Past Imperfect

by Michael Parker

  The meeting had been tense, but more for Kate than Paul. He was contrite and apologetic; Kate was cold and hard. She told him that Michael was improving and was also relieved that Paul was not going to press charges for Michael’s attack on him. Paul thought it was ironic that he had managed to do something for which his brother was grateful. Michael’s so-called crime palled into insignificance against the horror for which Paul was guilty. Kate told him that she would attend his trial, but no one else from the family would be there.

  Three weeks later, Paul was brought before the court at Winchester. He hated the overpowering authority it seemed to impose, and the implied threat as he stood in front of his accusers. Paul offered no defence against the charges because he had none. Topper was called as a witness to the fact that he was at the club at the time Finnegan was killed, although she couldn’t be certain about the exact time, of course. Not that any of this mattered; Paul could still not get over what he had done to his brother and the effect it would have on Kate and Victoria, not to mention the estate.

  The Crown Prosecution accepted that the first charge of murder was unproven, knowing they had proved the second count. Paul knew when the jury retired to consider their verdict that he was going to prison for a long time. When the guilty verdict was returned, the judge called for an adjournment while he considered everything. On his return, and with the court assembled, he pronounced long and hard over Paul. The judge accepted the fact that this was Paul’s first offence although he was known to the police, but the severity of the offence meant he had to sentence him to life imprisonment with a tariff of twenty years. As Paul was led away, he glanced back into the courtroom, but Kate was no longer there.

  Kate pulled up outside the house and left her car there. She went through the open door at the rear of the house and straight into the kitchen. Emily was there and was already filling the kettle. Michael and Victoria appeared almost immediately and all three of them settled round the big table.

  ‘It’s over.’ She looked sad: her face was lined and her eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle.

  ‘What was the verdict?’ Michael asked. Emily came over with a tray. She set it down on the table and sat down.

  ‘He got life.’

  Victoria’s face dropped and the tears came. ‘That’s not right,’ she cried. ‘Paul shouldn’t be sent away like that.’

  Kate reached for her. ‘Victoria, my darling, Paul is a bad man. As much as we love him, what he has done can never be excused.’ She glanced at Michael, who was looking very solemn. ‘He almost killed Michael.’ She emphasized the words.

  ‘Will he serve life?’ Emily asked.

  Kate shook her head. ‘He’ll be able to ask for parole in twenty years.’

  Michael lifted his chin. ‘Twenty years. He’ll be over forty if they let him out.’

  ‘Yes, and unless he changes he will still be young enough to begin a life of crime again,’ Kate reminded him.

  Emily poured tea. Victoria had juice. ‘A lot can happen in prison,’ she said as she put the teapot down. ‘Sometimes criminals come out better than when they went in.’

  ‘I pray to God you’re right, Emily,’ Kate said. ‘But I wonder if we’ll ever be able to welcome him back here.’

  ‘If God can forgive, Kate, so can you.’ Emily looked at Kate with a proud expression on her face. Kate smiled.

  ‘I’ll be getting on for sixty when that happens.’

  Victoria’s face fell. ‘Oh my God, I’ll be in my thirties; nearly forty.’ She looked mortified.

  ‘What will Paul be?’ Michael asked no one in particular.

  ‘Same age as you, silly,’ Victoria told him.

  Michael looked round at her. ‘I didn’t mean that. I wondered if he would have changed by then, or would he be a bitter man?’

  ‘He only has himself to blame, Michael,’ Emily put in. ‘You reap what you sow in this world.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Emily,’ Michael responded. ‘But will he be welcome back?’

  Kate sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue. ‘You have the hardest decision to make, Michael, after what Paul did to you, and to Topper.’ She didn’t finish but left the pointed remark hanging in the air.

  Michael glanced down. ‘Yes, well, I’ll know better in twenty years’ time, won’t I?’

  ‘If they let him out,’ Emily reminded him.

  ‘Are you going to visit him?’ Victoria asked her mother.

