Page 46 of One More Time

Interlacing his hands behind his head, Charlie closed his eyes and blew a breath. It was so strange being the one on the wrong side of the blue-steel bars, and the thought of receiving a sentence that would keep him on this side for years to come made his bones shiver. His years spent working in the penal system had taught him that prison was the last place on earth a person wanted to be. Unlike life outside, where there was never enough time in the day, on the inside, time was all a man had, and it stretched on until it felt perpetual. Never in a million years would he have believed he’d be just like every other prisoner, treated so inhumanely, as if they were guilty before proven innocent – so much for the law, and the media for that matter.

After days of evidence and cross-examinations, it was almost time to face his fate. He was holding out hope for a ‘not guilty’ verdict, but he knew deep down that his chances of freedom were slim. No matter what led up to him throwing that final deadly punch, he’d taken a life.

With anxiety gripping him, he turned his back to the skeletal guy, clasped his hands tightly, and did what he should have started doing years ago – prayed with all his might. ‘Please Lord,’ he whispered. ‘I know I don’t talk to you often enough, but please hear me now. Please don’t let me go to prison. I know I’ve taken a life, which I will forever feel regret and shame for, but I need to be a free man, for Grace, and the kids. Please, Lord, don’t let them be punished for my mistakes.’ His voice broke with a rising sob, and he paused to steady his self-control. ‘I beg this of you, Amen.’

He had to hold it together.

For his four beloved children.

For his darling Grace.

Heavy footsteps echoed and the gimlet-eyed guard who had ushered him in here reappeared, his hefty arms folded tight. ‘Wilson. You’re up.’

This was a man who very clearly loved his job and took satisfaction at sending the scum of the earth to the pits of hell. And he was looking at Charlie as if he was one of those bits of scum.

Remaining silent, Charlie stood and made his way to the gated door. It buzzed, and then slid open. His fellow detainee finally lifted his beady-eyed gaze and gave him an apprehensive halfsmile. Charlie acknowledged him with a simple nod as he stepped out and fell in line behind the guard with neatly trimmed hair and an impeccably ironed uniform. With long-legged strides, he dutifully escorted Charlie back through the heavy door that led into the court.

The dankness of the holding area gave way to the showy lights of a sophisticated courtroom. As Charlie took his place between his solicitor and the barrister whose fees had put Moonflower Acres back in the hands of the bank for the first time in decades, murmurs rose like an approaching tidal wave.

His solicitor leaned over. ‘You good, Charlie?’

‘As good as I can be,’ Charlie quietly replied.

‘It’ll all be over soon,’ the barrister muttered with an overly confident nod.

‘Yeah,’ Charlie said. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

Picking up a pad, the barrister brought it closer to read the illegible scribbled notes. ‘We’ve given it our best, Mr Wilson. That’s all we can do.’

Charlie remained steely silent. He had nothing left to say.

From out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rodger staring at him from the opposite side of the packed courtroom. Alison stood close at his side, raking her gaze over Charlie with freezing contempt. He couldn’t blame her for judging him harshly. Almost everyone in the room was – he could feel the adjudication seeping beneath his skin.

He shifted a little to try to catch Grace’s eye, three rows back. Straightening his tie, Victor Denver was a pillar of strength beside her. Not once had he or Edith met Charlie’s eye. Their disappointment in him as a son-in-law, as a husband and as a father who should be a good role model was written all over their solemn faces. How could he expect them to feel otherwise?

But his dear Grace had met his fear-filled eyes countless times – the worry and sorrow in hers breaking the already shattered pieces of his heart anew.

She deserved so much better than him. And always had.

* * *

Feeling as if she were frozen in time while everything around her was somehow on fast-forward, Grace clutched the purse in her lap so tightly, her knuckles were as white as her face felt. Forcing her hands to lessen the grip, she placed the purse at her heeled feet and began to fidget with her wedding ring, spinning it around and around her finger. Sat in-between her pillars of strength – her mother and father – she had to keep reminding herself of what the solicitor had told her, to not look mortified, and to remember to breathe. It was a tough ask when everywhere her anxious gaze darted, everything and everyone in this room was in some way confronting. Long gone was the state of denial she’d buried herself in when she’d gotten the call from Rodger that Charlie had been arrested, shortly before the official call from the police station – this courtroom was all too earth-shatteringly real to ignore. She’d never set foot in such a place, nor would she ever have believed she’d ever have a reason to. But now, it was three-thirty in the afternoon, and she was anxiously awaiting her husband’s fate, the courtroom was packed with spectators all waiting to hear the judge’s verdict, while their four beautiful children were being minded by their adoring godparents, Jenny and Marty. After two days of listening to witnesses being examined and cross-examined and watching Charlie taking the stand and being interrogated to the verge of tears, she was beside herself with nerves. With her belly swirling and whirling, she was fighting the urge to run to the ladies’ restroom so she could heave up her coffee and sandwich.

The judge entered.

‘All rise,’ the court officer announced.

Grace came to her feet, her nausea increasing as she watched the stern-faced judge take his seat behind the ornate timber bench. This was it. She was about to find out if Charlie was going to be imprisoned. Her heart beat wildly. The room wavered. The ground felt as if it were spinning beneath her feet, and she fought not to buckle to her knees.

How could this be happening to him? To her? To their family? If it wasn’t for her mother’s arm around her waist, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to remain upright. If her husband went to prison, how long would he be gone? What was she meant to tell their children? How was she going to cope on her own? What would happen to him in prison? How was she going to afford the mortgage, now that the bank owned Moonflower Acres? Terrifying questions circled her mind like vultures.

‘You may be seated,’ the judge announced, his thick eyebrows shading his scowling stare. Shifting in his seat a little, he looked to the jurors. ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?’

A middle-aged copper-haired man nodded. ‘We have, your honour.’

The bailiff walked over, took the piece of paper from the solemn-faced juror, and then brought it to the judge, who opened it painfully slowly then read the verdict to himself poker-faced. There was no telling what it was. A hush fell over the room, the ticking of the clock above the judge sounded as if little bombs were dropping.

Tick, tick, tick…