by Simon Mayo
‘It’s still the only place to see a dentist,’ said Mary. ‘Everything was as chaotic as usual – worse if anything – but it was . . . it was . . .’ She searched for the right word. ‘It was seething. There’s big trouble coming, I’m sure of it. Bingo talk everywhere. And if they can’t get at the guards, they go for us. If I hadn’t had a screw with me, I wouldn’t have got out again. I got spat at four times and sworn at by everybody.’
‘Won’t you sit down?’ said Dan. ‘You look exhausted . . .’ He cleared some of the piles of clothes and towels.
‘No, really, I need to lie down,’ she said, fingers resting on her strap. ‘Damn handle driving me mad in this heat. I was just outside the surgery waiting to go in, and this girl comes over. Didn’t look much older than you, Ant. Never seen her before, but she had this look on her face, like she could hardly speak she was so mad. In front of the screw and everyone, she says, “You’d better not be sleeping much now, strutter, ’cos we’re coming to get you. Just when you don’t expect it. We’ll come from here, men will come from there.” She pointed in the direction of the Pentonville cells. “We’re gonna burn you out, strutter!” That’s what she said.’ Mary looked at each of them in turn. ‘Thought you should know.’ She turned to leave, and they heard her mutter, ‘Hope I didn’t shock the little one,’ before she shuffled out.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Mattie in a small voice.
‘Oh, just the usual stuff,’ said Gina, the tension in her voice and the quick glance at Dan suggesting the opposite.
‘People don’t like us, Mattie, you know that,’ said Ant. ‘Outside it’s because we “got away with it” for so long, because we had this great life that we weren’t supposed to have. “Stolen money” and all that. It makes them feel better if they can blame us for everything. They used to blame black people, refugees, Jews, immigrants, whoever. Then they ran out of people to point fingers at. So now it’s us.’
Standing by the door, Gina called to Dan, ‘Need the tally. The bonus boy is coming.’
‘And when the big Depression hit,’ continued Dan, handing her a small piece of paper, ‘so many folk lost their jobs, so many industries went under . . . that was a lot of angry people, Mattie.’
‘I know – I watched the official film once.’
‘You must have been very bored,’ said Ant.
‘It was called the Hurricane Depression for a reason,’ continued Dan. ‘It just devastated everything in its path. No country escaped. No one had seen anything like it. There was a lot of anger, a lot of hate and a lot of blame. It was bad before, but when the Hurricane came, everyone stopped thinking. Anyone who was still doing OK was resented, suspected. Everyone kept saying there was a debt to be paid—’
‘OK, hush now!’ said Gina. ‘You can carry on with your history lesson in sixty seconds. We need to pay some bills first.’ A bored-looking PO appeared, handing a laptop across the threshold. Gina opened it, entered some figures copied from the paper, then handed it back. Without speaking, the PO walked away.
‘And that’s why they hate us in here,’ said Ant, nodding at the departing guard. ‘We get special treatment. The cons are jealous of us living in bins not built hundreds of years ago and smelling of piss.’
‘Jealous?’ said Mattie, disbelieving. ‘Of this dump? But it sucks – I hate it. That makes no sense.’
‘I know. It’s insane. But we pay. Most strutters can afford to pay the screws not to beat them the way they do the cons. And most screws need the money, so they’re happy to look the other way; I needed quite a few payments for yesterday. But cons think we’re still living in some kind of luxury. So if they hated us on the outside, they really hate us when they’re inside.’
‘Well, it’s not that simple—’ began Dan, but was interrupted.
‘Yes, it kind of is actually,’ said Ant. ‘And when one of us can’t pay – like Lord Whiny upstairs – everyone else chips in. The screws expect it now. If we ever stopped paying . . .’ She was silent for a moment. ‘We’d be dead basically. We wouldn’t last a day.’
‘Ant, stop it,’ said Dan. ‘You’re scaring Mattie. We do what we have to do. Given that none of us should be here in the first place, you know that we try anything and everything to keep going.’ He smiled at Mattie as reassuringly as he could. ‘We’ll be OK.’
‘But the Noons got put in SHU,’ persisted Mattie, ‘and when they came out, Jimmy was all bloody. I saw him.’
