Invisible (17 page)

‘No, no, no; not until
you’ve proposed. That wasn’t a proper proposal.’

‘It was! I asked, you said
yes.’

‘You asked what I’d say if
you asked,’ I’d argued with a smile, setting the iron down, going over to him,
and reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck.
Then stared
into his ice blue eyes.
‘But you didn’t actually ask.’

He’d pretended to consider
this,
then
nodded fake-grudgingly. ‘Maybe I can do
better,’ he’d conceded.

The next few days had been
spent in a frenzy of anticipation. It had been like waiting for Christmas to
arrive but not being sure of the date. Daryl had been impossible to read
though, giving nothing away, and slowly I’d started to calm down and feel a bit
disappointed.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he’d
announced one day. I’d looked out at the lashing rain and raised my eyebrows.
‘Come on, it’ll be bracing,’ he’d added.

‘That’s one word for it,’
I’d agreed sarcastically. ‘I’m cosy here, thanks.’

‘Come on!’ He’d gone and got
my coat, held it out for me.

‘Daryl, I don’t want to go
out. Not in this weather.’

He’d made a little growling
noise of frustration and hung his head. ‘But you’ve got to come outside,’ he’d
whispered to the floor.

‘Why? Oh -
’
 
Of
course, it was obvious once
I’d put my brain into gear. This was it, the big proposal! So despite the
pelting rain, I’d buttoned up my coat and gone outside. Holding his hand, we’d
raced along the pavement, me squealing occasionally, and then turned quickly to
go through gates that led to the local school’s playing field, which was empty
with it being a Saturday.

There’d been a helicopter
there, waiting for us!
 

‘I know you’ve always wanted
to go in a helicopter, so this is for you. I want to make all your dreams come
true,’ Daryl had said, suddenly sinking onto one knee despite the mud. ‘Let me
spend my life trying to make that happen; will you marry me?’

My hair had been plastered
to my head and I was shivering with cold, but it was the most incredible moment
of my entire life as I’d nodded happily. He’d even sorted the ring, a little
diamond solitaire.

The helicopter ride had only
been short because of the awful weather, but I’d barely noticed in my euphoric
state – and besides, I hadn’t been looking at the scenery anyway because I
hadn’t been able to drag my eyes away from my sparkling ring or Daryl’s proud
smile.

We’d married just four
months later. That had been the first day I’d seen him with a bald head. ‘I
wanted to surprise you; got sick of having receding hair, decided to just get
rid,’ he’d whispered to me at the altar, grinning at the look of amazement on
my face. Everyone had been talking about his new look!

Of course, our first dance
had been to that all-time
cheesey
classic ‘My First,
My Last,
My
Everything.’ All our friends and family
had been in fits of giggles as Barry White’s voice boomed out, but of course
not all of them knew the significance of the song for us and the happy first
date memories it brought.

Over the years, Daryl has
kept his promise and tried to make my dreams come true. They aren’t big,
expensive, exotic things, so I suppose it hasn’t been hard for him, but that’s
not the point is it? The point is, he knows me inside out, knows what I want,
and gives it to me. Took me to Turkey twice, a place I’d always wanted to go;
nips out and buys a curry whenever I fancy one; and he gives a mean foot rub
with those big, strong hands of his. And best of all he’s agreed to try for a
baby, something I want with all my heart.

After nine years of
marriage, I was bored, I admit.
Took him for granted.
Goodness knows it’s easily done. My God, has all this business made me
re-evaluate though. We’ll come out the other side stronger and happier than
ever. Nothing’s ever going to tear us apart.

Monday 20

Okay, now I’m really angry.
Daryl didn’t get bail! The judge didn’t even seem to consider it for a second,
just dismissed it out of hand. Bastard! As for the person representing Daryl,
who was just the bloke who’d acted as his duty solicitor, well, we have to
replace him
asap
. Now I know exactly why Peter has
recommended I find someone good.

