No mind for anger

Sam Lawrence was convicted of a murder he didn’t commit and sentenced to life imprisonment. His wife divorced him, his friends and his business associates didn’t want to know him. Only his fourteen-year-old daughter, Flick, and his old school friend, Freddie, believed of his innocence. When Sam told his wife and Flick where he’d been at the time of the murder, Flick said, ‘I believe Dad. He’s telling the truth.’ However, his wife, Jodi, was less forthcoming, later saying she thought he was guilty and wouldn’t accompany Flick – a minor at the time – to visit Sam in prison. But Flick wrote to him every week.

After he’d been in prison for a year, a man walked into a  police station and confessed to the murder, saying he’d framed Sam. Sam had to wait two more years before his conviction was quashed and he was released, serving three years for a crime he did not commit.

May 29^th

I didn’t want to turn and look back at the prison gate. 

No jumping for joy. Remorse was to be avoided, and any euphoria for being free to be curbed. Looking back at the years of my wrongful imprisonment would lead to a cauldron of hate and negativity coursing through my mind. A mood to be  avoided. Instead, a determined focus on rebuilding my life, finding a job and somewhere to live. My past was the past; behind me, never to be visited again. No plan or new way of life to seek out, just a wish to live again and do something useful. 

My life in Belmarsh, a high-security prison, had been a living hell. Found guilty of beating up and killing an old lady living on her own had its additional consequences as well as a long prison sentence. Discriminated by the prison staff: like made to be the last in the meal queue when there was little choice left, only allowed to use showers where the water supply was poor and cold at times and given extra tasks like cleaning the bathroom areas after use. Many of the prisoners knew this was my job and made sure they left the showers and WCs in foul and disgusting conditions. 

And then there were the other prisoners and their moral code. Murder of old people, violence against children, sexual crimes. Crimes believed by inmates to be ‘plain wrong,’ deserving their own punishment – being tripped in the showers and kicked while on the  wet floor, intentional spilling of my food and spoiling it by adding substances to make it unpalatable, and common undetected violent beatings.

No one befriended me. I sat alone at meals and had only one visitor, my old friend,   Freddie Rawsley, who’d stood by me when charged, believing me innocent, and being the driving force behind my conviction being quashed. Often, bouts of deep depression took over when believing the rest of my life would be spent in prison. Jodi, my wife, who’d believed I was guilty and had divorced me, refused to accompany Flick to visit me despite Flick’s pleas. Undeterred by her mother’s intransigent attitude,  Flick, who was fourteen and a half when I went to jail, had written to me every week, proclaiming my innocence and railing against the injustice against me.

Prison did give me one thing: time to think. Being the victim of a massive injustice would be righted, and I’d be freed, but often my thoughts led me to think about my life before prison. A sought-after architect, living in a large and comfortable house with a once loving wife and a devoted daughter and making good money – one of the world’s lucky and privileged. Unlike many others. 

Freddie stood outside Starbucks in Woolwich. He looked like a human whirligig. Jumping up and down, waving both arms back and forth, his hands twisting and turning non-stop. His actions similar to a football fan when their team scores. As we drew nearer, his broad grin reminded me of his warmth, affection and good nature. Although he’d visited me almost every week in Belmarsh, meeting him in a free environment set off a warm, kind of floating on-air sensation. 

‘My God is this real. Am I truly here?’ I shouted as we hugged and patted each other on the back for several seconds until we pushed back and stared into the other’s eyes, both smiling. I laughed. 

‘You look good,’ Freddie said after about half a minute. ‘How’s it feel?’

‘Numb. Can’t really believe it.’ I looked away for a moment. ‘But good, very good.’ I grasped Freddie’s shoulders, staring at him again. ‘But look, it’s you I have to thank. Without what you did, I’d still be in there.’

Freddie shrugged and waved away my praise in a dismissive gesture. ‘Forget that. Let’s go and get a coffee and talk more.’ He held open the door. 

‘What do you want to drink?’ he asked after we’d found a table. He was holding up a carrier bag. ‘I’ve got a lot to give you.’

‘I need to call Flick,’ I said as soon as Freddie had returned with our coffees. 

