In this extract from The Listener, a work-in-progress, Simon has just been found guilty.

He clung on to the rail.

By the time he had regained his composure the judge was already leaning forward to speak to a court official and there was a slight buzz of conversation. He noticed the clock on the wall opposite said exactly one o'clock.

He felt hit, sick, weak.

The Group 4 guards put their hands on his shoulders and ushered him out of the court. He looked towards Christine but her brother was comforting her and he could not see her face

During the two-day trial he had held firm to his hope of being found innocent but as the evidence was heard it was as if his hands were slipping on a wet rope which was being tugged away.

He shouldn't have been found guilty. He'd appeal. He'd appeal against both this conviction and the sentence, whenever that took place.

As they walked to the cells one of the guards told him that because his was the first of the day's cases he might have to wait several hours before being taken to prison.

Just before he was shut in he turned to the guard and asked if he could see Christine.

The guard nodded and left.

He sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands. Seeing Christine would be both terrible and marvellous.

Moments later the guard returned and spoke through the grille.

"She doesn't want to see you."

"She does! Ask the other guard, the one with the beard. He was here when she saw me before the hearing. He heard her say she'd come and see me when it was over."

"Sorry, mate. She must have changed her mind."

"She can't have."

The guard shrugged his shoulders and disappeared.

How could she not want to see him? How could she not want to see him when he had spent night after night wracked with worry and had now just been found guilty, especially after all they'd been going through together these last few weeks? How could she let him down like this?

Surely she hadn't begun to doubt his innocence? No. That couldn't be. Her trust in him wouldn't have been knocked just because he had been found guilty by this court, by this particular group of people assembled upstairs. On the evidence anyone could see that the jury could have reached a different decision.

Since his arrest Simon had been trying to stay positive. He had been given bail and although he was required to live in a hostel, he considered this a good sign. Edward Lipton, his solicitor, agreed it was favourable and said if he had been a risk he would have been remanded in custody immediately. But that hadn't happened and so he was able to continue to work and to meet up with Christine.

"But why do you have to be in a hostel?" asked Christine, "If you're not a risk, why can't you be at home?"

"I'm not complaining. The alternative is putting me inside and anyone can see I don't need to be locked up. And this way they can keep an eye on me, can't they?"

"But you haven't done anything."

"No, of course I haven't, I've told you a million times. But if someone accuses someone of something, the police can't just ignore it, can they? And while I'm in the hostel they'll be able to see how trustworthy and responsible I am, and that will count in my favour."

After these conversations he'd pulled her to him and stroked her hair and said everything would be all right as long as they co-operated with the authorities who had to get all those reports completed.

"The more reasonable and sensible we are seen to be the higher my chances of getting a not guilty or, if things turn out badly - which they won't - at least a non-custodial sentence. The prisons are so full they're trying to keep people out by giving them alternatives. These days it's only dangerous people who go to prison, like rapists and robbers. There'd be no benefit to society in locking me up, would there? One, I haven't done anything, and two, even if I had someone like me wouldn't be daft enough to do it again and three, I'm under supervision, so I couldn't. We're not one of those families where no one has a job and everyone takes drugs and all the kids have ASBOs. And it costs thousands of pounds a year to keep someone in prison. They'd be mad to waste that money on me."

He looked at his watch. He had been in the cell for eleven minutes. He had assured Christine that even if he was wrongly found guilty he would probably only receive some hours of community service. And even now he found himself willing that the whole thing was a mistake and might be dropped, and earlier he had heard someone say something about one of today's trials being a mis-trial, and they could have been referring to his.

In the next extract Christine, Simon's partner, makes her first visit to him in prison:

On Monday afternoon Christine drove the car into the prison car park. There was plenty of time and she had no desire for the next and more difficult part of the journey: walking across towards the sign that said

HM BROADBRIDGE
VISITOR CENTRE

She watched other people arrive. First, an elderly couple eased themselves out of their car and headed slowly across the car park carrying a big bag. Whatever had they got in it? Then a big group of Asians spilled from all the doors of a minibus. The boys and men were in western dress, the girls and women in bright saris which billowed in the wind. Radiating energy and youth they could have been on their way to a party. Then a beaten-up looking car parked in the space in front. Christine could see all three occupants were smoking. A few minutes later one of the windows was wound down and something thrown out. It was only when she got out of her own car that she saw it was a disposable and visibly dirty nappy. They'd got a baby in with all that smoke! And why hadn't they put the nappy in the bin which was only a few steps away?

