Prisoner Read online

  She can’t help laughing, though, and her head tips back, which is a relief. I was wondering if I’d misjudged her. It takes her half a minute to calm down.

  ‘Are you a new boy?’ she asks.

  ‘I was once. Old enough now.’

  ‘You’re from the male side, aren’t you? I can tell. You’re too relaxed. First time over here?’

  ‘I’ve done a few shifts on this side. They must have thought some different scenery and a few fresh faces would cheer me up.’

  She edges near me, wafting me with a flowery aroma.

  ‘I bet it smells really terrible over there,’ she says. ‘But, trust me, it can stink over here, too.’

  The nurse rattles the girl’s ID card on the dispenser.

  ‘Today, please!’ she shouts, with an East-European accent.

  While Prestwick returns to the hatch, the other girl passes me her ID card. It feels greasy. Her feet shuffle and she scratches her neck. Her name is Kitty Monroe, which seems remarkably normal for the wheezing creature next to me. She hasn’t looked me in the eye once. In fact, she’s barely taken her eyes off the floor. The photo of her on the card looks familiar, though. The person in it is enormous with dishevelled, wet-looking hair. Sadly, she reminds me of The Undertaker from WWE. It doesn’t look like the woman in front of me, who reaches past me and grabs Prestwick’s arm.

  ‘Come on, Ruined. Let’s go.’

  Confused, I stare at the girl with the Prestwick card and wonder if they’ve been swapping cards so they can try each other’s meds. Something I’m wise to on the male side, but my guard must have dropped.

  ‘Was that Ruined or Ruiz that she called you? If so, where’s Prestwick?’ I ask the little one.

  Prestwick tosses the pill back into her mouth and drinks the cup of water. She shows me a surprisingly white set of teeth and a pink tongue. There’s no sign of a pill.

  ‘It’s a nickname. I’m Ruined and she’s Broken. We know each other from the road. Only one other person calls me Ruined apart from her. It’s like our bond. We’re sisters. Although a lot of people in here have nicknames. This one in there—’ she points to the nurse behind the bars, ‘she’s called Angsty.’

  Prestwick steps past me and waits outside the room for Monroe to get her meds. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the nurse taking pills from many bottles. She passes them over to Monroe, but then I see the hard-faced nurse’s expression change.

  ‘Are you okay, Kitty?’

  Monroe nods and puts the pills in her mouth one at a time and crunches them up with her front teeth. She drinks the water with her eyes closed so she doesn’t have to look at me. She keeps them closed when she opens her mouth. Her tongue is white and her teeth are brown.

  ‘That’s the last one,’ I tell the nurse, who grunts at me.

  ‘Okay, ladies. Have a good day,’ I say to Prestwick and Monroe.

  Monroe was leaving but she stops. She looks at my face for the first time. I’m surprised to recognise intelligence in her stare.

  ‘I remember you,’ she says, then strides away.

  Prestwick watches her leave with a small frown before turning back to me.

  ‘She never speaks to the male officers. You’re an interesting man, sir. Will we see you again?’

  I’m not like some officers, who tell the inmates nothing about their personal lives. I tend to be a little vague, or it’s hard to build a relationship with the people who will come to rely on you. It’s better if they come to me with their problems, rather than letting them fester. Besides, HMP Peterborough’s not the kind of place where rich, organised criminals end up. There won’t be anyone pulling up behind my car at the traffic lights on the way home and forcing me to bring in things for their criminal boss, so I tell her the truth.

  ‘You should do. I’m here for a couple of weeks, maybe more.’

  ‘Good, this place is tedious, and you’ve got a spark.’

  I’m not sure how to reply to that, so merely smile.

  ‘Bye, sir. Be careful. Not everyone here is who they say they are.’

  The nurse has packed her trolley up and stands next to me.

  ‘Can you put a freeze on?’ she asks.

  A freeze is a security procedure. It clears the route of prisoners so the med trolley can be safely taken to Healthcare, but I haven’t got a radio to get everyone behind their wing gates. I glance around. There’s no one here who can overpower me.