‘No problem,’ he replied, smiling while searching in the bag for my phone that he’d picked up from Jodi. ‘I figured you’d want to contact her pretty soon.’ He looked at me. ‘It’s half term so she’ll be able to talk to you.’ 

‘Hey Dad. Where are you?’

‘I’m out. I came out this morning. I’m sitting having a coffee with Freddie in Woolwich.’

‘Out, now? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘The case was heard early this morning. I didn’t want to tell you in case it went against me.’

Flick was silent. I think I heard her cry. ‘You OK?’ I said after about twenty seconds.

‘No, I’m not,’ she sniffled. ‘I love you, Dad, but you’ve given me a huge shock. You could have warned me.’ She sniffed and I thought she was wiping her tears. ‘I knew about the retrial, but why was it kept so secret? I didn’t see anything about it.’ She sniffed again and then said in an upbeat tone. ‘Look let’s leave it. Let’s fix when we can meet, like today? We can talk about it then.’ We agreed to meet for a pizza that evening, both saying how much we loved each other and couldn’t wait until we met. 

Freddie had moved away while Flick and I had been talking, thinking the call would be emotional and not wanting to embarrass me. He saw me looking for him and started moving back. He found me  staring into space, my eyes moist. He patted my back, sat opposite and said, ‘How did it go?’

‘Not good at first. She was miffed and upset that I hadn’t told her I was coming out today, which I understand, but I didn’t really know it’d be this morning until it happened. ‘Anyway, we’re meeting tonight for a pizza.’

‘That’s cool, but didn’t she know there was a high chance you’d be released?’

‘Yes, she knew, but I never said high chance and never today,’ I looked at Freddie. He seemed confused. ‘I was just worried about building up her hopes too much.’

‘But the prosecution didn’t put up a case. The judge directed the jury to agree the previous conviction was unsafe and quash the previous verdict.’ Freddie looked at me with his lips pursed, his hands lightly apart, frowning and said, ‘Surely?’

‘I know,’

‘OK. I get it,’ he replied with a shrug and a twisted expression, which I took to be doubt. ‘You’ll have a great evening.’ He picked up the carrier bag. ‘But I better tell you what I’ve arranged.’

He went on to tell me he’d fixed up a one bed flat in East Dulwich, which I could move into that day, picked up my car, parked it nearby, and put a few groceries in the fridge and freezer, which he’d left in the flat. As he gave me keys, he must have seen the moisture in my eyes. Biting on my lip, burying my face in my hands and starting to cry, I shook my head and said, ‘Sorry, it’s all too much, talking to Flick and your kindness. It’s just got to me. Just thanks. Big thanks, I can’t think of what else to say.’ I gasped and covered my mouth with a hand. A moment later, I looked up and into Freddie’s face and added, ‘And all you did to get me released.’ I nodded a few times and said, ‘I’m so grateful.’

‘No problem. Don’t worry about a thing. Getting your freedom was essential. You were innocent. A massive miscarriage of justice which had to be righted.’

‘You and Flick were the only people who believed me. Even my bloody wife thought I was a murderer. But look, let’s not dwell on my grim past, it’s over and I’m looking forward, not back.’ 

‘OK, but is there anything else I can do? Will you be OK? Have you got money?’ 

‘Some, but I’ll have to get a job, and renewing bank and credit cards may be difficult, but I’ll cope.’

Freddie looked at his watch. ‘We need to get going shortly, let’s go and find somewhere to have a good lunch, then I’ll drive you to the flat.

Freddie and I had been best friends since school. Both thirty-five, our friendship was about twenty years old. He was a solicitor and had taken on my defence. After my wrongful conviction, he vowed to prove my innocence. Tenacious, examining all the prosecution’s evidence and leaving no stone unturned. His work and the real murderer’s confession brought about the retrial.       

In the car, he told me I would in due course receive financial compensation from the government for my wrongful imprisonment.

I’d shrugged and said, ‘Be good when it happens, but not banking on it. I’ll get a job, which’ll be difficult, and manage on the salary.’

