Читать книгу Brave: How I rebuilt my life after love turned to hate - Adele Bellis, Adele Bellis - Страница 7

For the next 24 hours my mind veered wildly one way and then the other. Sometimes I felt angry when I remembered this wasn’t Anthony’s first stint in prison, a detail that when we’d been lying in bed, a tangle of arms and legs, he’d conveniently forgotten to tell me. It certainly explained why I’d never seen him around before that September when we’d met. And that made me feel angry, especially when I thought back to that conversation as the clock struck 12 on New Year’s Eve – among the fireworks and happiness those eight words from him: ‘I’m not the man you think I am.’ Was this what he meant?

My phone didn’t stop that day, not once word had got round about the fight. Apparently Anthony had broken the guy’s arm and his jaw, though of course Chinese whispers over the weekend exaggerated his injuries more and more. But everybody thought that the only person who really knew was me, and so that’s why they were calling and texting. It was big news among our crowd, and I was at the centre of it, which, I’ll admit, at 16 felt exciting.

What’s happened to Anthony?

Heard Anthony’s in jail. U ok, hun? x

And yet the irony was I felt completely in the dark. After all, it turned out I didn’t really know my boyfriend at all. And that made the anger boil and bubble inside.

In the next moment, though, I felt overwhelmingly sorry for him. I closed my eyes and all I could picture was that tattoo on his right arm, that tribute to his dead mum. Who wouldn’t flip if someone said something about her? Someone he’d loved so much that he chose to carry her in black ink at his side always. Wouldn’t anyone do the same?

‘You can’t wait for him, Adele,’ Mum said. ‘You don’t want to get mixed up in all that, you’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you.’

Dad glanced up from the TV. ‘Your mum said she knew something wasn’t right about him,’ he offered.

But I heard myself saying a spiel that would become so familiar to me over the coming days and weeks, it was me defending him, it was me telling everyone that they didn’t know him like me. ‘Imagine if your mum had died, wouldn’t you flip if someone was slagging her off?’ I asked whoever would listen.

And what could people say? Although deep down, maybe it wasn’t about what they thought, maybe it was me convincing myself.

But despite everything, I missed him. That weekend I felt so cold and alone in my bed at night. I wanted to be able to turn over and snuggle into his arms, or reach out and feel the warmth of him. I wanted us to wake up and giggle about something silly that had happened the night before, or to beg him to fetch me a cup of tea in the morning before I’d even properly opened my eyes.

I missed him so much that on Monday morning I woke up and decided that I would go to court and see him. Not that I told Mum. I got dressed for college that day in my black tunic with the diamante collar so I wouldn’t rouse any suspicions, then I called in sick and headed to Lowestoft Combined Court. The building with its long, sloping brown roof and green tinted windows felt so alien and imposing to me, I’d never even been inside a court before. A week ago I was enjoying the first flushes of a new relationship – my first proper relationship – and now I was here, and somewhere inside that building my boyfriend was behind bars.

I passed through the entrance doors and security checks and towards the courtroom where Anthony’s hearing was going to take place. There, outside, I recognised some of his family: his dad, his stepmum, his aunties and even a cousin. And then it twisted inside me again, ever so faintly, that feeling of anger towards Anthony. I shouldn’t be meeting his extended family for the first time like this. He should be here with me, introducing me to people. It was his fault that I was having to go through this, it wasn’t meant to be like this. But then again, a few minutes later, as we filed silently into court and I saw him standing there inside the glass-panelled dock, I felt the familiarity of him pull at my insides, I wanted to be inside those arms, not trapped away from them in the public gallery.

He looked over, blowing me a kiss, but my nerves only offered him a tight smile and a wave in return.

The hearing began, though I couldn’t understand much of what the lawyers were saying. It all felt so foreign to me, and Anthony hardly spoke, only to confirm his name and his address. Before I knew it, though, it was over, and they were taking him out of the door at the back of the dock.

‘Where are they taking him?’ I quickly asked his dad.

‘Back to prison,’ he sighed. ‘He’s got to serve the rest of his previous sentence.’

‘What? How long is that?’ I said, panicked.

‘Seven months.’

And then the world started to spin. Seven months? Seven months of not seeing Anthony?

