Prisoner Read online

  Their chairs scrape back, so I bluster into the room.

  ‘Oh, hi. You still here? Tilly dropped her doggy.’

  I stride to where Abi was sitting, and the doggy is under the table. I manage a grin as I walk to the door. They both look guilty, because they both know I heard. They attempt a smile, but I just leave. There’s nothing else to say.

  25

  Present

  A car backfiring jolts me out of a dreamless sleep. Abi also jerks awake. I shuffle up closer to her, but not quite touching. She moves imperceptibly away. It’s my day off. Usually I flop around in bed, trying to snooze but failing, but I had another good night’s rest, despite the horrific self-harming incident at the prison.

  It’s gone seven, so I slide from under the duvet and pull a pair of jogging bottoms on. In the mirror, I can see that I’ve trimmed down so much, my hips and stomach muscles are starting to show. I like it. My body was also something I’ve let slip over the years.

  ‘I’ll wake Ivan and Tilly. Lie in if you want. I’ll walk them to school.’

  Abi gives me a suspicious frown and rolls back to face the wall. The kids and I eat a bowl of cereal. Ivan gets free dinners at his age, so we only need to pay for Tilly’s. It’s expensive, but Abi insisted. When I send them upstairs to get dressed, Abi has risen at some point and put their uniforms out.

  The amble to school is pleasant. Ivan doesn’t want to hold my hand and has a meltdown at the school door and I’m thankful when a teacher whisks him away, but I can hear him crying as I walk past the classroom window.

  Abi is drinking a cup of coffee at the breakfast table when I get back. For someone who has spent the last few days in bed, she doesn’t seem very rested.

  ‘All right?’

  She looks at me through watery eyes. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Kids have been good.’

  ‘That down to you, is it?’

  ‘No, I was just saying. What are you up to today?’

  ‘The same as always.’

  ‘Staying in bed?’

  It was a joke, but clearly not a great one.

  ‘No, I’ll be cleaning and tidying up after you lot. None of you will appreciate it.’

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘Do you ever say that?’

  ‘I am now.’

  ‘Just after I tell you I want to split up.’

  I’m not sure what to say to that. I thought she’d been hitting out.

  ‘Do you still want to break up?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve spoken to my parents. They said I can go out to Spain for a few weeks. My dad reckons they have a good school for ex-pats’ kids near their villa.’

  ‘Come on. Our children won’t want to leave their friends, or their dad.’

  She lets out a big breath. ‘No, I agree, but neither do they like living here.’

  ‘Look, I’ll do all the jobs today.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The cleaning, hoovering, tidying. You do whatever you like. Why don’t you go for a run? You used to love that, but I haven’t seen you in your kit for years.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve always got the kids or housekeeping to do.’

  ‘I’m sure you can find thirty minutes for a quick jog.’

  ‘You’d think.’

  ‘I’m not sitting on my arse either, you know. We need the overtime, remember?’

  She goes back to bed and I attack the housework. I’m just done when it’s time to pick up the kids. Abi has an early tea made for when we get back. We have the children tucked up by eight. It’s a team effort and the kids seem happy. Abi and I sit in the lounge afterwards. Me on the sofa, her perched on the edge of the battered recliner.

  ‘Fancy a drink?’ I ask.

  ‘Any of those ciders left?’

  ‘Erm, no. How about the port that’s been knocking around the cupboard since Christmas? We can get tiddly and reconnect?’

  She jumps to her feet.

  ‘You think it’s that easy? Do a bit of dusting and we’re all friends? I can’t imagine us ever having sex again.’

  She stamps up the stairs, leaving me open-mouthed. I hadn’t realised how far apart we’d drifted. For the first time, I believe we’ll actually break up. And if I’m honest, there’s a part of me that welcomes the idea.

  26

  I wake up the next morning to the sound of thunder. The kids and Abi sleep through the deep rumbles. I arrive at work drenched and trudge to the female side. There is nothing more depressing than a jail under dark skies and heavy rain. The wet metal gates chill your hands and there’s little respite from the prison heating. At least Tex is my partner again, and I’m only on an early.

