Nancy barges into her room and slams the door. We hear her bed squeak, a thump as she falls off it, and a chuckle as it amuses her. Then silence. Maleeha takes my hand and pulls me through her door.
‘Did you have fun tonight, Katie?’
‘Yeah. I loved the dancing, although the pub was mad. Good though, but I felt overawed most of the night, as if I was operating on a slower speed than everyone else.’
‘I know what you mean. The world’s got loud and frantic. What’s with the mobile phone thing? Everyone’s glued to them. It’s weird. It wasn’t just that. Did you feel like you didn’t belong?’
‘It was strange, but I think that was just because it was all so new. We dressed differently, and we definitely did not have on enough mascara.’
‘I’m not used to those places, Katie, and I don’t want to be. I enjoyed the dance floor, too. Yet, there was an aggressive tinge to everything that didn’t exist in our community get-togethers. It’s made me homesick.’
I sit on the bed next to her and pull her close. I expect trembling shoulders and loud sobs when she remembers her family, but she remains quiet and stiff. Deep down, I understand that the difference is worrying.
15
Gone
I stay in bed all morning. After some rolling around, I get up around two p.m. and slip into my running gear. A hangover covers me like a wet blanket but after thirty minutes of grind, it dissolves. I flag at the hour mark and return to the house. There’s a police car leaving as I jog up. Tim Thorn, who does all of our probation work, watches me in the same way as the ginger man outside the nightclub did.
‘A word please, Katie.’
‘What is it?’
‘Inside.’
Maleeha has collapsed face down on the sofa in the lounge with her head in her hands. Sally rubs her back with a distant expression. That look is familiar, yet alien. It seems out of place here.
‘Come on, we’ll go to your room.’
Tim is up the stairs before I can comment. My skin tightens as I ascend behind him.
‘What’s up, Mr Thorn? I’m not due to see you until Friday.’
‘Call me Tim, please.’
‘I like to keep things professional.’
‘Very wise, Katie.’ His smile is cruel and confident. He’s broken stronger girls than me. ‘I came with the police to pick up Nancy, your friend. They’ve taken her back to prison to do the other half of her sentence.’
‘Why? What did she do?’
He wanders around my room, picking up the odd picture or memento, and then sits on the bed. He reclines and rests his head on my pillow. Due to his height, his shiny shoes hang over the end.
‘All those times in prison, Katie. You know she never stood a chance. Seventy percent of people like her have re-offended within a year. We heard from a nightclub in town that four women reported having money stolen. We suspect there were more, but they probably put it down to drunkenness. Clever thief, you see. Took the cash and returned the purses. Nightclubs are dark verminous places.’
‘What makes you think it was her?’
‘I know you all had an evening out yesterday.’
I say nothing. Sadly, he’s right. I’ve found most low-level thieves habitual. The prison staff call them frequent flyers as they are in and out so often. Sometimes it’s the buzz, other times it’s an addiction.
‘There has been an increase in shoplifting around town of late, too. A mini crime wave we weren’t expecting. It must have been too easy for her. A different place where no one knows her. Superdrug took a fair old battering. When I found out, I thought now who’s new to the manor? Who could this be?’
Clearly enjoying himself, he sits up, and raises his eyebrows at me.
‘What? You think I was part of it?’
‘Of course not. If you and Maleeha had been involved, we’d have been dealing with a bloodbath. That’s not to say others didn’t accuse you. I like you though, Katie. I have high hopes for your future. As for Nancy? She couldn’t help herself. We arrived here and found her clothed, unconscious, and lying on the floor. That’s breach one of her licence. Breaches two to ten were still in their cellophane wrappers except for some perfume. I expect you all smelled lovely last night.’
He rises from the bed and straightens his tie. ‘We’d hate for you to have to finish your life sentence, wouldn’t we? You owe me, Katie.’
A knock at the door startles us both. I open it to Sally’s concerned face. She looks straight at Thorn.
‘You know the rules. The bedrooms are for residents only.’
‘I was leaving anyway. Keep your nose clean, Katie. Sally, have the paperwork completed by the weekend. I’ll let myself out.’
Sally receives a disarming smile, I get a nod. After he’s gone, she closes the door. ‘Be careful with him,’ she says.
‘Do I need to be?’
‘I’m not sure. He’s a bit slippery for my liking.’
‘Has nobody else who stayed here ever said anything about him?’
Her face drops to the empty expression she had earlier. Now, I remember. It’s a face that’s seen it all before. Time-served prison officers wore those looks as they separated fights and called for assistance after suicides and stabbings. Nothing scares or surprises her. Sally knew Nancy was unlikely to be a success story. Should I be worried about Thorn?
‘Well?’ I ask.
She remains silent for over a minute before telling the truth.
‘One girl. She said he made her touch him in her room. Who knows there might have been more.’
‘Why is he still here? Why isn’t he in prison?’
‘He stated she fabricated it because he’d recalled her. She was a compulsive liar. She’d actually done time for multiple false-accusations of rape. A history like that combined with substance abuse and mental health issues doesn’t indicate a reliable witness. They suspended him but nothing came of it. The girl disappeared afterwards. That’s when we made the rule on who enters the bedrooms.’
