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Good morning, my dear, what a lovely surprise to see you, I didn’t think I would today. Would you walk with me while we talk? I want one last look, while I still can. Strange, I know, after all this time you would have thought I’d had my fill, but it seems I’m hankering for one final moment. I know it’s a bit tricky going this way around, it’s rather damp and muddy underfoot, but it cannot be helped. At least, this spring sunshine is delightful. It is a sadder day than I expected, and these rays make all the difference to my mood, I need their help today. How noisy are these birds? They’ve found their voices, together, all at the same moment now that the sun is shining If they took their turn we’d be able to understand them. It’s this maelstrom that turns their songs into a meaningless sound. It prevents us from hearing what is really happening, but it is all going on, the smaller birds are finding their voice, and separating themselves from the flock. I can’t say that’s a bad thing, can I, my dear?
Here we are. Oh my, how unsettling it is to see my patch of land from this angle. To stand in the dead, brown field and look back through the fence like this. You know, I never looked this way, back towards the prison, not if I could help it. I would always keep my gaze out here, this way, towards the fields. Standing here now, looking through the wire fence, it’s all the wrong way round, it’s familiar and yet alien to me. Oh no, look, there’s a weed growing there, and I cannot reach it. How frustrating. I know I’m never going to care for this land again, but it’s hard to let go. I hope someone will look after it for me. What a shame, that weed spoils my view even more than the prison buildings themselves, and they are so foreboding when you observe them from this angle, aren’t they?
I must say, it has been a long time. Even when they say twenty years, you never think it will be twenty years, everyone gets out early, don’t they? Well, not me. Sure, they’ve given me three days off for every one day I spent on remand, awaiting my trial. If I’d known that was going to happen, I’d have dragged it out a bit, maybe not pleaded guilty as early as I did. No, of course I wouldn’t have done, I didn’t want to give anyone time to scrutinise anything. But, you see, it’s part of the same problem really. You can’t be released early on parole unless you admit to what you’ve done, and while I was perfectly happy to admit to killing Frank, I wouldn’t discuss the details, you see. Best not to say anything if I can’t tell the truth, only gets me into trouble otherwise. I’ve lost track of the number of people who, for all sorts of reasons, have asked me how it happened, and in truth, you’re the only person I’ve ever told the full story to. You’re family, and I trust you. And I’m glad you are here on the day I’m being released from prison. It feels right after spending all this time together, it has a nice sense of finality, doesn’t it?
I’ll cast my eyes down, it isn’t the prison I’m here to think about, but my land, I’ve come to say goodbye to the product of all my work these last twelve years. Yes, two years I lived here before they let me cultivate it, but once I got started and grew some vegetables, they’ve let me keep it on ever since. I’ve taught some of the others a few things and there are a number of plots now, like our own allotments, but mine has always been the best, out on the end, next to the fence, by the farmer’s fields. It was the closest I’ve felt to freedom in my whole life, ironically, there were so few things to worry about. I learned not to let my eyes focus on the fence but to look through it, to discern the natural beauty of my surroundings, to notice how they change throughout the year. Always something new to observe if you pay attention. Making the best of the situation you find yourself in, that’s the way to deal with the tribulations life has thrown your way. I think I’ve done well, all things considered.
Not everyone really wants to leave prison, you know, and now that it’s finally my turn, I understand how they feel. I couldn’t believe it when I first heard of it, but then I saw it everywhere I looked. People messing up their parole hearings, breaching their licences and getting sent back in a few days, all sad and disappointed at their failure on the face of it, but soon back to their cheery selves now they were home. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that way, not me, I had a life planned out, but even so, I’m sad to say goodbye. I’m fortunate, I’ve got Gran’s house waiting for me, her land, her outbuildings, I suppose you could say I have my grandmother’s life waiting for me. She has given me the information, the tools and the wherewithal to make a good life for myself. I only hope I’ve done the same for you, and that you can take what I’ve given you, and make it count.
*******
Do you know, my dear, it has been a year since you started to visit me? How you’ve grown in that time, I know you think of yourself as an adult and I don’t mean to belittle you, but to me you seem to be fresh and new, blooming into yourself. I’ll be honest with you, when I heard that you had applied for a visitor’s pass, though I was overwhelmed with happiness at the thought of spending time with you, I wasn’t sure whether I could trust you. I’m glad you’ve let me tell my stories, and I know you’ll keep them safe until I die. We don’t have long, but I wanted to ask you, one last time, to hear you promise me again, to repeat your vow from that first visit, to keep quiet until I pass.
