’m going to carry on without them,’ he adds, his shoulders shaking as he begins to sob with silent tears.
I let out a choked gulp.
This is why I had to stop coming. I only intended to come the one time: for closure, because I wanted to forgive him and try to move on. But it felt cathartic to see his pain so I kept coming back. Eventually he asked me to stop because he found it too painful.
I understand. He lost his wife and the mother-to-be of his baby girl, only one month shy of being born.
I lost my husband.
Theo was taken from me when Carl, the slight blond man in his thirties sitting opposite, crashed into Theo in a head-on collision between Harrogate and the tiny village of Killinghall. Carl had been drinking and was over the limit, as was Theo, although just barely, but it counted in Carl’s favour when he was sentenced. The courts also considered the far worse punishment that Carl had suffered in losing his wife and unborn child. He hadn’t drunk that much and was only driving because his wife was tired, but it was enough to alter his judgement on the narrow country road.
‘I hope you’re okay,’ he mumbles. ‘I hope your little girl is growing up strong and healthy.’
‘She is,’ I say on a sob.
‘And I hope you can move on too and be happy again one day. Find love, you know?’
I’ve found it, I think inside my head. I just don’t know what to do about it.
* * *
George sees me coming as I walk towards him, wiping away my tears. He jumps out of his truck and hurries around to the passenger door, opening it up for me, but I throw myself against his chest instead.
He rests his face on the top of my head as I cry.
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Leah,’ he murmurs, holding me tightly.
He couldn’t understand why I wanted to come, why I ever considered visiting the man responsible for the death of my husband. Mum never got it either. In fact, the only person who supported my decision was Dad.
I cry even harder. Will I ever stop missing him?
When I finally calm down enough to retreat, I see that I’ve sobbed tears into George’s T-shirt.
‘Whoops,’ I say in a muffled voice, placing my hand on his solid chest and looking up at his face. I can feel his heart thudding beneath my palm. He still has his hands on my hips.
He gazes down at me, his brown eyes shining with emotion. Without asking, without even thinking, I run my hand up his left biceps and push the sleeve of his T-shirt over his shoulder. The words ‘Little one’ stare back at me in blurred ink.
Theo’s handiwork.
George pulls me back into a hug.
I slide my hands up his broad back and along his neck, pushing my fingertips into his hair. It’s so soft.
I could make wrist warmers out of it…
Memories of Theo in his late teens and throughout his twenties hit me in one blinding blow. He used to tease me about my ‘psychotic tendencies’ relentlessly, but the best reaction, the one I remember the most, is him at fifteen, sitting up on the overhang at Hare Heads, howling with laughter when I admitted to him why I had laughed on the bus.
I don’t know who lets go first, but George and I step away from each other at the same time.
We’re quiet as he drives me back to the farm.
Chapter 28 Now
The next big hurdle in my life, not to mention Emilie’s, comes early in September when Emilie begins nursery.
She enjoyed her first two short introductory sessions when I sat in the staff kitchen, on hand in case she needed me. But now it’s time for her to go it alone and I’m struggling to keep it together as I walk her across the car park. I want to pick her up and carry her, hold her to me tightly and never let her go, not hand her over to a group of adults we barely know, however nice they may seem.
There are other parents milling around, chatting to each other. They seem like a nice bunch and hopefully, in time, I’ll make friends with some of them, but right now the most I can manage is a nervous smile.
‘Hello, Emilie!’ Cath calls cheerfully as we approach the nursery doorway.
Cath is Emilie’s key worker, the person assigned to look after her while she’s at nursery. She’s in her early forties and has a kind disposition. I had a good feeling about her when I came here for Emilie’s settle-in days and Emilie took to her immediately.
‘Hello!’ Emilie replies. ‘I’ve got my yellow wellies on,’ she adds proudly, outstretching one foot and pointing her toes.
I had to wash the mud off them before we left home because she was insistent on teaming them up with her navy and pink polka dot dress. She’s also wearing a light-grey jumper that I knitted for her myself, wanting her to be as snug and cosy as possible today.
‘Ooh, they’re very sunny,’ Cath says. ‘And you have a matching yellow hairband too.’
Emilie looks delighted as she reaches up to touch it.
‘Hello, Emilie’s mummy,’ Cath says warmly.
‘Hello.’ I try to sound upbeat.
‘Are you ready to come inside and play Tap Tap again?’ Cath asks Emilie.
Emilie nods, her hazel eyes growing round with excitement.
Before I can ask what ‘Tap Tap’ is, Cath adds, ‘Say a quick goodbye to Mummy, then.’