  I unlock the wing and get the workers out. Tex distributes that day’s tea packs to the prisoners. They call it tea, but I’d rather go without than drink it. We’re sitting in the office updating our six ACCT books when they bring back Jessica Smith – the inmate with the self-inflicted stomach wound. Cut-up must be some kind of horrible prison nickname. She is on three observations per hour and breezily says ‘hi’ as if she’s been away for the weekend on a mini-cruise.

  A slim, tall woman, who I’ve heard speaking in a language I couldn’t place, knocks on the open door. She has light green eyes and light brown skin.

  ‘Rolls for the bog,’ she states.

  It’s a strange thing to ration, but we have to, otherwise it vanishes. I pass her two and ask if she needs anything else. I get a blank stare in reply.

  ‘That’s Billie’s roommate, Zelda. Very messed-up girl,’ says Tex when we’re alone.

  ‘Great, another one to watch out for. Is her English weak?’

  ‘She didn’t speak much to begin with, but she’s improving fast. I think she came from southern Italy, but I’m not certain. Billie said she’ll share with her. I thought Zelda was a loose cannon, but ever since they moved in together Billie’s been ordering her around. Scary pair, them. Check out the scars on Zelda’s arms when it gets warm, and she only has a T-shirt on.’

  Rose-Marie knocks on the door. She’s been crying.

  ‘Miss, can you get someone else to do the servery today? I feel bad.’

  ‘No problem,’ says Tex. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘My stomach aches and I could be sick. I just want to curl up.’

  Rose-Marie’s fleece is unzipped. She puts her hand inside and rubs her stomach where the T-shirt has ridden up. There’s a bit of a bump. It’s something I’ve never considered: a pregnancy in a place like this. Rose-Marie catches me staring.

  ‘What? Did you think I had wind?’

  ‘How far along are you?’

  ‘About twenty weeks. I just started feeling it move. Easiest pregnancy I’ve had.’

  She gives me a smile, but it soon drops as she turns to go.

  ‘I’ll come and talk to you later,’ says Tex.

  After Rose-Marie's gone, a lot of questions go through my mind.

  ‘How does that work then? Being pregnant here can’t be easy. Tex, you’re from the Mother and Baby Unit. I assume they have scans at the hospital and deliver there? Will Rose-Marie automatically move onto the MBU here in the prison with the baby when it’s born, or do they try to give it to a relative?’

  Tex shakes her head. ‘You know she’s only twenty. She must have fallen pregnant just before she came in. That will be her third kid.’

  ‘Where are the other two?’

  ‘The state has them. Rose-Marie was homeless when she came in.’

  ‘What’s she in for?’

  ‘She was shoplifting at Heels Footwear in town and got chased by the security guard. He caught up and had her cornered. She took a needle out of her pocket and said if he came near her, she would give him AIDS.’

  ‘Jesus, how lovely. Has she got AIDS?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Rumours tend to circulate if they have.’

  A few of the inmates have HIV. Nearly always through drug abuse as opposed to prostitution, but they are closely
linked.

  ‘So, if we have an MBU and Rose-Marie has her baby, at least she can keep this one with her in prison.’

  Tex rubs her face before answering. She looks gaunt.

  ‘It’s not that simple. Rose-Marie has been on remand for nearly five months waiting to go to court. Stupidly, she said she wanted a trial, even though there’s CCTV of her running away. She reckons she didn’t pull a needle on him, but who are they going to believe? Her trial is tomorrow, hence the nerves. If she’d pleaded guilty, she’d have probably been out by now.’

  ‘Why didn’t she?’

  ‘That’s the thing. We consider this place a prison, but here she is safe. There are three meals a day, scans, healthcare, friends, she’s clean from grime and heroin, and there’s much less fear than on the streets. It’s the safest location for her and her baby.’

  ‘Then why is she so angry?’