I left the court in a daze, texting my friends as tears blurred the screen in my hand.

Anthony’s got seven months :-( xx

At home, Mum dried my tears.

‘You can’t wait on him, Adele,’ she said. ‘Don’t waste your life on him.’

‘But I really like him, Mum.’

She sighed.

‘Well, if he likes you, when he comes out you can be together.’

But what about the promise I’d made to him? And anyway, I wanted to wait for him. Anthony had changed my life, I could be myself with him. For months I’d tried to pretend that I was happy just to be friends with benefits, but now I didn’t have to act, now I didn’t have to try and be someone else, someone who was cool only to meet up for sex, because I liked being ‘Anthony’s girlfriend’, I liked other people knowing I was ‘Anthony’s girlfriend’. That made me feel special, he made me feel special, and attractive, and wanted, and important, and … well, someone. Each day when he’d been there waiting for me to come out of college, I’d felt all of those things as my friends watched me leave hand-in-hand with him. My boyfriend, my Anthony, someone everyone had heard of, and that in itself made me feel like someone. I would wait six months to feel like that again if I had to, I vowed to myself.

Anthony rang me that afternoon.

‘Seven months, Anthony!’ I cried to him.

‘Don’t worry, babe,’ he said. ‘I’m going to appeal, I’ll be out in a few weeks.’

He sounded so confident, I knew I had no reason to doubt him.

‘It’ll be fine. Just promise you’ll wait for me.’

‘Of course I will,’ I said, as tears ran down my cheeks.

But Mum was right: at 16, seven months felt like a lifetime.

A few nights later a number came up on my phone that I didn’t recognise. It was a mobile number.

‘Hello?’

‘Adele, it’s me!’

‘Anthony!’

Somehow, despite being in prison, he’d managed to get hold of a mobile phone.

‘Are you allowed to have them?’ I asked.

‘No!’ he said. ‘I’ve got to make sure they don’t catch me.’

‘But then how –’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘It happens here, they throw them over the fence. As long as no one finds out you’re fine.’

I sighed. What did I know about prison life? Having a boyfriend in jail was all new to me, and now I was so worried about Anthony getting in even more trouble if he got caught. But I couldn’t deny the other part of me that was just so excited to pick up the phone and hear his voice. A phone call that wouldn’t be cut short by the beeps down the prison line.

‘We can text each other whenever we want now,’ he said. ‘We can speak every evening. I did this for you, Adele, because I can’t stand being away from you.’

And although I hated the idea of him taking risks, my heart swelled with flattery.

‘Oh Anthony, I miss you so much.’

We chatted for two hours, it was amazing, like he wasn’t even stuck away in prison, locked up each night, but like he was just around the corner at his dad’s or at Scotty’s. I knew he was risking everything just to be able to talk to me, but it felt worth it because suddenly I didn’t feel so alone any more. I’d got used to having him around, of seeing his face, of him being there when I came out of college, or to take me for lunch, and even though it hadn’t even been a week I missed him so much. But this, this made all the difference.

Most week nights I’d finish college and go straight home rather than to Amie’s or Rachel’s house. I’d stay in, doing my beauty coursework, my phone next to me as I wrote up my assignments, waiting for the moment when he’d call and I could lie back on my bed and speak to the man I loved, locked up in a cell 30 miles away from me in Norwich Prison.

When it came to the weekends, I’d douse myself in Calvin Klein perfume, I’d slick on lipstick and fake eyelashes, but as I stared at my reflection, all glammed up ready to go out, I’d sigh. It didn’t feel right without Anthony. A text on my phone would shake me out of my sigh.

Just got on the bus x

Amie.

My cue to leave the house. I’d grab my bag and most importantly my phone, and I’d head out the door.

I did still enjoy going out with the girls, but I always kept one eye on my phone in case Anthony called. Once he did, I’d leave them in the pub and stand outside, even if it was raining, just for the chance to talk to him. Outside with the smokers, I might spot one of Anthony’s mates, and before I had a chance to stop them they’d grab the phone off me.

‘Riley! All right mate?’ one would say, sucking on a cigarette and wandering a few feet away with my phone.

I felt good that even from this pub, and him locked away in that cell, he could still chat to his friends. I thought he’d be buzzing when they finally handed the phone back to me, but the irritation in his voice was instant.

