The Boy Who Broke Mirrors

21

Now that I'm stepping off the bus, I'm beginning to question my sanity. Matty hums beside me as he skips along the pavement, and my stomach is churning so loudly that I'm surprised he can't hear it. It's Tuesday afternoon, and as my application to visit Matty's mum was accepted, I'm headed to the prison. I now know her name to be Anwen, and that she's thirty-seven, but nothing else. I decided not to look her up online beforehand because I want to form my own opinion of her based on the woman I meet today, not on cold facts. I think I at least owe Preston that.

I returned to college last week, and I was instantly propelled back into normal life. Aiden and I were fine, and it was as if the crash had never happened. The only difference was the lack of Delyth, and it was strange not having any maths lessons with Preston. I've not seen him in college a great deal, and I was beginning to get a little worried, but he's been out with the group a few times, apparently. I'm still clinging onto the hope that Paul and Julia will change their minds about moving.

The prison is only a short walk from the bus stop, so it's not long until I'm faced with it. It's an ugly building, and an even uglier thought to live in it. Its red bricks have faded to a dull pink, which wouldn't be so awful if it wasn't for the nauseatingly high walls blocking the much needed sunlight. The inside isn't much better. Matty and I wait in a queue of people with vacant stares, and the woman at the desk we're lining up to doesn't smile back at me when I give my name and visitation details.

Once we've both been frisked in the next room, we're finally allowed into the visitation centre, which basically consists of rows upon rows of tables with women wearing the same blue aprons. Some have people with them while others don't, and the off-white walls in here are just as drab as every other wall in this building. There are stacks of chairs dotted around the room, stacks of tables, stacks of paperwork, stacks of everything, with each stack looking just as forgotten as half the women in here. Matty seems entirely oblivious to it all.

I spot her almost immediately. Her dark-blonde hair is pulled up into a loose ponytail, and she has eyes I've seen so many times before on somebody else. They suit Preston better, but that might be because I'm used to seeing them on him. Despite wearing no make up, she's undeniably beautiful. I take a deep breath, grab hold of Matty's hand, and follow one of the prison officers to the table Anwen sits beside. As we near her, I notice she's barely aged since the photo I've seen of her, and I'm desperate to know how long she's been here. Anwen smiles lightly as we sit down, and within that single gesture, all of my nerves rush out of me.

'Hello.' She sounds how she looks--warm and gentle. 'You must be Euphemia.'

Her North Wales accent is notably strong, and I'm too mesmerised with it to correct her. I almost reach out to shake her hand, but quickly remember physical interaction isn't allowed. It's to prevent friends and family members providing prisoners with contraband, apparently.

'No, she's Mia. Preston says they're not boyfriend and girlfriend, but I think they are,' Matty replies to Anwen before I have the chance to say anything.