The Good Mother

by Karen Osman

  *

  Catherine knew quite a bit about HM Prison Durham, mainly because it was such a dominant building in the city, but also through her Internet research. The prison itself was full of interesting history. It was built in 1810, and between then and the 1950s, there had been ninety-five hangings, three of which were women, and the majority were for murder. Catherine wondered how she would feel if capital punishment was still legal. In another life, she would have been horrified by the notion but these days she wasn’t so sure. With age, she had discovered that not everything was black and white. Closing her eyes, she envisioned being a spectator in the noisy crowd, watching the condemned as they awaited their fate. Being dragged through the passage from the prison out into execution area, eyes covered, the convict’s remaining senses heightened to the sound of the baying audience and the smells of the city. Justified? It would depend on your perspective, thought Catherine grimly.

  It had been a few days since she had received Michael’s letter before Catherine felt ready to write back. Reading the letter again, her attention was caught by one particular section:

  I’m not sure I would call the inmates here ‘friends’ but you certainly build up some type of relationship, if only for protection. The people locked up in here are really insane – serial killers, for example. As long as I’ve been here, there have always been various incidents between inmates, but you learn quickly. It’s definitely been one of my most difficult lessons in life, and the fear never really goes away – it’s hard to trust people.

  She wondered what kind of incidents had happened to Michael during his time inside. Had he discovered broken glass in his food? Had he endured beatings or threats? With only books and TV shows to draw from, she had no idea, and she doubted she would be able to find out, unless he volunteered the information. She also found it curious that he had mentioned the other prisoners as being insane, almost as if he wasn’t one of them. Did he think because he had killed only once, he wasn’t as bad as his fellow inmates? The part she could easily empathise with was finding it hard to trust people. They had that in common.

  Catherine looked outside the window. Her desk, where she did most of her paperwork, overlooked the garden. The October sky was dark and overcast, with a slight drizzle. Normally, she hated this weather; damp and gloomy, it dragged her down. But as she switched on the lamp, the atmosphere matched her thoughts as she picked up her pen and began to write back.

  20 October 2010

  Dear Michael,

  I’m happy to hear that you have found some solace in prayer. I lost my faith many years ago and have chosen a different path for my spirituality but I can imagine it must be very helpful for you. And any connection with the outside world must be a benefit. Does the priest visit you for confessional purposes or simply to pray?

  Durham is a city often in my mind. My memories are quite varied but I used to enjoy the walks along the river and the little coffee shops. Now, in the North-West of England, we still have the countryside around us, but the temperatures are a little warmer than in the North-East. My husband got a job here several years ago and since then we have made it home. I have not been back to Durham since. Maybe I’ll return there one day – who knows?

  The library sounds like a welcome distraction from your cell. I have always loved books and use them to relax and escape from daily life. My favourites are thrillers and historical novels – I really enjoy a good page-turner! If you have any recommendations let me know. I was shocked by your statistic of 60 per cent illiteracy. That’s incredibly high. I do hope those people have the opportunity to learn while spending time on the inside. The website showed there were several courses available for inmates to learn new skills and trades – I’m presuming as part of their rehabilitation. I’m also interested to know if you get volunteers who actually visit the prison.

  At the moment, I’m preparing for Christmas. While not as busy as it used to be when we were a young family, it’s still a hectic time as we often get a lot of visitors, weather permitting. You may think I’m a bit of a control freak preparing so early but Christmas shopping in October is much more bearable than December!

  Catherine paused wondering at the sense of including such a special holiday in her letter. It must be a painful time of year for all the inmates. But the letter-writing volunteer programme had advised them to talk about daily life, keeping it light-hearted and chatty, so she kept going.

  It becomes harder and harder each year to think of unique gifts so I like to plan well in advance, often going into Manchester or Leeds for the day, as there’s so much more choice. I know my husband is desperate for an iPad so I may get him that. For my daughter, I tend to get a mixture of small gifts such as books, pyjamas, perfume, and so on, and then something a little more special like a watch, but I will have to come up with something new this year – any ideas much appreciated! And, of course, I often make the pudding around now as well.

  I have included some writing paper and stamps in this letter, so I do hope you receive them. I look forward to hearing from you soon,

  Catherine

  As Catherine sat back, she tried to imagine being in prison for Christmas. The last few years she had had so many visitors and guests over the festive season, she thought ironically how she might enjoy a little solitude. She couldn’t quite remember when it had started but she would guess that for at least the last few years they had had family and friends over to stay, and not just for a few days, but often for two or three weeks. While it kept Catherine busy, a state she always welcomed, she often collapsed with exhaustion afterwards. She didn’t know why she invited so many people. Well, she did know really, but she didn’t want to admit to herself that three was quite a sad little number for such a social season.

  Chapter 14

  Alison

  Over the next few weeks, Alison tried to put The Professor out of her mind. When attending his lectures, she always made sure she was the last one in and the first one out, and during class, she kept her head down and her pen moving. But every so often, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she recalled the intimate moment she had interrupted between the post-grad and The Professor. Her plan abandoned, Alison had muttered that she would come back later and fled the room. What had she been thinking? Of course he wasn’t attracted to her. She’d clearly had more wine than she had thought that Christmas Eve; in her drunken haze, she had imagined everything and now felt very foolish.

