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It takes eight hours to drive up to Cape Wrath from Glasgow. Susie could surely have changed her mind and thought of me, or at least of Margie, once during the eight-hour drive. They showed security film from a service station during the trial, and we all watched as Susie stopped to gas the car up and bought a family-size bag of wine gums and a can of Diet Coke. On the film she is laughing and chatting with the girl behind the counter, pointing back to the car because she didn’t know the number of the pump. As the prosecution said, not exactly the behavior of a woman beside herself with worry about Do
My chest has been hurting from all the smoking, and I’ve got no one to blame that on but myself. I’ve been up here since lunch, transcribing and playing computer solitaire. It’s a dull but hypnotic game. I’ve cut a picture of a Greek seaside town out of the Sunday papers and stuck it up on the wall. There are whitewashed buildings in the foreground and a steep cliff over an electric-blue sea. It relaxes me. Just looking at it, I can almost feel the sun on my neck. I want to go back there.
This time two weeks ago I was still hopeful that the verdict would go our way. This will be the worst of it if she never gets out, these interminable Sundays stretching off into the future until Margie goes to university. By that time I won’t remember what it is to be happy, the loneliness will be all through me like a cancer.
I wish Susie was home. I wish she was up here working and I was downstairs shouting up at her to come down and talk to me. Even if she was up here fantasizing about Gow, I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t care even if she was up here thinking about touching him.
That prison-lovers book says that the women hear whatever story about the murder they want to hear; if they want him to have been protecting a helpless friend, then they’ll hear that in the story he tells; if they want to excuse him on the grounds that he was forced to kill an abusive wife, then they’ll hear that. And if they can’t mitigate the cruelty, then they’ll factor in drugs or drink to explain it. But Susie couldn’t have misheard Gow. She had his records. She was his psychiatrist.
I’m so tired of thinking about it all the time. I’m tired of second-guessing every moment we’ve spent together. I can’t sleep for thinking. Even when I manage to fall asleep, I wake up with my mind careering back and forth over a big map of what-ifs and did-shes. Some did-shes bring me close to despair. Last night on the sofa I played with a did-she that made me feel elated and warm and centered. Suppose she didn’t care for Gow at all and it’s all just a mix-up. She was talking to him in the office, nothing more. She’s my wife, still my wife, and she lies in her little prison bed, hands behind her darling head, and sees me on her ceiling, longs for my presence as I long for hers.
Maybe Susie wasn’t working all the time she was up here. Maybe she was hiding the way I am now, bristling with resentment at the people downstairs. Maybe she was sitting here in this tiny closet thinking fuck them, smoking angrily, avoiding coming down.
What is it she doesn’t want me to see in here?
Box 2 Document 5 Do
48 Evington Road
Evington
Leicester
2/2/98
Dear Andrew Gow,
Forgive my writing to you out of the blue but I have been in love with you for three years now so its about time we spoke!! I saw a picture of you in the paper and knew by your eyes your a kind man. You say your not guilty of those crimes and I know it’s true. In my heart I know you will not be trapped in prison forever.
Well who is your mystery admirer!?! I am twenty three and have already been divorced. My first husband was not a kind man. He drank and did not understand that I need room to breath and grow. I am not a complete dummy. I have a GCSE in typing as you can see and an HND in catering. I have a job in a health center where I work behind the reception desk. I like dancing and going out and having a good time on the town.
Sadly my dad died two months ago and it has made me see that I should grab life while I can. That is why I am writing to you. My friends tell me I am mad but I can see an angel from heaven when I look at your picture. I LOVE YOU! I dream about you at night and think about you all day!!
Maybe you will write back. If not just remember there’s a girl out here who thinks your the greatest guy in the world!!
Take care of yourself in there.
Yours sincerely,
Do
Fucking hell, Do
I found this psychology report about Gow and keep thinking that one exactly like it is being drawn up about Susie.
Box 1 Document 6 Clinical Psychological Report 1994
CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT ON ANDREW GOW (DOB 6/23/65): HMP BARLINNIE
1. In response to a request from the governor of the above-named prison and from Mr. Telford of the Scottish Office, I now submit this report on the above-named prisoner. The report is based on an interview of just over one hour, together with analysis of the data from a diagnostic personality test, the Mi
2. The prisoner, charged with murder, was admitted to Barli
3. His early family life seems to have been quite troubled. He was born and educated in Bridgeton, Glasgow, a less than salubrious area. Mr. Gow’s parents fought, principally over his father’s excessive drinking. He enjoyed school and did well up until fifth year, when he failed his GCSEs and left. His parents separated when Mr. Gow was eight. He states that his relationship with his mother was “shite.” When asked to elaborate on this statement, he declared that his mother was “a cow” who never cared for him. He became quite agitated in discussing his mother. He said she made him take responsibility for his siblings and “spoiled his chances in life.” Asked whether his relationship with his mother related to the crimes he was charged with he smiled and refused to speak on the matter. He is high on anxiety and may well have more trouble forming social bonds and restraining impulsive behavior than he declares.