Chapter 23
The majority of my spare time was spent reading Carole's diaries. I tried to put myself in her shoes.
She was missing Anthony immensely as he worked away during the week and spent most of the weekend resting and preparing for the working week ahead. He phoned her most nights from wherever he was in the country, but it appeared Carole spent most of the conversations lying to him about the evil acts Dominic had supposedly been committing. Was she saying these things for sympathy, or was she hoping Anthony would race home and promise to look for a job locally? From Anthony's point of view, it was understandable why he continued to work away so much.
In the middle of all this was poor Dominic. His mother's lies isolated him. He was ostracised and prescribed a drug that altered his state of mind. If Carole's illness had been detected, maybe Stephanie White would still be alive today.
It upset me to think of the twenty-year anguish Barbara and Harry had been forced to endure. They were victims of Carole's behaviour, just like Dominic was. As much as it would upset the Whites, Dominic deserved to be released.
I couldn't put it off any longer. The visiting order Dominic had sent me was still on the coffee table. I kept looking at it, my mind constantly changing between using it and tearing it up. In the end, I decided to use it. Clare Delaney had emailed me several times, asking if I was visiting and if I wanted her to give me a lift to the prison. I knew it was all for show. She didn't care about bringing a father and his long-lost daughter together; she was just thinking of how it would look in the papers and how much weight it would give to her case against Maxton-Schwarz. However, I no longer had transport, I couldn't ask my mum to drive me, and Cruella de Vil had that gorgeous car… Why not use her like she was using me?
Friday soon came around, and the drive to the prison took less than an hour. I was loving the smooth ride and soon relaxed in the huge Range Rover. It smelled of newness, and I was very impressed by the touch screen controls, the heated leather seats and the purr of the engine. I wondered how much a car like this would cost – probably more than my flat.
‘Are you nervous?' Clare asked, once we'd left Gateshead and were on the A1.
‘I am. I'm not sure what to expect. The only photos I've seen of him were taken twenty years ago.'
‘He's certainly changed since then. Prison does that to a person.'
‘Is he looking forward to being released?'
Clare thought for a moment. ‘He's apprehensive. Twenty years is a long time to be locked up. The world has changed. It'll take some getting used to. He's looking forward to reconnecting with his family,' she said, with a smile.
‘There's only me. I don't think his father is too keen on having him back in his life.'
‘He's absolutely thrilled about meeting you.'
‘Really?' I could feel a smile spread across my face.
‘You've given him hope, Dawn.'
I took a deep breath. Despite the confident air I tried to project, walking with my head held high, rocking my own sense of style, I was finding the weight of being a stranger's only hope for twenty years a lot to carry. Dominic might not adjust to freedom after two decades. There was evidence that long-term prisoners preferred life locked up, as that was all they knew, and would reoffend just so they could get back inside where it was safe and familiar. What if Dominic did that? What if Dominic killed someone just to get back to his version of normal? I didn't think I would be able to handle that guilt.
I pulled the visor down and examined my appearance. Once again, I had decided against wearing all black. I didn't want to frighten my father by sitting opposite him looking like the offspring of Frankenstein's monster. I was contemplating dyeing my hair a lighter colour, maybe a chocolate brown. The panda eyes I normally spent ages perfecting in front of the mirror were gone, and my lashes were no longer severe. I wore a knee-length black skirt, black tights, and cream shirt. Adding colour to my style was still something I struggled with. When I had stood in front of the full-length mirror that morning, I had thought I looked like a fat pint of Guinness.
‘We're here,' Clare said, pulling into the car park.
I looked out of the window at the imposing building. Behind those walls were men who had committed unlawful acts. They were locked away because they were deemed a menace to society.
Dominic Griffiths had been at HMP Holme House for six months and was gradually being prepared for life in the outside world. He was undergoing counselling and psychological treatment. He was allowed supervised days out to get used to what 2019 was like beyond prison walls. He was being informed of what was expected of him, what his rights were and what benefits he would be entitled to. His release date was looming, and soon, he would be on his own. As I waited outside the visiting room, I wondered how he would be feeling when the day came to take his first steps as a free man.
We were taken into a large room that had tables and chairs uniformly placed. The visitors went in first and sat down. There was a quiet hush while we waited for who we'd come to see. Once everyone was seated, the prisoners were allowed in. It suddenly dawned on me. I was meeting my dad. The day I had longed for my entire life was finally here. I was meeting my father for the very first time. Oh my God! My heart was hammering, my palms were sweating and I had to remind myself to keep breathing.
I watched as the door opened, and men of every age and race entered. Their expressions were downcast and hardened until they saw a friendly face, then they smiled and hurried to greet a family member. I smiled as I watched men wrap their arms around their wives, mothers, fathers, children. It was heartwarming.
‘Here he is,' Clare said, standing up.
I looked up but couldn't see anyone who resembled an older version of the twenty-year-old man I'd seen pictures of. As a man approached, I took in his shorn dark brown hair, his sad brown eyes with the dark circles beneath them. His skin was dull and lifeless. His shoulders were hunched, and his strolling gait was that of a man resigned to a life behind bars. He wore faded blue jeans and a blue sweater that had been through the washing machine far too many times.
Our eyes locked. He looked nervous. I guessed I did too.
‘Dominic, it's lovely to see you again,' Clare said, holding out a hand for him to shake.
I watched. His grip looked light, almost limp. He smiled at his solicitor.
‘Dominic, I'd like you to meet Dawn Shepherd, your daughter. Dawn, this is your father.' The excitement in Clare's voice was palpable. I would have bet everything in my savings account she wished she could have had a film crew present.
