OK, I did do it, but like I said, it was an accident and I want that understood by a jury so I don’t get sent down for the rest of my natural. Of course, that’s likely to happen anyway, because the max for arson and criminal damage is also life. I’d just rather not have two running one after the other and if the judge is of a mind to do that he can.

So, I made it clear to the dickhead who was representing me that I’d cop for arson and criminal damage to save a trial on the understanding he got rid of the attempted murder and maybe worked out a lesser sentence.

He said he’d get back to me and all these weeks later I still don’t know where we stand on it, but I’ve heard nothing to say the charge has gone away. I guess someone’ll tell me before my big day in court, but that’s not going to be anytime soon, because it never is. Six months waiting turns into nine, turns into a year and you’re given so many excuses, scheduling, sickness, change of judge, that you end up not listening anymore.

My ma visits as often as she can and brings me stuff that’s allowed—no way am I getting her to smuggle in the kind of currency that would help me a lot in here. Drugs, cigs, blades . . . I can take care of myself, just about, but I know I’m being watched so one wrong move . . .

The last time she came she brought chocolate—it’s useful—and the news that you’re due to go home from hospital. When she leaves I return to my cell and think about that. I know your house is back up together because my ma’s read all about it on the Gazette website, so I guess that’s where you’ll be going. I wonder what it’ll be like for you after what happened, if it’ll feel weird or scary, if you’re nervous about it, how strange it’ll feel being in the big bad world again after so much time in hospital.

I picture the house and the times I saw you coming and going, not a conventional grandma, younger and kind of fit I suppose for someone your age. I remember you reminded me of that actress who played Nanny McPhee, not when she was in the film, but in real life. Emma something-or-other, Thompson, I think.

Then I realize you probably don’t look very much like her now and I feel as gutted about that as I have about anything else that’s happened so far.

Chapter Thirty-Three