Guilty

by Jane Bidder

  Her ex-husband handed her a printed out Google page showing a picture of a group of teenagers in casual jeans and T-shirts in a computer room. It had always been her who had done homework on schools until now. ‘Have you rung to see if they have a place before you get all excited about this one?’

  ‘No, because I thought that, as it’s state, we wouldn’t need to.’

  His naivety astounded her. ‘Haven’t you read about good state schools being oversubscribed?’

  In the end, there wasn’t a choice, particularly in view of the fact that term started next week for most schools. Indeed, there was only one which was willing to take Ben on.

  Meanwhile, Claire had spoken to Jean’s brother who had said, in a very quiet, slow voice at the other end of the phone that no, he didn’t need to interview her because a reference from his sister was good enough. ‘I have to tell you,’ he went on to say in such a soft tone that she had to strain to hear him, ‘that I was not very keen on taking a dog. However, my sister tells me that he is very well-behaved. If however, I find this is not the case, I will have to re-think the situation.’

  Claire glanced at Slasher who was curled up in his basket by Jean’s Aga. ‘I promise you that he won’t give you any trouble.’

  There was a slight sound at the other end of the phone which might or might not have been a humph. ‘My sister tells me that you are an artist.’

  ‘Yes …’

  He continued in the same slow unhurried tone, overriding what she had been about to say. ‘I believe you know that I am a writer. I need peace. Absolute peace. Can you guarantee that your son will give me that?’

  Claire was beginning to feel warning signs flashing. ‘He likes to play music but I will make sure it is not too loud.’

  There was another silence. ‘Very well. We will give it a go then. My sister will give you the address. I will see you on Sunday evening. Dinner will be at 8 p.m.’

  Before packing up, Claire sent three emails and wrote one letter followed by a short note.

  To Garth Walker. Your article betrayed my naive trust in you and has resulted in my son having to change schools and the loss of my job. I hope you can sleep easily after this.

  Yours, Mrs Mills.

  It might not do any good but it got it off her chest. Ditto for the next one.

  Rosemarie. You might be relieved to know that Ben and I are moving away. We will no longer be an embarrassment to you. Please thank Alex for his kindness. Claire.

  Then the third email.

  Dear Hugh. We are leaving the south-west. I hope this will be of some comfort to you. Yours, Claire Mills.

  The letter was purposefully practical.

  Dear Simon,

  This is just a quick letter because I haven’t had a phone call from you. You probably haven’t been able to get through. Things have happened at this end. We’re not hurt physically but we have to move away from this place. My landlady has a brother in London whom I’m going to keep house for and Ben is going to school there. It will mean we are closer to you for visiting. The house has still not sold but when it has, we may have enough money to buy somewhere small or rent our own place. Please ring on my mobile as soon as you can. All my love as always, Claire.

  But the note said it all.

  Dear Jean,

  Thank you. You saved us. We will never forget you.

  Love from Claire, Ben, and Slasher.

  Finally, an apology.

  Dear Headmaster,

  I deeply regret the embarrassment I have caused.

  Kind regards,

  Claire.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  We’re not hurt physically but we have to move away from this place.

  Simon read and re-read Claire’s letter, trying to make sense of it. What did she mean about not being hurt physically? It implied that someone had been getting to her in another way. Simon clenched his fists. If it was that bastard Hugh, so help him, he’d kill him.

  ‘Dear me,’ tittered Joanna. ‘That wouldn’t look very good in court, would it?’

  ‘Shut up.’ Simon knew he was talking out loud but Spencer wasn’t in his cell. Recently, he had taken to hanging out with a new man who had been in prison with him before. Simon had noticed that there was a lot of hugging and backslapping between men if they recognised each other from previous jails. There was also bad feeling if they hadn’t got on.

  ‘Back to the letter, darling. Your mind is wandering again.’

  ‘Whose fault is that?’ he said out loud again. It was true. His mind did wander and he found it hard to concentrate on one thing at a time. It was this place that did it to him. An open prison was a contradiction in terms. You were given the illusion of being free but if you so much as walked out of those gates without permission, you were slammed up somewhere else. It was like standing outside a sweet shop and being told you were a potential customer but not quite yet.