And there was the prison fence. A high fence of close, thick metal wire topped with rolls of what looked like particularly lethal barbed wire. That was the physical thing keeping Simon and her apart. And there was the prison gate, a big double gate which was opening as she watched. It slid sideways, allowed a van out and slid back again.

How had Simon taken it all so calmly? He'd been so sure he'd be found not guilty, the witness statements pulled apart and the victim made to retract what he had said, but he'd been wrong about every single thing.

Every. Single. Thing.

For a moment she considered not going to see him. She could refuse to go in. She could just turn round and go home.

She felt nauseous as she approached and entered the Visitor Centre but was greeted by a smiling woman as she reached the reception desk. Yes, she'd brought her visiting order. Yes, here was her passport, And yes, she'd brought some things for her partner. What was his name, please ? And his number?

She sat down on the end of a bench. There was a children's play area, a crowded notice board and, to her relief, a hot drinks machine. She got herself a cup of tea but couldn‘t relax. She felt another sudden burst of anger towards Simon. But he's done nothing wrong, she made herself say, he's done nothing wrong, he's innocent. Nathan Lowfield and the witnesses lied. But she could not forget her mother's reaction on the phone and what her brother had said. For the nth time she wondered what the truth was. If he wasn't speaking the truth … if he wasn't.. . if he wasn't her world would fall apart as much as his. How could he? How could he have done something which turned everything in their lives upside down? And because he was here in prison she was the one who had to hold the family together. He'd only been here for a matter of days, but she was already feeling stressed.

But it was awful to be blaming him like this. It wasn’t his fault that people had lied and he had ended up in prison. Poor, poor Simon. If only things were different. It was all down to bad luck. It could have happened to anyone. But was it anything to do with her? Wasn’t she partly to blame? Not for actually committing the offence, of course, but for not always being as warm and supportive as she should be. Had she somehow pushed him into a frame of mind which might have led to him behaving out of character? She recalled the time she’d put her foot down and said ‘No, you’re not going off with your club for the weekend. We need you here. The children need you. You can’t just opt out when you want to.’ Had that been unfair? Could insisting on her own way like that be part of why he might have done something he wouldn’t otherwise have done? And she hadn’t done that just for her own benefit, she‘d done it for the children. They needed, they deserved, to spend time with their father.

But on the evening it happened she’d hardly objected when he was so keen to go to Bradfield Barns and had promised to be home by ten. If only she’d said No. If only she’d made a fuss and said No, we‘re supposed to be going home together and opening a bottle of wine. If only he hadn‘t gone.

After ten minutes the room was almost full, and at last they were called outside. They entered the prison by a smaller gate she hadn’t noticed, set into the fence. They were taken inside a building and led along a corridor. After handing over what she had brought for Simon and signed a receipt the visitors had to hang about again and have the backs of their hands stamped.

"It’s so we let you out at the end," said a cheerful officer, "If you haven’t got a stamp we keep you here!"

"But I’m a woman!" said a stunning-looking black girl.

"You’d be surprised what can happen in Visits!" said the officer.

What on earth did he mean?

Then at last they were led into a big hall. "You’re at table number 16."

But surely it wasn’t wrong to have objected to Simon being out so much? Other women must say things like that, but surely it didn’t always mean people going off the rails? In the run-up to the trial Simon had been saying, ‘It could have happened to anyone.’ But could it?

She sat down at the low table and tried to tug the chair forward but it was bolted to the floor. A CCTV camera was fixed to the wall above her.

As other visitors were being sent to other tables the room gradually filled up with quiet chatter. There were more children here than she expected. Shouldn’t they be at school?

Now the prisoners were coming in. Goodness, what a mixed bunch. She watched a thick thug of a man scoop up a two-year, sending her into squeals of laughter while his wife watched with a delighted smile. She saw the older couple greet a man of their age with warm handshakes and serious expressions. A young black man was actually boogie-ing towards his family, his face beaming..

And there was Simon loping down the gangway between the tables. Christine’s heart lurched. By the time he reached her she was crying and then they were both crying and hanging on to each other.