53 Monday 6 August, 8.00pm.
I feel a surge of hope in my chest as the prison officer tells me to follow her. It’s not visiting time, it’s not a scheduled work or exercise session. I know — I’ve memorised them all. There’s been very little else to do. That means this is something different, something outside of what’s expected. I silently pray there’s been a breakthrough and Brian’s efforts to expose the truth haven’t gone unnoticed.
I’m taken across the landing, down the stairs and through a door, which leads into another corridor and, ultimately, a small side room.
It reminds me of the rooms you see in American prison dramas, where one person sits one side of a plate of perspex and the visitor sits on the other, speaking only through phones. This is a bit different: there are no phones