  ‘She’s not. That’s how she’s learned to protect herself. Think of her as a hedgehog. If you get too close, it points its spines. You know, be prickly and show aggression to deter threats, but inside it’s scared. At the end of the day, she’s just a fucking hedgehog.’

  Tex rarely swears, but she’s riled up and continues.

  ‘Rose-Marie believes she has a hope of keeping her child if she has it here. Say the judge gives her two years, so she does one year inside and gives birth during that time. She thinks they’ll put her and the baby in the MBU, then we’ll help them both find a place to live when she leaves.’

  ‘That sounds all right.’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t work like that. She’s had both of her kids taken off her for serious neglect. I understand one of them got hurt. The possibility of her being able to look after the child correctly without considerable support is unlikely. The chances of her relapsing are even higher.’

  ‘Can’t her parents help? Or the father, or his parents?’

  ‘She has nothing to do with her mum and dad, and she doesn’t know who the father is, or won’t say. I suspect she was raped, which isn’t uncommon for young homeless women, but she will see that as weakness and admitting to it doesn’t help her in any way. The state decides whether to take the child away after it’s born. It’s brutal, but it gives the baby the best chance of a normal life before any permanent damage is done growing up with a chaotic, dangerous mother.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ is the only reply I can come up with. How can I have gone through life not knowing this sort of thing happens? I thought I had a good grip on how awful people’s lives can be. ‘I see why she’d be nervous about what tomorrow might bring.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Tex. ‘It’s rough to know the worst outcome for Rose-Marie is that she’s released.’

  We finish the admin tasks and wander the landings. Tex has a quiet word in many of the prisoners’ ears. The morning is a peaceful time over here, but I’m starting to be able to sense tension. Over on the male side, when trouble is brewing there’s plenty of shouting and swearing, and slamming doors. It’s more subtle here, but the atmosphere still leaches into your bones.

  Tex comes out of Rose-Marie’s cell after the promised chat. She puts her hands to her face and massages her cheeks, or is she wiping away tears? I know so little about Tex. Is she gay or straight, married or not? Or does she even have kids? There’s just the dancing thing that got her that nickname, and it’s hard to imagine her togged up in a cowboy outfit, clapping her hands, and moving in a line with a big smile. I feel I should make small talk as we go for the morning meeting, but I’m not sure what to say.

  ‘Do you have kids, Tex?’

  She doesn’t look at me, but she answers.

  ‘I was pregnant once but there were problems. I couldn’t have any more afterwards.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t mention it again.’

  ‘No, that’s okay. If we don’t talk about these things, then nobody knows, and it just becomes a dirty secret.’

  As she strides ahead of me it’s painfully clear that she hasn’t told me everything. Abruptly, she stops and turns.

  ‘I want to help Rose-Marie, but I can’t help thinking of the film Rosemary’s Baby. Have you seen it?’

  ‘I don’t watch old horror films. What happened in it?’

  ‘Let’s just say it doesn’t end well.’

  27

  The rest of the shift is fairly slow. If the inmates have a problem, they talk to Tex, not me. I receive a few smiles and some ‘morning, sir’s. They seem to be getting used to my presence. I hear over the radio that Fats’s personal alarm has been pressed. Comms calls for First and Second Response to attend, which means it’s serious, while Tex and I are staring out of the window at the prison gardens. I point to two big sheds and a thin wire compound.

  ‘Is that where the chickens live?’

  ‘Yes, just past the vegetable patch.’

  ‘And the prisoners work with them?’

  ‘Yes, about six inmates work in the gardens and a couple look after the chickens. Caring for something, even if it’s only some carrots, is really beneficial for their well-being. Most of these kids have very little schooling. It’s nice to see them finding pleasure in positive things. Many of them have never been to the countryside for a walk or even to the beach.’

  We stand in companionable silence for a few moments. The sun is peeking through the clouds, making the raindrops glisten on the barbed wire.

  ‘It’s different over here,’ I say.

