by Simon Mayo
But then she saw the strap-key case. She had scoured the room looking for inspiration, but it was only on her second sweep of Grey’s desk that she spotted it. It looked so ordinary – a bit like a brown glasses case – but when she opened it, she found the plastic and steel stapler-style device. That must be a model, was her first reaction. But when she picked it up, its heft and intricate steel plug-in told her that this was the real thing. Hands shaking, heart racing, she was looking at the instrument of their torture. This, along with the strap itself, was the implement that had enslaved her, her brother and thousands like her.
With a strap-key, you could lock a strap on and take a strap off. She had only ever seen one in the hands of court officials. The woman who had strapped Gina and her had said nothing, just indicated that they should turn round and lift their shirts. The three-section strap had been held in place against Ant’s lower back; then, as the key was twisted, she felt its sections snap together and bite into her skin. There was a skill to it – Ant realized this grim woman must have strapped hundreds of other prisoners, and guessed that if she had wanted to, she could have made it more painful.
Ant had been handed a leaflet outlining strap hygiene, explaining how the GPS technology inside worked, and warning against any tampering. A series of illustrations showed how an attempt at unauthorized removal would cause the end-pieces to snap together, pinching and tearing the skin. In the early days, many had tried to break, melt or snap the device. The photos that went with the subsequent hospitalizations were not for the squeamish.
This key, however, represented Ant’s salvation. Standing in Grey’s office, she realized that her plans had changed. This wasn’t going to be a dramatic demonstration of independence after all; it was going to be better than that. This will change everything, she thought. Dropping the key into its case and then her trouser pocket, she knew that she needed to get out, fast. Adrenalin coursing through her body, she raced back to ’bin 33.
It had taken Mattie less than a minute to remove Ant’s strap and – under the bed sheets – they had danced with joy. The sensation as it peeled away from her skin like a huge metallic plaster made her giddy. Ant then removed Mattie’s, and together they relished the feeling of freedom for as long as they dared. Over a year with a twelve-centimetre plastic and steel band stuck to their backs had left first blisters and sores, then a red strip of toughened skin. Ant had a plastic bottle of water handy; she poured half down her brother’s back, then he poured the remainder over her. It had felt wonderful.
But GPS technology showed where each strap was, and they didn’t know if they had triggered an alarm by removing it. After a few minutes of delicious freedom, they figured they had pushed their luck as far as they could and used the key to strap up again. They had cried with both the pain and the feeling of enslavement that came with it.
‘You have to tell Gina and Dan,’ was Mattie’s opinion. ‘This is way too big for us.’
Ant’s original reaction – as usual – was to go it alone, but hiding the key seemed such an enormous task, she soon relented. After gasps of astonishment from Gina and Dan, they had all agreed that absolutely no one else should know what Ant had just acquired. They had toyed with the idea of a mass de-strapping, seeing how many strutters they could release before they were found out. But the truth was, they were still in prison; they would merely be re-strapped and get increased sentences as punishment.
‘We’ll wait,’ said Gina. ‘There will come a moment when we’ll need it. But until then, we guard it.’
For six months the strap-key had moved from sink u-bend, to light fitting, to shower head. It had been moved in towels, underwear and shoes. The existence of the ‘plug’, as they referred to it, had remained a secret; in fact its very existence, and the cloak-and-dagger activities needed to keep it hidden, became a symbol of their resistance. Ant found she was less surly with the POs – why bother when she had the plug? Why make Assessor Grey angry when you had his strap-key taped under the toilet seat?
They had been prepared for a security crackdown, but when it came it was unprecedented. The cell and body searches had continued for a week. Everyone knew something had been stolen; only cell 33 knew what and where it was. If Ant hadn’t hidden it in a Coke can with a false bottom, her theft would have cost her and her family dear.
