Chris Lewis - Crazy: My Road to Redemption

First published in 2017

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2017

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Chris Lewis, 2017

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EPUB ISBN 978 0 7509 8325 9

Original typesetting by The History Press

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16 Who is the Real Chris Lewis?
Part 2 The View of the Ghostwriter

Ive never been so apprehensive in my life. Its Monday, 8 December 2008. My Virgin Airways plane lands from St Lucia into the South Terminal of Gatwick Airport. Its just after eight oclock in the morning.

Ive arrived, and Im scared. While my fellow travellers nervously grip their partners hands in anticipation of the first violent contact with the tarmac, all I can think of are the cans of fruit juice in my luggage that contain cocaine. Paranoia seeps from the air vents and heightens all my emotions. Im unsure of whats real or whats unreal. Everyone appears to be looking at me with accusing eyes.

Theres a family occupying a row further along the fuselage, and when the father looking around the cabin turns in my direction, Im sure that this brief eye contact is a tacit accusation. He seems to look at me with an accusing eye, but how can he know? Maybe hes a police officer and is keeping an eye on me, because they already know. This paranoia is going to be the theme of the whole morning.

The airport at this time of day is quiet. I walk to passport control and there are two men standing behind the counter. I assume theyre checking all the travellers, but they seem to be looking directly at me and no one else. I walk through passport control to the baggage reclaim area, where bags are slowly beginning to emerge from the carousel flaps. Many cases travel the full circle a number of times, while others are claimed immediately by their owners, who then head to customs. For a while, theres no sign of my bag. It seems like an eternity, but then my luggage emerges from the plastic strips. I look at my bag nervously. Its slightly ajar, the zipper half open. I hadnt put any padlocks on them. But then again, Im very tired and realise that in my many years of travelling Ive often failed to close my bag properly. Come on, Chris, pull yourself together. Youre just overthinking everything, I tell myself. I look around and pick up my bag, taking a deep breath. I follow a group of fellow passengers towards the nothing to declare exit. They walk through but before I can reach the exit one of the officers I thought had been looking at me earlier is now standing at the exit. His voice is level and calm as he says, Excuse me, sir, may I check your luggage? My bag is taken to one side and the officer looks through it. He reaches for the three cans of fruit juice and removes them. Inside, Im shaking, trembling. I can hardly stand.

The officer takes the cans to be X-rayed. His body language betrays nothing as he lifts the cans and places them on the X-ray machine. In an instant, I have a thousand thoughts that trigger the infinite consequences of my actions. I try to breathe more slowly. The officer returns and he tells me that the X-rays have revealed nothing. A sense of relief washes over me, but its momentary as he explains that he is going to have to open the cans. Around me normal life carries on as people chat on their way back from various destinations, but I feel disconnected from it, as if in a bubble of my own anxiety. The first sobering thoughts Ive had in months become so obvious and apparent, and when the officer returns after having discovered the cocaine I know that everything is going to change. In an instant, the future looks very different to the one I had imagined. The officer takes the cans away and for a brief time I am alone. For a second or two, I almost convince myself that everything is going to be okay, but it passes before I can blink, as reality floods in and drowns out any sense of hope. Whats my mum going to say? What are my brothers going to think? What about the press and everyone else? No part of this is going to be good. The customs officer returns after what could have been minutes or seconds I dont know. He tells me the cans have tested positive for cocaine. Doom and gloom descends. He asks me to follow him, and I do. I am taken upstairs and to the left into what looks like a normal waiting room. At this time, I cant say Im even thinking any longer. I can feel the panic running through my body. Externally, as ever, I try to remain calm, but inside Im racing. Im like the duck that seems at ease on the water while underneath its legs are going crazy. Im waiting for the police to arrive, and when they do, I am arrested. So begins a long journey, one that would take six-and-a-half years of my life.

I arrive at Brighton police station. I dont remember much of the journey. At the station, Im processed and put into a cell. My mind continues to race. In the cell, Im alone for the first time. My head is spinning, I could scream with disbelief about where I am. A while later, Im told that I can make my phone call. There is no doubt who I am going to call my younger brother, Mark, but then I remember hell be at work and unable to take the call, so I choose a close friend instead. I ask them to tell my brother where I am and what has happened that Ive been arrested.

My night in Brighton police station is just surreal. Its hard to comprehend quite how Ive moved from one state of being to another so rapidly. A few hours before, I had been a free man returning home, now Im a criminal facing a long sentence in jail and having to tell my loved ones not just where I am but what I have done. I spend one night in Brighton before Im taken to a prison in Surrey. Driving into the prison, I begin to recall all the prison movies I had seen as a younger man. We all have a vision of what prison must be like, and Im about to experience mine at first hand; this is so far out of my comfort zone, I cant believe it.

I doubt whether I can survive even a couple of days in here. I dont think so. With the cell door locked behind me, its the first time in a long while things are quiet. I think about my family but it only makes my head spin and I want to scream.

When I decided to import drugs I never gave my family a thought. I didnt think about the negative aspects of what I was about to do. I was never going to be caught and so I never had to think about the consequences for my family. Now in this cell they come to mind. What have I done? I sit and think about the countless others who are going to be affected by the fallout from this. My family and friends are going to be affected and thats hard to cope with because, although I will have to live with my mistakes, they will inadvertently have to live some of this with me too.