by Rona Halsall
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ the man says, his hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll walk down with you, make sure you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ she says, then stumbles as her legs buckle. The man catches her before she falls.
He tuts and shakes his head. ‘What’s up with you women? Just accept a little help, will you?’
Natalie gives him a tight smile, hangs on to his arm and they start to walk down the path at a geriatric’s pace, the little boy running around in front of them like an excitable dog. Thankfully, few words are spoken and no questions are asked, because Natalie would have felt terrible having to lie to this man after he’s been so kind.
Near the bottom of the hill, she sees a number of benches dotted around; she lets go of the man and points to the nearest one. ‘Um, you know what? I think I’ll just sit here for a bit, enjoy the view.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t mind seeing you back to your house. Honestly, it’s no trouble.’
She plonks herself on the bench, flaps a hand. ‘I’ll be fine here. Absolutely fine.’ She smiles at him. ‘Thank you so much for your help.’ She folds her arms, leans back on the seat and looks out at the view of the castle in front of her, hoping he will get the message and leave her alone. Which he does.
Her thoughts whisper on the breeze. That was stupid. Stupid. She has to look after herself better, keep herself strong and vigilant, because if it had been Katya’s brother following her, then who knows what might have happened. Over the edge of the cliff and who would be any the wiser? That’s how easy it would have been.
Still. The worst didn’t happen. No point dwelling on could haves. And anyway, it’s Harry he wants. He can’t torment me if I’m dead, can he? Just thinking about it, putting the words into her head, makes her shiver.
Focus on finding Harry and getting him to safety. No distractions, no diversions. Two and a bit days to go.
Her plan is suddenly clear and she wonders how last night’s panic managed to addle her thoughts so thoroughly. It’s obvious. Find Tom and follow him home. He’s the key to everything, and where he lives, Harry lives. She can bin the rest of her ideas, because this is the only one that has real merit. And she knows exactly where he works.
Thirteen
Then
The Therapy Wing was exactly how Natalie had thought a prison block would look and was a complete contrast to the house where she’d initially been taken. The architecture pressed down on her the minute she walked through the door, making her feel small and fearful.
Unlike the Victorian houses, the Wing was a modern, two-storey building, with cells arranged down both sides of a double-height corridor, maybe fifteen feet wide, a set of metal stairs at one end. On the ground floor, the corridor was used as a communal area, set out with leather sofas and big round tables with blue seats attached; adult versions of the sort of thing you might find in a primary school. The ceiling was a metal grid, allowing light to filter through from the glass roof above while stopping prisoners from throwing things, or themselves, from the first floor. They’d tried to brighten the place up by painting the cell doors dusky pink and lavender, the walls magnolia. The floor was concrete, painted red and covered with a wide strip of blue carpet. It was undeniably a prison, and however much they’d tried to jolly it up, it still looked dismal, the air filled with the acrid scent of cleaning fluid.
The communal area was empty when Natalie was escorted to her cell on the ground floor but the place echoed with screams and shouts. She shivered and folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself tight.
Her cell was a magnolia box, no bigger than her utility room back home. It was furnished with a metal bed, the thin mattress covered with pale-green sheets, a blanket and a peach bedspread. There was a cupboard above to store her belongings, with a shelf underneath. The toilet and washbasin were stuck in the corner at the end of the bed, behind a half screen. Against a side wall, there was a small table and a chair. And opposite the door, at the other end of the room, was a mullioned window with five narrow slits of glass that you couldn’t really see out of, but which let in a bit of light.
She stared around her, stomach clenched as tight as a fist. Is this it? This tiny little room? The smell of disinfectant was so strong she could taste it. Her stomach lurched, bile stinging her throat.
‘Here we are, Natalie,’ the prison officer said, with a tired smile. ‘Now let’s just have a little chat, then you can get yourself settled in and get a bit of rest.’
Natalie shook her head, eyes wide. ‘I don’t need to be here, honestly, I’m feeling much better now, thanks. Bit of nerves, I think. That’s all.’
