Guilty

by Jane Bidder

  The man was handing her something. ‘Give him this to get him back. That’s right.’

  It was a treat which left a meaty stain on her hand.

  ‘See. Good as gold now, isn’t he? See you again, sometime maybe. What’s your dog called, by the way?’

  ‘Slasher,’ she answered, giving up. ‘It’s a long story.’

  Ben still wasn’t back when she returned. His mobile went into answerphone every time.

  ‘Shall we go and find him?’ she asked Slasher.

  Funny. Slasher seemed to know his way along the streets, sitting when they got to the main road that dissected theirs and occasionally making for the grass verge to do a wee. But there was still no sign of Ben.

  And then she saw him, walking towards her, jeans covered in mud and his shirt torn. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Get off, Mum. I’m OK.’

  He bent down to stroke Slasher who sniffed interestedly at his arm which, Claire could see now, had blood on it.

  ‘Ben! Tell me!

  ‘Someone tried to steal my mobile so I gave him one.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I punched him. Kieran told me to.’

  ‘Kieran?’

  ‘One of my new friends. He said that if you don’t stand up for yourself on the first day, you’ll get beaten up. So I threw the first punch and, as it turned out, the last.’

  He grinned, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘But the blood?’

  ‘It’s where I fell on the ground. Chill out, Mum. This is a different place from home. We’ve all got to change. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.’

  Max came home earlier than he’d implied, in a filthy mood. She could tell that from the way he slammed the front door and walked straight into the kitchen. Without even washing his hands, he went to the fridge and took his salad out.

  ‘I shall eat this on a tray in the sitting room,’ he said. ‘What’s for pudding?’

  How rude! ‘Apple pie. Shall I leave it out?’

  He nodded curtly. ‘If you will.’

  ‘There’s some left-over shepherd’s pie if you want that instead of the salad.’

  He grunted. ‘Left-overs. That’s all there is for people of my age nowadays.’

  Something in his tone made Claire’s heart soften. ‘I take it that your meeting didn’t go so well then.’

  ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ The eyebrows knitted even deeper into his forehead. ‘I pay you to housekeep for me; not be some kind of namby-pamby counsellor.’

  Claire felt herself growing hot. ‘I was only trying to help.’

  ‘Well don’t.’

  Fine. She wouldn’t. Instead, she’d just go back to her desk and have another go at her drawings. Ben was doing his homework upstairs. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, putting her head round his door. The room was empty although the narrow bed was covered in books and magazines and CDs. At the other end, the window was open. Aghast, she looked out. There was a wide ledge below which wouldn’t be difficult for a tall boy to jump onto and then onto the pavement. Leaning out of the window, she could see him walking down the pavement towards the crossroads. Where was he going?

  Then she saw a small, slim pink-haired girl. They were hugging! They were quite a long way off but, unless Claire was mistaken, she knew exactly who the girl was.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Simon had seen the white vans leaving in the morning ever since he’d arrived. Everyone wanted to be on one.

  ‘You lucky bastard, man,’ said Spencer when he told him his news. The kid was hunched up on his bed with a mug of tea, skimming the Quick Read which he’d got from the library. ‘When I get out there, I’m going to get myself some honey.’

  That was something else everyone aspired to. ‘Did you get some?’ was one of the first questions that the men got when they returned from work or a town visit. It had taken Simon a while before he realised they were referring to sex.

  ‘You forget I’m a married man,’ he said, standing in front of their cracked mirror to view the one pair of cord trousers he owned here. ‘Besides, look at Steve.’

  The man, who’d been on G Hut, had had a job delivering parcels for a local courier as part of his community service. During his lunch hour he would nip off for a ‘sandwich with extras’ with his wife who lived locally. When he’d boasted about this to someone else on the hut, he’d was shopped and then shipped out.

  ‘Not,’ added Simon, ‘that I know anyone round here.’

  Just as well. There was no way he wanted to bump into someone when he was out but not fully released.