‘Are you talking to boys out there?’ he’d say.

‘No!’ I promised him. ‘I’m out with the girls, and I just saw your mates and thought you’d want to say hello –’

‘I don’t want you talking to boys. I don’t even know why you’re out when I’m stuck in here.’

‘Anthony, I –’

But then the phone went dead, and so too then did the rest of my night. I spent the little time we had left before drinking-up time trying to call him back, or text him, but he never answered.

‘I’m gonna go home,’ I told the girls.

‘Oh Adele, don’t go, stay out with us.’

But it didn’t feel right any more, and if I’m honest the guilt was starting to bite at my insides. In the taxi home alone, my finger repeatedly dialled Anthony’s mobile without luck. He’d obviously switched his phone off. But each time I tried to call, it just hit me more – him locked up there, us all out in our usual haunts, was it any wonder that he found it hard to listen to us having fun? I got home and took my make-up off, slipping into my bed, tucked up in my cosy duvet, the last of the night out still ringing in my ears. Here I was, free to come and go, while he was having to sleep in his cell. I would try harder to make it easier for him to be away, there must be more that I could do. I couldn’t stand the thought of upsetting him, or us arguing, or me feeling like this when I couldn’t get hold of him. I wouldn’t be able to live like this for the next seven months, neither of us could …

The following morning, I was so relieved to wake up to a text from him.

Morning baby, sorry about last night, it’s just hard being locked up when I want to be out there with you x

As I lay in my bed, reading over all our old texts, my stomach fizzing at the thought of him, I felt on top of the world that everything was OK again. When it was just the two of us – me in my bedroom, him in his cell – he wasn’t annoyed with me, he wasn’t short-tempered. That’s what we needed to hang on to, those were the times that were the most valuable now.

The weeks went by like that. He’d text me to hurry home from my friend’s house so that we could lie in our beds, 30 miles away from each other, and talk about anything we wanted. We both started opening up, our relationship became deeper, more intimate, even though I missed so desperately the feel of his skin against mine. Perhaps because of the distance, and not only despite it, we became closer and closer, and that was worth rushing home for. I told Anthony things about myself, my fears, my worries that I hadn’t told anyone, and he opened up to me about his life, about his family, about his mum.

‘What happened to her, Anthony?’ I asked one night. I obviously knew she’d died, but I had no idea how.

There was silence from the other end of the phone, just for a second, and then a quiet voice said, ‘She committed suicide.’

‘Oh Anthony,’ I said, my heart wanting to reach all the way from Lowestoft to Norwich and wrap him up in my arms.

He told me how his parents had split up and he’d been living up in Scotland with his mum. He’d come down to stay with his dad for the summer holidays, and just before he did, he’d had a massive row with his mum, telling her he was moving to live with his dad.

‘My sister found her …’ he said.

His voice trailed off. I thought of my own mum downstairs watching telly while I chatted on the phone in my room. How on earth I’d feel if one day she just wasn’t there any more in the spot I knew she’d always be.

‘I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,’ I told him.

‘I try not to think about it,’ he said. ‘But it’s why I get angry when I drink because I think of Mum, because I argued with her before she died.’

He told me that his mum had suffered from postnatal depression when he was born, so he’d lived with his aunt until he was three, despite the fact that he had two older sisters and a brother.

‘I’ve never let anyone get close to me before because I always thought they’d let me down,’ he said. ‘Not until you …’

‘I won’t let you down,’ I said.

‘You promised that on New Year’s Eve.’

‘I know, I meant it. We can be happy when you get out, you’ll see.’

When we hung up that night I lay in my bedroom and thought of everything Anthony had been through. I could change him, I was sure of it. I could make him see that not everyone would let him down, not everyone he loved would leave. I’d stick around, I’d prove to him that he was worth hanging around for, and then we’d put all of this behind us, because I knew the real Anthony, the sensitive Anthony, the one that no one else did.

