by Rona Halsall
Natalie takes a deep breath. ‘No. I’m sorry but you don’t understand. I um… I haven’t spoken to Tom yet.’ She pulls a face. ‘You know how things are between us. The problem is…’ Natalie hesitates, then her words come out in a rush. ‘I don’t know where Harry is. I thought he’d be at Tom’s parents’ house, that’s the last I heard, but the house is empty. It’s been sold. Can you believe it? So, once I found that out, well… I didn’t know where to go. Ended up here because I met some bloke on the ferry, who’s in the band. I thought he might know something, because I figured Tom’s company might be one of tonight’s sponsors. I couldn’t think of anything else to do and, well…’ She throws her hands up.
Sasha frowns. ‘Oh no! So, you’ve no idea where they are?’
‘Not yet, no.’ A knot is forming in Natalie’s stomach, clenching tighter as the difficulty of her mission becomes clear.
‘Oh dear.’ Silence for a moment. ‘So, what are you going to do?’
Their eyes meet and Sasha’s steady gaze makes Natalie’s heart lurch. ‘Sasha, would you help me?’
She looks puzzled. ‘Help you with what?’
‘Getting Harry back.’ Natalie’s chest tightens as she watches Sasha’s blue eyes widen. ‘I need to get him safe.’
‘Safe? What do you mean?’ She frowns. ‘Why wouldn’t he be safe?’
‘He’s in…’ Natalie stops herself. Remembers that Sasha doesn’t know about Katya. Or Katya’s brother, Lech, and the death threats. How could she understand? Natalie takes a deep breath. ‘He needs to be with me, Sash. Tom can’t look after him properly. He’s not fit to be a parent, you know that.’
‘Oh Nat.’ Sasha’s eyes are full of concern. ‘Don’t you think… Look, don’t take this the wrong way but, after all this time, don’t you think Harry might be settled in his own little world? I mean, he won’t know you, will he?’
Her words rip at Natalie’s heart and she stares at her. ‘Of course he’ll know me.’ She taps her chest. ‘I’m his mother. What are you saying?’
Sasha grasps Natalie’s hands, her face soft with sympathy. ‘I just… Oh, I know how hard this has been for you. I do. All your letters… I feel for you, honestly, I do. But sometimes it’s better to leave well alone, you know. Hard as it is, sometimes you just have to let go and move on.’
Natalie snatches her hands away.
‘Being without him for over three years has been hard enough.’ Disbelief sharpens Natalie’s voice. ‘You think I can just walk away and forget him? You think that’s even possible? I can’t live another day without him, let alone a lifetime. Honestly, you’ve no idea. Not even a… a bloody clue.’ She folds her arms across her chest. ‘Anyway, forget it. I can manage by myself. Can’t be that hard to find them on a little island like this, can it?’
Natalie glares at Sasha, reminds herself that she still has Jack to ask for help. And there’s plenty of information on the Internet. She hasn’t really started with that yet. Sasha’s an optional extra, a non-essential part of her plans.
Sasha sighs. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I’m thinking about what’s best for you. Maybe better to get yourself back on your feet before you do anything rash. You know, adjust to being out. Take it slow.’
‘I said, forget it.’
Sasha holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Okay, okay. I don’t want to fight. Look… it’s your life. If you need me to help, then—’ she gives Natalie a warm smile and nods ‘—of course I’ll help you. You know I will. Whatever you need.’
They stare at each other for a moment and Natalie looks away. A worm of doubt wriggles in her mind because you don’t want someone on your side who’s not fully committed to the cause and she’s not convinced that Sasha really is, not yet anyway.
Harry won’t know you. How could she even think that? Of course, he’ll know me. He’s part of me, isn’t he? Made from my own flesh and blood. Her hands clasp her arms tighter to her chest. Of course, he’ll know me.
She looks up, catches Sasha watching her, eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to work something out.
‘I wondered, just so I know what we’re doing here… are you allowed?’
Natalie frowns. ‘Allowed what?’
‘To be here. Are you supposed to be here? On the Isle of Man. I thought you’d be…’
‘Be what?’ Here we go, Natalie thinks, undermining me before we’ve even started.
