The Danger Within

Thirty-Two

Lilian was taken to Eastwood Park prison in Gloucestershire, the nearest women’s prison to Bristol.

Charlie suggested at once that they should appeal against the severity of her sentence. But Lilian could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

She couldn’t even offer to pay him generously in order to keep him on her side. Up against Kurt’s legal team, Charlie’s attempts, through the civil courts, to achieve any kind of financial settlement from Kurt had been blocked at every stage. The legal aid package she was ultimately granted — not without considerable difficulty as on paper she remained a rich woman — had already failed to come close to rewarding him for the many hours he had devoted to her case.

In addition to that, there was the little matter of Charlie not being the brightest kooky in the court. It had become tragically clear that his skills did not match his levels of confidence. She hadn’t realized that until too late, and in case had had neither the funds nor the energy to do anything about it. But she was no longer optimistic about Charlie succeeding in any of his expressed aims.

Meanwhile, Lilian had to deal with the grim day-to-day realities of prison life. Inmates in all prisons invariably need to establish their place in the pecking order. It became instantly and abundantly clear that Lilian’s place was right at the very bottom. She knew she needed to stand up to the bullies in order to survive, but she had neither the strength nor the know-how to do that.

She quickly descended into a state of total misery.

There was, however, one bright side to it all. She heard no word from Kurt for several weeks, and had almost come to believe, or certainly to hope, that he may finally have tired of her. After all he had found himself on the run from the police, then ended up in hospital, because of her. She knew that was how he would see it, anyway. He would consider it to be all Lilian’s fault.

Then, on her birthday, a card from Kurt arrived through the prison postal system, expressing, as usual, undying love and devotion. Also on her birthday, rather less officially and far more disturbingly, another prisoner brought Lilian what she described as ‘a little gift from your old man’.

It was an envelope containing a sachet of cocaine. There was a brief note inside: ‘I’ll be waiting for you, darling, with as much of this as you will ever want.’

Lilian was devastated. Not only was she suffering the misery and humiliation of a substantial jail sentence, but she was not even free from Kurt’s attentions within the walls of her prison.

She immediately flushed the cocaine down the toilet. Afterwards she rather wished she hadn’t. Coke had in the past lessened the pain for her, which was, of course, why she’d allowed herself to be persuaded to take it. Particularly when faced with the prospect of violent sex with Kurt.

A couple of days later, Kate visited for the first time. She seemed ill at ease. She told Lilian she had some news. She was pregnant. Lilian was genuinely delighted for her. She was well aware that Kate and Charlie had wanted a child ever since their marriage eight years earlier. Repeated fertility treatments had failed. They had more or less given up.

The pregnancy was unexpected, and a wonderful surprise, said Kate.

‘The only thing is,’ she said. ‘Well, we’re going to need all the money we can get now we are having a child. We still have a hefty bill from the fertility clinic to pay. And the house needs serious attention. The damp problem is getting worse. So I’m afraid Charlie won’t be able to continue handling your case, Kate. He can only take properly paid work now. He doesn’t have any choice.’

She also explained to Lilian that her own work as a freelance journalist had very nearly dried up since the closure of Today newspaper, which had been by far her primary employer.

‘And I’m likely to be doing even less work after the baby is born,’ she said. ‘We’re really sorry, Lilian.’

Even though she had doubts about Charlie’s capabilities, Lilian found herself saddened and disappointed. After all, Charlie and Kate were the only real friends she had, and they had stood by her, and supported her in every way, even giving her a roof over her head. Now they were going to have the baby they had so longed for, and she was locked up in prison. She just hoped they would not drift out of her life entirely.

Nonetheless, she told Kate it was fine, that she totally understood. And she did too, in spite of her own increasing sense of desolation.

One thought occurred to her.

‘There’s the Hockney,’ she said. ‘You and Charlie could sell it. Then I could pay him properly.’

‘Lilian, how can we?’ Kate asked. ‘Kurt is the legal owner. Charlie’s a lawyer. We can’t go around flogging what is in effect a stolen painting. To be honest, we don’t even like having the thing in the house.’

Lilian knew that Kate was right. She shouldn’t have made the suggestion. But she did think it ironic, considering all that Kurt St John had taken from her, that she could now be seen as a thief on top of everything else.

‘You will keep it for me, though, won’t you?’ she pleaded. ‘Please. It’s all I have.’

Kate said that they would keep the painting for her, of course they would, even though Lilian could see that she really wasn’t happy about it.

‘And Charlie is going to do his absolute best to make sure you get a really good legal aid solicitor,’ Kate assured her as she took her leave.

Lilian wondered fleetingly if such a creature existed. In any case, several weeks passed and she heard nothing from Charlie. But Lilian found that she didn’t care. She had become convinced that going to appeal was pointless. And she made no effort herself to find a legal aid solicitor. The truth was that even the unlikely event of having her sentence either quashed or reduced interested her very little. After all she would still be imprisoned on the outside. Kurt was out there somewhere waiting for her. He had made that quite clear.

The final straw came in the form of a major News of the World exclusive.

‘“She nearly killed him, but Kurt St John still loves his wife and wants her back. ‘I will always want her back,’ he says”.’

The story, which also predictably made much of Lilian’s alleged sexual preferences, was presented as the heart-warming lament of a devoted husband. But Lilian was chilled to the core. She could not eat, she could not sleep.

Her surprisingly sympathetic cellmate arranged an appointment with the medical officer who prescribed a mild sedative, to be administered nightly by prison staff.

Lilian had sunk to the depths of despair. She did not believe she could be helped. She did not want to be helped. She hid the tiny pills under her tongue, only pretending to swallow, instead collecting the drugs which, having made the most minute incision, she concealed inside her mattress.

She had no idea how many of them she would need to kill herself. The only thing she knew for certain was just how much she wanted to die.