Those stolen phone calls became my life, and the nights out somehow became less important, or at least less important than speaking to Anthony on the phone. I could hear in his voice how much it upset him to ring me and hear that I was out having fun. He didn’t mean to shout, or put the phone down, it was just how he dealt with the unfairness of it all. I understood that. The arguments that followed made the nights out less fun anyway. They weren’t worth it if they were going to upset him and leave us rowing. So as the weeks went by, I just decided to stay in a bit more, give Anthony less to worry about – it became easier that way. It made sense.

Friends would text:

Fancy coming out tonight?

No, Anthony might call. xx

My friends understood. They never pushed me.

He still called me from the prison phone once a day too, so as not to arouse any suspicion that he was speaking to me any other way. He wrote me letters too. I’d come home from college during the tail end of the wet, cold winter, streets lit by lamps at 4 pm, the hope of spring feeling like a million years away, and mum would nod towards the kitchen worktop.

‘Another letter’s arrived for you from the prison,’ she’d say.

And an envelope would be laying there addressed to me with that same familiar handwriting.

A bit of lightness on a dark day.

I’d race up to my bedroom and tear it open, laying back on my bed to take in every detail of it:

I think about you all the time. The boy next to me was playing that ‘Sex on Fire’ song the other day and I had to tell him to turn it off because it just reminded me of when I first met you round Scotty’s. It really does hurt how much I miss you and miss all the stuff we used to do. I keep hoping I’ll wake up in the morning and it was all just a big dream and I was at home with you.

I’d hold the letter close and smile. Those were the things that made the days seem brighter, and each one not so long after all. This made the days feel warmer, or made me seek out the blue sky behind the clouds on a drizzly day. And it made the weeks pass much more quickly. At night we’d chat for hours once he was in his cell and no one knew he was on a mobile phone to me, and Anthony was happier, much happier than when he was ringing me and I was out in the pub. So I stopped dousing myself in Calvin Klein perfume and putting on thick black mascara, I was in my pyjamas with a cup of tea, watching Britain’s Got Talent on the sofa with Mum and Dad and waiting for Anthony to call.

‘You not going out tonight, Adele?’ Dad would ask.

‘Nah,’ I’d say. ‘Don’t fancy it.’

And I saw them pass a look between them, because it must have been obvious I was waiting for Anthony to call. Mum had never liked the fact I was out too much anyway – at least this way I was concentrating on my college work; perhaps they just wished it wasn’t to wait for a boy in prison. Not that they said anything to me, I was nearly 17, they knew they couldn’t tell me what to do anyway.

I knew they didn’t want me visiting Anthony in prison, though, that much they’d made clear.

‘We didn’t bring you up like that, Adele,’ Mum had warned me.

At 16 I was never going to be allowed into the prison on my own, I had to be with someone over 18, and Mum and Dad weren’t going to take me, so Anthony arranged that his dad and stepmum would give me a lift.

Two weeks later I found myself squashed into the back of their black Lexus car, alongside the new baby, as we made polite conversation. I’d bought a new outfit especially, some new jeans and a pretty top. I’d spent longer than usual doing my make-up, but when I arrived at those imposing red brick prison gates, I suddenly felt so out of place, so overdressed, so intimidated.

‘Just follow us,’ Anthony’s dad said casually.

The huge gates opened and we were shepherded inside. I looked around at the other people who were waiting, their scruffy clothes, their tattoos, and I wished that I’d worn a little less lip gloss, that the top I was wearing covered me up a little more. They looked me up and down in a way that told me they knew it was my first time, and I shifted uncomfortably inside my jacket. I felt Anthony’s dad’s hand on my shoulder.

‘He’s going to be so thrilled to see you,’ he said.

I managed a smile in return, telling myself as I looked round at the hard black metal of the guns that the prison officers were carrying, at the cold expression that matched each of their faces as they checked one after the other of us off a list, that this was all for Anthony. I scanned the rest of the visitors we were waiting with, my eyes falling on one woman in particular. Unlike me she hadn’t dressed up especially: from the looks of things she hadn’t even put a comb through her hair; she bounced a screaming toddler on her hip, sighing each time we were ushered into a different room as if she were doing nothing more unusual than waiting in line in a supermarket for a particularly slow cashier. I doubted that this would ever become so normalised for me. At least I only had seven months to wait – these women looked like they’d been waiting a lifetime.