‘Well, that’s perfect. What’s the point to it all? My life is over. Why do you work here, Sally, amongst all this bullshit? I can have the floor pulled away from underneath by him, or you, just like that.’ I click my fingers in her face. ‘Back to jail. I’ve served my sentence, yet here I am. It’s just more time in a new hole. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have bothered.’
‘Don’t give up, Katie.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. This is your job, not your life.’
Her eyes drop to the floor, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped the mark. She pulls the chair from the desk and sits down heavily. I examine her features and see a jowly fifty-year-old woman with little to live for. Her clothes are clean yet shabby. A face free of make-up but covered with sorrow.
‘I work here because I, too, saw the end of the line. My son was found in a crack house, stripped and beaten, dirty and dead. I’d only seen him a few weeks beforehand and thought he was fine. Thin, perhaps. The inquest spoke of years of addiction to which I’d been oblivious. I wanted to die. He was the only family I had.’
A shocked gasp escapes from my mouth. I stifle it as she continues.
‘When I made that decision, a weight lifted from me and I looked forward to being with him again. Which was a little weird with me not being religious. A friend picked up on the changes and pleaded for me not to do anything rash. When he left that day, he spoke the line that gave me a reason to carry on. Interested?’
‘Go on.’
‘He asked if my son would want that. His life was over so he couldn’t offer the world anything. I lived. Why didn’t I help others? Those like him who lost their way. So, here I am. It’s hard still, but I hope I’m helping. Days like today are sad but many do make it back. Search inside yourself. There will be something that motivates you. Use it. Perhaps there is a God, and he has a purpose for you. Find the strength within, Katie. I know it’s there.’
I lay down for a long time afterwards and considered her
words. People read about the fragility of life every day but they think it happens to others. Then it surprises them. Death can’t be bribed, and God doesn’t play fair. Sally’s misfortune is my gain. She wouldn’t be here to help without her loss.
It dawns on me that it feels good to have someone in my corner. I want to be happy again. It seems so long since I was. At the moment, pleasant times are poisoned. While Maleeha and I were dancing, Nancy had been robbing those who watched.
I need nice memories with decent people. My history is prison grey, yet there was colour before then. Even though it’s been twenty-five years, I’m taken back to the first time I felt like giving up. I heard powerful words that day, too.
16
The Fourth Memory - Age Eight
I arrived at the children’s home on a freezing cold day. I’d only met the lady from social services who took me there once before, and she wasn’t interested in talking. She must’ve been stressed as she smoked a lot of cigarettes out of the car window. My seat was behind hers. If I’d known I would be travelling in a wind tunnel, I would have put on warmer clothes. Although, the shivering was mostly due to worry.
No one told me what to expect, so I stared aghast, and feared a long drive up to a creaking mansion. My nerves were so shot to pieces that when we arrived at a large building on a street corner, I still couldn’t relax. In fact, I was close to weeing myself.
An old lady came to greet us after we rang the bell. I stood in the foyer while the driver got my things. Mrs Gill spent those minutes staring at me in silence. She could have been anyone’s granny in looks, but there was a fierceness to her which made me extremely nervous.
The house had high ceilings, a wide staircase, and many doors over three floors. It was as cold inside as out. We went through to a big kitchen where the adults talked around a table. The lady — who I assumed was my new support worker — patted me on the head and said she’d see me later in the week. Then she left.
‘Any questions?’ asked Mrs Gill.
‘Where’s the toilet?’
Her weathered face twitched at the side. After she showed me to a small room under the stairs, we sat around the table again.
‘Juice?’
‘I’m okay, thank you.’
‘Hungry?’
‘I’m okay, thank you.’
‘Lonely?’
Looking down at my clenched hands to disguise my weakness, I considered her question. I was afraid because I was alone. I decided then not to worry about saying the wrong thing. It was time to tell the truth and be damned if it went badly. I failed to understand the world in which I lived.
‘Yes, I’m very lonely.’
‘There are fifteen other children here, so you will make friends. They’re all at school now, but they’ll be back soon enough. You’ll like it here.’
My set chin displayed my intentions to one as experienced as her.
‘You’re planning to run away when you get the chance. Fear can do that to you. Don’t be afraid of what might be. Sometimes you need to be frightened, but not often, and not here. I should think you’ve been through a worrying few days, and probably not for the first time either. Do people keep leaving you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re a tough little thing.’
A solitary tear ran down my cheek.
‘Come with me, Katie.’
She ushered me to the back of the house, unlocked a door, and led me into a big room with a large desk. There were grey filing cabinets along one wall, and a roaring gas fire on the other. The heat was so welcome I gasped.
‘Go on child, warm your hands.’
I crouched next to the fire. My blue clawed fingers unfurled and reached out. She closed the door and sat in her high-backed chair.
My memories before that day were mostly just snatches: images, smells and sounds. But the fire reminded me so clearly of that last Christmas morning with Uncle Jack, it cleared my mind. I would remember Mrs Gill’s speech for the rest of my life.
