Brave: How I rebuilt my life after love turned to hate

But I heard myself saying a spiel that would become so familiar to me over the coming days and weeks, it was me defending him, it was me telling everyone that they didn’t know him like me. ‘Imagine if your mum had died, wouldn’t you flip if someone was slagging her off?’ I asked whoever would listen.

And what could people say? Although deep down, maybe it wasn’t about what they thought, maybe it was me convincing myself.

But despite everything, I missed him. That weekend I felt so cold and alone in my bed at night. I wanted to be able to turn over and snuggle into his arms, or reach out and feel the warmth of him. I wanted us to wake up and giggle about something silly that had happened the night before, or to beg him to fetch me a cup of tea in the morning before I’d even properly opened my eyes.

I missed him so much that on Monday morning I woke up and decided that I would go to court and see him. Not that I told Mum. I got dressed for college that day in my black tunic with the diamante collar so I wouldn’t rouse any suspicions, then I called in sick and headed to Lowestoft Combined Court. The building with its long, sloping brown roof and green tinted windows felt so alien and imposing to me, I’d never even been inside a court before. A week ago I was enjoying the first flushes of a new relationship – my first proper relationship – and now I was here, and somewhere inside that building my boyfriend was behind bars.

I passed through the entrance doors and security checks and towards the courtroom where Anthony’s hearing was going to take place. There, outside, I recognised some of his family: his dad, his stepmum, his aunties and even a cousin. And then it twisted inside me again, ever so faintly, that feeling of anger towards Anthony. I shouldn’t be meeting his extended family for the first time like this. He should be here with me, introducing me to people. It was his fault that I was having to go through this, it wasn’t meant to be like this. But then again, a few minutes later, as we filed silently into court and I saw him standing there inside the glass-panelled dock, I felt the familiarity of him pull at my insides, I wanted to be inside those arms, not trapped away from them in the public gallery.

He looked over, blowing me a kiss, but my nerves only offered him a tight smile and a wave in return.

The hearing began, though I couldn’t understand much of what the lawyers were saying. It all felt so foreign to me, and Anthony hardly spoke, only to confirm his name and his address. Before I knew it, though, it was over, and they were taking him out of the door at the back of the dock.

‘Where are they taking him?’ I quickly asked his dad.

‘Back to prison,’ he sighed. ‘He’s got to serve the rest of his previous sentence.’

‘What? How long is that?’ I said, panicked.

‘Seven months.’

And then the world started to spin. Seven months? Seven months of not seeing Anthony?

I left the court in a daze, texting my friends as tears blurred the screen in my hand.

Anthony’s got seven months :-( xx

At home, Mum dried my tears.

‘You can’t wait on him, Adele,’ she said. ‘Don’t waste your life on him.’

‘But I really like him, Mum.’

She sighed.

‘Well, if he likes you, when he comes out you can be together.’

But what about the promise I’d made to him? And anyway, I wanted to wait for him. Anthony had changed my life, I could be myself with him. For months I’d tried to pretend that I was happy just to be friends with benefits, but now I didn’t have to act, now I didn’t have to try and be someone else, someone who was cool only to meet up for sex, because I liked being ‘Anthony’s girlfriend’, I liked other people knowing I was ‘Anthony’s girlfriend’. That made me feel special, he made me feel special, and attractive, and wanted, and important, and … well, someone. Each day when he’d been there waiting for me to come out of college, I’d felt all of those things as my friends watched me leave hand-in-hand with him. My boyfriend, my Anthony, someone everyone had heard of, and that in itself made me feel like someone. I would wait six months to feel like that again if I had to, I vowed to myself.

Anthony rang me that afternoon.

‘Seven months, Anthony!’ I cried to him.

‘Don’t worry, babe,’ he said. ‘I’m going to appeal, I’ll be out in a few weeks.’

He sounded so confident, I knew I had no reason to doubt him.

‘It’ll be fine. Just promise you’ll wait for me.’

‘Of course I will,’ I said, as tears ran down my cheeks.

But Mum was right: at 16, seven months felt like a lifetime.

A few nights later a number came up on my phone that I didn’t recognise. It was a mobile number.

‘Hello?’

‘Adele, it’s me!’

‘Anthony!’

Somehow, despite being in prison, he’d managed to get hold of a mobile phone.

‘Are you allowed to have them?’ I asked.

‘No!’ he said. ‘I’ve got to make sure they don’t catch me.’

‘But then how –’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘It happens here, they throw them over the fence. As long as no one finds out you’re fine.’

I sighed. What did I know about prison life? Having a boyfriend in jail was all new to me, and now I was so worried about Anthony getting in even more trouble if he got caught. But I couldn’t deny the other part of me that was just so excited to pick up the phone and hear his voice. A phone call that wouldn’t be cut short by the beeps down the prison line.

‘We can text each other whenever we want now,’ he said. ‘We can speak every evening. I did this for you, Adele, because I can’t stand being away from you.’

And although I hated the idea of him taking risks, my heart swelled with flattery.

‘Oh Anthony, I miss you so much.’

We chatted for two hours, it was amazing, like he wasn’t even stuck away in prison, locked up each night, but like he was just around the corner at his dad’s or at Scotty’s. I knew he was risking everything just to be able to talk to me, but it felt worth it because suddenly I didn’t feel so alone any more. I’d got used to having him around, of seeing his face, of him being there when I came out of college, or to take me for lunch, and even though it hadn’t even been a week I missed him so much. But this, this made all the difference.

Most week nights I’d finish college and go straight home rather than to Amie’s or Rachel’s house. I’d stay in, doing my beauty coursework, my phone next to me as I wrote up my assignments, waiting for the moment when he’d call and I could lie back on my bed and speak to the man I loved, locked up in a cell 30 miles away from me in Norwich Prison.

When it came to the weekends, I’d douse myself in Calvin Klein perfume, I’d slick on lipstick and fake eyelashes, but as I stared at my reflection, all glammed up ready to go out, I’d sigh. It didn’t feel right without Anthony. A text on my phone would shake me out of my sigh.

Just got on the bus x

Amie.

My cue to leave the house. I’d grab my bag and most importantly my phone, and I’d head out the door.

I did still enjoy going out with the girls, but I always kept one eye on my phone in case Anthony called. Once he did, I’d leave them in the pub and stand outside, even if it was raining, just for the chance to talk to him. Outside with the smokers, I might spot one of Anthony’s mates, and before I had a chance to stop them they’d grab the phone off me.

‘Riley! All right mate?’ one would say, sucking on a cigarette and wandering a few feet away with my phone.

I felt good that even from this pub, and him locked away in that cell, he could still chat to his friends. I thought he’d be buzzing when they finally handed the phone back to me, but the irritation in his voice was instant.

‘Are you talking to boys out there?’ he’d say.