‘It could be quite a sum, several hundred thousand. They’ll compensate for your loss of earnings and then add an amount to compensate for the hardship you’ve suffered.’

‘Nice,’ I said in a nonchalant manner. ‘Great when it comes, and we’ll have a night out.’ I shrugged. ‘But I’m not going to think about it.’

‘Understand,’ said Freddie. ‘But do you have any idea what you’re going to do? I mean, what sort of work will you look for? Will you try to get back into architecture?’

My head shook. ‘No, definitely not. Look, all those so-called friends at my practice dropped me as soon as I was charged. I didn’t hear a squeak from any of them. No support or understanding. So why should I bother? If at some time in the future I have a hankering to be an architect again, I’ll look for another practice and see if they’ll have me.’ I paused and stared out of the window for a moment. ‘Right now, I’m going to concentrate on getting a job, any decently paid job, and trying to get back on my feet.’

‘You must feel vindictive, wanting retribution,’ Freddie said as he negotiated a corner.

‘Oh sure, but I’m going to ignore it, not do anything. What happened, happened – past tense. I can’t dwell on it for the rest of my life. I have to move on.’

‘But surely now the verdict has been quashed and you’re free and innocent your friends will feel sorry for you and want to see you.’

I ran a hand across my face, flung open my hands, pursed my lips and said in a dismissive manner, ‘Maybe, but I’m not going to hang around waiting for them to call.’ 

Perhaps I’d sounded ungrateful, I thought as we didn’t speak much more until we reached the flat. Freddie came in to show me around, said he had to go, and would check in with me the next day, then left.

We ran to greet each other with open arms, like lovers meeting after being apart for some time. We hugged for what seemed ages, both crying. ‘I’ve missed you, Dad.’ Flick said when we pushed back after about a minute. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked as we stared at each other. ‘I mean you look OK, but physically, mentally are you fine? Everything working OK?’ She looked flustered, shaking her head. ‘Sorry. I’m sounding crazy. I mean, are you OK?’ 

We were standing in Lordship Lane, East Dulwich, outside a pizza restaurant on a warm spring evening. ‘Too many questions,’ I replied, wanting time to think. ‘Let’s go inside, then we can talk more.’

 A small table in a corner was free and we headed for it; all the while, me thinking Flick would want to know about my time in prison, and wondering how much I should tell her –  everything or just an edited version? Last time I saw her, she was fourteen, now she’s eighteen, a woman, and about to take her A levels, studying criminology as one of her subjects. She wanted to be a lawyer, specialising in human rights. Once our order was taken, Flick turned to me, looked into my eyes with a piercing stare and said, ‘You know, I know all about the case, I’ve read and followed everything about it online. So why didn’t you tell me you were coming out today?’

‘Sorry,’ tumbled from my lips as an instant, automatic retort, conscious my little girl had become a woman while I’d been away. ‘I just wasn’t sure the retrial verdict would go my way, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.’ My hand reached out to touch Flick’s arm. ‘Also, I guess I didn’t realise how much you’ve grown up. When I last saw you, you were still my little girl who needed protecting. I’m sorry, I should have told you more. You’ve been so supportive.’

‘Dad, you look as though you’re going to cry. Don’t worry. I’m still your little girl who needs a protective dad around, but I’ve grown up. I do know about the world.’ Flick smiled and said, ‘Look, you’re free, innocent as I always knew you were, and have much to look forward to. Let’s leave it and talk about happy stuff.’ She flicked her hand through her long brunette hair. ‘Tell me about your flat. I’ll come round at the weekend and give it a big clean for you and see what else you want.’

Like flicking a switch, that was the moment our conversation seemed easy and spontaneous. I described the flat in a few short words, ‘functional, clean and  everything works,’ and then we moved onto all the things Flick had been up to while I’d been inside. In a lively and ebullient way, she told me about all her school and her friends – finding cheerful characteristics for each one, like ‘blazing red hair, bright as the sun, jaw-droopingly beautiful,’ and other enlightening descriptions. 

To critical acclaim, she’d played Lady Macbeth in Macbeth and Holy Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s with the school drama club. Music was a significant part of her life, playing with a band, going to gigs, favouring unusual and less well-known artists. 