‘Sorry, Nat,’ Sasha puts a hand on her shoulder, ‘I just thought they’d want to… you know… supervise you in some way. Give you work to do, community stuff.’ She shrugs. ‘Tag you with one of those electronic thingies, so they know where you are.’
Natalie looks away, kicks at the pavement.
‘Okay, so technically I’m not supposed to be here, but it’s only for a few days and nobody’s going to know and…’
‘You’re not going to get me in trouble with the police, or anything, are you?’
Natalie opens her mouth to speak and closes it again. Am I? Asking her to get information, act as a decoy, a distraction. No, I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to talk her way out of trouble. Natalie returns her gaze. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything illegal,’ she says. ‘Not really.’
Sasha nods. ‘Okay, so what’s your plan, then? What do you need me to do?’
Natalie’s heart is racing now and she wonders where to start. But before she can speak, Sasha’s phone rings. She takes it out of her pocket, looks at the screen and tuts.
‘Sorry, got to take this,’ she says and walks away a few steps. Natalie clamps her mouth shut and strains to hear, catches snippets.
‘Mel… what, no better? Okay, don’t panic… Try that… What?’ She sighs. ‘Okay. Okay. Yes. I’m on my way.’
Sasha walks back to Natalie, looking annoyed, her mouth pinched at the edges. ‘Look Nat, I’m really sorry but I’ve got to go. One of the actors – my leading man, would you believe – has taken something he shouldn’t and he’s completely out of it. I left someone babysitting him, but she’s panicking and—’ she throws her hands up, clearly upset ‘—he’ll get thrown off the production if we can’t sort him out. Ruin it for all of us.’
Natalie sighs. Typical, just when I was getting somewhere.
‘Oh. You’re still filming, then?’
Sasha taps and swipes at her phone, frowning. ‘What?’ She looks up, mouth a thin line. Then her eyes soften a little. ‘Yes, yes, still filming. But look, I’ve got to go. Give me your number and I’ll call you. Find a time tomorrow when we can meet, get a plan together.’ Sasha hands Natalie her phone and waits while Natalie finds a card with her new phone number on it and types it in. Then she wraps Natalie in a sudden hug and when she pushes away, her face is serious. ‘Don’t you worry. We’ll find Harry. You and me.’ She gives Natalie a quick smile, then she’s off, trotting down the road. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she calls over her shoulder.
Natalie watches her disappear, up towards the cathedral and realises that she can’t just let her go, relying on her to call. What if she doesn’t? Tomorrow can mean many things with Sasha. On rare occasions, it can actually turn out to mean tomorrow, but usually it can mean in a day or two, next week, in a few months. Perhaps never. She dashes after her, wanting to make a definite arrangement to meet, but when she gets into the cathedral grounds, Sasha’s nowhere to be seen.
Ten
Then
The morning after her arrest, having spent all night at the police station, Natalie was shown into a small, rectangular waiting area with black metal benches fixed against pale-green walls. The van would be here soon, she’d been told, once it had finished its pick-ups from a couple of other police stations.
Goosebumps prickled her arms as she felt the presence of all those who had been there before her. She could see it in the grubby line that ran around the room, where people had leant greasy scalps against the walls, and on the grey-painted floors, scuffed with the passage of hundreds of feet. Her t
houghts went to Harry. Was Tom managing to get him dressed and give him breakfast? She reminded herself that Elena, Harry’s nanny, would be back home by now, told herself that she would look after him. But he’ll be missing me. Her chest tightened. She could see his crumpled face, crying, the image locked in her mind, taunting her until she was close to tears herself.
A young woman, early twenties at the most, was brought in, mascara smudged around her eyes, long black hair tied in a high ponytail. She looked oriental, exotic, wearing a sparkly silver dress that rode up her thighs as she sat down, showing a tattoo of a dragon. No shoes on her feet. She was tiny, making Natalie feel bloated in comparison. They sat in silence for a while, the space between them filled with the acrid smell of sweat.
‘You been before?’ the girl asked in a Liverpudlian accent, her voice as light as her frame.
