Mindsight. Chris Curran

everything.

      But when I’d finished pouring it all out onto the page, I realised I couldn’t send a letter like this. The screws would read it before Ruby and I imagined that big bitch Maureen having a good laugh at my pathetic ramblings. I tore the paper into tiny pieces and scattered them on the table, pressing my fists against my temples as I muttered curses to myself, to the bastard screws, and even to the crumpled sea for lying there so grey and sluggish.

      Unbelievable as it seemed, I wanted nothing more at that moment than to be back in prison, with Mike to tell me to put the past behind me, and Ruby to cheer me on when I began to hope I might have some kind of future outside.

      It had been terrible in the early days. I was sure I was innocent and could only grieve for the family I had lost and obsess over the agony of separation from Tommy. The one thing that kept me going then was believing my appeal must succeed and I would soon be back with him. But even before the appeal failed I realised I had to be guilty, and for a long time after that I could hardly imagine how to carry on living. Didn’t want to go on.

      I was never sure when things changed, but one day I found myself talking to Ruby, and later to Alice and Lorna, about seeing Tommy again and trying to be a mother to him once more. I had been so determined to make it work that I remembered a few days when I had felt so hopeful it was almost like happiness. If I could hear Ruby’s voice again, maybe I could recapture that sense of hope.

      In the end, I wrote her a short note, saying I just wanted to make sure she still had my address and phone number. I would buy a phone card and slip that into the envelope hoping she would understand it as a plea to call me.

      But almost as if I’d actually spoken to her, I could hear what she would say. It was no good dwelling on how badly I’d dealt with things in the past. I had to give Tom what he needed now and that meant taking his questions seriously, and trying to find some answers, no matter how difficult it was for me. It would mean probing into things people would rather forget. And, above all, trying to force my own stubborn brain to reveal what it was hiding. It would hurt, I knew that, it might even turn Tom against me, but it was the very least I owed him.

      I would have to start with Emily and Matt. And the place where it happened. I hadn’t seen Matt since that night. But Emily was there through most of the trial, spoke up as a witness for my defence, although she didn’t know much, and then sat and watched, smiling and nodding encouragement at me. Later, she came to see me regularly in prison until I refused her visits.

      ‘I don’t know how you bear it,’ was what she’d said, oh so kindly, the last time she came. And I looked up to see myself, tiny and far away, reflected in her eyes – a specimen behind glass. It was the word bear that did it, and I knew she didn’t mean, how did I endure the loss, or stand the grief, but how did I bear the burden of my guilt. That was when I told her I didn’t want to see her again; that was in the days before I knew I was guilty.

      After the way I’d treated her, I could hardly blame her if she didn’t want to see me. And even if she did, how would she and Matt feel when I started asking questions about that night? I thought how dreadful every wedding anniversary must be for her and how the strands of my guilt entangled all the people I loved.

      God knows how I could raise it with either of them, but they were the only ones who knew everyone at the wedding and I needed to ask if they had any idea of who might have given me the pills. If I could find that out, maybe I could also discover why I’d wanted them.

      The sessions with Mike in prison had shown me how easily it could happen. There were others, like me, who claimed to have been clean for months, or years, but always there was a trigger to send them back to the vodka, the speed or the smack. Ruby’s man came home from wherever he’d been, beat her and gave her heroin to cheer her up. Jo had her kids taken away, and Lillian’s husband left her. They all agreed, though, that torturing yourself over the whys and wherefores was a waste of time.

      I’d accepted it then. It seemed to make sense. But I knew now there was no way I could even think about rebuilding my life before I found out why I’d destroyed it.

      And I had to show Tom I was taking his theories seriously. Lorna could help me with how Dad had handled the drug scandal, and if there had been any unpleasantness. Matt had worked for the company too, as a chemist, and it was just possible he could shed light on the way the labs worked; might even have known the doctor who wrote the report that caused all the trouble.

      My mind was buzzing with so many thoughts I could feel a headache brewing and nothing seemed to make sense anymore. I needed to get out of the flat, to walk until I was tired enough to stop thinking for a while. Long walks were one of the things I missed most when I was inside, and another reason I’d chosen Hastings was because I knew there would be hills to tire me, sea views to soothe me, and long stretches of countryside to exhaust me. It was too late to go far, so a fast tramp up the nearest hill would have to do.

      The clouds had lifted again to make a beautiful evening, the sun still high in the sky, the sea calm, and I clamped down on my thoughts and concentrated on putting one foot in front of another. Turning towards the town, I found a convenience store open and bought a phone card, slipped it in with the note for Ruby, and posted it. Then I headed sharp uphill between the jumbled old cottages, along one of the steep cobbled alleyways the locals call twittens.

      Before I’d gone far, the alley turned into a flight of almost vertical steps and I was grateful for the handrail, but, all the same, by the time I reached the top my calves were aching and my chest was tight. The climb had left me hot and sticky, but up here a cool breeze blew across the wide stretch of grass, and I was glad to find an empty bench.

      To my right was the ruin of William the Conqueror’s castle. Ahead, beyond the grassy cliff-edge, the sea was dotted, even at this hour, with small, dark boats. Coloured lights twinkled over the little funfair and amusement arcades, and a miniature train slid silently along beside the beach. To the left was the other hill, the East Hill, where the wooden carriage of a funicular lift hauled itself to the top. And, huddled between the two hills, the clustered houses, cafés and pubs of the Old Town bustled with activity.

      Even up here the grass was heaving with life. A dog bouncing after a stick, a group of teenagers grabbing and squealing at each other, families with children, and a few elderly couples, arms linked as they strolled along. As I watched, a woman left the café that stood near the cliff-edge and began to lock the door, looking back to the road behind her to wave a beefy arm at a passing car.

      I was close to them all, but felt as distant as if I was behind glass. Were they all as carefree as they looked? The two girls, one skinny, one plump, their pretty faces contorted as they zigzagged across the grass, taunting a couple of boys; the young couple, her arm round his waist, his hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans; the little family, Mum with a baby in a buggy, and Dad pushing a little boy over the lumpy grass as he strained pink-faced on a bike with two wobbly trainer wheels.

      Did we look like that, not so long ago, Steve and I, with our twins? And were we happy? I had thought so, but now I wasn’t sure. I always told Steve he saved me because I realised I was loveable, despite everything.

      I met him shortly after Mum died and I’d cleaned up my act. I was doing a temp job at Dad’s firm, mostly helping Lorna in the office. A few of the guys had slimed round me once they knew who I was, but Steve was different. He was working for Dad, too, as a freelance gardener. I thought he was absolutely gorgeous; tall, blond, and with a kind of gangly grace that turned my insides liquid. I started eating my lunch on a bench outside and one day Steve asked if he could join me. And that was it.

      When I became pregnant I thought nothing could make me go back to my old ways: to the drugs or drink. So what happened?

      Although I hadn’t been able to stop thinking, the walk and the fresh air had done something positive and I came down almost at a run. I was suddenly very hungry, and giving silent thanks to Alice for stocking the freezer with ready meals. But as I came in sight of the flat I saw a tall man turning away from the front door. I slowed my steps. If it was Nic’s ex I didn’t want to meet him, and even if it was the mysterious upstairs tenant, I wasn’t