  Kate shrugged. ‘It depends on where they send him. At the moment he’s in Winchester Prison, but I’m told that it’s an allocation unit. Apparently they have to assess Paul before they send him to his permanent jail.’ She spread her hands. ‘We’ll see what happens, but I think we should try. Well, I will anyway.’

  ‘So will I!’ declared Victoria.

  Michael gave her a stern look. ‘No you won’t, young lady; not until you’re a little older.’

  Victoria poked her tongue out. ‘Mummy will take me, won’t you?’ she said, looking over at Kate for support.

  Kate nodded gently. ‘We’ll see, Victoria; all in good time.’

  The little meeting continued until the tea was consumed, the talk of Paul exhausted and there was very little left to say. They just had to get on with their lives and forget, if it was possible, that Paul ever existed.

  Paul appeared before an allocation unit at Winchester Prison where he was interviewed at first by the chief prison officer and a probation officer. Then he was seen by a medical officer, the prison chaplain and a welfare officer. It was decided that he would serve his time at Parkhurst prison on the Isle of Wight. Two members of staff were assigned to take Paul to the place that would be his home for at least the next twenty years.

  Parkhurst had an unjust reputation among the public, but it served the media well when any incidents occurred, or anything the media could get its teeth into. It had started life as a military hospital in the early 1800s. Although modernized to a degree, it lost none of its Victorian ambience, imposed by the sterile façade of its prison blocks.

  Paul arrived wearing civilian clothes; standard procedure when transferring prisoners. The closed bag that contained Paul’s personal belongings had travelled with him. It was still zip-locked. He was signed in, the bag officially received at the desk and put away for the next twenty years along with his clothes. Then he was issued with a towel and a bar of soap and led through to a shower room where he was ordered to take a shower. Once this was done, he was subjected to a full body search and then taken back to the reception counter where he was issued with a blue and white striped shirt, a pair of jeans and black shoes. He was also given a pair of grey trousers and a denim jacket. All clothing was handed out by inmates.

  Paul kept his mouth shut and only answered questions when he was spoken to by staff. He knew he would be a source of curiosity among the prisoners, but guessed it was something that would not last for long. He was taken through to an allocation office where some of his needs and requirements were discussed, including his religion. He was asked if he would like to arrange to speak with the prison chaplain, but Paul said he wouldn’t. Once all the boxes had been ticked, and the allocation officer was happy, he assigned Paul to a cell. It was the only time in the proceedings that Paul smiled when he was told that he would be in cell number 310 on A wing, where all newcomers began their stay. It was something like a hotel numbering system, and about the only connection to the kind of life he would not experience again for a very long time.

  There was a short wait once Paul had been processed until one of the landing officers came down to take him up to his cell. As he climbed the open stairs, he could see a lot of activity going on; most of which was prisoners going downstairs or coming up. The officer led Paul into his cell and pointed out one or two things, but before he left he told Paul it was mealtime.

  ‘Go down to the hot plate down there.’ He turned and pointed downwards. ‘Then bring your meal up here. Association in the stage rooms after your meal.’ The st
age room was where prisoners could meet, chat and watch television. ‘If you stay here in your cell, you’ll be locked in. Lights out ten o’clock.’ He pointed to a small light above what served as a bed. ‘You’ve got a reading light there. My name is King. You will call me Mr King or Sir. You understand that, Kennett?’ Paul said he did. ‘You address all members of staff as Mister using their surname or call them Sir.’ Paul nodded again. ‘Good, now go and get a meal.’ He left as Paul sat on the hard bed and leaned back against the wall. This was it then, he thought miserably: four walls and the rest of his life.

  Michael knew it wouldn’t be long before the newspapers were beating a path to his door: sensationalism was the staff of life to newspapers, and while twin brothers falling out was hardly the stuff of headlines, the manner in which he and Paul fought, and the unforeseeable outcome, would ensure a kind of infamy being attached to the name of Clanford Hall for a good few years. Michael knew that the public’s thirst for gossip was insatiable, and the curiosity people showed was a kind of counterpoint to that characteristic. He knew he could achieve a measure of publicity which, if handled right, could provide Clanford with a reliable source of income for a few years. He just had to tap into it.