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll walk you back to Healthcare.’

  The nurse frowns, then pushes the trolley towards the houseblock doors. She says nothing on the way there, leaving me to ponder the conversation with Prestwick. Her name makes me think of nobility and she spoke with a middle-class accent despite the slang she used. Even her vocabulary was out of place. I have no idea what angsty means.

  I leave the nurse and her trolley in Healthcare and return to the wings. It dawns on me that Prestwick is the third person to give me a warning about this side of the jail.

  16

  It’s probably the easiest shift I’ve ever had. There were no alarms, no fights, and not even any complaints about the food. Not a single yoghurt was thrown. Time actually dragged this afternoon. Yet I feel eyes upon me. They have dropped when I turn around.

  As I’m without a wing, I offer to help the officer, Braddock, on Zulu 1 to lock up. Braddock was left on his own today after his colleague went on an escort to the hospital after a vicious fight on one of the male exercise yards.

  ‘Dalton, you old dog, I see you’ve sneaked over here,’ he says.

  ‘I missed you, Braddock, and wanted to spend more time with you. Did I hear you got your ten-year award?’

  ‘Yes, Christ. Ten years of my life in here.’

  ‘How long have you been with the women?’

  ‘Only six months. I’m moving back to the male side when the next training course goes live.’

  ‘Really? Don’t you like it over here?’

  ‘No, not much. Most of the girls are the same ages as my daughters. I find it depressing. My kids are both at university and, thankfully, they don’t understand a single thing about the misery this lot have been through. And it’s too quiet most of the time. I must admit, I bring the paper in every day, do the crossword, and drink loads of tea. I never had time for any of that shit with the men, but this place gets to you. Mark my words.’

  ‘It’s boring?’

  ‘It can be, but the violence can come out of nowhere when you’re not expecting it. There are some troubled souls here.’

  Braddock and I have a bond. We were working a wing together male side. It was a bad-tempered lunchtime where we hadn’t received the right food. I was behind the servery trying to sort out the mess we were in while Braddock was attempting to keep control of the queue of hungry men. I watched an inmate, Pauley, mouth off after Braddock shouted at him to be patient. Instead of rejoining the line, the prisoner walked to the hot-water dispenser. The lad’s determined face caught my eye as he returned.

  It’s true when they say time slows during times of danger. I shouted out a warning but there was already too much noise. Pauley headed straight for Braddock. As his arm came back to fling the near boiling liquid in Braddock’s face, I grabbed the only thing nearby, a serving ladle, and threw it at them. It was a poor shot and flew over their heads. Braddock saw it out of the corner of his eye and ducked, which meant the scalding water flew over his shoulder and splashed one of the wing workers behind him.

  It nearly caused a riot. One of the cleaners found a tooth on the floor the next day. Braddock didn’t thank me. He merely held my gaze and shook my hand very firmly before he went home that night. We never spoke of it again.

  ‘Behind your doors, ladies!’ he shouts.

  I watch in amazement. The inmates are already standing at their doors. He just walks along the line of cells and locks them in. No aggravation, nobody still on the phones, no one hiding under a friend’s bed, not even anyone in the showers. We go around with the clipb
oard afterwards and do roll count. Nearly all of them say goodnight, despite it only being 5 p.m. It’s like a scene from The Waltons.

  Braddock is another officer who I have a solely work-based relationship with. He told me his wife left him a few years back and took his car. He said he loved that car. Perhaps it was just bravado, and he was devastated about his wife too. This job changes you. Partners have to adapt. Sometimes they can’t.

  Braddock and I enter the hub and fill in the form. He has a roll of twenty-nine. The rest of the wing staff filter in and complete their paperwork. The officers are mostly in their early twenties. It seems as though they’re all going out tonight. Braddock, who’s nearly fifty, rolls his eyes at me, making me feel ancient. He’s old school and doesn’t bother with an earpiece on his radio, which comes to life.

  ‘The roll has cleared on both sides. I repeat, the roll is clear.’

