12
Put it down to movies. I’d expected our meeting to take place with glass between us, using phones to communicate. I was wrong. The inmates sat at tables, watchful wardens at the wall. A vending machine was in full flow, and the atmosphere was almost like a picnic. Took me a minute to focus. Stewart was in the middle of the room, raised his arm. I moved over, not sure how I should behave. It wasn’t like I was family or even a friend. He was wearing a denim shirt, loose jeans — too loose. I’d anticipated him losing weight, but he had the flabbiness you get from starchy food and no exercise. Already he had the prison pallor, and his left eye was bruised, almost closed. I gave him the book and he put out his hand, said,
“Thanks for coming.”
I took his hand and we shook. His former appear
