Prisoner Read online

  ‘This is Lena,’ says Fats, with evident pride.

  ‘I don’t get out much, so I look forward to Tony coming home,’ she says. ‘There are kerbs and cars everywhere here, so it’s tricky getting out and about without him. When I got his text to say he might have a friend come with him, I was like, hurray, company!’

  Fats’s face goes red, so I glug my beer. It tastes damn good. They always do after a hard day, when you feel as though you’ve earned it.

  ‘Actually, Fats wants to go nightclubbing,’ I say.

  She throws a tea towel at me. Fats does a little jiggle in his chair.

  It’s nearly 9 p.m. when I leave. I wheel my bike home, enjoying the buzz of the alcohol after amusing company. I have a sense of satisfaction after surviving another tough day. There’s a tinge of regret that Fats and I could have been mates outside work years ago, but life’s not easy nowadays. It seems as if having a family has taken me away from my friends and how I lived before. I never even wanted kids.

  I remove the locks and secure my bike in the rear garden. Abi is staring through the kitchen window as I approach it. Her jaw is set and she doesn’t open the door to let me in. Why do I have to come home to this every day? She sits down at the kitchen table when I step into the room, tapping a fingernail on the surface.

  ‘Evening.’

  ‘Don’t give me that. Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been at Fats’s.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’

  ‘On what? My magic phone?’

  ‘You’re drunk again? I can smell it from here.’

  ‘I had a few beers, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re so selfish. Don’t you think I need a break?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m so selfish, I’ve just spent twelve hours in a prison so you can sit on your fat arse and do fuck all. The kids are in bed by the time I get home. What’s stopping you from doing what you want?’

  ‘I wanted to have some adult conversation, or some fresh air. He’s been a nightmare again, and he’s still awake now. I’m off out. Start your next shift.’

  She’s so angry, and for a minute I think she might hit me as she stamps past. She grabs her coat and starts hunting through the pile of shoes. Abi looked like Sheryl Crow when we first met, but she’s aged fast these last four years. We both have.

  It’s not safe to walk around our estate late at night but, in this instance, it’s the muggers I fear for. They’ll get a nasty surprise if they start on Abi. I’m smiling as I climb the stairs, at the thought both of that, and of seeing my son. He can be a handful, but I seem to calm him most of the time. Ivan’s awake and stares up at me as I hover over him. He doesn’t say anything; he rarely does. We still have the battered nursing chair we had for both kids when they were babies. It remains in the room next to his bed for us to sleep on when he screams at night.

  ‘Hey, son. You okay?’

  No response. I fetch a blanket and pull it over me. Right now, I could snooze on broken glass.

  ‘Do you want a hug, Ivan, or a kiss goodnight?’

  He shakes his head.

  That’s not unusual, but a little hand appears from under the duvet and I take it. His breathing settles within a minute. The front door slams downstairs as Abi leaves. She’s always been a slammer. She probably wants me to chase after her and try to get her to calm down, as I used to, but I’m too tired. Tired of work, tired of life, tired of my absent sex life, and tired of living with an angry stranger. The worst part is, when I look to the future, all I can see is more of the same.

  9

  Ten years ago

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door. I’m lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  ‘Come in,’ I shout.

  ‘Didn’t you hear the doorbell?’ asks my mum in the doorway.

  ‘No, I was listening to music.’

  There’s no music playing in my room. My mum grins.

  ‘More like daydreaming, you little love sponge.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Talking of music, play some loud stuff next time Abi stays over. Or I’ll be scarred for life.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Shagger is here, but I didn’t want him to just appear, what with you listening to music. Shall I tell him to come up?’

  ‘Yes, please. And let’s pretend this chat never happened.’

  She walks in and ruffles my hair and pretends to look disgusted at her hand as she leaves, as though she’s touched something with fleas. My mum’s a real joker, but easy-going. I can’t remember anything about my dad, but we have a few pictures dotted around. She said he wasn’t the settling-down type and was a messy sod, so we were better off without him. I have no idea where he lives now.

