But I still haven’t been able to tell him about Joe’s final confession. How Carla didn’t hire him. How Joe pulled out the knife that made Ed bleed to death. I suspect that Ross would tell me I had a moral responsibility to report that, whatever the consequences.
When I feel in need of justifying myself (something which happens quite a lot), I remind myself of that piece of advice I was given by one of my tutors at law school. ‘Believe it or not, some criminals will get away with it. Some will go to prison for crimes they didn’t commit. And a certain percentage of those “innocents” will have got away with other offences before. So you could say it balances out in the end.’
Maybe she was right. Joe should have gone to prison for Sarah. Instead he’s there for Carla and Ed. Carla shouldn’t have been fully blamed for Ed’s death. Perhaps her sentence is her punishment for murdering my marriage. For wanting something that wasn’t hers to take.
Anyway, Carla’s sentence might be life. But as her lawyer quite rightly pointed out, it doesn’t mean that nowadays. She’ll be out before she’s old.
Yet my own sentence will stay with me until the day I die. Because that’s the kind of person I am. Someone who wants to be good but hasn’t always made it.
‘Ready?’ asks Ross. Gallantly, he sweeps me up into his arms, to carry me over the doorstep of the barn conversion which Mum and Dad have just had done in their grounds to give us some privacy.
As everyone throws confetti and shouts out good wishes, I silently vow that with Ross’s help, my life will be different from now on.
‘I love you,’ he says before gently bringing his lips down on mine.
I love him too. Yet strangely, part of me still misses Ed. It’s the little things that I remember. Ed liked his tea weak, with a quick dunk of the teabag. He knew I liked my Rice Krispies without milk. Small nuggets of understanding like this, built up over the years, create an inescapable bond.
And then, of course, we shared Tom. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t take a paternity test because I wasn’t sure if I could cope with the results. Rightly or wrongly, it’s easier for me not to know if my beloved son is Ed’s or Joe’s.
The fact is that Ed brought up Tom as though he was his (even though he had no reason to believe otherwise). And now Ross has promised to do the same. ‘I will always be there for him, Lily. And for you.’
I know. I don’t deserve him. At least, my dark side doesn’t. Yet maybe we all have layers of good and bad inside us. Of truth and deceit.
Now as Ross and I prepare to slice the wedding cake with all our friends and family around and Tom by my side, I know one thing for certain.
I’m no longer Mrs Ed Macdonald.
I’m my new husband’s wife.
For better.
Or for worse.
Author’s Note
It was my first day at work. I had butterflies pounding in my stomach. And no wonder. As I stared up at rolls of barbed wire on top of a high concrete wall, I felt sick with nerves. What on earth was I doing here? Had I been crazy to apply for – and get – a job at a high-security male prison? How was I going to cope for two days a week in the company of criminals, some of whom were psychopaths? Would I be safe?
Until that day, I had always thought prisons were for other people who had done horrible things. The idea of being in one – either as an offender or a member of staff – was not something I’d ever entertained. But after my first marriage ended, I spotted an ad for the position of writer-in-residence at a certain HMP near my old home. It coincided with the ending of a ten-year column which I had been writing for a weekly woman’s magazine. (The editor had left and new changes were being made.) I needed to do something else. This was the only job I could find.
During my time ‘Inside’, I discovered a world which I could not have imagined without actually being there. A world in which no one was quite who they seemed. A world which I grew to adjust to. Even get addicted to and – dare I say it – enjoy. But all the time, there was a hidden undercurrent of fear and unknown.
In prison, I learned that there were countless contradictions. There was laughter. Yet there were also tears. There was kindness. And there was anger. I made some great friends there with staff but a handful were, understandably, suspicious of a ‘do-good’ writer. One day, I was suspected of smuggling in crisps to ‘bribe’ the prisoners. I was subsequently searched and found to possess one packet of cheese and onion – for personal use. I complained and no one ever questioned my lunch box again!
I also found that trust has to be earned even though this might involve taking risks. For instance, there were no prison officers present when I ran workshops or even one-to-ones. One day, I found myself without a room. The men suggested I ran the class upstairs, near their bedrooms. This wasn’t usually allowed but on that day, the staff gave me permission to do so ‘if I wanted’. Consequently I was in a tricky position. If something happened to me, the newspapers would have a field day about a writer who put herself in an awkward situation. But if I refused, my men would think I didn’t trust them. I went upstairs, my heart in my mouth … and everything was fine. Indeed, on the whole, the men treated me with great courtesy and found huge satisfaction in writing life stories, novels, short stories and poetry. All this, I was told, can increase self-esteem which, in turn, reduces the risk of re-offending.
Yet appearances can be deceptive. Some of my students were ‘shipped out’ overnight (moved to another prison) if they did something wrong such as possessing drugs or mobile phones. Men could hurt each other (one inmate murdered another when I was there). And I also heard the odd rumour of past relationships between employees and prisoners.
When I first started, I thought I’d want to know what crimes my men had committed. Then I found out that, in accordance with prison lore, it’s not ‘done’ to ask. Yet sometimes my students wanted to tell me. One confessed he was a rapist. Another a murderer. How I wish they’d stayed silent. Far better to see them simply as men who wanted to write. After all, words are a great leveller.
All this – and more – inspired me to write My Husband’s Wife.
I hope you have enjoyed reading it.
Reading Group Questions
What does the prologue bring to your reading experience? Did you go back and reinterpret it once you reached the end of the novel?
What effect does having Lily’s chapters written in the first person and Carla’s in the third person have on the way you perceive them as characters?
How much did you identify with Lily at the beginning of the novel? And did your feelings towards her change by the end?
Do you think it is important to tell the truth in a relationship, or are some small white lies permissible?
Despite being in prison for his crimes, Joe never seems to experience guilt. What do you think a prison’s function is: rehabilitation or punishment?
The author plays a lot with the idea of ‘innocence’ versus ‘knowing’ in her young protagonist, Carla. How much do you think a child is responsible for his/her actions?
Lily and Carla both have early experiences – Lily with Daniel and Carla with her mother – that change their personalities dramatically. How far do you think we are formed by our experiences?
In the first half of the novel, the author brings to life Carla’s childhood, which in turn creates a context for the crime she will commit in the future. Why do you think the author decided to construct the novel in this way?
In the first half of the novel, Lily’s work often causes a barrier between her and Ed, as well as the secrets she keeps from him. Do you think the breakdown of their marriage is her fault?
Money plays an important role in this novel – or rather the lack of it. Do you think if Carla’s family had been rich that her story would have had such a calamitous ending?