Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
He closed his eyes tightly and remembered everything that had happened in the court room in Sheffield.
As soon as the foreperson of the jury told the court he was guilty, the heavy silence was broken.
He heard cheers and jeers from the public gallery, and he distinctly heard his mother cry and scream out.
He wanted to go home. He wanted his mum and Leo to collect him from the witness box, take him from the court, that horrible building, and back home to his comics and his bedroom. He didn’t want to be here.
He asked to see his mum, but he was ignored.
From the court room, he was taken to a holding cell.
He had no idea how long he was going to be there for.
Nobody said anything to him. He shouldn’t be here.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t killed Alice Patterson.
She was his friend. He liked her. He wasn’t anywhere near the woods on the night of the storm.
He was on the coast, looking out at the waves crashing onto the shore, getting sprayed as they broke.
He’d loved it. The wind was wild and whipped around him.
He’d had to hold on tight to the iron railings so he wouldn’t get swept out to sea.
Sometimes, he closed his eyes just before a wave hit and he listened as the water charged at the sea wall.
It sounded as if the world was being torn apart.
He half-expected to look up into the black sky and see it break open.
Looking back, he wished it had. If he’d known he was going to be found guilty of a crime he didn’t commit, he would have taken his hands off the railings and allowed the sea to take him, to pick him up, throw him into the depths of the violent breakers and drag him far and away.
He closed his eyes tightly shut again and a tear rolled down his cheek.
If that had happened, he wouldn’t see his mum or Leo ever again, and they were important to him.
He remembered his mum screaming in the court room again, that guttural, heart-wrenching sound.
He had never heard a noise like it before.
He knew it would have been a similar sound she would have made if the police knocked on the door to tell her he had been washed out to sea during the storm.
He couldn’t do that to his mum. He may no longer be able to see her every day, but he knew she would come to visit him, and she would still be in his life.
At Blackmoor Prison, he was taken to a reception area where a bored-looking man talked him through the initial procedures of the prison.
He didn’t take any of it in. He knew the words, but they made no sense.
He was told he would be taken to a first-night centre that would help him to adjust to the prison environment.
He was handed basic bedding which had a funny smell to it and a change of clothing which he didn’t like the look of, along with a pamphlet telling him all about the rules and regulations of Blackmoor Prison.
He was led along a corridor by a prison officer who told him what he could expect to happen over the next few days.
‘You’re going to have an assessment tomorrow so we can decide which wing will be best suited to you. We have a list of your current medication and that’s being sorted out for you now. Anthony, I have to ask, are you suicidal?’
He looked at the officer. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Have you ever attempted suicide in the past?’
‘No.’
‘That’s good. Now, Blackmoor is currently at full capacity.
We don’t usually allow someone who has committed your type of crime to share a cell, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to have a cellmate for the foreseeable future.
Until we can work out where to put you, you’re going to stay in the first-night centre.
That will help you adjust to prison life, and it is also for your own safety. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Anthony looked at him. Again, he knew the words he was using, but they sounded like they should be spoken to someone else. He hadn’t committed any crime. He shouldn’t be here. This was all wrong.
Anthony merely nodded.
‘When can I phone my mum?’ he asked.
‘The booklet you’ve been given will tell you all about visitor times and telephone allocation. I suggest you give it a read this evening and, if you have any questions, you can ask them at your full assessment tomorrow.’
They turned a corner, and the officer unlocked a door.
Anthony stepped inside the room. It was roughly the same size as his bedroom at home, though there was only one tiny window which had no handle to open it.
It was painted in a warm cream colour. It had carpet and a comfortable-looking bed.
He felt himself soften, slightly. He could relax here.
He hoped his cell would be like this when he had one allocated to him.
‘Is there anything you need now, Anthony?’ the officer asked.
‘Can I have something to eat and drink?’
‘Teatime is at five o’clock.’
‘OK. Do we get a choice?’
The officer frowned. ‘No. You get what you’re given.’ He turned on his heel and closed the door behind him, locking it with a key.
Anthony sat on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the prison on the other side of the door. All he could hear was shouting, doors being slammed, and swear words his mum would never let him use.
He felt scared. He’d been scared before, many times. His mum always told him that the names he was called couldn’t hurt him, but they did, they really did. They hurt him inside.
There was a knock on the door. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t answer it as it was locked.
‘Is that you in there, Winstanley?’ The voice was low, barely audible.
‘Yes,’ Anthony answered.
‘Enjoy your first night.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Get a good night’s sleep.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
‘Because it’ll be your last. We’re going to make your life fucking hell for what you did to Alice.’
‘But … I didn’t do anything.’
‘Course you didn’t. Fucking nonce!’
Anthony lay down on the bed. There was a musty smell to the pillow he didn’t like. He hugged it close to him and the tears flowed.
‘I want to go home,’ he said.