I’ve been researching on the
internet for days though and making calls and honestly I feel lost in this
world I suddenly find myself in. I wish Daryl were here, he’d take charge
immediately and sort it all out.
 

Friday 24

I think I’ve sorted out a
barrister for Daryl. She sounds perfect, and has handled a couple of
high-profile cases already.

That’s how I found her
actually. I was reading some newspaper cuts about other people who have been
charged with similar things to Daryl, and her name cropped up a couple of
times. Though I’m not sure I really approve of her, as some of these blokes
sounded guilty as sin. Still, if she can get them off, she can definitely get
an innocent man like Daryl off.

I also got another letter
from Daryl, well, more of a note really telling me to call a certain number and
book a visit to come see him on Monday. My heart skipped when I saw that.
Finally I’ll be able to talk to him, hug him,
comfort
him. It feels like forever since I’ve had one of his cuddles.

Sunday 26

In preparation for tomorrow,
I’ve been online to find out what to expect. I don’t know anyone who has ever
been in prison as a visitor or otherwise; it’s really not the sort of circles I
move in, so there’s no one I can ask.

Anyway, I’ve found out that
while Daryl’s on remand I can send as many letters as I want (something I
hadn’t realised, so haven’t done – argh! Feel terrible. But then again, maybe Daryl
didn’t tell me because sometimes hearing from someone makes you miss them all
the more and he’s worried it’ll make him even more miserable. I am both looking
forward to and dreading this visit, I have to confess.)

According
to the website, the minimum visiting allowance for someone like Daryl, who is
waiting to go on trial, is ninety minutes every week; and if I’m lucky we might
even get a bit longer. It’s more than I’d dare hope, so I’m feeling a little
better about things.

To
be honest though, the confusion and helplessness I’ve been feeling since this
happened is starting to give way to anger, and all the visiting time in the
world doesn’t change the fact that we shouldn’t be in this position in the
first place. Maybe I should write to my MP or something about this, get them on
side. I’ve never done anything like that before but surely I can’t be the only
one to see that there’s a miscarriage of justice going on.

Anyway,
I’m not going to rant about it when I see Daryl; seeing me upset and angry is
the last thing he needs. I’ve got to make myself positive and upbeat for him,
so I’m just trying to concentrate on the fact that at least we’ll get to spend
a half-decent amount of time together from now on. I’ve checked with the prison
and it’ll be 45 minutes a day, three times a week, that I can see him, and
apparently, if he’s well behaved (which he will be, of course) he might even be
given something called privilege visits as a reward, so that’s great news.

I
called Daryl’s mum, too. ‘Hi, I’m visiting him tomorrow and wondered if you
were going too – I’ve just discovered three people can see him at a time so we
could go together if you like,’ I explained, trying to keep my tone friendly
despite my dislike of her.

‘You’re
visiting him?’ Cynthia scoffed. ‘My dear, what would you do a stupid thing like
that for? No, I’ve decided I want nothing to do with him. He’s disgusting.’

‘Okay!
Thanks, bye!’ I said sarcastically, slamming the phone down.

What
I wanted to do was rant at her. Bitch. How can she wash her hands of her own
flesh and blood? But maybe, just maybe, the evil old cow will realise her
mistake and come round. The last thing I want to do for Daryl right now is burn
any bridges for him, so I fought the constant urge to redial her and say
something rude, and concentrated on something inane instead – what to wear
tomorrow.

It’s
hard to know what to choose. I want to wear something fairly nice for Daryl,
you know, I want to look good for him. But then again, it’s a prison, so I also
very much want to go in my scruffiest clothes, no make-up and my hair scraped
into a ponytail so that I don’t stand out…

I parked the car at the
prison and deliberately didn’t give myself time to think. My stomach had
already been in knots all morning, and I’d felt sick for the whole journey, so
the last thing I needed was a chance to get even more worked up. So I jumped
quickly from the car and started hurrying to the entrance of the visitors’
centre, a funny little building that was slightly separate from the rest of the
prison.

Then had to nip back to
leave my mobile behind; they aren’t allowed inside the prison.