  ‘Easier or harder?’

  ‘I guess just different. I’m sleeping better.’

  Tex laughs. ‘Don’t worry, that will soon change.’

  ‘It’s weird to think we’re working on Sandringham’s wing. Did you know him?’

  ‘No, not really. I’d say hi, and nod occasionally, but not much more than that. They found his body in the river under a bridge. It isn’t clear if he jumped off or just waded in.’

  ‘Any idea why he did it?’

  ‘No, he was a good officer by all accounts. He lived with that Swiss woman who works in the admin building.’

  ‘No way. Not Katrina?’

  Everyone knows who Katrina is. She’s tall and blonde, and looks as if she spends the weekends yodelling in the Alps.

  ‘Yep, been going out nearly two years. She’s pregnant as well.’

  ‘What a snake. He kept that quiet.’

  Tex gives me a funny look, and then I remember what happened.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  Seems as though Sandringham had it all. He was a catch, too, if you liked thin, pretty boys with a good heart.

  ‘It’s a damn shame,’ says Tex.

  ‘I suppose that’s the true horror when people commit suicide,’ I reply. ‘You often can’t understand why they did it.’

  28

  Just before the workers and trolleys come back for lunch, Tex says she needs to nip to the Details office, which is where they process the shifts, overtime and holiday. All of which they routinely mess up. She’s been waiting on a holiday confirmation for a month. I almost ask where she’s planning to go, but feel I’ve intruded too much already.

  I have two more cells to check. Each cell is briefly analysed every day to make sure nothing is missing or damaged, from the frame, lights or window, that could be used as a weapon or help the inmates escape. It’s also a chance to look for hooch or other contraband. On the male side, there are fifty-six cells so you don’t have time to spend long on each one. I barge in whether they are sleeping or eating, only retreating if they are having a dump.

  The cells are the same on both sides. Apart from a few bigger ones, which are used for inmates in wheelchairs, they are more or less the same size as a VW campervan. The luxury is similar. The bed is a metal tray bolted to the wall. If the cell is a double, they bolt one above it, but there’s no extra room. There’s a table, which is a sheet of plastic, also attached to the wall. On this rests the TV and they also eat their meals off it. There are two small, secured cupboards with no doors for them
to put their things in.

  The toilet sits in the corner, but the room is so small that the other person will hear every plop and tinkle. It has a plastic ridge next to the wall for privacy which is only private if the other occupant stands against the window. There’s no escape from the smell because the barred windows don’t open and often the vents are blocked or broken. It’s a terrible moment for everyone when they get locked in for the first time, often with a stranger.

  There are a few new plastic mattresses in the jail, but most are squashed flat by the multitude of bodies that have been lying on them over the preceding years. They wipe clean but it’s best not to think about that. The sheets are washed out and cheap. The pillows thin and brown. You may live in the twenty-first century but our prisons do not.

  Over here, it feels as if I’m intruding when I enter. There are only twenty-four cells, so I don’t need to rush and can wait for everyone to have got out of bed. The last cell, though, has a sleeper in it. With the men, I’d clomp around, but now I’m conscious of what I’m doing. I feel stupid doing the search quietly. When I peer under her bed, the prisoner moves. When I glance up, it’s the lairy inmate from yesterday, Billie.

  ‘Morning, sir. Can you put it on the table?’

  ‘Put what on the table?’

  ‘My cup of tea.’

  I stand up and laugh.

  ‘I’m afraid breakfast finished three hours ago. If madam would like to come through to the dining room, lunch will be served shortly.’

  She grins at me and shuffles herself upwards in the bed. I catch a glimpse of the side of her body and it’s clear she sleeps naked. She bunches the duvet up over her chest. My mum used to describe girls like her as developed.

  ‘Well, aren’t you the funny one?’ she says.

  I step backwards to the door, averting my gaze.

  ‘Wait a minute, sir. Are you on this wing permanently now?’

  ‘No, just for a while.’

  ‘Is it different to the men’s bit?’