  ‘The letter,’ prompted Joanna. ‘I told you that you should have tried to ring her more often.’

  ‘I did! But it was always engaged. And you know why? It’s because she was probably on the phone to bloody Charlie.’

  ‘Ooh dear, you are getting this jealousy-of-the-ex thing bad, aren’t you?’ Joanna’s voice sounded more sympathetic now. ‘ I felt the same about Hugh’s wife at first but then when I got to know him more, I began to realise why she did a runner. Talking of runners, did they ever find out why the alarm went off over the road the other day? ’

  Rumours had been running wild on that one. Simon could still remember how the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up when he’d heard that terrible cat-like sound on the other side of the wire fence that separated them from the murderers and the rapists.

  Someone had said it was a false alarm. Someone else reckoned there’d been a break out. There was also a rumour that one prisoner had been hurt by another. None of them could be proved but whatever had happened, the alarm had stopped after about ten minutes and then it was as though nothing had happened. That was the thing about this place. No one told you anything.

  Simon was still nervous about going to the Dark Side. But he also couldn’t help feeling he owed it to Caroline-Jane. And to the governor.

  ‘Ready?’

  They had walked the short distance – too short – from Freetown to Grimville, across the camp road that divided them and were now waiting outside the huge metal door that led into the huge prison, wire walls screaming up around it.

  There was him, Caroline-Jane, and also a man called Jack from her class who was, in Simon’s view, a much more accomplished artist. Like him, however, he hadn’t known he had it in him until coming into prison. He used to work in IT, he’d told Simon. Maybe he was in for fraud.

  As they waited, a family group joined them. The woman, who had long straggly blonde hair with an artificial flower in it, was wearing bright red lipstick, high heels, and a black leather coat as though she were going to a cheap wedding. She was hanging on to the arm of a younger man complete with gelled-back hair in an ill-fitting suit who might or might not have been her son. Someone else was coming too. It was an older couple who were looking around them with sharp frightened looks.

  ‘It’s Family Day on C wing,’ Caroline-Jane said quietly. ʻThe one next to ours.’

  Family Day?

  ‘Every few months, each wing invites family and close friends to visit the men.’ She was whispering which meant her face was closer to his so he could breathe in her smell. ‘They sit and chat in the community lounge. Have a cup of tea. Catch up.’ She glanced up at the older couple who were speaking quietly to themselves. ‘It’s not a very natural situation but at least it allows them to try and maintain contact.’

  She spoke as though she felt sorry for them. Yet these men had done the worst things imaginable. He’d probably, he realised with a sickening thud, read about their cases during the last twenty years. Thank God he’d never personally defended a murderer himself.

  Joanna’s voice tinkled
. ‘ Ironic, don’t you think, darling, given that you killed me. Now pay attention. We’re going through the gates. Oooh, how exciting!’

  It wasn’t. It was bloody terrifying. One of the officers was searching him now, frisking him down his body and then doing the same to Jack before flicking through his sketch pad and Jack’s portfolios without saying a word.

  Caroline-Jane had gone through another entrance, presumably because she was staff. He and Jack were then told to go through another door where they stood in line. Another officer accompanied by a rather handsome black Labrador walked down the line past them. The dog didn’t stop. Simon didn’t know if that was the right thing or not.

  Then through another door where they had to wait until it clicked open and out into a yard where Caroline-Jane was waiting. ‘All right?’ She looked slightly worried. ‘I know this takes a bit of getting used to.’

  Jack laughed nervously. ‘You can say that again. Do you really do this every afternoon after you finish our class?’

  She nodded.

  Simon didn’t like that idea at all. She was too beautiful. Too vulnerable. Nervously, he watched as she they approached another set of gates. She pressed a bell and within a couple of minutes they were in another courtyard, this time adorned by immaculate flower beds. On to another set of doors, outside which – rather incongruously – stood a rack of umbrellas.

  ‘You’re not allowed to take them in,’ said Caroline-Jane, seeing their faces. ‘They could be used for all kind of things.’