That’s when I caught sight
of myself in the wing mirror and despaired. I’d so wanted to look nice for Daryl,
but I look washed out and drab; my skin pasty and a bit spotty even under the make-up
I’d forced myself to slap on; my hair flat and lifeless. Oh well, there was no
point worrying about it, hopefully he’d just be as glad to see me as I was to
see him, no matter what state I looked.

Luckily I’d remembered to
bring my driving licence with me to hand to the guards once I finally made it
inside, so they could confirm I’m really who I claim to be.
Name,
address, date of birth, all were
taken and double checked.

‘We just need to take a
quick photo of you,’ a guard told me. It reminded me of my arrest, as I sat
there being snapped and having my fingerprints scanned. I’ve gone my whole life
without having my fingerprints taken and now it’s happened twice in just over a
fortnight.
Madness.

The
staff,
though, were
very kind. Despite my nerves and obvious confusion about
what to expect, they stayed patient with me, steering me towards the lockers,
where I had to leave my handbag and car keys because you can’t take them into
the visiting room. I hadn’t realised that.

‘Well, that makes sense,’ I
found myself laughing nervously, ‘I could have a file inside there or something.’

The guard’s mouth barely
twitched. I bet if he had a penny for every time he’d heard some overwrought
visitor tell that rubbish joke in a desperate bid to alleviate the tension,
well, he might not be a millionaire but he’d probably be able to afford a nice
holiday somewhere.

He spotted me glancing
anxiously at the clock, though, and this time gave a genuine smile to soothe
me. ‘My little tip for first timers is to always arrive about half an hour
before your visit is booked,’ he said. ‘That way being checked in doesn’t eat
into any of your time together.’

‘That’s-that’s really helpful,
thank you,’ I bumbled, honestly touched. He nodded, business-like again, and
pointed over to the exit.

‘Now go out there and into
the main prison building. There you’ll be searched, and after that, you’ll be
able to see your husband.’

The search was only a pat
down like you’d get in an airport, and obviously they went through my handbag
with a fine
-
tooth comb. It wasn’t
too traumatic really but…okay, sounds obvious but I felt like a common
criminal. Thanks to my over-developed sense of guilt, I blushed constantly too,
as if I’d done something wrong.

‘Lovely dogs,’ I found
myself babbling inanely to the woman running her hand up the inside of my leg.
Why can’t I just keep quiet when I’m nervous? She didn’t reply, didn’t even
acknowledge my comment, but it didn’t shut me up.

‘They’re very well behaved,
aren’t they?’ I added, watching as one that looked like a springer spaniel or
something wandered away from its handler and sat beside another woman who’d
just entered the room. It just sat there quietly, wagging its tail gently and
looking rather pleased with itself. I half wished it had come over to me
instead as patting it might have calmed my nerves, but then I noticed a couple
of officers go swiftly over to the dog and suddenly lead the woman away,
holding onto her elbows.

‘It’s a load of rubbish,’
she exploded. ‘I don’t know why the dog thinks it can smell drugs on me. Maybe
I sat next to a junkie on the bus over here. Yeah, that’s right, come to think
of it, the fella I sat by did look dodgy…’ No one seemed to be listening to her
protests though, and her words faded away as the door closed behind her.

The rest of the room hadn’t
skipped a beat. Me? I was totally confused. ‘What just…? Was she…? Did they
find drugs on her?!’

The guard had finished
patting me down. ‘Aye, maybe,’ she said in a broad Glaswegian accent. ‘The dogs
are trained to go sit by anyone they smell drugs on. They don’t bark, just sit
quiet, like. When we see that, we know to check the visitor out proper-like.’

‘Right.
Right.
Right, okay,’ I stuttered. What the hell world am I
now moving in? Rape, murder, drug smuggling…

Finally, we were all allowed
to go into the visiting room. The room was full of tiny tables and orange
plastic chairs, so it reminded me of a school hall during exam time, and I
scanned it anxiously. Men all wearing identical outfits of blue shirts and
jeans looked up from their seats, many seeming equally eager and anxious. I
watched as their faces changed to smiles when they saw their loved one…and then
I saw Daryl.