‘They were new here,’ said Ant. ‘They didn’t know. They hadn’t paid.’
‘So when he was found in the kitchens stealing food,’ Dan went on, ‘he got treated like any old prisoner. The Noons pay now.’
‘And Jimmy doesn’t steal stuff any more,’ said Gina.
Ant whispered in Mattie’s ear, ‘Jimmy doesn’t get caught any more.’
There was a brief knock on the cell wall and a young face appeared through the open door. ‘Oh, hi, Daisy,’ said Gina. ‘Please don’t come in. Don’t think we could stand even one more.’
‘You’re way too hot for this ’bin anyway,’ said Ant, smiling, pleased to see her friend. ‘Our blood will literally boil if you come any closer.’
‘Actually, I was looking for Mary,’ said the girl, briefly returning Ant’s smile. ‘Mum’s worried about her, now she’s living with us . . .’
‘We are too,’ said Dan. ‘You just missed her. She can’t have gone far – she’s moving slowly today. Let’s see . . .’
The visitor stepped back as Dan and Gina left the cell, followed by Ant and Mattie.
Daisy Raath, with her white-blonde hair, was always the most visible of prisoners. She was two years younger than Ant, but prison seemed to even out age differences; everyone had had to grow up fast.
Dan pointed across the level. ‘Mary’s in with the Templemans. She’s OK there.’
‘How was Grey with you?’ said Ant, leaning back against the cell.
‘Creepy as ever.’ Daisy sat down at her feet.
‘And he just loves it when Ant speaks German,’ said Mattie. Everyone laughed at that.
‘You can see the crazed look in his eyes,’ said Gina. ‘Something’s happening he doesn’t know about! He doesn’t understand! He’s not in control!’ She did an impression of his stiff, hunched gait and birdlike head movements, and everyone laughed again.
‘Actually I don’t think he’s very bright,’ said Dan. ‘I’d put him in with my Year Tens. They’d sort him out. Some of them, as I have had the misfortune to find out, are as rough as he is.’
Ant looked down and smiled broadly. Daisy stared at her quizzically, but she shook her head. ‘Later,’ she mouthed.
Ant had always put Mattie to bed, and prison hadn’t changed that. She didn’t read to him any more – his reading was as good as hers – but he still liked her to just be there. Dan and Gina sat on their bunks at one end while Ant and Mattie followed their routine. This was their catch-up time.
‘Do you like Jimmy?’ asked Mattie. ‘He’s always looking at you.’
Ant glanced across the cell, but Dan and Gina were deep in conversation. She sat up. ‘What a weird question,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s not bad for a posh boy, I suppose.’
‘Do you like him more than Brian?’ he tried.
Ant laughed. ‘Brian? He’s a screw!’ She was momentarily flustered. ‘Brian’s not so bad. He likes to talk sometimes. He hates this place almost as much as we do. I like them both, I suppose, but you’re the only boy in my life, Mattie,’ she said. ‘Especially when your hair is all over the place like that!’ She tried to flatten it, but he pushed her hands away.
‘What do you talk about with a screw then?’ He furrowed his brow and stared at his sister. She had always talked to him as though they were the same age, and he was expecting a straight answer.
‘Depends. Music sometimes. There’s loads of old punk bands he’s into. But mainly he talks about this place,’ she whispered. ‘How badly run it is. How corrupt . . . He sounds more scare
d of his own side than of us. He says it’s chaos . . .’
Mattie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Scared of us? They’re the ones with the weapons . . .’
‘He’s told me about those too. Skyrockets, cannons, guns, tear gas – that kind of thing. Didn’t seem to make him any happier.’
‘Skyrockets?’ said Mattie.
Ant shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Why did he tell you all this?’
‘I think he’s lonely, Mattie.’
‘Does he fancy you? ’Cos he could always be an idiot, you know.’
Ant laughed and tickled her brother until he begged her to stop. When he had calmed down, he finally asked the question she knew was coming. He beckoned her closer. ‘Where did you go this time?’ he whispered.
‘Dan’s school,’ she replied.
‘Huh?’
‘I beat up the two boys who threatened him.’