We stepped up to a desk and were ticked off a sheet and in exchange for our names we were given a number and herded through the prison gates into a separate room where we handed over our identification and the door was locked behind us. The echo of it rattled around the room, and I tried to still my racing heart, without luck. We were then led into a pen, before the door behind us was locked and then another room unlocked, and then – Anthony’s dad told me – we were finally inside the prison. There we were searched by sniffer dogs, and we walked through an electrical security arch, much like those you see in airports. Once through that we were searched again, the prison officer asking me to slip off my jacket, and standing there, the thin straps of my top exposing my shoulders to the cold, I just wanted to close my eyes and pretend I was anywhere else but there. But then again, I told myself again, this experience, this humiliation, it was all for Anthony.

We went up to another desk and told the officer there who we were seeing. We were given a number for the table we were to sit at and slowly I made my way across the room, my eyes catching sight of the prisoners in their orange and yellow hi-vis bibs already sat with their loved ones, and the guards dotted around the room, one hand on the guns that hung across their chests. And then I heard one of the officers call out Anthony’s name, and before I knew it he was walking over to our table, not in the frightened way I had shuffled in, but striding towards us confidently, like this was home, a smile plastered wide across his face.

‘All right, son,’ his dad said, getting up and giving him a brief pat on his back.

Anthony looked at me. ‘Well, aren’t you going to give me a hug, baby?’

I glanced around at the prison officers.

‘It’s OK,’ Anthony laughed. ‘I won’t bite!’

And he and his dad laughed. ‘She’s had that same look on her since we got here,’ his dad told him. I shuffled in my seat, realising that the fear I felt inside must have found its way onto my face that whole time.

‘That’s OK, baby,’ Anthony said. ‘Nice girl like you doesn’t belong somewhere like here.’

I felt my chest swell then because Anthony understood me; he knew what I was thinking all along. I got up and put my arms around him, keeping my eye on the guards the whole time.

I was excited to see Anthony. I’d missed the feel of him so much, but not like this. While Anthony chatted to his dad, I looked around the room, spotting the woman and the toddler I’d seen earlier. She was arguing with the man I presumed was her husband while their little boy played at their feet.

After about 20 minutes, Anthony’s dad left. I got up to go with him, but he signalled for me to stay.

‘I’ll get off, leave you two lovebirds in peace.’

‘All right Dad, see ya,’ Anthony said, as his dad explained where he’d be waiting for me outside.

I nodded, and once he’d gone, when it was just me and Anthony for the first time, and it was only his eyes I had to focus on, I felt myself relax just a little.

‘You look gorgeous, babe,’ he said.

I looked around the room and felt myself blush.

‘Hey, don’t worry about them, look at me,’ Anthony said.

And finally sitting there, just inches away from my man, holding hands across the table and within our grasp everything that was precious about our relationship, I tried so hard to forget everything else around me. This may not have been how I had imagined the beginning of our relationship, but something inside told me – just like the woman and the screaming toddler – that it was something I was just going to have to get used to.

If I was honest, I never enjoyed those visits. I knew every time I went that my mum was right, I wasn’t brought up to be visiting a boyfriend in prison. But I did it for Anthony, just like I made sure I was home after college by 8 pm so that he could call me, just like I stopped going out because I couldn’t bear the endless questions the next day, or upsetting him and causing him to be in a mood if I did.

My seventeenth birthday came and went with a card from Anthony from prison – not exactly how I’d been planning on spending it, but over the last couple of months I’d learnt to rely on phone calls in place of hugs, and letters in place of meals out with my boyfriend.

Despite the distance, we got to know each other better with every phone call. There were still arguments, just like with any relationship, if I was at one of the girls’ houses when he called, instead of being at home like I said I would be, or if I had a rare night out because it was someone’s birthday. But the most important thing was we got over them, that I understood because of Anthony’s past why he was the way he was, that he was insecure, that he thought just like everyone else that I wouldn’t stick around for him. But I was proving to Anthony every single day that I meant what I said on New Year’s Eve, and it was paying off.

He’d been in prison for three months when we were chatting one evening after lights out.

‘I really love you, Adele,’ he said suddenly.

‘What?’

‘I love you. No one else would have waited for me like you have.’

‘Of course I’m waiting, Anthony. I said I would.’

‘And that’s why I love you.’