  He came down for breakfast the following morning with a plan. After he had eaten, he went through to the office where he had prepared some material in advance of Paul’s trial that he could use to whet the public’s appetite and stir up its curiosity about Clanford Hall, its history and what it had to offer for its visitors. He had imagined the kind of stories Paul’s crime would provoke, but knew he didn’t have the skill to write them. Ironically he knew that Paul had that ability: it was something he had shown at school with his consummate storytelling and as a teenager making up excuses to avoid getting into trouble with Kate or the police.

  Michael knew the package was good but he needed someone else to promote and market the whole idea. He had started running bed & breakfast weekends at the hall, and had catered for several weddings as well as club meetings, like the local gun club. But now, having started the ball rolling and developed the necessary skills to maintain these businesses at a high level, he knew it was time to take it further.

  He had pulled some papers out of the filing cabinet and was looking through them when Topper came into the office. He looked up from the papers.

  ‘Hello sweetheart,’ he said, and got up from the desk.

  Topper’s pregnancy was obvious now. She kissed him. ‘Can we talk about the wedding, Michael?’ she asked.

  His eyes hooded over and he cursed softly under his breath. He had forgotten everything about the wedding because of Paul’s trial. His proposal to Topper had come virtually from his hospital bed. Topper was all over him, thanking him for being such a brave man and actually fighting for her with Paul. He was in no position physically or emotionally to think about his heroics as Topper called them, but he was swayed by her seemingly undying love and thanks for what he had done. At the time it seemed churlish not to take the next step and ask Topper to marry him, which is what he did. But knowing she was carrying Paul’s baby, he felt less inclined to make a dash for the altar and carry Topper over the threshold. He sat down and held up the papers.

  ‘I’m busy at the moment.’ He shuffled the papers around. ‘I’m not sure I can concentrate on these even, let alone make marriage plans.’ He avoided eye contact with her. ‘And what with this business with Paul.’

  Topper pulled a chair alongside of the desk. ‘We’re all upset about Paul,’ she said. ‘But life goes on, and there’s a life going on inside me right now.’

  He glanced up. She was right: they had an unborn baby to consider. ‘This was not how it was meant to be,’ he told her. ‘But it’s something we have to deal with, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to be kept waiting long,’ she warned him. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

  Michael tried to make light of it by putting a bright smile on his face. ‘Don’t worry, Topper; we’ll sort something out.’

  Topper’s expression darkened a little. ‘Don’t leave it too long, then, will you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I promise.’ He lifted the papers. ‘I just need to get through this estate business over the next week or so. OK?’

  This didn’t satisfy Topper but she had little choice but to let it go. ‘OK, Michael,’ she said, getting up. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’ She reached over and kissed him on the cheek. He watched her walk out of the room and got back to the business of running his estate.

  An hour later, after several phone calls and arranged meetings with different companies, Michael had more or less cleared his desk for that day’s business when Kate walked in.

  ‘Have you got time for a chat, Michael?’

  He smiled and settled back in his chair. ‘I’ve always got time for you, Kate. What’s it about?’

  She sat down facing him. ‘It’s about Topper,’ she began without preamble. ‘I saw her in here earlier on this morning. It made me think about your plans for her.’

  He frowned. ‘How do you mean: my plans for her?’

  ‘Have you told her you will marry her?’ Kate asked.

  Michael made a face. ‘Well, sort of. I remember proposing when I was in hospital, but I’m not sure now if I was compos mentis at the time.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure now. Either you did or you didn’t.’

  He prevaricated. ‘Look, I did say I would marry her, but I’m not sure I’m ready yet. Topper came in here to speak to me about getting married. It’s the baby, you see.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, I don’t see. It isn’t your child: it’s Paul’s.’

