Prologue
Strangeways Prison
Dear Billie,
I am praying that this letter has reached you so, please, if it has, don’t throw it in the bin. I beg you, just give me a chance. I tried to disguise my writing on the envelope because your mum will probably tear it into pieces if she realises it’s from me. Who would blame her? I just hope she hasn’t twigged and you get to read these words. I wanted to ring you, but my credit would run out before I even started. That’s why I’ve gone old school and put pen to paper, because at least this way I can get everything out without someone earwigging or you slamming the phone down on me.
Before I begin, I just want you to know that I swear on my mum and our Darren’s life, that the words I’m going to write are true and that my feelings for you are the same. They always will be. I’ll regret losing you till the end of my days. So will you please give me a chance to explain? Read this to the end and if by some miracle you believe me, I’m begging you, please come home. Please come and see me. I need your help, Billie. I need to see your face. I need a shred of hope.
I am going to lay myself bare on these pages and tell you step by step what happened and how I’ve ended up here. You might not like some of what you read, but it’s the only way to make you see that I was manipulated, fooled, and looking back, I think I lost my mind. One night ruined my life. I have no life now. The one I had with you, that I threw away and should have clung onto with all my might, is a distant dream.
I wish I could turn back the clock and that I’d chased you to the airport, begged forgiveness and boarded that plane with you. I should have seen how much you were struggling and needed my help. I was selfish. I was a coward. I was a cheat. And I am sorry, more than you will ever know. So here goes, this is my version of events, the one nobody believed.
It’s the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Please believe me.
Stan x
1
Billie looked up at the sodden, towering walls of the prison and shuddered. The minute she spotted Strangeways looming on the horizon, its unmistakeable tower looking out over the city, touching the grey Manchester sky, her stomach swirled and fear gripped her heart. The place always freaked her out, even as a child. She remembered coming to Cheetham Hill on a Sunday with her dad to buy cheap T-shirts and trainers from the rows and rows of tatty shops that were piled high with fake merchandise. Curiosity always got the better of her so she’d snatch a glance at the ominous building, then avert her eyes quickly, knowing that bad men were inside and could be looking straight at her.
Today, Billie had parked her mum’s car in one of the side streets that bordered the prison, a few metres away from the Salford Van Hire yard that teemed with activity. That was precisely why she chose the spot to gather her thoughts and calm jangling nerves. Wagons came and went, and she could see the security men at the gate, signs of life, free people who worked in the shadow of the oppressive Victorian prison. Only feet away, somewhere behind those red brick walls that seemed to slope slightly inwards like cupped hands, keeping thousands of men captive, was her Stan. That’s how she still thought of him, even now, after everything that had happened.
But going down that road would be a fool’s errand. So Billie shook away that thought and leaned back against the headrest. She couldn’t bear to take even a glance at the barred windows that peered out like dark, all-seeing eyes belonging to hollow souls. They were like voyeurs, watching malevolently, preying on the citizens of Manchester below, and despising the liberty of passers-by whilst lamenting their own fate. Instead, Billie focused on the yard and free jolly people, like the chap eating a pasty from Greggs. The familiar white and blue wrapper was clasped tightly in his hand while in the other, a steaming plastic cup jiggled as he laughed with the yellow-coated security men.
Billie had kept the engine running just in case she was asked to move on. Her overactive mind had convinced itself that she’d been spotted on the security cameras that were dotted along the wall that bore signs saying ‘No Drone Zone.’ Maybe they were watching her right now, from a control room, taking her car reg and suspecting her of staking the place out, plotting an escape.Stop it! Just stop it,Billie told herself. This wasn’t helping, not one bit. She had to get a grip and decide if she was going to do this, if she was actually going to use the visiting order and go inside.
It was all too weird, even looking at his proper name on the order, not Stan, the nickname he’d insisted on since he was a child and everyone, even his family, used. She imagined the judge saying it out loud as he passed sentence, his voice echoing words of doom. ‘Daniel Ernest Stanley, you have been found guilty of…’ Billie couldn’t even contemplate the effect of the shockwaves as they reverberated around the courtroom.
Swallowing down nerves, Billie took the creased letter from her bag and unfolded it slowly, knowing exactly what the words said because she’d read it over and over again, until she almost remembered it line for line. Still, one more time wouldn’t hurt, just to reaffirm that she was doing the right thing, to give her the strength she needed to face Stan.
Another deluge began. Huge globules of rain pounded the windscreen, while a thousand fingers drummed on the roof, obscuring the prison from sight and for the first time in her life Billie was grateful for the Manchester weather. Taking the first page of Stan’s letter she placed it at the back of the pile then started with the second, focusing on the words written meticulously in blue biro. Words she prayed were the truth.