I put the phone down and was feeling all fuzzy inside, safer somehow as I wrapped my duvet up around me and drifted off to sleep, because that was the first time Anthony had said he loved me, and I realised then that I loved him too.

After that, though, time seemed to pass differently, somehow faster and slower at the same time. The letters that Anthony sent me kept me going as tiny new green leaves slowly unfurled themselves on branches that had been stripped bare by the cold, dark months, as the light started to bleed into every afternoon, and winter finally turned to spring …

I’m in a mess babe, I need you, I wouldn’t know what to do without you, you’re my world. You’re the love of my life, my one and true love, I’ll never ever feel this way about anyone again. I really really hope and wish I don’t lose you, please please please don’t be going out all the time, I don’t want nothing at all coming in between us. I know I moan and shout and get pissed off it’s only cos I love you so much, the last three months and for however long I’ve known you, you’re all I’ve dreamed about and thought and wished for. We’ve been through the wars so far but we are standing strong, damn we love each other, that’s not something we’re going to find with anyone else. You’re definitely my one in a million, nah you’re my one in a trillion …

Baby, it’s now 8.30 was speaking to you earlier. I’m so so so in love with you its unbelievable, I’m so happy we’re gonna be all right. Time would be so hard without you cos whenever I’m pissed off or finding it hard I think of you and I smile. You’ve got that charm on me, I just think of your cheeky smile and everything seems to be better. We’re gonna be ok aren’t we? You do love me, don’t you, cheeky? Yeh, good girl. LOL. I love you so so much, 100 per cent, no 1000 per cent. LOL. You’re going to be mine forever ain’t you? You’re gonna be my wife and we’re going to have lots of little Rileys aint we? Too far LOL, nah I’m just dreaming. We’ll definitely have little Rileys I’m sure of it. I can’t wait to have a family with you. Babe, I’m in a mess, can’t stop thinking of you, you’ve been on my mind constantly today, words can’t describe how much I love you.

The daffodils pushed their way out of the earth, blooming bright yellow before dropping their heads, and returning to the soil, and making way for the summer flowers that shot up in bright bursts of red and gold and blue. And Anthony’s letters kept on coming, shining more brightly in my life than any sunny day that the new season had to offer, my reward for waiting for him.

Hey babe, well, what a visit, made me happy, you’re so beautiful, I’m glad you chose to wait on me. I’m so happy that we sorted everything out, I do trust you and believe you. When you promised not to go out made me realise you really do love me so you made me the happiest boy ever :-) least now my head ain’t gonna be fucked up :-)

I promise you as well if you stick to your side of the deal I won’t moan anymore cos I really want us to work. Seeing you today just made me realise even more how much you mean to me, so please don’t ruin it, it’s all in your hands, especially tomorrow when England play. You promised me in the letter and to my face, you let me down I swear on my mum’s grave I will never go back to you if you do choose the pub over me, how could I forgive you, you wouldn’t if it was me. But I know it ain’t gonna come to that cos I know you love me and I’m lucky to have your support. Fuck, I need it cos this time is really killing me but won’t for that long cos I’m out this year so hey, we will be back together soon, stronger than ever, if you do stand by me without going to pubs and that I will owe you the world anyways. Love you in the morning, at night, all the while, big time, millions, billions, trillions, forever and ever.

But just like with any couple we had our ups and downs. We both made mistakes. Mine always seemed to be when I had a rare night out with my friends. The next day Anthony would be really fuming.

‘I’ve already heard from my friends,’ he spat down the phone. ‘They said you were talking to boys, they saw you, Adele.’

Anthony, I –’

‘Don’t lie to me, do you think I don’t believe my mates? Why else would they tell me?’

It didn’t matter how many times I told him that I wasn’t, that they were making it up, that I didn’t so much as look at another boy, whatever they said got stuck in Anthony’s head, and he’d lose it.

‘I can’t deal with this, Adele. Me stuck in here and you out there talking to boys. I asked you not to go out, you promised. I can’t do this any more …’

He’d dump me and hang up, and I’d pad downstairs in my slippers, hot, salty tears coursing down my cheeks, and Mum’s arms to wrap me up down in the kitchen.

‘It would be impossible for anyone to make a relationship like this work,’ she’d say. ‘You’re too young for all this.’

