Read Online Faith by Lesley Pearse - Free Book Online
Authors: Lesley Pearse
Tags: Fiction
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grounds. It wasn’t anywhere near as crowded as Holloway either: about 250 women, Laura thought, and there was variety of work and many courses like hairdressing or art to enrol in.
Yet Cornton Vale still had a high suicide rate: there had been two since she’d been here, both young girls who were not even serving long sentences. But then she supposed that two or three years seemed an eternity at their age and perhaps they had nothing on the outside to look forward to anyway.
The visiting room had not changed since the last time she had a visitor, and that was over a year ago. The walls were still drab, the same large tables prevented close contact between visitor and inmate, and the usual display of chocolate, cake and biscuits stood by the tea urn.
What was new to her though was her ability to feel the tension in the air, to notice the anxious expressions on both prisoners’ and visitors’ faces as they clutched at one another’s hands over the tables. A years ago she was aware of nothing but her own misery.
It was good to see a few children, some playing with toys in the corner, others haring around the room, for she understood now how important these visits were to their mothers. Yet those prisoners who were cuddling babies and toddlers brought a lump to her throat. She thought it must be devastating for a new mother to be parted from her baby, and only be able to see it once a month for a brief half-hour. Yet even harder to bear would be the fear that the baby would bond with whoever was taking care of it now and might never feel that way about its real mother when she was released.
But such thoughts vanished as she saw Stuart come into the room. Her pulse began to race and the palms of her hands were suddenly sweaty.
He stood out amongst the other visitors, not just because he was tall, suntanned, well dressed and the picture of health, but because he looked like a man who had never before come into any contact with the underbelly of society.
It was difficult to believe that he’d once been a long-haired hippy, with bare feet, ragged jeans and Indian love beads around his neck. He looked more like a man from a Martini advertisement, hair well cut, and impeccably groomed.
Although they had parted twenty years ago back in ’75, she had seen him from a distance a few times when he was back visiting in Edinburgh. On each successive occasion he’d been better dressed, with a good leather jacket, expensive shoes and a general air of increased sophistication.
Laura hadn’t seen him as handsome when they first met, for he’d had the rawness of youth, his nose and mouth seemingly too large for his skinny frame and his mane of chestnut-brown hair obscuring the beauty and gentleness of his grey eyes. She had been initially attracted by his ability to make anyone he spoke to feel important and valued. He really listened, he thought about what he said in reply, and cared. That wasn’t something she’d found in many other men.
But a few years later, he had filled out, his features in perfect proportion to his then muscular body, and though perhaps still not classically handsome, he was arresting. Jackie had often chuckled about how women always made a bee-line for him, saying that even the coldest, starchiest women would try to flirt with him. Laura had known exactly why, for she could recall the sight of his wide mouth curling into a heart-stopping smile, and she guessed that once ruggedness had replaced rawness, there would be an edge to him which would suggest a night with him would be unforgettable.
Her assumptions about how he had developed over the last twenty years were accurate, for every single woman in the visiting room was looking at him appraisingly.
She sensed that he had purposely dressed down for this visit: his jacket was a muted olive colour, the open-necked shirt beneath it cream, and he was wearing a pair of ordinary chinos. But seen amongst other male visitors who wore denim jackets,
Yet Cornton Vale still had a high suicide rate: there had been two since she’d been here, both young girls who were not even serving long sentences. But then she supposed that two or three years seemed an eternity at their age and perhaps they had nothing on the outside to look forward to anyway.
The visiting room had not changed since the last time she had a visitor, and that was over a year ago. The walls were still drab, the same large tables prevented close contact between visitor and inmate, and the usual display of chocolate, cake and biscuits stood by the tea urn.
What was new to her though was her ability to feel the tension in the air, to notice the anxious expressions on both prisoners’ and visitors’ faces as they clutched at one another’s hands over the tables. A years ago she was aware of nothing but her own misery.
It was good to see a few children, some playing with toys in the corner, others haring around the room, for she understood now how important these visits were to their mothers. Yet those prisoners who were cuddling babies and toddlers brought a lump to her throat. She thought it must be devastating for a new mother to be parted from her baby, and only be able to see it once a month for a brief half-hour. Yet even harder to bear would be the fear that the baby would bond with whoever was taking care of it now and might never feel that way about its real mother when she was released.
But such thoughts vanished as she saw Stuart come into the room. Her pulse began to race and the palms of her hands were suddenly sweaty.
He stood out amongst the other visitors, not just because he was tall, suntanned, well dressed and the picture of health, but because he looked like a man who had never before come into any contact with the underbelly of society.
It was difficult to believe that he’d once been a long-haired hippy, with bare feet, ragged jeans and Indian love beads around his neck. He looked more like a man from a Martini advertisement, hair well cut, and impeccably groomed.
Although they had parted twenty years ago back in ’75, she had seen him from a distance a few times when he was back visiting in Edinburgh. On each successive occasion he’d been better dressed, with a good leather jacket, expensive shoes and a general air of increased sophistication.
Laura hadn’t seen him as handsome when they first met, for he’d had the rawness of youth, his nose and mouth seemingly too large for his skinny frame and his mane of chestnut-brown hair obscuring the beauty and gentleness of his grey eyes. She had been initially attracted by his ability to make anyone he spoke to feel important and valued. He really listened, he thought about what he said in reply, and cared. That wasn’t something she’d found in many other men.
But a few years later, he had filled out, his features in perfect proportion to his then muscular body, and though perhaps still not classically handsome, he was arresting. Jackie had often chuckled about how women always made a bee-line for him, saying that even the coldest, starchiest women would try to flirt with him. Laura had known exactly why, for she could recall the sight of his wide mouth curling into a heart-stopping smile, and she guessed that once ruggedness had replaced rawness, there would be an edge to him which would suggest a night with him would be unforgettable.
Her assumptions about how he had developed over the last twenty years were accurate, for every single woman in the visiting room was looking at him appraisingly.
She sensed that he had purposely dressed down for this visit: his jacket was a muted olive colour, the open-necked shirt beneath it cream, and he was wearing a pair of ordinary chinos. But seen amongst other male visitors who wore denim jackets,
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