  Michael laughed. ‘Well, he can’t really marry her where he is, can he now?’

  ‘Don’t joke about it, Michael,’ she tossed back at him. ‘You haven’t had a proper courtship, you haven’t become engaged, and she is carrying someone else’s child.’ Michael noticed that Kate had referred to Paul and Topper as ‘she’ and ‘someone else’.

  ‘Do you love her?’ The question was stabbed out at him.

  He shrugged and looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes, I think so.’ He sat up a little in his chair. ‘I don’t know.’

  Kate could see the truth in his response and in his body language. ‘You don’t love her, Michael. And if you marry her, you will regret it.’

  ‘What are you suggesting, Kate?’ Now that she had pricked his conscience, Michael could see it as a lifeline being thrown to him. ‘That I shouldn’t marry her?’

  ‘That’s right, Michael. I think it would be wrong.’

  He spent a little time in thought, looking at the ramifications of changing his mind and how it would affect Topper. What would happen to her? And what about Paul’s child?

  ‘We can’t just throw her out,’ he said. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  Kate laughed tightly. ‘Goodness no, Michael, I’m not suggesting that. You can refuse to marry Topper, but agree to support her and the baby.’ She waited for it to sink in. ‘Despite Paul being in prison, he still has a duty to support the child.’

  ‘He’s broke,’ Michael reminded her.

  She pulled a face. ‘He must still have some money somewhere. But if he hasn’t, or refuses, then we will have to support Topper and the baby ourselves.’

  ‘For Paul’s sake?’ he asked.

  Kate had been thinking about the years she had spent at the orphanage and the number of young girls who had ended up there because of unwanted pregnancies. She herself was the result of someone’s indiscretion and had suffered as a consequence.

  ‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘For the sake of Topper and the baby.’

  Michael knew he had to think this through carefully. It wasn’t a case of wanting a second helping of pudding; it was somebody’s life he would be playing with. But he also had his own life to consider. If he married Topper it would give her a future and that of her child, but then what? Would he be happy?

  ‘I’m going to
have to think about this, Kate,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m really going to have to think hard about it.’

  Kate got up from her chair. ‘Well, don’t take too long. If you haven’t made up your mind by morning, you never will.’ She went to leave but then stopped. She tapped her chest. ‘It has to come from here, Michael, from the heart. Will you be happy? Make sure you know the answer before deciding. But whatever you choose to do, I will support you.’

  She closed the door behind her and left Michael sitting there wondering about his promise to Topper.

  Paul woke after a troubled night as his cell-door bolt was slid back. He forced his eyes open as his cell door was thrown open and he could see a prison officer framed in the doorway.

  ‘Slop out, Kennett! Grab your pisspot!’

  He heard the same order being barked along the hall and other voices joining in with coarse remarks and foul language. He swung his legs off the bed and pulled on his trousers. He grabbed the pot from the floor and stepped out onto the landing. He could see other prisoners standing outside their cells, pisspots in hand and the prison staff encouraging the slackers with barking voices.

  The prisoners trooped away towards the end of the landing. Paul knew what was going on but this was his first morning in Parkhurst so it was a case of following suit. It was difficult to breathe because of the smell assaulting his nostrils. Most of the pisspots were full and did little for the atmosphere. The men looked immune to it. Paul knew it wouldn’t take him long either.

  He followed the line into a large room where the contents of their pots were emptied down a large sink, then rinsed under a tap of running water. The prison officers kept a watchful eye on the inmates, but it all seemed very orderly to Paul. After slop-out, the next process was a trip to the washroom for a quick wash before breakfast.

  There was no mess hall; no communal dining. Meals were picked up at a servery, or hotplate as it was known, and taken back to the cells. Paul fell in with the queue and waited patiently until it was his turn to pick up his breakfast of cornflakes, scrambled egg, toast and a mug of tea. After that it was ‘association’ until the prisoners, or cons, were marched off to work. Anyone not working, for whatever reason, would be locked up in their cell.