But I’d tell her, all relationships have their ups and downs.

Well, this is a hard and awkward one, I started, well tried to start, writing this loads of times since I came off the phone to you, simply because I can’t find the words. But now I had time to think about it I was right to end it now cause I told you what would happen when I lost the game and within four days it’s started. It’s all right you saying nah I’m not going out again til Christmas and all this but how many times you said this to me? And it’s all right you saying you can trust me but no matter what or how strong anyone’s relationship is when they are in jail it always casts that little bit of doubt, and the states you get yourself in it only takes one stupid little mistake and it would not only break us I would end up hating you and I don’t want that.

Those letters were the hardest to read, but it never really mattered by then because usually Anthony would have rung me before the letter arrived.

‘I miss you, baby, I can’t live without you.’

And we’d be back together again. This became our pattern, the drama of the outside world recreated in our long-distance relationship.

Most of our memories were brilliant weren’t they? It is the memories of getting to know you that I will never forget, we had some good convos even some of the little weird ones about the past … when we use to cuddle in the middle of my room for ages … when we was meeting up and every weekend we used to wake up and go ‘not you again!’ but really I liked waking up to you :-) Just stupid little things like meeting up from college, emotional little kisses in bed, cuddling up to you at night … you are a unique beautiful one of a kind girl and anyone is lucky to have you and I am happy I really got to know you and I’m happy you were my first love and the first girl I opened up to, I feel like I can say anything to you, Cheeky …

And another …

All the times we had good/bad were the best time I had with any girl, I loved it all just didn’t have the balls to tell you when I was out there, I had to act like hard Riley. I knew I liked you for ages, I loved all the times we met up, I used to pretend I wasnt falling for you, Scotty and Glen was saying I was cos everytime Scotty didn’t really wanna meet yous but I would talk him round. I dunno what it was about you, I just wanted to see you all the time, wasn’t just about the sex, there was something that made me feel weird and I liked it, that’s why I was so gutted about Bruce :-( but that made me realise you was right for me and I had to get you and cut my shit out too and I did :-) thats why I kept saying you came from nowhere and stole my heart cos you took it soon as I met you that night outside the pub. The first night I slept with you at Scotty’s must have done something cos I didn’t want anyone after that, the people I got with after that it didn’t feel the same, I didn’t want it.

The seasons kept on changing, the heat of the summer faded after it had burnt the leaves on the trees into golds and browns, and still Anthony was locked away from me. He kept writing to me saying that it would be just a few more weeks, a few more weeks, but in the end I knew that it was nothing more than wishful thinking on his part. Why else would he say it?

Before long the wind had stolen the last of the leaves from the branches and Christmas lights were starting to twinkle on plastic trees tucked away behind cosy living-room windows. The letters kept on coming, some declaring Anthony’s love for me, others planning what we’d do when we got out. He’d write about how we’d get a flat together and those little fantasies were what I hung on for. Others were written when he’d finished with me before taking it all back, but the ones that really broke my heart were the ones that revealed just a little more about what Anthony had been through. More than anything else, they were the ones that made me determined to stick around.

Trust me Adele, when I was 13/14 that’s when my world changed, up until then I got bullied cos I was fat but soon as I realised I could fight I put it to use, found the gang, started drinking … then in no time everyone was talking about the Riley boy. (LOL) Thats where it went wrong, it got to my head, I thought I was the daddy when I was 14. I nearly killed one of the biggest drug dealers in our area’s boys with a hatchet. I only got community service and a five year suspended sentence for that, but got sent down here thank god cos most of the boys up there are dead or doing life sentences …

What a life he had before me. No wonder he was so determined to hang on to what we have.

I’ve got so much to say sorry for but I’m fed up saying sorry, it’s not even about that anymore. I should not have fucked your head up, I didn’t mean it, it was my sentences, I should not have allowed you to do it with me, that was unfair. I should have known this would have fucked us up, I’ve been in jail that long … I’ve seen loads of my boys crumble cos of rumours about their girlfriend while they were in jail. It wasn’t good, people don’t know how much jail affects people, how stuff gets in their heads, they think it’s fun and games but it’s hard and yes it’s our faults and we shouldn’t expect them to wait for us but with us it felt different, I couldn’t let go, no matter how much it hurt. I should have been stronger but proves I aint as hard as people think.

