Tim Saunders, author, journalist and publisher
It was going to be a glorious day. As he sat he realised that before too long he would have to take his jacket off because that sun was starting to warm up. Here he was. His dream for the last 15 years. The peace, tranquillity; an utter contrast to his life up to this point. But it was already boring him.
Ex-con Terence Maynard was 75 years old. He’d been on the wrong side of the law since he was a nipper. All that was past now. As he sat contemplating his dotage he could not forget about what put him inside this last time. He was determined that he was too old for anything like that to happen again. He hadn’t meant to shoot the bank manager when he wouldn’t hand over the cash. But Terence had been desperate; if he hadn’t been he wouldn’t even have gone on the job in the first place. There were a couple of others involved but he, quite rightly, carried the can for the murder. His good behaviour had reduced his 25-year sentence by a decade. He still regretted that cold blooded shooting of an innocent man who represented everything that was right in the world. He hated himself for making the man’s wife a widow and their children fatherless. No matter how beautiful this view the taking of that life would always haunt him. It was the worst crime he had ever committed.
He had known institutionalised ex-cons who couldn’t cope outside and had committed suicide after a couple of days. Others had committed any crime to get back inside. Some went straight.
Out of the corner of his eye he couldn’t help spotting a magnificent yacht making its way to the nearby harbour.
He had never been one to idly sit on his backside and watch the world pass him by. When an opportunity presented itself it had to be taken…