‘Well, the doc thinks you need to be here, so here you will stay until we’re told otherwise. Not my decision, pet.’ She gestured for Natalie to sit on the bed, while she sat on the chair.
The springs creaked as Natalie lowered herself, slowly, as if the bed was going to bite her. There was no duvet, no bounciness and the meagre covers felt devoid of any capacity to create warmth. I can’t sleep here, Natalie thought, feeling crushed by the closeness of the walls.
Her eyes stung and she tucked her hands between her thighs. There was a buzzing in her head, like a bee trapped against a window and she was finding it hard to concentrate. It’s not for long, she told herself. They’ll work out they’ve made a mistake. Tom will make sure of that. He’ll want this sorted as quickly as possible so it doesn’t affect the business. I’ve got to be brave, get through this. For Harry’s sake.
‘So, I just need to tell you about the regime on the Wing.’ The prison officer smiled at her and took a breath. ‘We get you up at seven forty-five in the morning. Then you have breakfast and a half hour exercise in the yard. Now I think you’ll be kept in your cell while we see how the meds are working, but once you start feeling better, there are work groups you can join to keep you busy. Cleaning and cooking and gardening. Painting and decorating. All sorts of things.’ It was clearly a well-practised briefing, the woman trying her best to make it sound interesting. ‘And you can go to the CALM Centre where you can get your hair and nails done, join a therapy group. They even do acupuncture if you fancy it. And then there’s the gym. Whatever activities you think you might like to do, lots of choice. You’ve got to do at least an hour of physical exercise a week. But you can do more if you like. And then, in the evenings, there’s what we call association for an hour and a half, when the cells are open and you can chat to the other girls for a bit. If you want.’
Natalie nodded, watching the officer’s lips move, the words flowing over her but not sinking in. The fact that she was in prison had suddenly become real to her. All she could think of was Harry and the gap that was opening up between them. She felt like she was floating, on a boat that had been cut from its mooring and was drifting out to sea, leaving her son on the shore, helpless to do anything as she watched him fade to a dot in the distance. She squeezed her eyes shut. Just a few days at the most, she reassured herself. No more than that. Her hands clasped together in her lap, as if in prayer.
‘Now for the rest of the day, we’re going to keep you locked up, as I said, but we’ll be checking in regularly to make sure you’re okay. Lunch has just finished, evening meal will be at five, but I don’t think you’re really up for food right now, are you, pet?’
Natalie didn’t answer, her eyes still closed, blotting out the harsh reality of her cell.
The prison officer leant forwards and shook Natalie’s knee. ‘Earth to Natalie, are you receiving me?’ Natalie dragged her eyelids open, a violent shiver shaking through her body, making her teeth rattle. ‘Aw, not feeling so good, are we?’ The prison officer’s face softened. ‘Let’s get you tucked up in bed, eh?’
She helped Natalie take off her trainers, then flicked back the covers so she could lie down, and gave her a quick smile. ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’
Then she was gone, with a clang of the door and a clunk of the lock.
Although Natalie felt weary to the
core, there was no chance of sleep. The unfamiliar sounds of prison life made her eyes dart round the cell as she tried to decipher what was going on. Somebody was shouting, close by. Maybe the next cell. A stream of obscenities that made Natalie flinch. Then a loud banging. Rhythmic and insistent, from the first floor, she thought. Someone else, further down, screaming and screaming. More shouting, urgent this time. Then the sound of running feet, up the stairs, along the metal corridor above her, the rattle of keys, a door slamming open. More shouting and screaming and banging.
Throughout the afternoon, the noise went on, a wave of sound that ebbed and flowed, punctuated by rushing feet and crackling radios as prison officers darted about, sorting out emergencies and bad behaviour.
Finally, Natalie drifted off to sleep only to be startled awake some time later by a commotion in the next cell. The woman who’d been shouting earlier. ‘Ligature,’ a voice said, outside Natalie’s door. ‘I’ll start CPR. Get an ambulance. Quick.’
