Page 118 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘Pauline?’ Nick asked.

‘This is every parent’s worst nightmare; seeing their only child locked up for a crime they didn’t commit. But like Leo said, we both believe in justice, and the truth will come out eventually. It just needs to be sooner rather than later because I don’t know how much longer my Anthony can cope with life in prison,’ she said, choking on her last few words.

Pauline had told Anthony she was going on television that morning and he’d asked permission from the prison officers to watch the show in his cell and start work later. As it was the first time he’d asked for anything, and he was a model prisoner, they didn’t refuse him.

Being on the vulnerable prisoners’ wing, Anthony rarely came into contact with the other prisoners. The ones he did see on a regular basis, he tended to keep away from. They scared him. He didn’t know what they were in prison for, but they oozed bad attitude, and he knew they were serial killers, paedophiles and rapists. Some had a malevolent air about them. They enjoyed their notoriety. Others were defeated and had accepted their fate that they’d never be released from prison. Anthony was a man on his own. He knew he was innocent.

He smiled when he saw his mum on TV. She’d told him she’d bought a new outfit especially for the appearance and he thought she looked nice. Leo looked very smart in a suit and tie. He hated wearing ties, but Pauline had told him to make an effort for the BBC. When they announced they were engaged and waiting for him to come out so he could give his mum away, his smile grew into a grin. He was so excited. Leo was going to be his dad. That was amazing. They probably wouldn’t get married in a church but that didn’t matter. He’d dress smart and make his mum proud, and afterwards, at the reception, he’d give a speech saying how…

His smile dropped. He looked around him at his small cell, at the bare brick walls, at his meagre possessions, his single bed, the thin mattress and the threadbare duvet. He shouldn’t get his hopes up. It had been ten years, though it seemed longer. There was no chance he was going to get out of prison any time soon. His mum and Leo may not have given up hope, but he had. This was his life now.

ChapterFifty-Two

It was Judith Patterson’s day off work. She didn’t have anything specific to do so, after she’d cleaned her flat and popped to the shops for a magazine and a packet of biscuits, she sat on the sofa and turned on the television.

She and Geoff had been divorced for four years now. The split had been amicable, but the time leading up to it had been decidedly painful. Geoff had wanted to move out of the home on Crescent Avenue and start a new life somewhere else, maybe even away from Whitby. Judith was dead set against it. The house contained her memories of Alice. She was convinced she could still smell her, feel her, hear her. She needed to hold onto that. Geoff wanted to move on, but Judith couldn’t. The rift between them grew. Geoff spent longer at work and conversation between them dried up to the point where they only said good morning and good night to each other. By the time Geoff moved out, they were sleeping in separate bedrooms, neither of them remembering when that first happened.

Once the divorce was finalised, they had no reason to remain in contact. The last Judith heard, Geoff was living in South Shields. He’d met a new partner, and they had moved in together. She made sure she didn’t find out anything else. She hoped she would never find out if Geoff had had another baby. That news would kill her.

In the end, the house had to be sold, so Judith lost her memories of Alice anyway. She rented a flat from the council in the next road so she could be close to the house. It was difficult seeing different-coloured curtains up at Alice’s bedroom window, but she coped. Just. When the new occupants started digging up the garden to lay the foundations for an extension, she realised Alice’s home was changing beyond all recognition. She couldn’t stand it. It turned out Geoff had been right all along. She needed to move on.

Judith stayed in Whitby and moved closer to the coast. She worked in one bed-and-breakfast as a cook and two others as a casual cleaner. She lived in a flat above a paper shop and saw very few people. She’d lost the majority of her friends when they moved on with their lives and she was still grieving. She went to play the odd game of bingo or to a local pub for a gin and tonic with a couple of her co-workers, but she wasn’t interested in forming any long-standing friendships. She missed Alice, and despite people telling her it got easier as time went on, it didn’t.

Judith watched the interview with Pauline and Leo with rapt attention. She felt like she didn’t blink once throughout the whole feature. Pauline had lost weight. She looked shocking, yet she hadn’t given up on her son. One of the prostitutes had stated they’d lied in their statement. Why was that? Did that mean Alice’s killer was still out there somewhere? How could he live with himself after all this time, knowing that he’d got away with murder?

Judith turned off the television and went over to the window that looked out over the rough sea. Alice would have loved this view, especially sitting on the built-in window seat while she knitted or sewed or readAlice in Wonderlandfor the thousandth time.

A tear fell. Judith didn’t wipe it away. She looked down at the busy street and saw people going about their lives. Workers going to and from work. Mothers pushing prams or holding the hands of their children. Was Alice’s killer among them? Was Anthony Winstanley in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed? She’d spent the last ten years hating him for what he’d done. Would she have to hate someone else?

ChapterFifty-Three

Detective Inspector Freya Sloan was told she had a visitor waiting for her in reception. She knew the name Stephen Osborne, but couldn’t place it. She opened the door and saw a painfully thin man in black trousers and a beige padded jacket, with a shiny dome of a bald head. She frowned. No. The name was definitely familiar, but not the man.

‘Mr Osborne, I’m DI Sloan. How can I help you?’

Stephen smiled. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘Cancer tends to change how a person looks. Stephen Osborne. I was a DS during Henry Bishop’s days.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Freya said, suddenly remembering. ‘Of course, Stephen. Wow. How are you?’

‘Well, cancer’s eating away at my body from the inside out but, apart from that, I’m fine,’ he smiled.

‘Ah. I’m sorry.’

‘Look, is there anywhere we can talk? There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Of course. We can go to my office.’

‘I’m not so good with stairs.’

‘Right.’ She turned to the desk sergeant. ‘Sara, is there a room free?’

‘The only one with the heating working is room three.’

‘Fine. Can you organise a couple of cups of tea as well, please?’