“I will, but I don’t want to, and I wish I’d never promised you anything. People deserve to know what happened. Mum deserves to know what happened to her father–”
“And I’d tell her if she was here. But she isn’t, and never has been. No one is entitled to know, not even your mother. This isn’t some cosy mystery where all is explained, no loose ends, and everything is tidied up in time for tea. Real life isn’t like that, my dear. Besides, it is far better to enjoy the journey than to worry about the ending. Have you not learnt anything during our chats? Do you not enjoy the beauty of nature a little more? Appreciate her fickleness, her false promises, her warmth, and her power of destruction? Have I been talking to myself, my dear?”
“The truth should be told, isn’t that what you are always saying? See, I have been listening. And transcribing. I think I know your story better than you do.”
“Maybe, my dear, maybe, but you forget, it’s an inheritance, not a gift. It’s my story, and until I die, it’s not your story to tell. Slander, isn’t it, to make unfounded allegations? And what do you have, really, as proof? An old woman’s ramblings, who takes much notice of those? It’s a lovely story you’ve got there, but it’s a tale for passing onto your children, not one to share with anyone else.”
“Mum, what are you doing out here? I said I’d meet you at the gate, I’ve not come dressed for tramping around the countryside.”
“Hi Carol, thank you for coming to pick me up. Stacy turned up first though, and so I thought we’d have a last look at my patch while we waited for you. You’ve not met Stacy before, have you?”
“I know who she is, Mum. I’ve got the boys in the car, they’re excited to see you. Go and wait with them. I’ll be there in a minute. Stacy and I need to have a few words.”
*******
“I warn you Carol, I’m recording this conversation.”
“I bet you are”
“I know, she’s already told me. You’re too late. She says it was you that killed your father.
...
“I said, your mother–”
“I heard you.”
“Let me tell you what she’s told me, Carol, I’ll tell you her allegations so you can respond. She has said, ow, ow, get off me, let me go!”
“Don’t you ‘Carol’ me, you scummy little bitch, you listen as I tell you what’s going to happen now. You are going to tell Lucy from me that this hasn’t worked, and it won’t work. I don’t care what Mum’s told you. There’s no body anymore, there’s no proof of anything, so any story you share will be unverifiable slander, you understand that?”
“She says you murdered him! God, that hurts, Mum was right about you. You’re evil.”
“Goodbye, Stacy.”
“Wait. Listen to me. She, she says you poisoned him with some herb from the garden. She’s covering for you and you’ve let her, haven’t you? Let her spend twenty years in prison while you live in her house. Let her think she is protecting you, think you are sorry for betraying her. And you dare to call me a bitch?”
“Have you finished Stacy? Right, now listen, don’t let your imagination get carried away like this. He choked, hasn’t Lucy told you this? Don't fall for Mum’s chatter about witches and potions, she's told too many stories for her own good. Dad ate his lamb stew too quickly, he choked, and Mum pretended he’d run away rather than pay his bills for him, end of story. Mum covered up his death and that was always going to lead to some trouble at some point. And that’s what you’ll get if you don’t bury this now.”
“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you, Carol?”
“That’s right, and I’ll keep saying it. He choked, and don’t let that witch tell you any different. So, you take that tape recorder back to your mother and you tell her that she isn’t going to get one over on us today. Whatever it is you think you know, that Lucy thinks she knows, you’re wrong. Bury it.”
“Fine, I’ll wait until she has passed. I can wait a short while and after she dies, there’s nothing you can do to stop us telling anyone we want.”
“She’s not dying. Did she actually tell you that? Did she say those words? Oh, Stacy, I ask you. You have a lot to learn. She’s not dying. I reckon she’s got another two decades in her yet, you mark my words.”
“But she said...”
“Exactly, what did she say? You need to be careful with her. She doesn’t lie, she never says anything that’s not true, but if you aren’t paying attention you can come away with the wrong end of the stick, somehow, she’s good at that.”
“I... she said...”
“Right, well, on that note I must be going, give my best to Lucy, won’t you?”
...
[end of transcription]