  I reach the gatehouse at the same time as Fats. He looks as though he’s just staggered over the finish line of the London Marathon on a hot Sunday afternoon.

  ‘Tough day?’ I ask.

  ‘Two barricades. Both my wing. And a stabbing on the yard. Someone nicked my packed lunch from the office, too.’ He studies my face. ‘You look like you’ve spent the day at a spa.’

  ‘More a dirty backpackers’ hostel than a spa, but still relaxing.’

  ‘Is it different?’

  ‘Yes, very. The YO wing only has nineteen inmates on it.’

  ‘And still has two officers running it?’

  ‘Yep. You not worked over there?’

  ‘No, never. Any pretty girls?’

  ‘Not really. Most of them are in prison greys and are bedraggled. I suppose that’s to be expected. We had no fighting today at all.’

  Fats looks rueful, but he’s not the type to be jealous.

  ‘Good for you. Actually, I have a favour to ask. I was wondering if I could pass your telephone number to Lena in case of an emergency. I know you might be at work with me, but it’ll give her a bit of peace of mind.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  We reach the bike shed.

  ‘You go on,’ says Fats. ‘I am pooped. I’m just going to push it for a while.’

  Fats waves me off. I feel full of energy. A grin creeps over my face. I set off fast and fly by The Halcyon Pub, which is around the corner from the prison. I’m soon through The Grange playing fields and along Westwood Park Road. It’s a while before, as I’m tanking down Thorpe Road, I remember where Kitty Monroe recognised me from. She came in during the shift when I worked in Female Reception six months ago. She hated or feared men at that point, too, but since then, something about her has changed.

  17

  Six months ago, Female Reception

  I check my watch for the fiftieth time. Incredibly, it’s now 9 p.m. I walk to the reception desk, where Senior Officer Odom is eating an apple.

  ‘Where the hell are they?’ I ask.

  ‘The gatehouse just messaged to say the court van has arrived, and it’s being searched.’

  ‘And this is definitely the last of them?’

  ‘Yeah. They were at Cambridge Crown Court. A couple of them received two years, and the other one got eight. The details are a bit sketchy at the moment, but I think the one who got eight killed her toddler. She had a panic attack in the court cells. Hence the late hour, because they were all booked on the same escort vehicle.’

  I lean against the desk with both hands, my gaze dropping to the floor, and try to stay calm.

  ‘Okay,’ I finally say. ‘It seems shallow to complain when shit like that has happened, but my wife is going to kill me.’

  ‘You know you have to forget about outside until the job is done here in Reception. The people on their way in have to be processed before we leave, even if they’ve made us late and we want to strangle them when they arrive.’

  I smile at SO Odom. None of that is news to me, but he understands talking will keep me relaxed. He is an imposing, intelligent guy pushing two metres in height, who initially reminded me of Muhammad Ali, but Odom never needs to fight. I’m not sure if he’s gay, but he has a picture of an equally attractive Asian man on his desk. Male prisons might be the last bastions of homophobia, but no one dares say anything to Odom.

  ‘Anniversary?’ he asks.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Going out?’

  I scowl at my watch. ‘Seems unlikely now. We have a table booked for nine.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll understand,’ he says, but his eyes glaze over. Finishing late is the curse of Reception. It’s easier than being on the wings because the prisoners generally come in alone, so there’s no pack mentality. A riot is the ultimate fear for an officer. Imagine being trapped on a wing by yourself with a raging mob baying for blood. But in Reception, you can’t go home until the last court van or transfer has arrived. Midnight finishes are possible, and it wreaks havoc with your family life and your sleep.

  I recall Abi’s words when I left.

  ‘You’re certain you will be back on time?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I’m only on until seven-thirty.’

  She smiled, and I saw a glimpse of excitement on her face. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked like that. She hugged me.

  ‘Okay, I’ll get dressed up and be ready as soon as you get home. The taxi is booked for nine. I love enchiladas and margaritas, yummy!’