Mattie gasped in horror. ‘But you can’t do that, Abi! You’ll get—’
And she put her hand over his mouth. ‘Mattie, I don’t need another lecture. They deserved it. I know you disapprove, but it’s done now. I paid. Screws and drones looked away. That’s how it is.’ He didn’t reply. ‘OK, I’ll consider myself told off.’ She kissed his forehead. ‘DomÌ bien, little man. Sleep well.’
*
She sat on the edge of her bunk, her head full of bin lids, Grey, Mattie’s telling-off face, and now Brian MacMillan. The screw she had smoked with, talked old vinyl with, whose security pass was currently under her T-shirt. Until Brian, she had assumed all screws were the same. Then she’d heard him sing. It was her first time in the Special Housing Unit, or SHU (or solitary, or bloc; prison had many names for separation) and she heard Brian approaching.
‘Are you singing?’ she had asked as he swung open the steel door.
‘Oh. Kind of,’ he said, placing a breakfast tray on the small cell table.
‘Didn’t know POs sang,’ she said. ‘Ever.’
‘We don’t,’ he replied. ‘Singing implies you might be happy. Or enjoy what you do. Or work for nice people. I was attempting “Jail Guitar Doors” by The Clash as it’s got lots of clangs in it. Sort of fits with all the locking and unlocking I have to do. Though actually I do a better Van Morrison. He’s a Belfast boy like me. Next time maybe . . .’
Ant grimaced as she sipped whatever the hot drink was. ‘That really sucks,’ she said.
‘My singing or that tea?’
‘Both.’
Brian started to laugh, then checked himself, biting his lip. He blinked a few times, and for a moment Ant thought he was about to burst into tears.
She pushed the tray towards him. ‘You want some of this crappy food you brought me?’ Brian shook his head. ‘You wanna talk about something?’ she tried. He shook his head again. ‘You wanna take me out? We could see a movie, get some food . . .’
Brian had left and relocked the cell without replying.
Ant had called after him, ‘You know where I am if you change your mind.’
My favourite things RIGHT NOW:
Doing word games with Dan, then making up our own. I guessed five of his languages even though he was making it easy. Then I did a word in Czech and he guessed Polish. He had biscuits.
The lights went out at ten. The sudden darkness of lockdown was greeted by shouts of protest that echoed around the prison. Outside on the levels the lights were as fierce as ever, but in the cells, with the doors shut and locked, it was a virtual blackout.
Dan called Ant over. As she knew he would.
‘Where were you today?’ he whispered. She could see his silhouette; he was sitting up in his bunk. Gina, above him, appeared to be asleep already.
Ant mouthed an expletive, confident he wouldn’t see it. Here we go.
‘In town,’ she whispered back.
‘You could get us into serious trouble, you know that.’
‘I’m careful.’
‘No you’re not. You’re reckless. You know what would happen if anyone found you? Outside prison and not wearing the strap? We’d be in SHU for a month, and I’m not sure Mattie could take it. You need to think of the rest of us.’
She heard his concern but snapped back, ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually.’
‘What do you mean?’
Ant sighed. ‘I was teaching two stupid boys not to be vile to their French teacher.’
There was a long pause.
‘You were what?’
‘The idiots who messed with you won’t do it again. It’s not OK to do what they did.’
Apart from the deep breathing coming from Gina and Mattie, there was silence in the cell.
‘Oh, Abi,’ Dan said quietly. Nowadays he only used her real name when he was cross or upset, and he sounded choked. Ant heard him swallow and clear his throat. ‘Wow. I wasn’t expecting that . . . It’s actually not all bad at school. Not all the time. I know I’ve been demoted and some pupils like to try it on, but usually it’s OK. And I’m touched that you feel so strongly – really I am. But you mustn’t try it again, Abi . . .’
‘OK, I won’t,’ she said quickly, and slipped back to her bunk, not wanting to discuss it further.
Above her, Mattie rolled over. ‘What did he say?’ he whispered.
‘You know what he said,’ she replied. ‘Sleep now.’
Somewhere in the distance they heard a shout, a scream and some yelled curses. Mattie’s arm reached down, and Ant, waiting for it, reached up. They both listened for a few seconds.
‘Sometimes in the night,’ he whispered, ‘when there’s bad things happening, I remember Mum singing her lullabies. I loved that one about the crab in the gumbo – do you remember that?’
