So, it was my old lady who ended up turning me in. I was pretty hacked off when I finally found out, although I knew why she’d done it. She’d got it into her head that I’d be safer in one of Her Majesty’s houses than at home with her where she kept hiding behind the curtains and working herself into a state every time someone came near the house. She was convinced the bosses had a hit out on me.
So, the SWAT team turns up, all tooled up and kitted out like they’re about to take down Osama bin Laden, and what am I doing? Me, I’m inside bingeing on Line of Duty.
Ironic that, don’t you think?
I didn’t even know they were there until someone kicked the door in and started shouting like a maniac. Surreal or what, when I was in the middle of watching the same scene, but scared the s*** out of me when I got that this was really happening.
I was shoved facedown on the carpet, hands wrenched up behind me, knee in the back, punch in the head. That’s right, one of them snuck a pop and it made me see stars. Some Sherlock in a suit read me my rights, so I knew it was about the arson, and off we went.
To be honest, after all the tension and waiting and wondering, it was almost a relief when they stuffed me in the back of a car and drove off. I couldn’t wave goodbye to the audience who’d gathered because I was cuffed, but I looked at them good and hard, letting them know to stay away from my ma. I wished someone would cart her off to the whacky shack, she’d have been safer there.
So, they had me, fair and square. I wasn’t planning on making out they’d got the wrong bloke, DNA would prove I was there, but when I realized I was up on a charge of attempted murder as well as arson, well, I couldn’t cop for that too. I didn’t know you was there, if I had I wouldn’t have done it, so nothing intentional about it. It was an accident. A bad one, I admit, and one I really wish hadn’t happened, but that’s what it was.
I needed a brief to help sort it out, but people like me get what we’re given and the ambulance chaser who bobbed up for me had me down as guilty even before he came through the door. I had a proper struggle with him—it’s no fun dealing with a***holes and he was one of the biggest.
I’m remanded in custody and soon after, surprise, surprise, I get a visit from BJ warning me to keep my mouth shut about the PC who’d wanted it done. I told him I wasn’t planning on blabbing, but it might be in everyone’s interest if someone made the attempted murder rap go away.
No one did. I just got a reminder that my old lady had no protection now so it would be in her best interests if I acted wise. My answer was to say I understood loud and clear, but no way was I going to plead guilty to something I didn’t do.
OK, I did do it, but like I said, it was an accident and I want that understood by a jury so I don’t get sent down for the rest of my natural. Of course, that’s likely to happen anyway, because the max for arson and criminal damage is also life. I’d just rather not have two running one after the other and if the judge is of a mind to do that he can.
So, I made it clear to the dickhead who was representing me that I’d cop for arson and criminal damage to save a trial on the understanding he got rid of the attempted murder and maybe worked out a lesser sentence.
He said he’d get back to me and all these weeks later I still don’t know where we stand on it, but I’ve heard nothing to say the charge has gone away. I guess someone’ll tell me before my big day in court, but that’s not going to be anytime soon, because it never is. Six months waiting turns into nine, turns into a year and you’re given so many excuses, scheduling, sickness, change of judge, that you end up not listening anymore.
My ma visits as often as she can and brings me stuff that’s allowed—no way am I getting her to smuggle in the kind of currency that would help me a lot in here. Drugs, cigs, blades . . . I can take care of myself, just about, but I know I’m being watched so one wrong move . . .
The last time she came she brought chocolate—it’s useful—and the news that you’re due to go home from hospital. When she leaves I return to my cell and think about that. I know your house is back up together because my ma’s read all about it on the Gazette website, so I guess that’s where you’ll be going. I wonder what it’ll be like for you after what happened, if it’ll feel weird or scary, if you’re nervous about it, how strange it’ll feel being in the big bad world again after so much time in hospital.
I picture the house and the times I saw you coming and going, not a conventional grandma, younger and kind of fit I suppose for someone your age. I remember you reminded me of that actress who played Nanny McPhee, not when she was in the film, but in real life. Emma something-or-other, Thompson, I think.
Then I realize you probably don’t look very much like her now and I feel as gutted about that as I have about anything else that’s happened so far.