‘You believe you’ve lost everything, and no one understands. Everyone feels like that here. I know plenty about loss. I lost my family. I’m not sure there’s a minute goes by where I don’t think of them. My daughter would be forty now. I could’ve had grandchildren. Perhaps, someone as pretty as you.’
Why did her words imprint themselves on my soul? Perhaps it was because I was so wired and tuned in that my brain was set to record. Maybe it was only then I considered that others were suffering as well. Her soft voice and the warmth of the fire exhausted me. I knelt on the rug and enjoyed the heat on my face.
‘We are your family now. It does get easier, possibly better. We care for each other here. Families argue too, though. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. Don’t judge yourself harshly, Katie. Take your time. Find a way to live. Don’t hurt yourself, or others. Don’t leave us. If it gets too much, remember we’re here to help. Go to sleep on things, you can always do something drastic in the morning.’
I shivered, and she rose from her seat. She picked up a blanket and placed it over my hunched shoulders. She stroked my hair as we stared into the flames.
‘Life will be better tomorrow.’
I appreciated her words and kindness at the time. I knew I was safe there. As for those words, I kept them with me. They were my mantra, and, for a child, they are usually true. I would need them later when I needed to survive. I also realised the truth of what she said. Don’t give people all that you have, because if they take it, you’re left with nothing.
In prison, many years later, I would ponder her little phrase about sleeping on things. I decided that there is always hope, and I believe that still. But there will come a time in everyone’s life when tomorrow appears hopeless.
17
April
Missing Nancy
Maleeha and I recovered from Nancy’s absence by spending even more time together. I found her history interesting. She was brought up as a modern Muslim. They followed their religion loosely, much the same as most people follow Christianity. Yet, there were lines that couldn’t be crossed, and she had run through all of them. Her life had changed more than mine had, and that’s not considering the fact her children were growing up without her.
Strangely, we never discussed my case. I’d rebuffed Nancy’s probing questions to a certain degree. Eventually in jail, I was able to put it to the back of my mind. It began to feel like it all happened to a stranger whom I once knew. When I hear Maleeha’s tale, I could be listening to any of hundreds of women’s prison stories I heard over the years.
Her abuse was physical and sexual. That is what you’d expect, but it could have been emotional, financial or psychological. Constantly being put down or ridiculed is a form of torture. Being told you’re worthless or kept without money and possessions can be harder to bear than a beating. The relentless nature of it chips away at an individual’s self-worth. The inability to change their path, or their children’s, causes them to snap and then futures are ruined and lives are lost.
I realised early on in prison that many of the inmates were victims as well as villains. A traumatic upbringing was a common theme. People got into destructive cycles from young ages and lacked the skills and help to break the pattern. It’s not an excuse for our behaviour, but perhaps an explanation.
Maleeha always wanted to talk about her children which seemed strange as she hadn’t seen them for so long. Someone, a kind relative perhaps, had sporadically sent her pictures. These were her treasured possessions. I would listen because that’s all she needed. I often thought it would have been better for her to let go but when I considered that properly, I realised I was wrong. There are things from which you can’t move on.
We talked about Nancy. I saw that she had been the most upbeat of us, yet she was the one who’d never had it easy. She’d given up on life some time ago. Maybe she cried herself to sleep at night but I didn’t think so. Nancy still had the capacity for fun and she loved to laugh. There would
be no changing her casual racism, rude questioning, or her light-fingered ways, but we missed her.
We only need to sign in twice a day at our house now, and once a week we must visit the probation office. Tim Thorn is away on holiday, so we don’t even have to see him. It’s strange. I’ve only been free a few months and I’m jaded. In prison you had acquaintances more than friends, but there were always people about and the routine to keep you occupied. Everything on the outside costs money we don’t have.
‘Can we get a job?’ asks Maleeha.
Sally had arrived a few minutes ago for her late shift and was filling in paperwork when we found her in the office. A perceptive look creeps onto her face, though.
‘I’m so pleased that you’ve asked. It’s one of the positive signs we hope to see.’
‘We’re bored.’
‘Ah, Katie. How can you be? There’s a whole world out there. Go for a walk. The art galleries might be a nice thing to do. Watch people. Laugh at the students who think they know it all and mostly don’t.’
The thousands of students trigger a mixed response in me. It’s great to see youngsters laughing and enjoying themselves. Most are extremely polite, even the drunken ones. That said, I feel an element of jealousy at their carefree lives. I’m sure they feel pressure from exams and deadlines, but it must be wonderful to have a whole life of possibility and excitement ahead of you.
I wonder if my life could have been different. The prison tutors all thought I had an aptitude for learning. I breezed the tests I revised for. I even have vague recollections of being told I was bright at school. Put some effort in they said, but I could never engage. I existed in a bubble waiting for the next awful thing to happen.
‘We want money, Sally,’ I add.
‘Ah, now you’re being honest.’
SHADOWS OF REGRET: If your life was ruined, would you seek redemption or take revenge? Page 6