Natalie’s eyes widened. The woman had tried to kill herself?
She cowered in her bed, covers over her head as if this might block out the reality of what was going on her around her, not daring to move even though she was desperate for a pee.
Who knew that minutes could stretch out like days, each one longer than the last?
She used thoughts of Harry to block out the bedlam, hugged his imaginary body to her chest. He’d be missing her; she was sure of it. Thank goodness Elena would be there by now; at least she knew he was being looked after properly. She thought back to when she’d last seen him, imagined his laugh when she blew raspberries on his belly, his pudgy little arms waving around, grabbing her hair. Be strong for him, she told herself, gritting her teeth as tears trickled down her face. Be strong.
The following morning, after a sleepless night, Natalie was called in to see the doctor again.
‘Sit down, Natalie,’ the doctor said, nodding to the chair in front of her desk. She looked at her for a long moment. Natalie clasped her hands in her lap and tried to relax her face into a neutral expression. A tic flickered by her left eye. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ she said, forcing her lips into a bright smile. ‘Absolutely fine. I don’t think I need to be on the Wing anymore, taking up space.’
The doctor gazed at her, eyes scrutinizing every inch of Natalie’s face. Natalie forced herself to be still, while her stomach churned and griped.
‘Hmm,’ the doctor said. She looked at an open folder on her desk. ‘I’ve got the results of your tests here and I’m a bit puzzled. It looks like you’ve been taking Oxycodone.’
‘Oxywhat?’ Natalie frowned.
‘It’s a highly addictive opioid-based painkiller.’
Painkiller? Why would I have been taking a painkiller?
Natalie stared at the doctor, the tic twitching faster. She rubbed her face. ‘Sorry, I don’t think I understand.’
‘Okay.’ The doctor sat back in her chair. ‘So, the tablets you’ve been taking are a synthetic form of morphine. But twice as strong.’
Natalie put a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. ‘Morphine? As in… like heroin?’
The doctor nodded. ‘That’s right. Hillbilly heroin, it’s called in the US because of the abuse problems they have over there. It’s usually prescribed for people in late stages of cancer. Or after surgery. And for chronic pain.’
Natalie’s frown deepened and she shook her head. A heroin substitute? ‘I don’t understand. Why would I be prescribed something like that?’
The doctor didn’t answer immediately, her eyes boring into Natalie’s. She clasped her hands together, tried to hold the doctor’s gaze.
‘That’s the puzzle, Natalie. It’s definitely not what your doctor prescribed for you. He gave you Valium.’
Natalie blinked. ‘But I didn’t…’ Her chest tightened, the idea so shocking she started to shake. ‘I don’t remember taking anything.’ Natalie studied the expression on the doctor’s face, and ran her tongue round dry lips.
The doctor sighed, her voice softer. ‘Natalie, the evidence is here. You can tell yourself whatever you want, but that doesn’t change the facts. There’s no getting away from the results of your blood tests. You have definitely been taking Oxycodone.’
She stared at Natalie, who looked down at her hands, her mind struggling with this new information. Was this yet another thing she couldn’t remember? Had she been taking something, and blocked it out? Because that would make her weak, wouldn’t it, and that was something she tried so hard not to be. Tom despised weakness, had struggled to know what to do with her when it was obvious she wasn’t coping. Her teeth clamped together. Another thing she’d done wrong. What a mess she’d made of everything. What a Godawful mess.
‘Okay, well, we’ll carry on with the withdrawal treatment,’ the doctor said, writing something in her notes. ‘At least we know what we’re dealing with now.’ She looked up and nodded to the prison officer, who’d been standing by the door, ready to escort Natalie back to her room. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be on the Wing for a couple of weeks, until we get you stabilised, then you’ll be transferred to one of the houses. I’ll see you again in a week or so, see how things are progressing.’