In the darkness Ant smiled. She sang softly:
‘Manman ou pa la lalé nan maché
Papa ou pa la l’alé larivyè
Si ou pa dodo krab la va mange’w
Si ou pa dodo krab la va mange’w.’
She laughed. ‘I’m amazed I remembered it!’
‘What does it mean?’ asked Mattie. ‘I’ve forgotten most of it.’
‘It means your mama isn’t here, she went to the market, your papa isn’t here, he went to the river, and if you don’t sleep, the crab will eat you.’
‘Really?’
‘Word for word,’ said Ant. ‘And when you think about it, that’s pretty much how it turned out for you and me. So she got that right . . .’
She squeezed his hand and held it until the commotion was over and he’d fallen asleep, then rolled over in her bunk. ‘You’re all I got, Mattie,’ she whispered into the dark, her words quieter than his deep, rhythmic breathing. ‘And you and me are gonna beat this crab. Somehow we are going to get out and we’re gonna beat it.’
Most of the time Mattie seemed to cope just fine with prison life, but tonight he’d seemed really unsettled.
I should lie low for a while, she thought. No more trips, no more bin lids.
In the early days of her imprisonment, security had been tight. The public mood had been ugly – here were whole families who had grown fat on corruption and crime. Let them suffer! Let them know how much we hate them! Retribution was the order of the day. Images of families behind bars were greeted not with shock and outrage, as they would have been a few years previously, but with satisfaction and pride. ‘The Return of the Workhouse!’ was celebrated in blogs and newspapers across the country. Ant’s behaviour had been correspondingly aggressive; she fought with guards and other prisoners. She was in the bloc as often as she was in her own cell.
But as the vast prison building programme picked up speed and the public’s attention shifted, security inside Spike relaxed, chaos and corruption became endemic. Mistakes were made, IT programs didn’t work, prisoners escaped. Sometimes the stories leaked; more usually they were swallowed in the all-encompassing enthusiasm for the new penal code.
But as the newly imprisoned strutters realized they could use their online wealth to bribe
the stressed and resentful prison officers, tensions eased. Small but regular payments were made into the bank accounts of any Spike PO who was open to offers – which was most of them. To start with, families made their own arrangements, but now Dan and Gina coordinated the transfers. Ant used this relaxation of the rules to explore. She found her way around the levels, visiting other cells – until she got into a fight with a female inmate who told her to stop prying and to ‘do her own time’.
Ant had even talked her way into the control room from where the whole prison was operated; it was from there that she took her first security pass. Its owner only realized it had gone after Ant had discovered the changing rooms and kitchens, helping herself to food on her way through.
Emboldened, she started to make friends with the prison officers. Ant could charm and flatter if she needed to, and many of the – largely male – POs were fascinated by the wild-eyed girl with the shaved head and goose tattoos. Her first visit to Holloway was prompted by a bet: Jimmy Noon had offered her some Pentonville keys he had stolen if she could make it to Holloway and back without being thrown in the bloc. She had returned an hour later with evidence that she had succeeded.
‘I was a one-woman invading army!’ she declared triumphantly. To Jimmy’s amazement, she had persuaded one of the new POs to escort her to the Castle for a medical. A stolen notepad from the surgery was all it had taken to win the Pentonville keys – the tools she needed for her next trip.
However, the arrival of index-finger sensors had stopped most of Ant’s excursions. New steel doors had been fitted at the strategic entrances to Holloway and Pentonville. Ant was furious. Like all strutters, she was incensed about her incarceration, but unlike the others she had been able to actually do something about it. ‘This is my revenge, Mattie,’ she said. ‘Every small victory keeps me alive.’
Ant had set herself a challenge: Get Grey. Get the man who, more than anyone, represented the hated new criminal code that had ruined so many lives. Originally she had hoped merely to set fire to his computer or throw food at him during Correction. But it was in his office that she had struck gold. When she slipped inside, she didn’t know what she was going to do; she was simply planning to improvise. She knew she wanted to hurt him – it had cost her more in bribes and favours than all her other raids put together. She also wanted the assessor to realize that he had been assessed. And that he had failed.