  I’ve moved in and out of Mum’s home many times over the years and she always lets me come back rent free. I’m not sure if that makes me secure, knowing I have a safety net, or flaky because I’ve always got somewhere to return to.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When I was at school, I often told her that I would be rich. She wouldn’t have to work and she could spend her days floating around our outside heated pool. That tickled her. She never had much time to herself. I hate the thought that she might have bought into my pathetic dreams. Perhaps she brought the Argos catalogue home and checked out the inflatable section. I seem to be making a mess of life. Everything good slips out of my grasp.

  Martin is my best mate and has been since his family came over from Cork. We started senior school together not long after he arrived. He’s what my mum calls a shagger. He agrees with this and thinks he should have been born a stallion. I used to believe I was the same. He doesn’t knock.

  ‘Right, Dalton. I assumed you were drunk when I spoke to you earlier, boy. We’re heading to the pub now. Get your dancing shoes on.’

  ‘Come on, Martin. I told you I was seeing Abi.’

  He sits on the bed next to me. He’s deadly serious, which is rare.

  ‘The runner?’

  ‘You know who she is.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Bit of shopping, bite to eat, or a coffee at Caffè Nero.’

  ‘Sounds shite. Woods and Belly want to discuss the holiday in The Dragonfly.’

  I’ve been trying to avoid this conversation. Ever since I met Abi, I’ve felt torn in two. She doesn’t fit into my hedonistic life, but I need to be part of hers. Plus, I can’t afford two holidays.

  ‘Come on, Dalton. Tell me you’re still coming.’

  ‘I don’t know if I am, mate.’

  Martin stands. He’s not angry, which is worse.

  ‘It feels like I’m losing you to this running thing, when I thought you were a drunken party thing.’

  ‘Sorry. You understand how it is, though, right? I reckon she might be the one.’

  ‘What? Jet Li is the one. So, what does that make Abi? The evil one? The bewitching one? Or perhaps just the horny little one.’ He’s smiling now, but I can see he’s hurt. ‘Or is that you?’

  ‘Both of us, I guess.’

  ‘Looks like you’re not budging, then, so I’d better go,’ he says. ‘Ring me in the week.’

  I nod and wave, but it’s easy to forget when you’re so distracted. I’ve felt as if I’ve been punched in the gut since the day I met Abi, and it’s been brilliant. It wasn’t a thunderbolt or mad raging lust, even though there was attraction when we first met. The best way I can describe it is that I immediately felt as if we belonged together. I knew I could spend the rest of my life with her, whatever that might entail, and be happy.

  For me, the search is over. Mostly, that’s a wonderful feeling but, just on the odd occasion, I wonder if I’m enough for her.

  10

  Present

  The tweeting birds wake me up. My mouth is bone dry from the drink at Fats’s and I’m disorientated. After blinking a few times, I recognise my son’s plain white bedroom walls. Every other room in the house is magnolia apart from Tilly’s, which is pink.
I spent an entire Saturday wallpapering Ivan’s room with some Disney paper after he started watching some of their cartoons with me. He seemed peaceful and distracted, especially by Buzz Lightyear. Ivan was three then, and the phrase ‘terrible twos’ doesn’t come close to explaining his antics. He screamed the place down that Saturday night, an hour after I’d left him in bed. I had to spend all Sunday taking the wallpaper off and repainting.

  It was around then that Abi and I took him to the local GP surgery. Abi explained his behaviour to the doctor with notes she’d made, while I sat quietly with a strange sense of detached reality.

  ‘Sounds like his terrible twos are continuing,’ said the doctor.

  ‘And the not talking?’ asked Abi.

  ‘You mentioned he talks sometimes.’

  ‘But not much. He rarely likes to be touched, and he gets ever so angry. And not just a tantrum but a really scary rage.’

