Chapter 24

It was a cruel twist of fate that Dominic was to be released on the day before the twentieth anniversary of Stephanie White's murder. Had the Prison Service realised this, would they have delayed it by a couple of weeks? Although I doubted Clare Delaney would have been happy about that. I had decided to be there when Dominic came out of prison. I didn't know what the future would hold for us, but for now, it felt like the right thing to do.

On the drive over to the prison in temperatures below freezing, Clare filled me in on the progress of the case against Maxton-Schwarz. Now that Dominic was released from prison, they could push ahead for a court date, so she could state categorically that the British government had accepted that Dominic Griffiths was not responsible for committing the heinous crime he had been imprisoned for and that one of their drugs had been the driving force behind him committing such a despicable act. Dominic should be compensated for losing twenty years of freedom. She was almost ecstatic at the prospect. I sat in the plush car, listening impassively.

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and the sun was beginning to appear on the horizon. The clouds were thick and heavy with snow. Winter was still maintaining its stranglehold. We stood outside the prison in the stiff breeze and waited.

There was no press, but Clare had lined up several interviews for Dominic with the national media over the coming days and weeks. The more money she could squeeze out of this story, the better for all parties, apart from the poor Whites, whom I thought of often. I'd phoned Barbara and kept her abreast of everything that was happening. Despite our different positions in the situation, we had a strong bond, and she'd even invited me to join her book club.

I felt underdressed standing next to the resplendent solicitor, who stood tall in her expensive-looking boots and heavy winter coat. I wore low-heeled boots, black trousers and the second-hand coat I'd bought from the market. I was often proud of my bargains, but beside a woman decked out in brand-new designer labels, my shabby-chic style looked trashy.

The gates began to open. I could feel Clare staring hard at me as if committing my exact expression to memory for when she told the press all about the reunion between father and daughter.

Dominic walked out of the prison. He had a plastic carrier bag in one hand containing all his worldly goods. He shivered as the cold hit him. He looked nervous, petrified even. As soon as he saw two familiar faces, his eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face.

I smiled and slowly approached him.

‘I never thought this day would come,' Dominic said. ‘I have no idea what words to use to thank you,' he said to Clare.

She smiled back.

‘I've got you a gift,' I said. From my bag, I pulled out a Penguin Clothbound Classic edition of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I handed it to him. ‘Look inside.'

He opened the cover and read the inscription. ‘Thirteenth of February 2019. To Dad, something for us to talk about over coffee. Love Dawn.'

He looked up. There were tears in his eyes. ‘This is the best present I've ever received. Thank you so much.'

He pulled me into a tight embrace, and I hugged him back.

Clare took her expensive iPhone out of her pocket and took a couple of photos of father hugging daughter. I wouldn't have been surprised if she already had a tabloid newspaper lined up to buy them off her for a few hundred pounds each.

‘Well, Mr Griffiths, your car awaits,' Clare said.

‘I really can't believe all of this is happening. I'm just so overwhelmed.'

‘It's a lot to take in, Dad, I know, but you'll get through it,' I said.

‘Absolutely. You're a free man now, Dominic. This is your time.'

Clare got behind the wheel, while I got into the back with Dominic. We had a lot to talk about, a lot to plan for, and there was no time like the present to begin.