  Deftly, she took one of the keys hanging from her belt and opened the door in front of them before putting the key back in her pouch. ‘Aren’t we going to have a prison officer with us as protection?’ asked Jack, alarmed.

  Caroline-Jane shrugged. ‘There’ll be officers on the wing.’

  Surely this was even more reason for a woman not to do this kind of job. Simon could feel himself prickling with fear as they walked down a long corridor, resembling that of a hospital or airport. Two men sauntered past in black shorts and T-shirts as though they’d been to the gym. ‘Hi, Caroline-Jane. How are you doing?’ asked the one who had blue and red tattoos down his legs.

  How dare they talk to her in such a familiar voice?

  ‘Aren’t you scared?’ asked Jack quietly.

  Caroline-Jane seemed to hesitate. ‘When I first started, yes. But then you get used to it. Once you start talking to the men, you find that they’re not as different as you might think.’

  Different? Of course they were different. They had done terrible things, hadn’t they? Things which he and Jack could never have done.

  ‘The exhibition is on A wing,’ said Caroline-Jane, reaching for a smaller pouch key. There were two gates in front of them now, each one made of heavy metal. It looked as though you could easily catch your fingers in them. Simon clutched his sketch pad with clammy hands. Even Joanna was silent.

  They were truly Inside, now. Not like Freetown where you could walk around and breathe in fresh air. Here, the air smelt stale and the walls closed in. If he had to do his time in a place like this, he’d go stir-crazy.

  In front of him stretched another corridor but narrower than the one outside. A young boy was leaning against the wall, examining his nails. He looked up as they came in and his eyes darted round first Jack and then Simon, taking in the sketchpad. He was wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms, a slightly grubby-looking white T-shirt, and a gold chain.

  ‘Hiya, Caroline-Jane.’ He was chewing gum.

  ‘Hi.’ Her voice sounded unnaturally bright and it struck Simon that, despite her earlier words, she was nervous too. ‘Coming to the exhibition?’

  ‘Didn’t get approval.’ The boy sniffed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘What did he mean?’ Jack whispered.

  ‘The men have meetings with staff every week,’ said Caroline-Jane quietly. ‘They need permission from their peers as well as staff before they can go to any event. This way.’

  She led them into a small office. On the other side of the desk sat a youngish officer whose spiky hair reminded him of a glossy hedgehog. ‘Hi, Caroline-Jane.’

  They all knew her. Suddenly Simon realised she had another life. Every day she would leave the safer environment at Freetown to come to this place. Christ! If he were her husband, he wouldn’t allow it.

  The officer was pushing a book towards them. ‘Sign here please.’ It was next to an old copy of The Sun, open at page three. ‘You’re in the community room. About sixteen takers from the list. Ready?’

  ‘Sure.’ Caroline-Jane’s voice was now formal and crisp. They walked past a noticeboard on the wall bearing a list of names. ‘That’s our job schedule,’ said a man wearing a round-neck jumper who vaguely resembled Simon’s old squash club secretary. Only the prison ID chain gave him away. ‘You know. Laundry. Cleaning. Positive Pull-ups. That’s Neil’s job. He has to praise us for stuff we get right to raise our self-esteem.’

  What right did a rapist or murder have to self-esteem? They were going in to the dining room now where three men, huddled at a formica table, stared curiously and then looked away past a fish tank which was being cleaned out by a tall thin grinning bloke. ‘Hello.’

  Simon eyed the tank. ‘You’re allowed to keep pets?’

  The man grinned again. ‘They belong to all of us but I love fish. Always have done. So I volunteered to clean them out. The bloke next to me has got a budgie. Teaching him to talk, he is.’

  ‘Crazy,’ muttered Jack. ‘There’s a bloke in my hut what got seven weeks for microwaving his rabbit.’

  Caroline-Jane’s face darkened. ‘You’re in someone else’s home. We observe the same courtesies that we would on the Outside.’

  Even if she was wrong, they shouldn’t annoy anyone. It might not be safe.

  ‘Want a cuppa?’ grinned one of the men at the table.

