‘Yes, sir. Just one more thing, there was a note.’ Elly’s expression was grave. ‘It simply said, …Now You Don’t.’

The journey from Balsham to Highpoint South Prison, on the outskirts of Stradishall village on the Cambridgeshire–Suffolk borders, seemed to take forever. The slush on the roads meant that traffic was forced to crawl slowly. During most of the year the gridlock in Cambridge was unbearable, but with Christmas and the weather both looming every journey took even longer.

Veronica sat alone in the back of the taxi, her hands clasped together as she looked out at the bleak country fields. A heavy grey sky loomed above threatening rain any moment.

As the car finally pulled up the reality of the situation dawned on her. The tall barbed wire fence that surrounded the vast red brick building was as welcoming as the weather. Veronica swallowed and picked her handbag up from beside her feet, gripping the leather as if her life depended on it. The fact that the prison had once been home to Myra Hindley sent shivers down her spine.

She paid the fare, thanked the driver, who looked at her suspiciously, and got out of the car. As the gate slammed shut behind her and the metal lock snapped into place Veronica felt her legs turn to jelly. She never thought she’d be back in a place like this again. Andrew had vowed to her that he would turn his life around and now all those empty promises came back to taunt her.

Once she’d been through security, and made to feel like a criminal herself, she was shown to the visiting room where Andrew was already sat at a table waiting. He looked worse for wear. The cuts on his face from the accident were taking their time to heal. Her son, who she’d always thought of as a big man, now appeared small and shrunken in the grey tracksuit which the prison had issued. Across his chest he wore a bright yellow band like a mark of shame.

‘Andrew.’ She sat on the cold plastic chair opposite unable to reach out and hug her son. Her eyes searched his face for answers, but he remained tight lipped, refusing to look at her. ‘How did we get here?’

Slowly he turned to face his mother, his eyelids flittering for a moment, before he shrugged. ‘I dunno what you want me to say?’ He had no fight left in him.

‘Say something, anything. Just tell me what you were thinking running away like that?’ Her voice shook.

‘I knew the pigs would try and finger me for this.’ His eyes burnt with anger. ‘I was just looking after myself.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the truth about the argument with your father? It would have saved everyone so much heartache.’ She sighed.