2
I wasn’t that into Kelly when I met her. It was more or less one month after you left and I was still reeling from the shock and trying to get used to living on my own. I’d managed to avoid the trauma of Valentine’s Day and life basically consisted of going through the motions. It was the 3rd of March, thanks to my party-trick photographic memory, I can see the date on my desk calendar, written in red with a stupid quote for the day: ‘Surrender to what is, let go of what was, have faith in what will be’. Do you reckon that was an omen, or just a freaky coincidence?
Let’s get back to devil-woman. Now I come to think of it she was too full-on, not in a common or gobby way, more quietly controlling. Or perhaps you’d describe her as calm but firm, like a sensible teacher who knows just how to keep her class in check and get the best out of them.
I spotted her at the gym. She was on the bike next to me, all sweaty and focused on her spinning and I never gave her a moment’s thought really, not until we bumped into each other later in the foyer by which time she had scrubbed up and looked completely different. I was on my phone and didn’t see her coming so when we collided and all of her belongings ended up scattered across the floor, I silently helped her pick them up. After I apologised and she went on her way I finished my call, collected my own bag and headed for my car, just as the heavens opened.
I wish it had been a sunny day, or just hadn’t rained because then, when I saw her getting soaked at the bus stop, I wouldn’t have asked if she needed a lift and I wouldn’t have ended up here. That’s how it began.
* * *
Billie paused and imagined the scene. It would have been a day like this, grey and dismal. She could see Kelly standing at the bus stop, battling to control her inside-out brolly as cars splashed the pavement. One of them slowed, the driver pressed the button on his door to lower the window, asked the damsel in distress a simple question and bam, his life changed forever.
She knew exactly what blue-eyed Kelly looked like, with her highlighted hair styled in a messy bob that framed her stupid face that she airbrushed with Snapchat filters. The cute bunny ears and nose didn’t make Billie smile, because while Kelly was pissing about on social media, smiling coyly into the camera, Stan was banged up. It had been shockingly easy to find the proverbial Manchester bunny-boiler. She wasn’t shy and from the looks of things enjoyed splashing her face and story all over Facebook and Twitter. No, it seemed like Kelly had recovered from her ordeal and was making a thoroughly good job out of a bad situation.
Inhaling deeply to trap the bubbling rage that was rising in her chest, Billie held her breath then exhaled slowly. It did the trick, that and turning down the heater – it was getting too hot inside the car which did nothing for her temper. Then Billie got on with the letter. She was far too early and had no desire to queue up with the other visitors, so instead concentrated on Stan’s words.
Kelly and I chatted easily on the way to her flat which was about two miles from the gym. There was a nice pub on the corner and I’d been in a few times, so when she asked if I fancied a drink I said yes. I didn’t intend to stay so long, or end up in her bed but I did. Like I said, I wasn’t that fussed about seeing her again but she pursued me. It was easy sex, no relationship required, or so I thought. But things changed. It was like she eased herself into my life, with stealth. That’s the best way to describe it.
I would find her bits and bobs in my house, like a marker reminding me of her existence, I suppose. She’d be waiting on the drive when I got home with a bag of ingredients to cook dinner, or turn up at the yard for impromptu lunchtime picnics at my desk. Me-time gym sessions turned into her being my training buddy and then, before I knew it, she’d met Mum and Darren. That was genuinely a fluke because no way had I even entertained the idea of introducing her, but she was in the car when Mum rang to say the shower was leaking and water was coming through the kitchen ceiling, so I shot straight round. Before I knew it, Kelly had added both of them on Facebook and when she miraculously bumped into Mum in town, they ended up having lunch.
The thing was, on the face of it, she seemed like a nice girl. She had a good job as a dental nurse, a rented flat of her own, a newish car and yes, she was good-looking with a great body and, at first, a great sense of humour. Gradually, she began to grow on me and I let her into my life bit by bit. I remembered that I liked being with someone, waking up next to a warm body in the morning. I wasn’t in love with her or anything like that, but she made it so easy to like her when, in fact, that was probably all part of her game. I thought I was so clever, playing along, filling my boots in every way possible.
Up until this point I really believed I could keep her at arm’s length, feeding her titbits of what seemed to make her happy, occupying a few hours in the evening and at weekends with sex and a shit chick-flick. At the same time, she kept me well fed, did the odd load of washing, changed the sheets and looked good when we went out. You might think that was shallow, but I swear she did all the running and what red-blooded bloke would refuse a three-course meal and sex on tap?
