The judge was amazed when I spoke in Spanish
ent. ‘What meat is this?’ the husband had asked. ‘ Yours,’ she replied. She’d murdered the girlfriend, killed the nine-week-old baby and served it up in a dish.
If we didn’t feel sick before, we did now. How the hell were we on the same planet as a monster like that, let alone sharing a prison.
IT WAS in the autumn of 2013 that we heard our case was being fasttracked. The state prosecutor was prepared to cut a deal. The reason was simple. Our story was bringing a lot of unwelcome attention to Peru’s legal system, and even, potentially, to its thriving tourism industry. From the authorities’ point of view, the sooner the publicity died down the better.
The deal was that we would plead guilty in exchange for six years and eight months rather than the 15 we could expect to get if we were convicted. There was only one condition. We had to keep it a secret. If one word leaked out, it was off.
We agreed. It was clear that we had no real choice. Six months after we’d made the worst decision of our lives we became fully-fledged criminals.
I hadn’t expected to spend my 21st birthday in Ancon 2, a fearsome maximum-security facility. It was sometimes hard to see how we would survive a day, let alone several years. And yet I had a strong personal belief that I would be out before the end of my sentence. Even though the rules banned parole for drug traffickers, I felt positive that by working hard and keeping my head down I could turn my situation around.
I grabbed every opportunity I could to prove that I was trustworthy. I took over the running of the prison’s beauty salon, and became a delegada, or representative, for my fellow inmates. Week after week I worked at my Spanish. But t here st i l l moments of black despair, especially when I heard that one of my beloved uncles back in Ireland had died.
The lack of privacy, the constant threat of violence and the sexual harassment from both men and women took their toll.
My lucky break finally came in 2015, when I met a man called Fernando who worked at the local courtroom. At least, that was his day job. What he really did was to hire himself out to prisoners who were fed up with waiting for their paperwork.
For a healthy fee he would grease the appropriate wheels to expedite his clients’ cases. Within seconds of our meeting he had a new customer.
It was the best money I ever spent. Within a short time my appeal for early release was miraculously fixed for March 29, 2016, a few months hence. Both Fernando and Alberto, a local lawyer who had been working on my case, believed I had a strong chance of success.
Alberto gave me a list of questions he’d heard judges ask so that I could work on my answers in Spanish.
I barely slept on the night of the March 28. The moment had arrived.
After some administrative announcements, the court secretary stood up to read out the process of what was going to happen.
A translator began turning the words into English for me, but I announced, as politely as I could, in perfect Spanish, that I understood what was being said. I could see astonished looks passing between the court officials, and even the judge registered mild surprise. I’d certainly got off to a good start.
The prosecutor began a series of questions. To my relief, all but a couple came from Alberto’s list. What had I done productively with my time in prison? What had I learned about Peruvian values? I put my heart and soul into my answers.
The judge then asked me about my family – something I hadn’t mentioned so far because I was worried I’d break down. If I’d ever appeared on Mastermind this would have been my specialist subject. I could list all the ways my behaviour had hurt my mother and siblings and not come up for air.
I spoke for about ten minutes without stopping. The tears arrived around the five-minute mark. The prosecutor appeared unmoved. ‘Why do you think you’re ready to be reunited with society?’ she continued.
‘My family deserves so much better than me,’ I said, ‘ but my mother cannot relax until I’m home.’
‘What would it mean to you and your family if you were to leave here today?’ she asked. ‘One word,’ I said. ‘Everything.’ There was a long silence, and then the judge spoke. ‘Michaella McCollum,’ she said, ‘I see no reason why you cannot receive early release. I’m satisfied that you have served your time to the best of your abilities, and have done so with respect for our customs and our laws. You have spent your time wisely, particularly learning the language, and most importantly you have shown remorse and regret. I see you as not being a threat to the Peruvian people and I recommend your early release.’
For the first time that day the prosecutor smiled. ‘Good luck, Michaella,’ she said. ‘And please look after yourself.’ You know what, I thought. I will. This is a new start. A new beginning. More importantly, it’s the end of the old. My new life started now.
IN FEBRUARY 2017 I was asked if I’d like to write a book about my experiences. It would never have occurred to me, but I was hugely excited by the idea.
I started going back and forth from Northern Ireland to London during that summer, going out and having meetings about the book. Determined to change my life completely, I’d already started studying for A-levels.
And then, just as I’d started back at college for my second year, I found out I was pregnant with twins. While I was in London I’d met someone, but we’d hardly got to know each other before I discovered I was having not just one baby but two.
My beautiful boys, Raphael and Rio, came into the world on May 8, 2018. You think you know what love is, and then you give birth and that surpasses everything you’ve ever felt before.
Somehow, a few weeks later, I took and passed two A-levels – in psychology and sociology. This summer I added Spanish A-level to my tally.
I’m now weighing up my options. Ultimately, I’d love to live in Spain and bring up my boys away from the sectarian nonsense that still blights people’s lives in Northern Ireland. My dream is one day to do an international business degree in Spanish.
When I think of all I’ve been through, even though it was the worst possible thing at the time, it was the making of me. I’ve often wondered, too, what my life would have been like without Melissa. When I needed to cry, she was there. When I felt like I couldn’t do it any more, she picked me up. The thought of doing it all without her is truly scary. It was Melissa who has been such a part of my journey, and who showed me what real friendship is.
I’m so grateful for the way things have turned out and I really, really believe everything happens for a reason. If I hadn’t agreed to write a book, I wouldn’t have been in London; if I hadn’t been in London I wouldn’t have met my babies’ father. Everything is exactly as it should be. © Michaella McCollum, 2019 You’ll Never See Daylight Again, by Michaella McCollum, is published by John Blake on Thursday, priced £12.99. Offer price £10.39 (20 per cent discount) valid until November 19. To order call 01603 648155 or go to mailshop.co.uk.