Then, after a huge argument with Gina at breakfast, Ant had disappeared. No one saw her for Happy Hour, IR or meals. To start with Gina and Dan had assumed she was just avoiding them. But when they discovered her friends didn’t know where she was either, they started to panic. They could report her missing, of course, but that would spell disaster for Ant. It was only after seeing his foster parents’ distress that Mattie told them what had happened. In a fit of temper, Ant had recovered the key and demanded Mattie remove her strap, placing it in his clothes drawer. She had disappeared, insisting that he shouldn’t follow her.
‘Where’s she gone, Mattie?’ Dan knew he wanted to protect his sister but was as worried as they were.
Mattie shrugged, trying to look casual, but his mouth was tight, his eyes red.
‘Might she have tried to leave the prison?’ Gina whispered, afraid her voice would betray the fear she felt.
Mattie nodded, his eyes focused on the floor.
‘Dear God in heaven,’ said Dan, ‘she’s going to get herself killed.’
‘And just how many guards did she need to pay for this little trip?’ wondered Gina.
The answer to that was four. It was only when the doors of Holloway and Pentonville had been closed to her that Ant realized that as long as she was back for the assessor’s inspection and Correction, and as long as the right team were in the control room, she could actually leave the prison. She had dismissed the idea as stupidly dangerous but, after the row with Gina, had thrown caution to the wind. It had taken Brian MacMillan half an hour to clear it, but the promises of extra payments worked their usual magic. In the control room the surveillance cameras showed a hooded figure, crouched and running fast, but no one was watching.
‘Listen, I know you’re mad but hear me out!’ Ant had her speech all worked out. She had returned, sweaty and exhilarated, well before the six-o’clock inspection. She launched into her explanation before Gina and Dan had a chance to say anything. She spoke quietly, urgently and fast, taking advantage of their evident relief at her safe return. ‘It was brilliant! I sat in a coffee bar for hours – no one cared, no one looked. Then I went to our old house and hid in the trees at the back – that place you made for Mattie to hide in.’ She could tell she was about to be interrupted, so spoke louder. ‘No one saw me! It looked deserted anyway. I thought about going closer but I didn’t, OK? But the best thing was that when I walked, drank, even when I breathed, I could feel my T-shirt moving against the skin on my back – with no strap! It was amazing! I had totally forgotten what it felt like. We can get out if we need to! No one has done it before, but it is possible! And if we look after the key, I could do it again!’
‘OK, stop right there!’ said Gina, her hand raised. She hesitated, torn between horror and admiration. ‘Firstly, you’re putting everything at risk. They’ll separate us for certain if they ever catch you. Secondly, what a waste of your precious strap-key. All that risk for a cup of coffee? And a visit to our old garden? Was it worth your amazing break-in for a hit of caffeine and a nice feeling?’
‘Actually—’ began Ant, before Gina cut her off again.
‘And thirdly, I wish . . . I’d done the same thing.’ There was a brief silence.
‘Pardon?’ said Dan.
‘You wish you’d done it?’ said Ant. ‘Really?’
‘Of course. I only hope that if my chance comes, I’ll have half the guts you have, Abi. But there’s four of us in here and there’s Max outside. It’s complicated. There are consequences to everything we do. Although it might not seem like it, being sixteen is a whole lot easier than being forty-six.’
‘Try being forty-seven,’ said Da
n.
‘You mean it gets worse from here?’ asked Ant.
Gina and Dan had laughed, but Ant’s only thought had been, There’s no way I’m making it to forty-seven. Who’d even want to be forty-seven?
Extra news! My favourite things RIGHT NOW:
Ant’s singing(!!!!!!!)
Ant lay awake for what seemed like hours – the heat, noise and her narrow escape taking it in turns to keep her from sleep. She had learned to tune out most of the usual prison din: the constant hum and clatter of the fans, the calls and shouts from the scared and the scary. But tonight it felt different. More babble, more clamour, more tension. Many families were awake and disturbed; above her she could hear her friend Amos yelling at everyone to shut up. The Shahs shouted a lot, but tonight was bad. Beyond them, the hubbub was persistent, nagging and intrusive.