Natalie shook her head, hands gripped together in her lap, her head held in the vice of a throbbing headache.
‘I have.’ The girl sighed. ‘This is the third time for me.’
‘What?’ Natalie’s eyes opened wide. She looked away, focused on the girl’s bare feet, small as a child’s, her nails painted ruby red. Where are her shoes?
The girl nodded. ‘First time was possession. Not my stuff, I was just doing some dude a favour but, well, who’s going to listen? Then it was shoplifting. I put my hands up to that one. But, you know, when you’re desperate for something to eat…’ She looked at her feet, wiggled her toes, then her eyes met Natalie’s. ‘And now… GBH. I think that’s what they said. Or was it ABH? I can’t remember. But I don’t see how you can class a stiletto as a weapon, do you? Not like a knife, is it?’
Natalie looked away, aware that her mouth was open and hoped her expression had been noncommittal. Like it wasn’t a big deal, heard it all before. Who was she to judge, anyway? But Christ, grievous bodily harm? With a stiletto?
‘I’m Mali, by the way.’ The girl folded her arms across her chest, eyes defiant. ‘And in case you’re wondering, it was self-defence.’
‘Oh, yes, right.’ Natalie swallowed, looked at the girl, so as not to appear rude, but couldn’t quite manage a smile. ‘Right… I’m Natalie.’
They lapsed into silence again, Mali fiddling with her nails, while Natalie tried not to look at her; difficult when you’re sitting opposite each other. She wondered how an attractive young girl came to be in and out of prison. What sort of life had she led? What sort of people would Natalie be locked up with? She wiped clammy hands on her joggers. The girl was staring at her.
‘Don’t look so scared,’ she said. ‘It’s not so bad. You’ll be fine.’
‘I didn’t do anything.’ Natalie’s voice was plaintive, like a lost child. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’
The girl laughed, a high tinkle of a sound. ‘None of us should fucking be here. Crap sort of a system if you ask me. We’re the victims, aren’t we? But—’ she held up her hands, raised her eyebrows ‘—what can you do? It’s a man’s world, isn’t it?’ She lowered her eyes, started picking at her fingernails again. ‘Just got to get on with it.’
When the van finally arrived, Natalie was surprised to find that the inside was divided into small compartments, each with a reinforced window, too high to see through, and a grey plastic bench seat. The smell of disinfectant, vomit and body odour made for a heady mix, the stuffy compartment almost devoid of breathable air. She slid up and down the slippery seat as the vehicle was thrown round corners and roundabouts by a driver in a hurry, her body hurled against the sides of her compartment, banging elbows and knees, shoulders and hands.
At their final destination, she emerged from her box shaken and pale, gulping a lungful of fresh air. She felt like she’d been on a fairground ride for the last forty-five minutes and thought she might be sick. She frowned as she took in her surroundings, a hand over her mouth as her stomach heaved. Have they brought me to the right place? It didn’t look like a prison at all.
Behind the high gates and the tall metal fence stood a red-brick Victorian building, large and imposing, but so much better than she’d been expecting. She could see other similar buildings in the grounds, double-fronted houses, surrounded by trees and lawns. Flowerbeds sang with colour. It looked like a private school. Or a small village. She let out a breath. Maybe Mali was right. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
Mali put on a cocky act and started a bit of banter with the guards, but Natalie could hear the quiver in her voice, a hint of fear that made Natalie’s heart beat faster. She followed Mali into the reception area, which opened out into a large waiting room. Lounge seats with padded cushions were arranged around coffee tables, magazines strewn across their surfaces. A large TV hung on the wall. Next to that, a water cooler. It was bright and airy with a big bay window looking out over the well-tended gardens. It felt benign. Like a community centre.
Natalie sipped a cup of water while Mali was led into another room. She locked her eyes on the TV, losing herself in some show about buying houses from the auctions. Her heart bumped to an erratic beat and her legs wrapped themselves around each other, as her body shook with intermittent spasms.
Stop it! she told herself. Get a grip. There’s nothing scary about this place. At all. She tended to her fear, poking and prodding it until she was able to pull it up by the roots, like a weed. She straightened her shoulders, told herself she was going to get through this.