  Was he joking? They might have done something to it. ‘I’ve just had one thanks,’ he replied casually.

  The man laughed. ‘’Course you have.’

  They were passing a sign now on a door.

  Quiet please. Psychodrama in progress.

  ‘The men have therapy every morning both from professionals and each other,’ whispered Caroline-Jane. ‘It’s like positive peer pressure. You might get a rapist asking a bank robber why he had done it and vice versa.’

  Jack snorted. ‘That’s rich.’

  Yes – but part of him grudgingly admired such a daring approach. ‘And does it work?

  Caroline-Jane nodded enthusiastically. ‘There’s a much lower re-offending rate. Sometimes, men are moved directly from here to a D Cat., like Freetown.’

  ‘Fucking hell. I don’t want any of these weirdos sharing a pad with me.’

  ‘You might want to think about that, Jack, when you meet them. That’s one reason why Freetown is next to Grimville. It’s to show people here that there is a next stage to aim for.’

  At that moment, a grey-bearded man came out of the psychodrama room, greeting Caroline-Jane warmly. Then he turned to them. ‘First time in the Dark Side, eh? Come on in and see what we get up to. It’s OK. My men have agreed.’

  It was a large room, rather like a community hall. A man about his age displaying a drooping moustache was sitting opposite an empty chair; the others were lined round the walls. Everyone’s trainers were spotless. It reminded him of what Spencer had said. Clean trainers were a sign of rarely going outside.

  ‘The purpose of this psychodrama session is to address past issues,’ the grey-bearded man was saying. ‘Frank here is talking to his victim in the chair.’

  But there was no one there.

  ‘Use your imagination,’ prompted Joanna. ‘She’s a bit like me, actually.’

  Frank shuffled awkwardly, hands in his pockets. ‘I’m sorry. Honest.’

  He glanced up at the grey-bearded man who nodded in encouragement. ‘If I’d known your name before I did it, I might have stopped.’

  Simon froze.

  ‘I misread the signa
ls. Thought you were giving me the come-on.’

  Jack made a choking noise.

  ‘If you hadn’t been wearing that scarf, it would have been all right. But my mother had a scarf that colour. So when you said no, I wanted to punish you like she used to punish me and …’

  The man was weeping now in huge loud noisy sobs.

  ‘I’m off!’ Jack was making for the door. ‘This is sick. Really sick.’

  ‘No, man.’ It was one of the two men sitting at the side. ‘It’s making us face up to what we did. Frank here would have apologised to his victim if she’d still been here but this is the best he can do. ‘

  ‘What about her relatives?’ Jack was getting really upset now. ‘You can’t make it up to her mum or her dad or her boyfriend or …’

  ‘There’s the Forgiveness Trust,’ the grey bearded man said quickly. ‘It arranges for offenders and victims to meet up. Frank here is seeing his victim’s relatives here next month.’

  ‘Then I hope they’ll smash him one.’

  Privately, Simon agreed. ‘Childhood abuse,’ whispered Caroline-Jane as she took them along the corridor, ‘is responsible for many crimes. Men repeat the pattern. It’s very sad.’

  ‘Do your better,’ his father had said. ‘Not your best. Your better.’ Had that been a form of childhood abuse? The constant need to be perfect. Was that why he had become slightly arrogant over his record of winning cases? Why he had gone on driving the Goodman-Browns home, even though he didn’t know the way?

  Why he’d ignored Alice when she’d said she wanted to stop?

  ‘You were seventeen, Simon.’ Joanna’s voice was quiet. ‘ You were immature. So was she. Besides, she was the one who started it.’

  They were going into another large room now, with a seventies-type maroon carpet, mended in parts with wide black tape. At one side was a table football table with a giant television screen on the wall and on the other, was a row of framed pictures.

  ‘The men did them in my classes,’ explained Caroline-Jane with a hint of pride.

  Simon stared at a large oil, showing a small bewildered boy next to a woman holding her head in her hands. There was a speech bubble above them; instead of words, there was a picture of a man’s head and shoulders. The message was clear. It was a family, broken by the separation of prison.