We made it through 11 months like that. I’d waited that long, and finally, just before Christmas, it was about to pay off because Anthony was up for parole. And then I got the phone call from him to tell me that – once again – he’d been turned down. He was staying inside for the rest of his sentence which was another two years. Two years of my life like this, after I’d already waited this long.

‘I’m so sorry, Adele,’ Anthony kept saying, sobbing down the phone, and what could I say to him then?

‘What am I going to do with myself now?’ was all I could manage.

‘You’ve got to move on, forget about me.’

Could I? But then I had no idea if I could keep waiting, and the alternative was breaking his heart and mine by ending our relationship. But how could I carry on like this? I was 17 years old, maybe Mum had been right. I thought back to the woman bouncing a toddler on her hip, how she’d looked so at home in that prison. Was that really going to be me after all?

Soz I hung up earlier, I didn’t know what to do with myself, I’m in a mess. I can’t listen to you cry, it’s too emotional. I’m heartbroken, Adele, I’m not even gonna lie, I feel lost, nothing feels real.

There is so much I wanna say to you but I honestly can’t find the words, I’m speechless. Nothing makes sense at the moment, my life is just one big mess, god knows where to start or how to start rebuilding it. I got 25 months to think about that one, my release date at the moment is 28th January 2012.

Earlier you said what are you supposed to do with yourself now, I can’t answer that one for you Adele, but I can say you are much better off without me I’m just a pure fuck up you could do much better than some prison boy, you’re a beautiful girl, hard to understand (LOL) nah, seriously, though babe you are the love of my life. I fell for you hard, I’m devastated this happened, you are my world, prison time don’t bother me one bit, I’m used to it, the thing that knocked me back, took the breath away from me, is breaking your heart, telling you to move on cos it’s not what I want one bit. I fucking love you more than I can say, I wish I could keep you forever, but that’s wrong, the right thing is to let you go. I can’t fuck up your life anymore than I already have, you deserve so much better … I’m so so sorry babe and wish you all the luck in the world.

But I didn’t leave him, of course I didn’t. Instead he sent me a Christmas card from prison, and we started the new year apart.

Well not over a year yet babe, but near a year – a year next week so by the time you get this (28th jan). But you’re right, I am your man. Yeh, I know baby we have both got fucked up heads, mainly my fault sorry. All we can do now is give it the best shot, and if we still fuck up it just means we ain’t ready … but it won’t come to that cos we are a good couple and I love you very very much.

And what do you mean ‘mmm, one day maybe Mrs Adele Hillary Riley??’ You will be Mrs Riley one day. I usually get what I want and you are the only girl I want so you’re fucked (LOL) may as well admit it babe :-)

March came around and so too did my eighteenth birthday. Anthony sent me a card from prison, but he knew I wanted to go out to celebrate it. I got dressed up and went out with my friends around town. It felt good to be out, to feel the alcohol rushing through my veins, making me feel all warm and light-headed inside.

I forgot to check my phone, I missed the calls, and the messages from Anthony.

Where are you? xx

Why aren’t you answering me? xx

You better not be talking to boys!

For a moment the alcohol took me away, it made me forget that I hadn’t snuggled up in bed with my boyfriend in more than a year, that I didn’t know the next time I would be able to do that. I was now 18 years old, an adult, I could do what I wanted – well, everything except be with the man I loved.

I got drunk that night, so drunk that my head was spinning by the time we got to the nightclub, my feet unable to find the floor so easily any more.

‘You’re not coming in,’ the bouncer said.

‘But it’s my birthday,’ I slurred back.

But he shook his head. ‘You’re too drunk.’

I was back home and tucked up in bed before midnight on my eighteenth birthday. I rang Anthony and he couldn’t stop laughing.

‘You couldn’t even get into a club on your eighteenth birthday!’ he laughed. ‘What a baby!’

And shame burned at my cheeks, not so much because of what had happened – maybe I was far too drunk to enjoy the club anyway – but because in his voice I knew he was happy that my night had been ruined: he didn’t want me out celebrating my birthday, he didn’t want me doing anything without him.