Chapter 27

I was released from prison in early 1977. There was a Labour government in power, Ted Heath had been cast into the wilderness, replaced with Harold Wilson and then Jim Callaghan at No .10, and Margaret Thatcher in his own party. A thing called punk rock was making the tabloids froth at the mouth, against which empty-headed disco was on the rise, and inflation had rocketed after the oil crisis, in consequence of which the oil shares Dad had bought back in the '60s had made me even wealthier. I had just missed the hottest summer on record. Meanwhile, Gay had come further out of the closet. I had just turned thirty years old, and it was time to begin again.

The changing fashions in music meant the crowd I used to know were no longer hip, or had moved to LA, like Ed. David and Tori were long gone, believed to be living in Thailand. That part of my life was well and truly over. Under the terms of my parole, I wasn't allowed to contact or visit Sarah, which was cruel beyond belief, though I wasn't sure what I felt for her anymore. In my mind I loved her constantly, but what might have been a love borne of self-preservation with Steve, had matured into something too strong to even think of giving up just because I had been semi-freed. At least I'd never lied to Steve about Sarah. She had always known there was another woman in my life. I spared a few thoughts for Margaret, but only to curse her yet again for her treachery. My two other best friends from Galloway, the only ones who really knew about Steve and I, Melissa and Jodie, kept me abreast of Steve's situation between visits. They said that she'd gone into one of her depressions as soon as I was released, and without me there, she was getting into trouble with the governor again. I promised them that the first thing I would do was to try and get new grounds for an appeal, and I acted upon my promise.

Now my life had a single purpose. With the help of the income from my inheritance (to which I was now fully entitled), and a few like-minded women I found via the agit-prop pages in Time Out, I began to actively take on the prison system and misogynist behaviour in general. My priority was, of course, Steve. I set a private detective to work on the Judge who had pushed the jury to convict Steve of murder while knowing the truth.

A couple of months after later, my friend Melissa, a big sexy girl convicted for dealing large quantities of acid and coke (though it was her slimy boyfriend who got her into it), with whom Steve and I had dallied on many an otherwise dull afternoon, was let out on parole. I was at the prison gates to meet her. I immediately offered her the job as my assistant in the fight for Steve's freedom, and a place to live in one of the spare rooms of my lonely Camden flat.

"She's getting worse," said Melissa straight away. "The old status quo has gone, and the new one has fallen apart. She's losing the wing. The new Governor's pissed off already, and all his kind words have gone out of the window. Preston's back, they couldn't make the charges stick, nobody else dared speak against her in the end, so she's making the most of the confusion. But Steve - she either raving or moping. I don't know how she is when you visit, but knowing her she toughs it out for your benefit. She misses you terribly. So do we, I mean the other girls miss you very much too. I can't tell you how good it is to see a friendly face, and to know you're trying so hard to help. Jodie should get parole soon too, she's up before the board in a couple of weeks time."

When the time came I would give Jodie a room too. Strangely, after being incarcerated with hundreds of women for four years, instead of wanting to be alone; I needed friends around me like never before.