For a summary of what's happened in previous posts, please see author notes.

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24th August 2023

Lucie edges into the room. She’s wearing a blue jacket and blue trousers. The clothes suit her, I think.  

‘How are you?’ she asks.

I lean my head back on the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. ‘Please don’t ask me how I am.’

She looks at the floor and immediately I regret saying my last sentence in the way I did. ‘Sorry. I just saw your ex outside, he didn’t look happy to see me. In fact, he advised me not to come and see you, but I couldn’t just leave you here.’

Of course he wouldn’t be happy to see Lucie. He’ll be thinking I’m making a mess of things by getting involved with her, well, he pretty much told me that. I sigh. ‘No, well, he thinks what I’m doing is a complete waste of time. He believes Joshua’s guilty and that’s the end of things.’

She gives me a crestfallen look. ‘Surely he can’t really believe that?’

I shake my head. I won’t let Michael make me cry. ‘It’s not important. It’s what we believe that matters now.’

She clamps her hands together in her lap. ‘Okay. So, yes, there was part of me in court that said that the police must have the right man. I wanted him to be guilty; I wanted this to all be over for the family’s sake, the family of the young woman, I mean. But, the way how the police went about their investigation, it doesn’t sit right with me. They had him down as their prime suspect from day one, it’s like they didn’t even bother chasing up any other leads that might’ve come in at the time. That’s what made the case seem so watertight in the eyes of the other people, who I was on the jury with, but not with me.’

I stare at her. What had she seen in the evidence presented that the other members of the jury hadn’t? My heart pounds against my chest.

‘Have you . . . I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have you had experience working in the police before?’ I ask. Perhaps if she has then that’s what’s made her look at the evidence with a different eye. I stare at her. It seems to take an age for her to respond to me.

She shakes her head. ‘Not me, no, but, my father, he was a police officer.’

My eyebrows shoot up. ‘With the met?’

Lucie gives me a soft smile. ‘Yes. The job it . . . it used to keep my poor mum up at night all the time. She couldn’t wait for the day when he eventually retired, although it was hard trying to persuade him to let the job go.’

‘I can imagine,’ I say. Her words make me think of my own father, who died five years ago, addicted to his work. I can see him in my mind now, sitting beside me, glass of Stella in hand, he’d wink at me as he would take a sip, and tell me not to tell Nan. It was like our little secret. I’m glad he isn’t around now to see what’s become of us. He adored Joshua, he would’ve been devastated. Then I think of Detective Inspector Dominic Hitchens and how angry I was at the police during the trial. I scrunch my fist into a tight ball. ‘What are we going to do about my son? I can’t leave him to rot away in jail for a crime he didn’t commit while the real killer walks free.’

Lucie’s chest heaves as she sighs. ‘It’s going to be a hell of a challenge getting the rest of the public to believe us. We’ll be laughed at, it might make . . . it might make both our lives unliveable.’

I know Lucie’s got a family: young children. She’ll be thinking of them. She won’t want to get involved with me because it might . . .          

‘My life’s already unliveable,’ I say, tears pricking my eyes. ‘Please, Lucie. You’re the only one who believes me. Even my ex is telling me to give up on our son and to move on. But I can’t. Even if I try to, I think . . . I think I’ll end up just withering away. I’ll be dead within a year.’

‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,’ Lucie says, her voice a little sterner which makes me flinch. ‘I can . . . look, I’ve a friend of mine who works for one of the nationals, and she’s a junior reporter. She’s been looking for a big story to break her career and I think . . . she might be willing to help us, but we’ll all have to proceed with caution.’

She actually wants to help me. Oh my God, this is more than I could’ve imagined when I first spotted her on the tube. This time I can’t stop the tears from flowing. ‘Oh my God, thank you Lucie, thank you so much.’

‘Thank me when we get your son released from prison. I hope this will happen, but, I can’t promise anything. It’s going to be a tough road for us, I can’t deny that.’

‘I know that,’ I say. I wipe my eyes. ‘How long has your friend been a journalist?’

‘For about five years now,’ Lucie says. ‘She’s worked on a couple of big stories, but nothing as big as this one. Listen, once you’re out of here we can meet and I’ll try and see if my friend can join us as well. I’m sure she’ll be keen just to meet you. I’ll give you my number, have you got your phone?’

I sit up straighter and search around until my eyes clap on my IPhone lying on charge on the white table next to me. I pick it up and use face ID to log in, my heart pounding. Lucie reels off her number and I type it in, my fingers are sweaty against the screen.

‘Get yourself better,’ Lucie says, standing up from the seat. ‘And then call me.’

I nod. She hovers by my bedside for a few moments. For a brief second I think she’s going to lean in and hug me, but she smiles and strides back towards the exit, her high heels clicking on the white polished floor of my room.