  ‘When I went out to work last time I was In,’ mused Spencer, abandoning his book, ‘I met this cute girl at a fast food place. She asked for my phone number but I couldn’t give her the prison’s, could I? So I took hers but said I could only see her at weekends. She didn’t like that and accused me of being married.’ Simon made a sympathetic face, he’d similar stories before.

  Spencer grinned. ‘Then I admitted I was banged up during the week so she said that was all right by her and she’d wait for me. We arranged to meet the next Saturday but she didn’t show up.’ There was a rueful shrug. ‘That’s what happens, I suppose.’

  Would Claire still be waiting when he got out? Somehow, he couldn’t blame her if she wasn’t. Not after what he had done. If he was prepared for rejection, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Hadn’t life already taught him that, even before Joanna? ‘I’m off now. See you later.’

  Spencer had a look of envy in his eyes. ‘See if you find some bargains. Them charity shops have all kinds of stuff in them. Me mam is always going in to hers. Found a tenner at the bottom of a box of old books once, she did. So keep your eyes peeled, you hear me?’

  It felt unreal as he climbed onto the white prison van, taking a seat near the driver in case there was any trouble. Some of the rowdier younger men had nabbed places at the back of the bus just like the naughty ones on a school trip. What kind of jobs were they going to? It was usually bars or fast food chains, according to Spencer.

  When Simon had first been told he was working in a charity shop, his spirits had soared. At last. He was going to be out in the real world. Yet now as the van wove its way through the villages into town, Simon found his fingers gripping the seat in front. The van’s speedometer was only doing 30mph but it felt fast. Someone overtook them and, even though it was a clear road, his knuckles went white. The driver had the radio on but it was obliterated by the boys at the back who were singing ‘Off to work we go’. Suddenly he wanted to be back in the safety of the prison.

  ‘Get a grip,’ scolded Joanna. ‘ It’s only because you’ve been out of it for so long. You’ve been cosseted in prison, darling. It’s time to start re-adjusting to the real world. ’

  ‘Mills!’ barked the prison officer up front. ‘This is you.’

  Wasn’t anyone going to go with him? Simon walked awkwardly into the shop, clutching his identity tag round his neck and holding on to the forms he’d been issued with. He could just do a runner if he wanted.

  ‘Don’t think about it!’ Joanna’s voice rang out in alarm. ‘Remember Tommy?’

  Tommy had been on A hut and had not returned one day after his day job. He was picked up the following month and was now in Wandsworth.

  Inside the shop, he could see an oldish woman folding a cardigan on the counter and a younger one hanging up a skirt on a rail. It was like being at school on the first day, all over again. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was just talking to matron …

  ‘Hello.’ The older woman looked up. She had very cool green eyes which bore right into him. ‘Bang on time as usual. Those buses usually are. Got your paperwork?’

  He could tell from her manner that she had done this before. The other woman was giving him quick, sharp, nervous glances.

  ‘Seems to be in order.’ The older woman handed him back his letter. ‘I’m Sarah and this is Jilly.’

  Jilly nodded nervously.
r />   ‘Please call me Simon,’ he said. Then, wanting to reassure her, he added, ‘I used to be a solicitor.’

  The older woman smiled. ‘We don’t ask questions in this place, as you’ll find out, Simon. Nor do we judge. Everyone has a past.’

  She waved a hand around the shop. There were piles of clothes of all shapes, colours, and sizes as well as boxes of knick-knacks containing cutlery and chipped vases and glass ash trays. It reminded Simon of how he had been lukewarm about Claire’s treasured old possessions, so different from his own modern taste. Had he been too judgmental?

  ‘You’re not allowed to serve the public,’ said Jilly quickly. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’

  Simon bristled. What did she think he was? A common murderer? He felt like replying that he had no intention of bashing them over the head. But instead, he clenched his fists by his side and merely nodded.

