Page 83 of Maybe Tomorrow

She gave him a smile as she smelled the aftershave he’d slapped on himself after a shower. He poured himself a generous glass of wine. ‘By the way, Clive and Geraldine asked us over for dinner tonight. I told them we didn’t have any plans. I said we’d be there for seven thirty.’

‘Really?’ she asked, pulling a face.

‘I know Geraldine’s not the most sparkling personality in the world.’

‘No kidding. Over an hour she spoke about weaving last time I had coffee with her.’

Malcolm smiled. ‘But Clive is very well connected. And he does have an impressive wine collection.’

Jennifer perked up. ‘That’s true. In that case, I suggest we take a taxi.’

‘Good thinking, Batgirl. I’ll ring for one now.’

‘Right then, let me go and have a soak in the tub and mentally prepare myself for more of Geraldine’s fascinating chat,’ she said, filling up her wine glass, grabbing the bottle, and leaving the room.

As Jennifer sank into a luxuriously hot bath with bubbles all around her, she inhaled the aroma from a scented bubble bath her mother had bought her for Christmas. She felt herself relax. This was just what she needed.

She tried to let her mind go blank so she could unwind, but it wasn’t working. She pictured Anthony Winstanley being beaten in his prison cell, his mother feeling heartbroken and powerless. Jennifer believed in the British justice system. She believed an innocent man would be freed. She believed she would send Anthony back home to his mother. She just had to make sure it happened.

ChapterThirty-Three

Tuesday 8th May 1984

There was one week to go until Anthony Winstanley’s trial began at Sheffield Crown Court. In the six months while he’d been held on remand at HMP Starling House, Anthony had lived in isolation following his severe beating by inmates on Christmas Day. He’d been exempt from working duties and spent his days in his cell, reading, or out in the exercise yard sitting by himself, taking in the cool fresh air. He rarely spoke to anyone, and his already fragile mental health was suffering even more. Nobody noticed this more than his mother.

Without fail, Pauline visited her son once a fortnight. Their first meeting after his attack, they both cried. His bruises had faded, but the scars from the stitches were still evident. On the following visit, Anthony was quiet and withdrawn. He sat back in the hard plastic chair, playing with his fingers, barely making eye contact with his mum. On the third visit, Pauline noticed he’d lost weight. When she questioned him about it, he blamed the bland food. Anthony spoke fewer words with each visit that followed and the weight was falling off him at an alarming rate.

Anthony had always been big. When he was born, he weighed just shy of ten pounds. By the time he started infant school he was head and shoulders taller than all the other kids and weighed significantly more than any of his classmates. Doctors said he was just big for his age. Now, incarcerated, alone and lonely, Anthony had lost half his body weight. He looked gaunt.

Under the guidance of his solicitor, Jennifer Ripley, Anthony was to plead not guilty to the rape and murder of Alice Patterson. Every time she went to see him, he began every meeting by telling her he was innocent. She always told him she knew the truth and that made him smile, gave him hope that he would soon return home to his mum, to his own bed.

When Jennifer walked in this time, with a tall, severe-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neat beard, Anthony recoiled. She did not seem to be the friendly solicitor he’d come to know well over the past six months.

‘Anthony, I’d like you to meet Ronald Montgomery. He’s your barrister. He’ll be representing you in court.’

‘I thoughtyouwere representing me in court,’ Anthony said, looking up at both of them.

‘No,’ she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. ‘I explained all this to you. A barrister represents us, our case, in court to the judge and the jury.’

Ronald pulled out the chair next to Jennifer, hitched up his trousers, and sat down. ‘Anthony, may I call you Anthony?’ he asked slowly. His voice was loud and deep with just the hint of a northern accent.

‘Yes,’ Anthony said, looking slightly scared at this formidable man of authority.

‘Your solicitor, Jennifer, is specialised in many areas. She can advise people like you in all kinds of things but, when it comes to working within a court room, I’m the best man for the job.’ He gave Anthony a grin which revealed a full set of straight white teeth.

‘Anthony,’ Jennifer took over. ‘Ronald and I have been going over your case in great detail. The evidence against you is quite substantial.’

‘What does that mean?’

Ronald cleared his throat. ‘It means that the prosecution… the other side, have a lot of evidence that could swing in their favour. If the jury finds you guilty and you say you’re not guilty, it will likely result in a longer prison sentence for you. You may want to consider pleading guilty.’

‘But I’m innocent,’ Anthony said as Jennifer looked down at the floor.

Once more, Ronald cleared his throat. He crossed his legs at the knee.

Jennifer leaned forward. ‘Anthony, from the point of view of the court, it’s sometimes better to plead guilty in order to get a reduced sentence.’

‘I didn’t do it,’ he said, his eyes welling up.