I listened to her every word, never bored, and impressed by her intelligence and independent spirit. She spoke eloquently in a demonstrative and jokey manner, was full of life, and positive about her future.

Although she’d sent me pictures of herself while I was in prison, I was awed by how she looked. She’d become a cool young woman: tall, taller than me, probably standing 1.75 metres, and wearing a stylish blue linen dress with thin pale-yellow stripes and the thin silver necklace I’d given her for her eighteenth birthday – that Freddie had organised for me. After we’d eaten, and the conversation slowed a little, Flick said, ‘What’re you going to do now, Dad, return to architecture?’

I shook my head, shrugged and said, ‘I don’t think anyone will have me. I’m just going to find a job to pay the bills and try and meet some new friends.’

‘Surely your old practice would have you? You were a big shot there, weren’t you?’

I shrugged. ‘Maybe I was, but they just dropped me when I was charged. Like a diseased person, which I guess they thought I was.’

‘That’s outrageous. You’re not diseased. You’re innocent, always were, and that’s just been confirmed. They have to have you back.’

‘Life isn’t fair. Anyway, I don’t think I want to go back.’

Flick stared at me, shaking her head and pursing her lips. ‘That’s why I want to be a lawyer. Try to right many of life’s wrongs.’ She looked up and into my eyes. ‘Last question,’ she said in a timid manner.

‘Go on.’

‘Will you and Mum get back together?’

I tried not to show any expression and said, ‘Can we leave that for now.’

I drove Flick home. As I pulled up, the thought came to me that the last time I’d walked out of the house, I was in handcuffs. At that time Jodi supported me, but soon, while I was on remand, awaiting trial, she told me she wanted a divorce. I didn’t; and was gutted but understood when she told me being married to a convicted murderer would be difficult for her, and for Flick at school. I didn’t agree but understood and went along with the process.   

‘You coming in?’ Flick asked. ‘Mum said she’d like to say hello.’

I didn’t want to go in, and didn’t want to meet Jodi, but thought I should for Flick. ‘OK. Just a few minutes. I’ve things to do.’

‘Hello, Sam,’ Jodi said once inside, and with what I thought was a put-on smile. ‘How are you? Good to see you. You must have had a rough time. Would you like a drink: tea, coffee, something stronger? I’ve a bottle of your favourite whisky.’

‘No thanks, I’ve given up.’

‘Well, come and sit rather than us just standing here looking at each other.’

I didn’t want to sit and stay but knew I couldn’t just disappear as soon as I’d arrived. ‘Thanks, but I’ll have to go soon. I’ve much to do, getting the flat straight and sorting things out. Actually, I will have a cup of tea, if that’s OK. Jodi jumped up and said she’d fix the tea, leaving me alone. Flick had gone to her bedroom.

Jodi’s behaviour was confusing. She’d been irrational and hostile to me when I’d been charged and held on remand. Having previously told me she knew I was innocent; she then sued me for divorce, saying she couldn’t be married to a murderer and Flick would find it difficult at school. I’d been astounded, distressed, but more than anything angry. I was innocent and we’d had a happy marriage. When Jodi lost a baby when Flick was two and was told she’d never be able to have another child, she’d thanked me for being caring and supportive. 

I’d agreed to an immediate divorce. But why’s she being so pleasant now, I wondered.

‘Was prison awful?’ she asked as she put my tea down on a table next to me.

‘Thanks,’ I took a sip from the mug and flung out my hands. ‘It was fucking grim, but I really don’t want to talk about it.’ I took another sip and said, ‘Flick’s turning into a lovely person. I congratulate you.’

‘I agree. She’s great.’ She stared at me, running her hand across her chin. ‘I’m sorry, Sam, about the way I behaved before.’

I stared at her and waited for her to continue.

‘If at any time you want to come around and talk about it, you’re very welcome.’

I drained my drink and said, ‘Nice tea, but I must be going.’

Placing my phone down on the worktop, looking at Freddie, I grimaced.  It was the night after Flick and I had gone for a pizza, and Freddie and I were having an Indian takeaway and a few beers in my flat.