Back in her cell, Natalie sat on her bed, and let her mind wander through the alleyways of her memory, trying to identify how things had gone so wrong. For two years she’d been living the dream, before her relationship with Tom had slowly started to crumble. She’d tired of the endless weekends entertaining clients, the awkwardness she’d felt with Tom’s upper-class friends; and when he was stressed, Tom could be so pernickety it had made her feel claustrophobic. She’d been so sure that a baby would repair the cracks, would refocus their lives. But it hadn’t been the answer.
Motherhood had changed her, there was no doubt about that. It had also changed everything else about her life. After Harry was born, Natalie had hardly seen Tom. He’d worked longer hours to cover for her absence from the business and when he was home she’d either been busy with the baby or taken the opportunity to sleep. She’d thought the distance between them was a phase, a few short months, then things would change.
And she’d been right – they did, but not for the better.
Harry had fallen ill, a bad cough that hadn’t responded to any of the medication he’d been given. The coughing had gone on for weeks, and she’d become exhausted; a tearful, angry mess, unable to make the simplest of decisions. Then, as soon as Harry had started to get better, Natalie had become ill with flu, which had taken weeks to disappear. It had left her feeling weak and anxious, never quite in control of her emotions.
Before she was ready, Harry was six months old and it had been time for her to go back to work.
‘Maybe it’s too soon,’ Natalie had said to Tom as they’d discussed her hours over breakfast. He’d wanted her to start work on Monday, less than a week away. Full-time. He’d lowered the Financial Times so he could see her, his mouth twisting from side to side as he’d pondered his response.
‘I’m short-staffed,’ he’d snapped. ‘I don’t have the manpower to look after all our clients properly and I need you back in the office.’ He’d sighed and flicked his paper, ready to continue reading. Then he’d lowered it again, folded it carefully and laid it on the table next to his plate. He’d fixed her with a hard stare. ‘I thought we were a team.’
‘We are, Tom, but I’ve got Harry to think about now. He’s not been well, and—’
‘He’s better now, though, isn’t he? You said so yourself. As did the doctor when he went for his check-up. He’ll never be independent if you don’t let go a little.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘We’ve got the nanny lined up. We both agree she’s perfect, with excellent references, and Harry took to her straight away.’
‘I know, Elena is lovely but—’
Tom had slapped his hands on the table, making her jump. ‘I just don’t know what the problem is!’
‘N
othing… nothing, there’s no problem.’ Natalie’s mouth had suddenly gone dry. She’d shrunk back in her chair. ‘Just… probably just a bit nervous, that’s all.’ She’d wiped her hands on her joggers, up and down her thighs. Then she’d realised what she was doing and clasped them together instead.
He’d stared at her, lips a thin line, a frown emphasising the groove in the middle of his forehead.
‘What’s to be nervous about? You know everyone at the office, all your clients.’ He’d folded his arms across his chest. ‘I just don’t understand.’
She’d flashed him a smile, eager for the conversation to end, feeling like she’d done ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
‘It’s fine, just me being silly.’ She’d started clearing away the plates. ‘You’re right. I’m ready for work now. Next Monday will be fine.’
His gaze had softened as he watched her.
‘I’ll take you shopping, if that’ll make you feel better. We can go this morning, get you some new clothes for work. I can go into the office a bit later and stay a couple of extra hours tonight.’
She’d looked down at herself and pulled a face. She used to be slim and beautifully turned out, confident that she looked the part. Now she was a shapeless blob, dressed in joggers and maternity T-shirts. She still looked pregnant and hadn’t need reminding that none of her work clothes would fit. She’d told herself he was trying to be kind and forced another smile.
‘That would be great. Thank you.’
He’d gone back to reading his paper and she’d gone to weep in the shower.
There had been times when she’d felt their relationship was like a war casualty, disabled by resentment as they’d each battled to get their own way. Both of them struggling to be themselves in a relationship that didn’t fit. It was the birth of their son that struck the fatal blow. Not that Tom didn’t want children; it was more that the timing was wrong. He’d wanted to wait until their business was more established, when their finances would be stronger, but she’d ignored him, causing many an argument as their life together had changed shape in ways they could never have imagined.