When what sounded like a convoy of sirens passed on the main road outside, Ant sat up in her bunk, resigned to a sleepless night. The cell seemed even more airless than usual and she felt the familiar urge to break out, to run, to feel even the slightest breeze on her face. But she knew she had to stay put and she lay back on the wafer-thin pillow.
In a brief lull, she heard whispers. Ant held her breath. Dan and Gina were having what sounded like an urgent, private conversation.
‘. . . which means maybe you shouldn’t come back, Dan.’
A pause.
‘What do you mean?’
‘If it’s that bad, disappear. After school. If there’s a danger the lid’s gonna blow on this place, go and hide in someone’s house. You said some of the teachers have offered—’
‘Gina, stop it. I’m not leaving you and the kids and you know it.’
‘Ant can get out. Maybe she could get us all out.’
‘But they’ll go for Max if we disappear,’ said Dan. ‘Someone has to pay – that’s all they ever talk about. And he’ll be the only one left for them to target. I’ll call him from school tomorrow. I need to warn him.’
‘He’s been ahead of us on that,’ said Gina. ‘He’s always said that if the time ever came, he could disappear via the university system. There’s quite an underground movement in Bristol, apparently, and he’s had two years to find out how it works.’
‘This is desperate talk,’ sighed Dan. ‘Maybe it’ll die down. Jeffrey could have got it wrong, Gina. His information could be false.’
‘But he was a politician! In government! He knows!’
‘No, he’s guessing. Like we all are. And if he was that smart, he wouldn’t be in here, would he? He’d have seen the way the mood was running, seen that his voters needed people to blame.’
‘But what if he is right?’ Gina persisted. ‘What if Mary’s right too? If some of us can get out, shouldn’t we at least try?’
Another pause.
He’s actually thinking about it, thought Ant. This must be bad.
A row suddenly broke out on one of the lower levels. It wasn’t close, but it was loud enough to drown out the rest of Gina and Dan’s conversation. Ant closed her eyes.
When Mattie crawled into bed alongside her, she thought it was the middle of the night.
Then she saw that all the lights were on, and realized she’d slept in. Not like she used to sleep in – she’d once considered waking at midday as standard – but for prison, 6.30 was unusual.
‘Have I missed Dan?’ she called, her eyes shut again.
‘Yup,’ mumbled Gina. ‘Collar breakfast at six, you know that.’
Ant cursed loudly.
‘Language, Abi,’ said Gina, sighing. ‘You don’t normally speak at all till lunch time. And I think I prefer silence to profanity.’
Ant swore again, but more softly, and Mattie giggled. She dragged herself out of bed, pulled aside the partition curtain and sat on the end of Dan’s bunk. ‘There’s trouble coming, isn’t there?’
Gina, now fully awake and pushing her hair into some kind of order, looked at her foster daughter. For a moment she saw her as she had when they first took her in: the fierce electric-blue eyes, furrowed brow and piercing stare. Exactly the face that was studying her now. She’d had wiry brown hair then, and everyone called her Abi or Abigail, but Gina conceded the shaved head suited Ant’s finely shaped face. She hadn’t minded when the nose piercing appeared, hadn’t said anything when Ant revealed her first tattoo. Gina wasn’t sure why she’d chosen a flying goose but had decided not to ask. Presumably it’s because they’re untameable, she had told Dan later. More geese arrived later, but nothing was said.
Gina glanced briefly at Mattie, who was getting dressed. She nodded. ‘Yes, we think so,’ she said quietly.
‘Dan’s gone to school though . . .’
Another nod. ‘Didn’t want to, but . . . had no choice, of course,’ said Gina. ‘Maybe we’ll learn more at breakfast. Stick close to Mattie, OK?’
Ant said nothing; just stared at the floor. Gina waited, knowing Ant had more to say. But when Mattie came crashing through the curtain, pulling his T-shirt over his head, the moment had gone. He launched himself up onto Gina’s bunk.
‘Hey, morning, big guy!’ she said, smiling and ruffling his hair, which looked wilder than ever. ‘Hungry?’
‘When is he not hungry?’ asked Ant.