  ‘The terrible twos cover a range of behaviour that can start as early as one, and may continue for years. All children develop differently but it all sounds perfectly normal.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel normal.’

  He looked at us both kindly.

  ‘It’s possible that he has ASD, Autism Spectrum Disorder, but it’s a broad diagnosis and not especially helpful if the symptoms are relatively mild, and your son doesn’t seem too affected. From what you’ve said, he communicates without problems, will let you know if he’s hot or hungry. At times, you can leave him alone to draw or play. He tolerates playschool a couple of days per week, and physically he’s robust and strong. He isn’t significantly impacted like most children with the condition.’

  I finally spoke.

  ‘So, we just put up with it?’

  ‘This might seem crazy, but try to enjoy it. Commit to a structured day. Support and encourage him. He may have a few symptoms, but I don’t think you need to look for a diagnosis. Work together as a team and give each other breaks. These symptoms are mild in comparison to many, even though it may not seem that way.’

  ‘I could cope, I think, but Ivan’s so distant. It feels as if he doesn’t like me. Isn’t there any help out there?’ said Abi.

  ‘Kids change quickly. He’s only three. Come back if you have more questions. There’s a lot of information about this type of thing on the NHS website. There are groups on Facebook. You aren’t alone, but there isn’t any funding for therapy at the moment. You’ll need to support him yourselves until he goes to school.’

  ‘I’ve never felt so alone,’ said Abi, with no emotion.

  The doctor’s jovial expression faded.

  ‘And how are you two getting on? Ivan might be picking up on any tension between the pair of you. Are you managing to parent as a team?’

  The doctor gestured to our chairs. We’d pulled them up almost as far away from each other as possible without looking rude. Abi and I attempted a smile and left shortly after.

  We stopped at McDonald’s on the way home and talked properly for the first time in ages. I agreed to be more hands on. She swore she’d try harder. We both had hope, but hope doesn’t last forever. Just a few weeks in our case.

  Ivan coughs next to me and pulls me from my memories, but he doesn’t wake. I gently remove his hand from mine and pull the covers up to his chin. He looks peaceful and relaxed. The floorboards creak as I stand and I freeze. Looking down at Ivan, I hold my breath and watch his eyes slowly open. He scowls, then smiles and closes his eyes again.

  It’s 4 a.m. Saturday. Outside, I hear distant drunken laughter from people getting home from nightclubs. The prison shifts are different at the weekend. I’m on an eight until five, so there’s a chance I can get more sleep before I have to leave.

  I creep into our bedroom and slip yesterday’s uniform off. Abi grumbles as I slide into the bed, but then reverses a bit so we’re almost spoons. I place my arm over her, but it feels unnatural. I’ve no idea when we last had strong physical contact, never mind sex. Not this year, anyway. I rest my hand on her shoulder and feel her stiffen. She shrugs my hand off, and I turn away.

  11

  Ivan bursts into our room at 5.30 a.m.

  ‘Come on, Daddy. I’m starving.’

  He disappears. I rise how I imagine a ninety-year-old would and follow him downstairs. He pours us both a bowl of cereal as I slump in a seat. More of the food goes over the table than in our bowls so I grab the milk from him to prevent a similar fate. Sometimes he likes me to eat with him. We’ll smile at each other in a secret conspiracy. I love it because that often means we have a good day ahead then. He sits on the other side of the table and picks up his spoon.

  ‘Are you going to work?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll be back in time to chomp our tea together and to put you to bed.’

  He considers this, judges it acceptable, and begins to eat. God knows what the cereal is. It tastes like crumbled biscuits and will do wonders for my blood sugar.

  ‘Watch Mermaid?’

  It’s a bit early for Disney, but it’s nice to see Ivan so relaxed so I set up the movie and sit on the sofa. He usually sits in touching distance, but not actually touching. Today he plonks himself next to me and I tentatively put my arm around him. He tenses, then relaxes. Any stress drops away and my eyelids droop.