  But halfway through the term, The Professor managed to catch her as she slinked into the class, and asked her to come to his office after the lecture. She wasn’t feeling the best, having overindulged the night before and woken up with a pounding headache and a touch of paranoia. Alison’s thoughts reverberated as she wondered why he would want to see her. Was it her last paper? Had it not been good enough? While her marks hadn’t improved, she was still retaining a solid average score, so she hoped her most recent submission hadn’t been a complete failure, especially as she had spent a lot of time on it. But what if she had misunderstood the assignment? By the end of lecture, Alison had got herself in such a state that she was convinced she was going to be asked to leave the course. Panicking and frantically trying to work out how she would explain to her parents that she had failed, she hurried to his office.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ said The Professor when she arrived. ‘Take a seat.’

  Once again, Alison was reminded of home as she sat down in the comfortable armchair. She noticed the black and white cat wasn’t there today.

  ‘So, how are you?’ he enquired pleasantly.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. How are you?’ replied Alison, wishing he would simply get on with it. She wasn’t in the mood to be patronised with small talk.

  ‘Good, good.’

  He paused for a moment and Alison got the feeling he was trying to think of the best way to say his next words. Certainly, it couldn’t be the best part of the job, thought Alison, but to draw it out like this was a bit unfair.

 
‘So, I know it’s a bit unorthodox but I wondered if you would like to catch up for a coffee?’ he tentatively suggested. ‘Perhaps next week? We didn’t really get a chance to discuss how you’re finding the course at the last social at the Student Union so it would be good to catch up in a bit more of a relaxed setting.’

  Alison stared at him in disbelief. Was he actually asking her to meet him one-on-one?

  ‘Sure, of course,’ she responded, the relief making her eager to agree to anything. ‘When did you have in mind?’

  ‘How about Wednesday evening at seven thirty? We can meet in town on Elvet Bridge and go from there.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  ‘Great, great – look forward to seeing you then.’

  Alison had the feeling she was being dismissed so she picked up her things and left the room, shock and surprise mingling with relief, which caused her to laugh aloud. Noticing people looking at her strangely, she hurried out of the building, barely registering the fact that the proposed meeting was out of office hours.

  *

  As it turned out, Alison and The Professor didn’t end up going for coffee. Instead, he suggested a pub that Alison had never heard of, which was strange because she knew most places in the small city. It was not frequented by students but locals, and when they arrived it was filled with a much older crowd. Taking her first sip of wine, and trying not to smudge her carefully applied lipstick, Alison tried to act casual. He had a way of making her feel at ease, though, and as one glass turned into two, she became more relaxed and she found that they actually had a lot in common. They were both from the city of Durham and loved their hometown, as well as being avid supporters of the same football team. Before long, Alison was telling him about her dream of attending the university to complete her degree to become a barrister.

  ‘I’m not sure where the idea came from,’ she responded when he asked what made her want to go into law. ‘There’s no backstory. I suppose it’s just always been there as a part of me. Almost like a calling,’ she added, slightly embarrassed at how ridiculous she sounded. But it was true – it had never crossed her mind to study anything else. She had done her work experience at the local solicitor’s office and it simply confirmed what she knew already: that she didn’t just want to be a solicitor; she wanted to be a barrister. She hadn’t actually admitted that part to anyone but it felt good to say the words out loud.

  ‘Impressive,’ The Professor had said when she told him. ‘It’s incredibly competitive but I’m sure you’ll do well.’ Incredulous, Alison beamed at the praise, a welcome change from the average feedback she had received so far. Seeing her surprise, The Professor delved a little deeper. ‘Alison, you have great potential – why do you look so shocked?’

  Alison debated her next words carefully. ‘I’m not shocked, as such, just…’ She tried to find the balance to convey her disappointment at the course without letting him know how much she was struggling with it. ‘I suppose I had imagined the course to be a little different – something a little more practical, I guess…’

  The Professor burst out laughing. Seeing her dismay, he quickly reassured her. ‘Don’t worry; I’m not laughing at you, I promise! It’s just if I had a pound for every time I heard that, I’d be a rich man!’

  Relieved, Alison smiled. ‘Glad I’m not the only one, then!’

  ‘You’re not, that’s for sure. I’ve been working here for a while now and every year I see the same disappointment. It’s not always the glamorous career people dream of.’

  It was incredibly subtle but there none the less: a note of bitterness in his voice that indicated that teaching law was perhaps not The Professor’s first choice. Maybe, he’d dreamt of becoming a barrister too, thought Alison. Dying to ask but not wanting to embarrass him, she let him talk.