‘All the food here tastes disgusting,’ said Mattie, wiping sleep out of his eyes, ‘but if you go early, it’s slightly less disgusting. C’mon, Ant.’
‘Wait for us outside please,’ said Gina.
‘I’ll go on—’
‘No!’ Gina and Ant cried out together. Mattie looked stung by the force of their answer, and Ant softened it with a ‘Just not today, Mattie. I’ll be one minute, honest. You want me to come down like this?’
He looked at her crumpled shirt and bare legs. ‘OK.’ He grabbed his journal and pencil from the floor and disappeared behind the curtain.
Ant and Gina dressed quickly. ‘Dan’s hoping to get back early,’ said Gina. ‘Your cards still working? They’d get you all the way out of here?’
‘Did yesterday,’ said Ant.
‘Could you take Mattie if you had to?’
‘Reckon so.’
‘All of us?’
Ant shrugged. ‘Could try. Maybe, yeah. Max will hate me even more than he does already.’
Gina looked up, surprised. Ant had barely acknowledged their son. And Max had barely disguised the fact that he blamed Ant and Mattie for his parents’ imprisonment. ‘You’re wrong, Ant. It’s true he thinks we wouldn’t have got caught if we hadn’t fostered you and Mattie. That somehow we’d have got away with it. But Dan and I always knew that our families were well-enough known for someone to tell on us sooner or later.’
‘But if we all get out . . .’
‘They’ll go for him, yes. So we need to warn him. They’ll want to put him away, and fast. But I expect Dan will get in touch. And Max will move quickly. He’ll know what to do.’
‘You’d do all that for us?’ Ant said, head down, tying her laces.
Gina straightened her skirt. ‘Yes, Abi, we would,’ she said softly. ‘That’s kind of the deal really.’
Three years previously
‘You’re doing what?’
‘We’re thinking of fostering again.’
‘Really? After last time? You said never again! This is a joke, right?’ Max Norton was aghast. He looked across the table from his mother to his father: they had their we’ve-been-meaning-to-talk-to-you faces on. It was clear they weren’t joking. ‘Well, thanks for asking my opinion,’ he said. ‘Where did this come from?’
His parents had often fostered during his teen years, but after a difficult time with successive children, the family decision had been to stop. Max hadn’t minded sharing his house with children who needed a secure and safe house; he’d quite liked some of them. But their complicated, demanding lives had become wearing and now he’d had enough. He thought they’d all had enough.
‘We’ve been talking about it for a while,’ began Gina. ‘
And we’ve just had the final paperwork through.’ She offered Max some pages.
He caught a glimpse of photos amongst the closely typed pages – two unsmiling bi-racial children stared from the sheet – but he shook his head. ‘No, Mum, not again.’ He stood up, clearing his plate and mug.
Gina and Dan sat at the kitchen table, exchanging nervous glances and watching their seventeen-year-old son pace around the room. They had been concerned about how he’d take the news but assumed that, in the end, he’d understand what they were doing.
‘This is about me going to uni, isn’t it?’ He stopped and faced his parents. ‘This is because you’re going to have an empty house in September and want to fill it again. I’m right, aren’t I?’
His father sighed gently. ‘There’s an element of that, I suppose. But mainly it’s because we’ve been approached by the agency about an emergency placement.’
‘It’s always an emergency, Dad! Come on, you know that!’
‘Well,’ said Dan, ‘it’s a brother and sister . . .’
‘Oh, great,’ said Max heavily. ‘Because that combination has worked so well in the past.’
‘You won’t have to move out of your room this time, Max . . .’ began Gina.
‘It’s not that. It’s just that I thought we’d stopped this now. Thought we’d helped enough kids. You said it was time for a new start. You wanted to do new things! I’ll be eighteen soon. You’ll be able to go on an old folks’ cruise or something, not tie yourselves down all over again.’ He sighed. ‘Who are the needy this time?’
‘Abigail Turner and her brother Matthew,’ said Gina, reading from a sheet of paper in front of her. ‘Thirteen and eight. They’re in Streatham with emergency foster parents.’