Oh my God, to describe that
moment... I felt like I was flying through the air and plummeting off a
building all at once. It was so wonderful to see him, but horrid because of the
surroundings. Sounds corny, but I ran across the room and threw myself at him,
calling his name like a teenager in a bad romance, and trying to breath in his
smell.

He hugged me back but quickly
extricated himself from my grasp as a guard loomed and barked: ‘No long or
passionate kisses or embraces allowed. Do it again and the visit will be
terminated.’

Bloody
hell.
We hadn’t seen each other in a fortnight, had been
through absolute hell, but we could barely touch. I could look though; nothing
could stop me doing that. I found myself gazing at him, trying to imprint every
little look, line and crinkle onto my brain, trying to memorise every tiny
thing he said. Trying to store him in my head until next time we met.

‘You look…well, thank God,
you look okay,’ I smiled hesitantly through my frown. But his blue eyes looked
so sad and wary, and there were dark circles beneath them. He looked like he’d
lost weight too. ‘How are you though? How are you coping?’

Everything I asked or said
seemed trite and ridiculous. How was he? How’s he meant to be?! He’s banged up
for a crime he didn’t commit, so funnily enough he isn’t exactly hunky dory.
Worse, he’s listed as a sex offender in the prison, although luckily that does
mean he’s marked out as vulnerable so he’s been put on special obs.

The conversation was stilted
somehow, as though we were two people who barely knew each other and suddenly
found themselves stuck in a lift together or something.

‘Have you any cash with
you?’ he asked suddenly. I nodded, a bit nonplussed by the question.

‘Great. Go to reception
afterwards and deposit as much as you can into my IPC.’ He caught my frown and
explained: ‘Inmate’s Personal Cash; it’s an account I can access to buy phone
credit, groceries, toiletries, sweets, that kind of thing. The maximum amount
allowed is £500.’

Good job, because I don’t
have more than £500 to give. I don’t have £500 in fact. Not that I told Daryl
this. Actually, I’m a bit worried about money. I’m not sure I can run the house
just on my wage, and I need to check our joint account because I’m fairly
certain there’s not much in it because we cleaned it out to pay for our holiday.

Still, me whining about
money problems is the last thing Daryl needs right now, so I stayed quiet; and
besides, he’s got to be able to buy phone credit otherwise we’ll never speak.
These two weeks without contact have driven me nuts. Mind you, together at last
in that visitor’s room I felt so awkward.

‘You seem to know
all the
lingo,’ I hazarded. ‘That’s good. You’re settling
in.
Finding friends.
Discovering how it all works…’

Heck, there was nothing else
to say. I had to think of something.

‘I need the loo,’ I said
suddenly, nerves apparently putting my bladder into overdrive as much as my
mouth. ‘Do you know where the ladies’ is?’

‘Oh,
well if you go then you’ll be accompanied by a female officer, who will search
you before and after you go,’ explained Daryl.

‘Right,
fine, I’ll…just hold it until after the visit, eh?’

‘Look,
sorry,’ he sighed, rubbing the top of his bald head like he always does when
he’s stressed. ‘I’m making your nervous, aren’t I? This is just really
difficult. I’ve had to build some barriers to keep myself sane and protected
and in here and…well, it’s hard to suddenly drop them and talk as if we’re safe
at home.’

Of
course.
I totally
understood. ‘Hey, you should not be apologising. You’ve done nothing wrong. And
I think you’re coping brilliantly; I’m proud of you.’ Tears started blurring my
vision as his eyes locked on to me and seemed to laser beam right into my soul.
‘I’m proud of you,’ I repeated, sniffing.

He
reached towards my hand, hesitated, glanced over at the guard for confirmation
that it was okay,
then
continued until my hand was
cradled inside his huge paw. Suddenly, I felt safe again. Like somehow,
someway, everything’s going to be okay. Wish I could bottle that feeling.