Tom would have been interviewed by now, she expected. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of him telling the officers how much she’d been struggling at work, telling them his theory that she had mental health problems, probably postnatal depression. That’s what he kept telling her, anyway, trying to get her to take something for it, so there was no reason to believe he wouldn’t tell the police. Then they’d have to accept it was all a mistake.
People were allowed to make mistakes, weren’t they? Must happen all the time. She’d be out of there in a matter of hours. A day at the most.
‘Alright?’ A skinny woman with short, bleached-blonde hair, dressed in an oversized pink T-shirt, black leggings and sneakers plonked herself in the chair next to Natalie. She smiled. ‘I’m Lisa,’ she said. ‘I’m the peer mentor on meet-and-greet duty this morning.’ Natalie could see scars spotting Lisa’s arms, like white measles. Are those needle marks? Is she a druggie? She couldn’t stop herself from staring. And the white slashes on her wrists. Has she tried to…?
‘Sorry,’ Natalie said, lifting her eyes to the woman’s face. ‘You’re a what?’
‘Peer mentors, we’re called. Here to help you get settled in.’ The woman’s voice was rough round the edges, like a torn cloth, but her smile was friendly and now that Natalie looked at her properly, she could see that she was middle-aged, her face covered with a web of fine wrinkles.
The woman held out a carrier bag. ‘This here,’ she said, ‘is what they call a reception pack.’ Natalie took it and peered inside. ‘It’s got a few toiletries to get you started. Shampoo and soap and stuff.’ Lisa leant over. ‘Toothpaste’s a bit strong. Better than nothing though. I hate it when me teeth need cleaning.’ She pulled a face.
Natalie managed a flicker of a smile and pulled a booklet out of the bag.
‘That tells you all about the place, what the rules are and everything.’
Natalie nodded.
‘So, I’ll give you the spiel, then you can ask me whatever you want. And then I’ll see you again when you’ve had your assessment and seen the doc.’ Lisa tucked her legs up under her, took the booklet from Natalie, turned to the page she was looking for and started talking, pointing to pictures as she went along, as if she was reading to a child.
HMP Stanbridge had an operational capacity of four hundred and eighty women, accommodated in twenty large houses set in the countryside, just south of Liverpool. As well as the houses, there was a modern block called the Therapy Wing and various other facilities. For much of the day they would be able to roam about the grounds as they wanted, go to educat
ional classes, the library, the gym, join various groups and access whatever healthcare they needed, including various therapy groups.
After her assessment, Natalie would go to the First Night Centre, where new inmates were taken through an induction process and monitored for the first day or two. Then she would be assigned to a house.
‘So, I can go outside?’ Natalie couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
Lisa smiled. ‘Yep.’
‘I won’t be locked up all day?’
‘Oh no, not all day. They’ve just had to change the rules, mind. Staff shortages. So, we’re locked up over lunch and then after evening meal. About five thirty, it is.’
‘And will I be sharing a room?’ The pictures of the bedrooms in the booklet all showed bunk beds. Bunk beds? For grown women. Really?
‘Oh yeah. That’s the worst part. Three or four to a room is a bit of a tight squeeze. Just got to hope you don’t get a farter. Or a snorer.’ Lisa laughed, covered her mouth. ‘Or a sleepwalker. They’re the worst.’
Sharing with three other people? What if I don’t like them? If they don’t like me? Natalie’s stomach griped, her insides clenched together as tight as her fists. She doubled up, the pain catching her by surprise and when she sat up again, there was a sheen of sweat on her upper lip. Nausea unleashed itself, throwing bile up her throat.
‘You okay?’ Lisa studied her, frowning. ‘You look a bit peaky. Do you need anything?’
Natalie’s stomach lurched. She put a hand over her mouth but it was too late and a stream of vomit spewed over the floor in a foul-smelling mess. Natalie gasped as another spasm tore through her.
Lisa jumped to her feet and ran off across the room, reappearing a few minutes later carrying a mop and bucket, followed by a prison officer.