  ‘People study for many reasons: because their parents told them to, because they want to implement change and, of course, because they want to help people,’ he said, his emphasis on the last reason showing his disdain for the overused reason. ‘But rarely do people realise just how dry the law can be with the everyday work largely administrative. Few truly make it to the top as Partner and if they do, they soon become disillusioned with the long hours. But you, Alison,’ he whispered to her, ‘I sense something in you that’s going to take you straight to the top.’ Enthralled, Alison leaned forward. ‘I see something in you that I haven’t seen in a student for a long time.’ Alison held her breath, eager to hear what it was.

  ‘Passion,’ he whispered.

  *

  The pub became a regular meeting spot for them, although the arrangement was always last minute and Alison never knew which day it was going to be. As a result, if she was out with friends, she would have to make something up in order to leave them and go to meet him. Eventually she started declining invitations from friends as there were only so many times you could have food poisoning. It never crossed her mind to say no to The Professor’s invitations. He had become a lifeline for her, and in her mind he was the answer to all her negative feelings; doubt, loneliness, and insecurity all disappeared when she was with him. Besides, he always apologised for the last-minute requests to meet, citing his workload. She did wish, though, that they could meet in a different location. The pub was on the outskirts of the city and several racing greyhounds and their owners often made up the patronage, the dogs’ sleek bodies curled up around the bar stools of their trainers. There was the customary regular, known as ‘Ol’ Jim’, who had his own spot at the bar, slowing drinking his pint. Alison had never heard him utter a word, yet through some unspoken agreement, whenever he ambled in, his gait slowed by arthritis, his bar stool would be vacated by whichever unsuspecting drinker had claimed it. There was a pool table at one end, although Alison had never seen anyone play, and the air was filled with tobacco smoke from cigarettes and the occasional cigar. The Professor seemed to know the barman – a tall, wiry man with a grey comb-over, his wrist weighed down with a heavy, gold-linked chain. He never acknowledged her presence but he usually had a word or two and a nod for The Professor. He always led her to a table towards the back, away from the bar, either in the corner or behind the cigarette machine. The first time he had taken her there Alison had been so nervous she had barely noticed her surroundings, but each time they came, she saw a new layer of grime. On one occasion, she even spotted dog dirt, no doubt because the trainer of the guilty greyhound was too inebriated to see to the dog’s needs. Alison had trouble finishing her drink that evening.

  By the time the Easter holidays came round, The Professor was in Alison’s thoughts almost constantly. She had tentatively asked questions about elements of the course she was struggling with and found his answers easy to understand. As a result, she became more confident about the workload and, although the syllabus was still challenging, she at least felt she was making some progress.

  But it wasn’t just the course they talked about. The Professor had travelled extensively before coming back to Durham to take up a role at the university, and to Alison, who had only been to Europe, it was a doorway into a new world. He described beautiful temples in Thailand, his awe at the Great Wall of China, and the exotic chaos of Cairo. His travels had taken him across the Middle East and Asia to India, Indonesia and Jordan, and it was clear it had been a very special time for him. He encouraged her to consider taking a year off after graduation and, from his descriptions, she was sorely tempted.

  Without quite realising it, she had become dependent on their irregular meetings. Alison expressed her dismay one evening in the last week of term.

  ‘I can’t believe the Easter holidays are here already. I’m going to miss meeting up with you. Who’s going to answer all my questions now?’ she teased.

  ‘Well, there’s no reason for us to stop, is there? We both live in Durham so it should be easy to meet, even in the holidays.’

  Elated, Alison smiled at him. ‘I would love that,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ said T
he Professor. ‘I got you something.’

  Alison took a deep breath in. She had never received a gift from a man before. Unwrapping the box from its paper, she discovered inside a mobile phone. ‘Oh, wow! This is amazing!’ She was genuinely excited. She had wanted one for so long and had pleaded with her parents but to no avail, not when there was a perfectly good phone box just in the hallway. Then she remembered her manners. ‘I can’t accept this, though – it’s far too expensive!’

  ‘Of course you can,’ he laughed. ‘I know it’s a bit extravagant, but with the holidays coming up I wanted a way to stay in touch.’ He winked.

  As they left the pub, the darkness shrouding them, he kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll call you,’ he promised.

  Practically floating on air, she greeted her parents with much excitement when they came to collect her, although she had to keep the phone hidden in her bag to avoid their questioning. The Professor had already messaged her to say have a good break and she had enjoyed the thrill of typing back her own SMS. At home for the Easter holidays, she told her parents all about university life and how much she was enjoying it. They were clearly reassured to see her returned to her normal self and the first few days were a busy blur of unpacking, family meals, and outings. Motivated, she then made a start on the workload in preparation for the next term, determined not to be put off by the large, almost ominous, stack of books that needed to be read. As she got through each chapter, Alison checked her new phone almost constantly but after a few days at home with no calls or messages from him she began to worry. Why hadn’t he been in contact? As the days passed, she became more despondent and struggled to concentrate on her studies. She became withdrawn and uncommunicative, staying in her room, her law books, now untouched, on her desk, taunting her. With the phone clutched in her hand, Alison got into bed and read her novels, trying to block out images of The Professor. What was he doing right now? Was he meeting the pretty post-grad student? Taking her to dinner…? Sleeping only fitfully at night, she dozed on and off during the day.