‘I
love you, Gorgeous. Never forget that,’ he whispered.

‘Never,’
I promised. After a minute of gazing at each other, I sniffed again,
straightened myself up and wiped the tears from my cheeks, determined to be
strong for him. That meant knowing exactly what we are facing.

‘So,
did the police say why they’d picked on you for these crimes? It makes no sense
to me. We have to get a bloody good lawyer, quick. The solicitor who helped me
when I was arrested has recommended a couple of names –‘

‘I’ve
got a barrister,’ Daryl interrupted. ‘I got talking to another inmate and he
recommended someone. That’s all sorted. Give them a call when you leave here,
introduce yourself; I’m sure they’ll be keen to speak to you and they’ve
already started putting the defence together.’

Bit
of a shock that, but I nodded eagerly. ‘Great. I just can’t believe the police
even charged you. They didn’t seem to listen to a word I said – was it the same
with you?’

‘Oh,
I didn’t tell them anything. “No comment” was as much as they got from me.’

‘But…isn’t
that a bit daft?
It looks bad, doesn’t it?’

‘I
wasn’t going to say anything they could twist and use against me; it’s up to
them to prove their case, I’m not going to help them.’

His
face went from sombre to suddenly smiling at me indulgently, eyes crinkling.
‘Gorgeous, don’t worry about it. Seriously, I don’t want you worrying about any
of this, or even thinking about it too much. It’s all going to be handled,
don’t worry. All you have to do is come and visit me whenever possible, keep
the house ticking over, and support me in court. And just be as gorgeous as
ever. Look at you, so sweet and innocent, in a place like this – it’s obvious
you don’t belong here.’

He
squeezed my hand gently, the oddest, faraway look on his face. ‘The judge and
jury will take one look at my baby and know someone like you could never be
with a monster,’ he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Even
in all of this he is thinking of me first. I’m blown away by how strong he is
being. If it’s possible for one good thing to come out of this nightmare it’s
that I’m falling in love with my husband all over again.

Wednesday
29

He took care of all the
bills. I don’t even know which utility group we’re with let alone the account
number and I’m buggered if I know where Daryl kept all that stuff.

After a root around I
managed to find the information I needed, and get payments changed to be taken
from my account rather than his as he’s no longer earning. Flipping hope he
gets out soon because I can’t keep paying everything on my own, will have to
dip into our savings to keep my head above water – and there’s precious little
of those thanks to our break in Turkey.

When I came to change the
water bill the woman on the end of the line said: ‘
Oooh
,
how unfortunate, your poor husband’s got the same name as that rapist, the Port
Pervert. He’ll have to change it!’

She laughed. I didn’t.

Fri
31

So, the day that changed my
life was Friday 10 July. It’s now three weeks on from that and the weight is
dropping off me because I’m having trouble eating. I’ve been signed off work
sick (stress) and have lost 9lb in a fortnight. To be honest, I’d have thought
it’d be more considering Mum made me weigh myself after five days and it turned
out I’d lost half a stone.

It might seem strange that
I’m obsessing about this when my entire world has fallen apart, but believe me,
if I start thinking about that other stuff I’m going to fall apart too.

I feel…broken. People always
say ‘numb’ in these situations don’t they? And I suppose I can understand why
because it is the oddest emotional experience I’ve ever had: I feel like I’m in
the eye of a storm and everything is raging round me. But I’m not numb. That
seems to imply a lack of sensation and feeling, but if I am numb it’s not in
the normal way, it’s more like…okay, it’s like the time I burned myself on the
iron. For a good second or so my body didn’t seem to register the pain, almost
as if it was so hot that my nerve-endings were overwhelmed. Then finally the
body and brain caught on to what was happening, and boy did my arm hurt as I
finally whipped it away! Now it’s the same sort of feeling somehow; I’ve too
many emotions tearing at me and I’ve overloaded and can’t react. What I wouldn’t
give to simply feel numb.