Are you alright?” Clara asked him as he stood next to his car, looking at the house in front of them. It was a nice little house on a quiet street in Sevenoaks, just an hour outside of London and John had grown increasingly nervous on their way here.
“I'm not sure,” he replied.
“Well,” she said, “If you want to know the truth about what happened 26 years ago, the answer is probably behind that very door.”
“Yes, you're probably right.”
He held out his hand and Clara took it and together they stepped towards the door. It opened before they even had the chance to ring the bell.
“You must be John Smith,” a man in his mid 30s greeted them with a friendly smile.
“And I suppose you're Mr Farley. I hope you didn't mind that I brought some emotional support along,” John said, pointing at Clara.
“Hi, I'm Clara Oswald,” she greeted the man and shook his hand before he invited them both inside.
John sat down at the dinner table, not letting go off Clara's hand.
“You said you wanted to talk about what I saw the night this guy got killed on my street?” Mr Farley asked.
“Yes,” John said, clearing his throat, “I want to be absolutely honest with you. I was the other man involved in the fight during which my friend died. I suffered a trauma to the head and I remember nothing of that night. I want to know what happened. I've been to prison for 25 years not remembering what it was that I had done. I need answers.”
Mr Farley frowned and for a very long moment he said nothing at all.
“You were at the window,” John said, “I remember seeing a boy. But that's all.”
“Yes, I was. I,” he paused, “I liked watching the gang, imagining that one day I could be one of them or that they'd take care of my bullies.”
“What gang?”
He shrugged. “I don't know, just a gang. I was a boy, I didn't know what it was about. Just that around the time of the incident there was a gang hanging out behind the bar. You said you were there with a friend? And he was killed?”
John nodded and swallowed hard.
“They killed your friend, probably. I, erm, I remember two men coming out of the bar, arguing and they surprised the gang. It all went down very quickly. I don't remember much. But they attacked you. It was over in a heartbeat.”
He wasn't quite sure if he was hearing the young man correctly and it was Clara's voice, calling his name, that brought him back to reality.
“John,” she squeezed his hand, “That means maybe you didn't do it after all.”
“Tell me more. Tell me everything you remember,” John ordered the man.
He shrugged again. “I don't remember much more. They left you there. They never came back after that. I know I should have said something back then, I should have called an ambulance, but I was a scared little boy. It was years before I realized I should have told someone. I lied to my mother as well. She always got mad when I was out of bed at that hour.”
John wasn't entirely sure what a shock felt like, but this would have to be quite close. The things the man said wouldn't make sense. He had always thought there must have been a reason for him to have attacked and killed his friend, but this was not what he had been expecting.
“Would you give that statement to a lawyer?” Clara suddenly asked, “If what you say is true then John spent half of his life in prison for a crime he didn't commit at all. It needs to be investigated.”
“Clara, I don't think anyone cares after 26 years,” John found himself saying.
“I care,” she replied strictly, “They should at least look into it whether they find something or not.”
“Of course I'd give the statement,” Mr Farley replied, “Give me the phone number of your lawyer and I'll talk to him. I'm sorry. I should have done this 26 years ago. I'll do anything I can to make that up to you.”
“Thank you,” Clara replied kindly, “We'll text you the phone number once we get home. Thank you for telling us.”
John still didn't feel quite real after they had said goodbye and left the house and Clara offered driving back home, which was probably