Forty-nine. Jude

'Hello, Jude.'

When they told me I had a visitor, I half hoped it'd be Mum. But whilst part of me was glad to see her, another stronger part of me really wished she hadn't come. By visiting me, her card would be marked. From now on, if anything happened within a two-hundred-kilometre-odd radius which had even the slightest sniff of the L.M., the cops would go knocking on Mum's door. I'd warned her of that when I phoned her but she said it didn't matter.

Maybe she didn't understand? Or maybe she just didn't care? I looked around the interview room, more to delay the moment of looking directly at my mum than for any other reason. This was my second interview room today. I studied all four corners of the room until there was nothing left to study. Until I had no choice but to turn and face my mum. I could handle most things, but not the pain in Mum's eyes as she looked at me. Pain and that look of déjà vu. How many times had she been in this position before?

'How are you? They treating you OK?'

'Fine, Mum. I'm fine.'

I glanced round. Detective Zork stood by the door, ear-wigging every word. Nosy git!

'Can I bring you anything?'

'No, Mum.'

'Can I do anything for you?'

'No, Mum.'

'What about a lawyer? Have you got one yet?'

'I'm going to get one,' I told her with a forced smile.

Mum glanced down at the table between us. When she looked up again, there was a sheen to her eyes. I looked away from her tears. They couldn't save me now.

'That girl . . . Cara Imega . . . did you know her?'

I shrugged before lowering my voice. 'Yes, Mum. I knew her.'

'Did you do the things they're saying you did?'

How to answer that?

What things are they saying I did?

Why 'things' – plural?

What are they saying?

Who are 'they'?

'Mum, I didn't kill anyone.' I looked Mum straight in the eyes as I said that. Here was the one and only person in the world who kept a corner of her mind open to the fact that I might actually be innocent. At least she'd asked me. No one else had done that. So how could I snuff out the last bit of hope she had? 'I didn't do it, Mum.'

I turned to look at the copper by the door. He regarded me with a mocking half-smile. The look on his face said he'd heard it all before. If there'd been just the two of us in the room, I wouldn't've looked away first. But I had more important things on my mind. Mum sighed wearily as I turned back to her. She tried to smile at me but all it did was twist her mouth as she tried not to cry.

'It's OK, Mum.'

'I don't know what to do.' Mum's voice wavered as she spoke. 'I have to get you out of here.'

'Mum, you don't have to worry. I've got it covered,' I lied. 'A friend of mine is going to get me a lawyer. They'll never be able to convict me 'cause I didn't do it.'

'Well, why do they think you did?'

'I don't know.' I shook my head. 'They won't tell me anything, Mum. They keep saying they've got a mountain of evidence against me but they won't say what it is.'

Mum leaned forward to take both of my hands in hers. Her palm were cool and dry and rough all at the same time. I closed my hands around hers.

'No touching,' said Zork immediately. He moved forward to examine both of our hands, to make sure Mum hadn't slipped something to me or vice versa. I glared at him as he backed off to lean against the wall by the door.

'I'll find out exactly what they think they have against you,' said Mum.

'How?'

'Never you mind. I'll do it though. D'you trust me?'

'Yes, I do.' I smiled.

'Time's up,' Zork piped up. 'Back to your cell now, McGregor.'

Wasn't he fed up with saying that?

I stood up. 'Don't worry, Mum. I won't go down for this. I didn't do it.'

Mum burst into tears. She quickly wiped her eyes and tried to stop herself from sobbing but it did no good. I tried to get back to her, to comfort her in some way but Zork took my arm and dragged at me, trying to dislocate my shoulder by the feel of it. I tried for one last smile at Mum before I turned and allowed myself to be pulled out of the room. Only then did my smile disappear as if it'd never been.

Sorry, Mum.

But what else could I say? What else could I do? I need you and your belief in the good in me. Sometimes, I dream of that night and it's almost like I'm watching another person in that room with Cara. Like I'm standing back, frozen silent, frozen still, and all I can do is stare. At first I watch Cara, cowering. Afraid. And I tell myself not to look at her. It takes every gram of strength I have to look away. But my gaze always moves to the person hitting her. That person is always me. And then it's like I'm not watching any more, but I've snapped back into my own body. And I'm no longer an observer, I'm the perpetrator. Try as I might, I can't stop hitting out. Lashing out. Smashing out. But the person I'm hammering is no longer Cara. It's me.

Mum, it's funny, but I can't stop thinking of one of the stories you told me and Lynette and Callum many lifetimes ago. A story about a man who goes to hell and who's told by the Devil that there's only one way out. One chance. Just one. Well, Mum, you're my one and only chance. You see, I'll never get out of hell if there's not even you left to pray for me.