‘What’s up?’ 

I shrugged, pursed my lips and made a dismissive gesture with my hands. ‘I should have changed my phone number, but I’ve kept the old one. Three calls now from media organisations offering me large sums for the serialisation rights to my story. They must have been speaking to each other, each time I said I’m not interested, the next offer is higher. How can I stop them? These media leeches.’ 

Freddie frowned and gave me a questioning look. ‘You might not want to stop them. If you let me handle them, I’ll get you the best deal and write in clauses and conditions to protect you from with whatever you’re worried about.’ He lifted his hands off the table and continued, looking at me. ‘I’ll make you a lot of money and together with the DOJ compensation payment, you’ll be set up for life.’

‘Another beer?’ I rose from the table.

‘Look,’ I said on return, sitting opposite Freddie, looking into his eyes. ‘Words cannot express my gratitude to you for all you’ve done and are still doing, but I have no intention of giving my story to any media organisation, whatever they offer.’

He looked at me as though I was mad, and said, ‘But you’ve been fucked by the system. This is payback time. Nobody has any sympathy for the media, who were quick to make up stories when you were wrongfully convicted. Everybody will be on your side.’ He looked at me. ‘You know you could sue them now for the things they made up.’

I pouted, ‘Maybe I could.’ I took a swig of beer. ‘But I’m not going to, and as I said before I’m not going to do any deal about my story with any media organisation.’ I reached for the TV remote. ‘Let’s watch the football, there’s a good Euro match on.

Freddie left after the football, saying, ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not pissed off with you, but just a little confused. But I’ll go along with your wishes.’

‘Thanks, see you soon.’

The bottle of The Yamazaki, a top of the range Japanese whisky Freddie had given me, stared at me, sort of asking me if I was going to stick to my declared abstinence. Prison was enforced abstinence and hard, so why continue the purgatory?No valid reason came to mind, as the cork slipped out and I poured a good slug of the golden nectar into one of the no frills glass tumblers Freddie had bought. 

Why beat myself up? I’ve already had a few beers with Freddie earlier.

It was worth waiting for. Smooth, mellow and leaving no bitter after taste. Another sip, a refill and then settling back in the one comfortable chair and letting my thoughts wander.

We went to secondary school together, football matches, gigs. Always in and out of each other’s houses. Not at the same unis, but in touch and visiting the other’s campus, integrating with friends. He’s more than a close friends, more like a brother. And he did so much to get me free. Freddie’s one of life’s good guys, and I’m luck… 

My phone broke my thoughts.

‘Dad, I’ve got to talk to you,’ Flick garbled, sounding anxious and disturbed.

‘Hey popsee. What’s up? You sound upset.’ 

‘I am upset. There’s something I must tell you. I meant to tell you last night, but we were having such a great time, such fun, I didn’t want to spoil things.

By then I’d become anxious myself. ‘Tell me. What is it?’ 

Is she pregnant, taking drugs, drug dealing, fallen out with a boyfriend? Those and many other thoughts flashed through my mind as I waited for her answer.

‘Freddie and Mum had an affair while you were in prison. I’m sure it’s over now, and Mum doesn’t know I know.’ She burst into tears and cut the call.

Leave it. Don’t call her. She’ll be upset, worried she’s upset me. We’ll meet tomorrow and talk more. I’ll text her.

But he’s my best mate, apart from Flick the only supporter of my innocence, and now I know he’s been cheating on me. Well, not really cheating, Jodi and I are divorced, she’s entitled to do what she wants. But he’s married with kids, and it doesn’t feel right. Underhand, secretive. How will I face him? Should I tell him I know and go from there? 

And then there’s Jodi, who’s being all paly, paly. How will I deal with her?

And Flick. Be careful not to say or do anything to upset her.

Many questions loomed in my mind. The bottle of Yamazaki seemed to stare at me again, telling me another slug would help me find answers.

I guess it’s a bumpy road ahead. The whisky slid with ease into my glass.

~~~

I was inspired to write this after reading about several cases of miscarriage of justice in the last two years. It’ll probably be the basis and first chapter of a new book.