Dominic held his hand out towards me. ‘It's lovely to meet you at last,' he said. He spoke in a soft Newcastle accent. He smiled, which softened his features slightly.
Hesitantly, I held out my hand. I was terrified. I took my father's clammy hand in my own and shook it lightly. I had no idea what to say, so I just smiled.
‘Shall we sit down?' Clare said.
We all sat. Dominic was unable to take his eyes from me while I looked over his shoulder at the rest of the room.
‘Clare has told me a great deal about you,' Dominic said.
‘I didn't know Clare knew a great deal about me.' If in doubt, be light-hearted.
‘I've been telling him about your efforts – how you're helping to strengthen his case that he wasn't culpable for the murder, and how you want to be supportive in his life once he is released.'
I had never agreed to help his case for compensation. Nor had I said I would be there for his rehabilitation. I had a life of my own, a career of my own, to concentrate on.
‘Do you think we could chat alone?' I asked, turning to Clare.
‘Oh. Of course. I'll be in the waiting area. I'll be in touch soon, Dominic.' She stood up and took her time walking away from the table.
‘She's quite a forceful woman, isn't she?' Dominic said, once she'd left.
‘That's one word for her.'
‘I really am pleased you've come to see me,' he said, with a smile. ‘I've thought about you often over the years.'
‘I've thought a great deal about who my father could be over the years too.'
‘I'm guessing I've come as a bit of a disappointment.'
‘Well, there were times I wondered if my dad was a famous actor, a member of the royal family or possibly a secret agent, but not once did I imagine he was a murderer.' I was aiming for levity, but it fell flat.
Dominic looked crestfallen and bowed his head.
‘There isn't a day goes by that I don't regret what happened. I should have called the police as soon as I found the body in the shed. I just… I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I thought, if I hid the body and waited until Dad came home, he'd know what to do.'
‘Are you saying, hand on heart, that you didn't murder Stephanie?'
He placed his hand on his heart and looked deep into my eyes. ‘I didn't do it.'
I inhaled deeply. I chewed the inside of my mouth. ‘You weren't at the shops in Winlaton on that day?'
‘I don't know where I was. I'd lose hours sometimes and not know what I'd been up to. Those tablets I was taking really spaced me out. I know I shouldn't have been driving, but Mum wasn't an easy person to live with. I'd go out for a drive to escape her constant nagging. When I got back home, I couldn't say where I'd been or if I'd seen anyone. How I didn't cause a pile-up, I've no idea.'
‘Do you think it's possible that you did see Stephanie that day, that you did kill her, and you just can't recall it?'
‘Over the years, I've seen many different counsellors and therapists, and I've asked them that exact question. They've said it is highly unlikely I could have kidnapped someone off the streets, driven her to the allotment and killed her without any memory of it. Dawn, I know you don't know anything about me, and you've no reason to believe anything I say, but I have no knowledge of seeing Stephanie on that day. I'm not a killer. I didn't murder her.'
I didn't say anything.
‘I'm getting released from here in a few weeks. Clare's probably told you the date. I'd really like to get to know you. I know I don't have any rights to be a father to you, but I'd love to be a part of your life, no matter how small.' Hesitantly, he reached forwards and placed his hands on top of mine. It felt strange, cold. ‘You're my daughter.' He beamed. ‘I'm your dad.'
I smiled. I couldn't help it. His smile was infectious. Gone were the boyish good looks of twenty years ago, the dark floppy hair and the sparkling eyes, but when he smiled, there was a hint of the man he used to be shining through. The twinkle, although dulled, was still there.
‘I would like to get to know you too,' I said. I could feel I was smiling, but inside, I was shaking like a leaf in a force nine gale.
The relief on his face was evident. ‘That's… that's the best news I've ever had.' He squeezed my hands and tears pricked his eyes. ‘I can't make up for twenty years of absence, but I can be there for you as a friend, or whatever, as and when you want me.'
‘Thank you,' I said, with a catch in my voice. ‘Do you know what you're going to do when you're released?' I asked, withdrawing my hands from his and sitting back.
He mirrored my movements. ‘I don't. I'll be in a halfway house for a while, until I find my feet. The first thing will be to get a job. I've not been idle in here. I've taken courses and got qualifications. I've got a degree in English Literature,' he said, with pride.
‘Really? That's good. I studied English Literature and Law at university.'
‘We have something in common,' he said, looking even more proud. ‘I love reading Chaucer, and I'm a big Shakespeare fan.'
‘I like my classics. I could read Bront? and Austen on a loop. I'm re-reading The Tenant at Wildfell Hall at the moment.'
‘I've not read that one.'
‘You should give it a try. It was Mrs White who…' I tailed off, suddenly remembering who Mrs White was and where she fitted into our story.
‘Mrs White?'
I took a deep shaking breath. ‘Barbara White – Stephanie's mother – was my English teacher at school.'
‘Oh. Small world.'
‘Incredibly small.'
He looked away and sighed. ‘It's always going to be there, isn't it? It doesn't matter that I say I'm innocent, people aren't going to believe it. They're going to see me as a cold-blooded killer. We can't even have a simple chat about books without something ruining it.'
‘It will get easier. It will just take time.'
A bell rang. Visiting was over.
‘Time for me to go,' I said, standing up.
‘Well, I am very grateful to you for coming to see me,' he said.
He stood up and held out a hand for me to shake. I did, but then I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
‘It was lovely to finally meet you… Dad.'
His eyes lit up, and his bottom lip began to wobble. ‘And you.'