  ‘It would be extremely helpful if you could go through all the bags in the back,’ said Sarah quickly. ‘There’s a bin out there for rubbish and then other boxes marked ‘china’ and so on for items which are saleable. Does that sound all right? Jilly and I take it in turns to have lunch so I suggest you have your break when I have mine.’

  Clearly Jilly didn’t want to be left alone in the shop with a man who was doing time.

  ‘That’s fine by me.’ He tried to forget the fact that he was a qualified solicitor and not a charity refuse sorter but the thought of Alex in a suit and tie, doing complicated deals, kept running through his head. ‘Where do I start?’

  By lunchtime, Simon realised how much hard work went into charity shops. His back was killing him but at the same time he had an amazing sense of satisfaction. By the time he got back into camp, it was time for supper.

  ‘Going to check my homework then?’ demanded Spencer afterwards and it was all Simon could do to summon up the strength to check his spellings.

  ‘You promised,’ Joanna reminded him tartly.

  ‘I know I did.’

  Spencer gave him a funny look. ‘You talking funny again? What are you on? Ought to get some help for that, mate, like I do.’

  It was no secret that Spencer went to the IDU unit twice a week for drug counselling where he saw a woman called Alison. When Simon had asked what she talked to him about, he mumbled something about rainbows and being strong enough to say no. Every now and then, in the evening, he took out a polythene bag which appeared to have white grains in it and tipped it into his tea. Simon only hoped it was sugar.

  The rest of the week flew by. It was amazing what people threw away. Old moth-eaten cardigans that were fit only for the recycling dump; piles of discarded A-level notes; and sometimes a ‘find’ like a Clarice Cliff tea cup which he instantly recognised. ‘My wife collects it,’ he said and Jilly had looked surprised as though he had no right to recognise a name.

  Thankfully, Caroline-Jane had started running an art class in the evening. It was only once a week but at least it was something. He was currently working on a copy of another postcard she’d brought in – it was of Venice where he and Claire had gone on their honeymoon.

  He told Caroline-Jane as much and she nodded sympathetically. ‘You must be due for your first town visit soon?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘To be honest, I have mixed feelings. I want to see my wife but I’m also nervous.’ He stopped. ‘So much has changed.’

  Caroline-Jane gave him a sympathetic look. The incident on the Other Side had definitely brought them closer; he could tell that. He was pretty sure that his presence had comforted her during the crisis. Claire on the other hand, seemed to be managing perfectly well without him. New house. New job.

  ‘Don’t forget the old husband sniffing around,’ pointed out Joanna tartly.

  Simon could fight for his wife, of course. But what if he failed? Might it not be easier to pretend he didn’t care any more?

  His town visit was set for a Sunday. As soon as he woke, he got dressed in the cords. They’d got dirty from the charity shop but there hadn’t been time to wash them.

  Spencer whistled as he got himself ready for chapel. ‘Where’s your wife taking you?’

  Suddenly Simon didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I’m not sure. See you later.’

  Anyone going on a town visit had to sign out and collect forms that identified the prisoner as being an inmate at HMP Prison Freetown. These had to be carried at all times. As Simon waited at the visitors’ car park, he kept looking over his shoulder as though someone was going to tap him on the back and accuse him of leaving without permission.

  By the time Claire’s car swung in, his mouth was dry. She drew up next to him and smiled. Christ, she was lovely. He’d forgotten how gorgeous she smelt and how she endearingly tilted her head to one side when she saw someone. Even the new hairstyle seemed to suit her now. Instantly, all his resolutions about not caring too much evaporated into the spring air.

  He got in and leaned towards her.’ Thanks for coming.’

  She was nervous too, he realised. It almost felt like a first date.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked excitedly.

  ‘I thought we might have lunch.’ Her eyes were steadily on the road. ‘There’s a hotel near here which does good food.’

  A hotel? Did that mean she’d booked a room? He’d thought about sex, of course, so many times at prison that it had become almost routine now to pleasure himself before dropping off. They all did it. But he and Claire hadn’t even kissed yet. Maybe, he thought, with a sickening thud, she didn’t want him any more.