  The closing credits wake me up again. I glance at Ivan, who still has my arm around him. He waits until the screen goes blank, then coolly looks up at me.

  ‘Again,’ he says.

  I take the remote off my knee and get it started again. We snuggle back together. After a few more minutes, I close my eyes for a second time, but the lounge door opening wakes me up. Abi stands before me in her Mickey Mouse pyjamas that I bought her as a joke years ago, tears streaked down her face.

  ‘You’re going to be late,’ she says.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven-thirty.’

  I kiss the top of Ivan’s head and grin because he continues what he’s doing. He often shrinks away after affection, as though you’ve taken advantage of him.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she says.

  That doesn’t sound good.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get home before six,’ I reply.

  ‘I want to tell you something now, while I feel strong.’

  I extricate myself from Ivan’s side and stride into the kitchen. My mobile is on the table. I check the time and see a message from my old mate, Martin. It’s short and sweet, but distracting. I put the phone down.

  ‘Okay, Abi. You’ve got five minutes or I’ll be late.’

  She glowers at me but whispers.

  ‘I think we should split up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Why?’

  She takes a deep breath, but maintains eye contact.

  ‘Are you happy?’ she asks.

  ‘No, of course I’m not happy.’

  ‘What’s the point, then?’

  ‘I was hoping things would change.’

  Her voice rises. ‘If you want things to change, you need to change.’

  ‘Me, is it? Just me? Actually, you have changed. Into a nagging grump.’

  ‘You’d turn anyone into that. It’s like living with a zombie.’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘And you think I’m not?’

  ‘You can have a nap during the day. She’s at school and he’s at playschool.’

  ‘Will the washing fairy come over while I’m asleep? Or the hoovering and cleaning fairy?’

  My own voice escalates.

  ‘Judging by the shithole we live in, it doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘Perhaps if you helped around here, I wouldn’t be so miserable.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll pop home tonight, pack my bags and clear off. That what you want? I can have both kids every other weekend? Take them to Big Sky with my new girlfriend. Sounds okay to me.’

  ‘You bastard.’

  A high-pitched scream stops us in our tracks. Ivan is at the door. I step towards
him.

  ‘Hey, sorry. We were just having a little argument,’ I whisper.

  I reach out to touch him, but he steps back as though I’m a leper. He returns to the lounge and tries to slam the door, but he’s too small and it closes slowly. He settles for giving it little kicks on the other side. I shake my head at Abi.

  ‘Great work, you selfish cow. Couldn’t you have waited until I got home? Waited until he’d gone to bed?’

  I pound up the stairs and quickly pull on my trousers. There are no clean work shirts. I pick up yesterday’s and give it a sniff. It smells as if I cycled to my prison job and wrestled with a troll during my twelve-hour shift there, which is more or less true. I put it on and cover myself in deodorant and aftershave. I collect my coat from the kitchen where Abi now sits with her head in her hands. We hear the sound of thrown things ricocheting around the lounge.

  I crouch next to Abi.

  ‘Have a fabulous day, sweetie.’

  12

  I almost slam the front door, but realise in time that makes me no better than Ivan, and I might wake Tilly. The rain is torrential, but getting wet is the least of my worries. I stick a beanie on, unlock the bike and set off in the downpour.

  Our next-door neighbour’s windows are all open and the curtains billow. Sweet summer rain smells different around our way. My kids will grow up thinking fresh air carries the scent of marijuana. I’m cutting it fine timewise and tear along the streets with a blank mind, just focussing on pumping my thighs. By the time I reach the bike shed, I’m soaked inside and out and my legs are wobbly, but any anger has gone. Fats is securing his bike when I arrive.

  ‘Morning, sir. Another glorious day in the corps,’ he says.

  ‘Every pay cheque’s a fortune,’ I reply.

  ‘Every inmate’s really a nice guy.’

  ‘I love the corps.’