Page 21 of The Stranger in Room Six

The day of my sentence hearing arrives and I can’t breathe. Until now I’d hoped that someone might somehow say that yes, of course I’d done wrong, but that it was a mistake.

This can’t be happening, but it is.

Chris, who gave me the tampon tea, slaps me on the back as I am led down the corridor, past the officer’s mess and through the double-locked doors of the wing. ‘Good luck with the new place.’

Now Gerald is dead, I am facing ten years and my children are essentially orphans. I have ruined everyone’s lives in two or three mad seconds. It is inconceivable.

As I’m taken into court, I see that both girls are there. Their faces are white and disbelieving. Gerald’s brother is there too. Derek was never close to my husband, but he has his arms around both of my daughters, as if in protection.

I close my eyes as the judge speaks.

‘Belinda Wall, I am sentencing you to fifteen years …’

Fifteen?

The girls will be thirty-one and thirty-three then. They might be married. They might have children. I will have missed so much.

What have I done?

Gillian stares at me. She mouths the words ‘I hate you’. Elspeth buries her head in her uncle’s chest, weeping.

I want to scream, to cry. But my throat has closed up.

Numbly, I am led through a maze of passages to a van outside and taken to another prison. This one is four hours away, according to the driver. How are the girls going to get here to visit? Will they even want to visit? Not Gillian, certainly.

I go through the same entrance procedure as in the holding prison, wincing as someone puts their finger inside my back passage to check I’m not hiding drugs.

I am photographed. I have to sign paperwork.

I am told that the few possessions I came in with will be given to me when I am released in fifteen years’ time.

Then I’m taken to my new cell.

There’s a woman inside, sitting on the bottom bunk, with hair tied back in a scrawny ponytail, playing loud rap on her radio.

‘Meet Shirley,’ says the guard with exaggerated politeness, as if taking the mickey. ‘Shirley, this is Belinda.’

After he slams the door on us, the woman takes out a toothbrush from under her mattress and starts to chew the end.

‘How many prisons have you been in before?’ she asks between chews.

‘None,’ I say, trying to shout over the music. ‘Well, only the one after they arrested me.’

‘And what are you in for?’

‘I killed my husband.’

Shirley holds up her palm and makes to slam it into mine. ‘Respect!’

Respect?

‘There are a few of us here. I did the same. The bastard tried to throttle me.’ Tears glint in her eyes.

‘I had a three-year-old. Look. Here’s a picture.

’ She pulls a battered photograph out of her tracksuit pocket.

A toothy toddler grins at me. ‘No one in my family would have him so he was fostered and then adopted. Now I’ll probably never see him again. ’

That’s awful. ‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt out lamely.

‘It’s why I chew on this thing. It helps keep me sane. But don’t tell any of the guards or I’ll have to throttle you.’

I make a nervous ‘I’m sure you don’t mean that’ sound.

The woman’s eyes harden. ‘I’m not kidding either. Now listen to me. I’m going to be nice to you because I can tell you’re one of the soft ones. So here are some of the rules. Don’t piss anyone off or God knows what will happen. Someone might try and skin you.’

My throat tightens. ‘What?’

‘Boiling water and sugar – the oldest trick in the book. The sugar makes it stick to your skin so it all peels off, bit by bit.’

Did I just hear her right?

‘Oh, and don’t get in with any of the gangs. They’re always falling out or making hooch and then you’ll be in even more trouble.’

‘What’s hooch?’ I ask.

‘Don’t you know nothing? It’s the nearest we can get to alcohol. They make it out of fruit, sugar and bread. To be honest, half of the murderers are in here because they were high on booze or drugs.’

I think back to the couple of glasses of wine I’d have with Gerald. I silently vow never to drink again.

‘So,’ continues my mentor, ‘keep your head down and you might get out early for good behaviour. What did you plead?’

‘Guilty,’ I falter.

She shakes her head. ‘Bloody daft.’

Perhaps it was, but as my lawyer said, I had no choice. The evidence was too ‘overpowering’.

At lunchtime – macaroni cheese, which I’ve always disliked – I find myself the centre of attention.

‘I’d like to kill my old man, carrot-head,’ says one, leaning across towards me, her mouth open as she chews. ‘Got any tips?’ She seems deadly serious.

I try to ignore her, keeping my eyes directed steadily down at my plate.

Finally, my phone card comes through. I go to ring the girls during social hours but only one phone is working so the queue snakes down the corridor.

Eventually it’s my turn. A combination of hope and fear makes me try Gillian first. She puts down the phone as soon as she hears my voice. I try again. The same thing happens.

I ring Elspeth. It goes through to voicemail. Is she busy or does she not want to speak to me either?

‘Get a move on,’ snarls the woman behind me.

I walk away, glancing into the communal sitting room with its worn carpet and TV that only works when someone bashes it. My cellmate is there. She waves at me to join her but I shake my head.

I have nothing in common with those women.

But you do, says a voice inside me. You’re a criminal. Just like them.