  She was cold and distant when I rang to say I was going to be late. I said I’d still be back by nine and we’d make it. It’s nine fifteen now. Her phone is ringing out. I imagine Abi in her favourite red dress, which she’s had for years, sitting on the sofa across from her best friend, Maggie, who will have arrived to babysit. No words, just the smell of disappointment and perfume.

  ‘I hope you got her a good present,’ says Odom.

  ‘The meal was the present,’ I reply.

  ‘Oops. Look, here’s the bus now.’

  The vehicle slowly swings alongside the reception entrance. Frost sparkles on the exposed metal bars of the doorway, and I shiver as a blast of freezing air hits me.

  The Serco bus grinds to a halt on the tarmac and the two typical transport staff climb from the cab: bald, mid-forties, and losing the battle with the scales.

  ‘Three women,’ one of them says. ‘One’s in a bit of a mess, crying and weeping, and another is barely responsive. Really bad withdrawal for both, I reckon. The other lady is the problem. She went mad when we put her in the van. Started hurling herself around. I thought she might roll us over.’

  ‘Eh?’ said Odom.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  The two addicts stagger off first. They’re in a wretched state. They are dirty and dishevelled, thin as rakes in skinny jeans and with only summer jackets to fight the winter breeze. They remind me of ancient hags from distant times.

  ‘Missing dinner for bloody junkies,’ I hiss under my breath, not caring that they both hear.

  However, their tortured faces contrast with still soft, young skin. They are compliant and, luckily, we have space for them in Healthcare.

  It turns out the one who got eight years had left her methadone out at home. Methadone is a liquid substitute for heroin. Same dose, just without the buzz. Her toddler had drunk it, leading to the inevitable and terrible tragedy. She moans as though she is the victim, but her day will come. Reality arrives as withdrawal fades. I’m glad to get her out of my sight.

  Now for the last one. It’s like waiting for someone to open a lion’s cage. The harsh prison floodlights light up the side entrance to the vehicle. One of the drivers stamps up the steps of the van and turns to us.

  ‘Ready? I’ll let her out. She was only violent when we touched her.’

  Odom and I exchange glances. We’re big men. The three female officers we have on shift are mature and experienced, and well used to restraining those who’ve lost control. The driver backs out and stands away from the vehicle. Then it’s quiet. My ears strain for sounds of movement. There
’s a squeak, then the suspension strains as something heavy moves inside. The van leans towards us and then tips forward as the weight approaches the door.

  The woman who comes out is enormous. She’s almost as wide as Fats. She thuds down off the last step, keeping her focus on the ground.

  ‘Come forward, please,’ says Odom.

  She doesn’t move. He steps closer. Her knuckles clench.

  ‘Please, we need to process you. Then we’ll get you warm with a hot drink,’ says Odom.

  She opens her legs to assume a wide stance, not dissimilar to a sumo wrestler. The nag of worry deepens. Large people have strong muscles to shift the weight around. Her matted hair hangs down and conceals her face and her intentions.

  ‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ says one of the female officers. ‘We aren’t going to hurt you.’

  I see the obese prisoner’s fists relax. She shuffles forwards and to the side as though to remain a distance from Odom. The female officer cajoles her to keep moving, but she’s stopped.

  ‘Odom, come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s take a break. I could kill a cup of tea.’

  He realises immediately what I’m suggesting and we both walk along the long corridor and stop next to the prop desk. We look back and watch the other officers quietly check in our new guest.

  Odom taps me on the shoulder.

  ‘Good call, mate. You can shoot off now. Maybe you’ll still make it.’

  I grab my coat and hustle out of the prison. It’s 10 p.m. I have to repeatedly smack the front light on my bike to get its beam to work, which reflects off the pouring rain. The puddles on the roads and paths are deathtraps, but I try my best, despite knowing my fate.

  I can’t seem to do anything right for Abi. We were going to be such a great team, but I keep letting her down. And if she’s not happy, the family doesn’t work.

  My frozen hands struggle with the locks when I reach home. The house is in darkness. I flick on the lounge light and see two wine glasses on the table. The empty one has lipstick around the rim. I pick up the other glass and drain it in a gulp. There’s no point in climbing the stairs.