  ‘Can you blame her?’ interrupted Joanna.

  ‘No,’ he replied out loud.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Claire’s voice bore a hint of alarm. She was driving much slower than usual. No need to ask why.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Just fine.’

  In the event, it was fine. Better than he’d thought. The food was amazing and he polished off the fish pie so fast that Claire had hardly started hers. It felt like premature ejaculation. He must have sex on his mind.

  ‘Sorry. We don’t get this sort of food in there.’

  ‘I would have thought you’d have gone for the steak?’

  Didn’t she read his letters? ‘I told you. I haven’t been able to eat meat since …’

  She nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Don’t worry on my account,’ chirped Joanna. ‘ I used to love a good piece of steak myself. Besides, when a body is done, it’s done.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said out loud. Claire looked at him startled.

  ‘Sorry.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Still hearing Joanna’s voice, I’m afraid.’

  She looked even more worried. ‘Then shouldn’t you get …’

  ‘Tell me about Ben’s new school,’ he cut in, desperate to change the conversation. That got her talking and while she spoke, Simon looked around the dining room taking in the pretty lily wallpaper and the well-dressed people all having lunch together. What would they think if they knew where he’d come from and where he was going back to tonight?

  There was so much to catch up on! She wanted to know about his ‘terrible ordeal in the other prison’ and he wanted to know how she and Ben were settling in in London. He also advised her to accept the latest offer on the house. It was a relief that she hadn’t heard any more from Hugh.

  When the bill came, he was appalled at the amount. ‘It’s all right,’ said Claire, handing over her credit card. ‘I’ve just been paid.’

  He felt his muscles tense. ‘I don’t like the idea of you being a housekeeper. You’re an artist.’

  ‘I can do both.’ Claire spoke evenly. ‘Besides, we need the money.’ She touched his arm. The warmth burned him. ’I was wondering, have you thought about what you might do when you get out of prison?’

  Someone at the neighbouring table glanced over and Claire flushed. ‘Sorry,’ she said in a lower voice.

  ‘I’m still working on it.’ His voice was tense. Why did she have to go and spoil it all? ‘At
the moment, I’m rather enjoying working in the charity shop.’

  The woman at the table next to them was definitely listening now. Irrationally, he wanted to shock her. ‘It’s the first time they’ve had a prisoner apparently.’

  Claire scraped back her chair. ‘Let’s go.’ She stood up, leaving Simon to follow her.

  ‘Why,’ she hissed in the car park, ‘did you have to embarrass me like that?’

  Simon slid sulkily into the passenger seat. ‘Because I wanted to feel what it’s going to be like in the future.’

  ‘I can tell you one thing.’ She put on her sunglasses even though the April sun wasn’t that low. ‘If you’re going to do that again on the next town visit, I don’t want to be part of it.’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say ‘Fine’ but then he saw the tear. Just one at first and then another, falling under her sunglasses.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that it’s all so different.’

  ‘I know.’ She sniffed and buried her head in his neck. Then, at the same time, they both lifted their heads and kissed. It was so wonderful that they did it again in the Visitors’ Car Park even though some of the men were watching. When she drove off, he felt agonisingly empty and yet also more alive than he’d felt for months.

  The following morning, he was told at breakfast that, instead of going out to work, he was to report to Governor Corry.

  ‘Why?’ he had asked but no one would tell him. Upset at missing the bus – what would they think at the shop? – he made his way to her office. When he got there, he found not just Gov. Corry but also the head of security.

  On the desk was a tabloid newspaper showing a picture of a tough looking man on the front and the words INSIDE STORY.

  ‘Mills,’ said Governor Corry without any preamble. ‘I don’t know if you’ve been following the reports in this paper about the murder in Grimville. But it is clear that information had been leaked to the press about the incident. I need to know if you are responsible.’

  Chapter Forty-two