The Good Mother

by Karen Osman

  ‘Are you OK?’ her husband asked her as she loudly groaned her way back into bed.

  ‘Food poisoning,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.’

  The train was leaving early the next day and as she made her excuses, promising to stay in bed until the bout of sickness had passed, Kate wished them an enjoyable trip.

  *

  They were on the early train but Kate still waited two hours before getting up in case they came back. As she swung her legs out of bed and onto the floor, she felt removed from herself as if it was another woman who was lying to her family and going to a hotel to meet her lover. She had surprised herself by falling back to sleep. What kind of person can sleep when they’re doing something so deceitful? Kate thought. Heading to her wardrobe, she tried to choose what to wear, but, still undecided, she took a long shower, washing her hair and shaving her legs before applying layers of lotion. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spent so much time on herself and it felt like luxury. Slowly towel-drying her hair, Kate looked in the mirror. Her eyes were bright and her skin was glowing. She dropped her dressing gown and looked at herself from every angle. What would he see? Would he see the scars from childbirth or a tall, slim figure with endless legs? In the early days, her husband had constantly referred to her legs – said they were the best he had ever seen. Kate pushed the uncomfortable thought aside. Things had moved on since then, though, and she was now both a mother who had brought two children into the world, yet still a young woman who needed to be desired. Putting on her only set of matching underwear – years old now but hardly worn so they were in fairly good condition – Kate eventually chose a casual outfit of jeans and a warm top. She didn’t want to make it look like she had made too much effort and, besides, would he really care what she was wearing on the outside?

  *

  She had agreed to meet him at lunchtime and as the time grew closer for her to leave, Kate was becoming more and more apprehensive. What the hell was she doing? Having got her bag and jacket, she tried to block out the image of her family in her mind by shutting the front door firmly behind her.

  *

  As Kate made her way to a hotel she had never heard of on the outskirts of the city, whatever guilty second thoughts she was having were brushed away as soon as she saw him. Dressed all in black; in jeans, T-shirt and a leather jacket, with the ever-present current book he was reading in his hand, he represented everything she had lost: her youth, her freedom, her education. In that moment, she forgot about everything she had gained. She saw and felt only her need for him. She needed this, she told herself, and she deserved it. He didn’t embrace her in public. Just led her to the lifts and up to their room. Neither of them spoke. But as soon as they were locked in the privacy of the room, her passion rose to meet his own, the shame of being such a cliché melting under his touch.

  *

  Afterwards, alone while he took a shower, she lay on the bed in the hotel room, her eyes focused on the ugly ceiling lamp. She had expected to feel guilty but all she could feel was regret that their lovemaking was over. She would never forget the afternoon, locked in a room with him, putting everything aside as she revelled in the pleasure of his attention, his hands, his words. She had surprised herself by just how confident she was in bed with him, her own demands matching his. As the bathroom door opened, she brazenly stood up, the sheet slipping to reveal her nakedness. With her eyes she conveyed exactly what she wanted and in three steps, he was upon her, their lovemaking starting again in earnest.

  *

  ‘So, Mrs Robinson, how was your afternoon?’ he joked, as he made her a cup of coffee from the hotel room’s amenities.

  She punched him playfully on the arm. ‘Enough with the Mrs Robinson! I’m only a little older than you. Besides,’ she said flirtatiously, ‘is it not adding to your street cred to be with an older woman?’

  ‘My older woman – I like it! Sugar?’ he asked.

  ‘Just one, please.’

  Coming over to join her back in bed, he put the coffee on the side table and started to nuzzle her neck. ‘As much as I would like to stay here for the rest of the afternoon, I have to get back,’ he said.

  Disappointment washed over her like a pail of cold water. Hadn’t he said the whole afternoon? She had envisioned them ordering room service and lounging together in bed for a few more hours yet.

  ‘Yes, me too,’ she replied, pretending that she had other things to do.

  He bounded out of bed, pulling his clothes on, and she followed suit. ‘Don’t worry about anything; I will sort the bill out downstairs,’ he said with a brief kiss. ‘You go on ahead and I’ll give you a call tomorrow.’

  It was an abrupt ending to the afternoon, and Kate felt her emotions fall fast and hard from the crest they had been on. Taking the stairs two at time and into the lobby, Kate stepped through the main doors. She kept her eyes down, avoiding eye contact with the hotel staff, wondering if they guessed what she had been up to. Shame – so blissfully absent earlier – came over her in waves.

  Chapter 28

  Catherine

  2 April 2011

  Dear Catherine,

  Thank you for your letter – I really don’t know what I would do without them anymore. The newspaper you sent was also very much appreciated. I hope you’re enjoying some of the warmer weather. At last! It’s been a long winter this year. This morning, I could see bunches of daffodils growing, a welcome sign of spring.

  Another month has finally passed – some seem slower than others but, as I approach my parole, the time really seems to be dragging. As you can imagine I’m hoping for a good outcome so trying to keep as low a profile as possible. Even just one misdemeanour can affect the decision, so I have been spending a lot of time reading and researching. Preparing for a parole interview is quite intensive. I have decided not to use a lawyer in the actual interview – no one knows my situation better than me so I will represent myself. There’s a lot of paperwork to gather and everyone needs copies in advance so they can read through it. In a way, though, it’s good for me to have something to focus on and keep me occupied. It’s beneficial to have a project to work towards rather than just ticking the days and the nights off, one by one.

  As I have been preparing, a lot of memories have been coming back to me. I remember my disbelief that I, a respected and educated member of the community, could end up in a place like this. It seemed so unfair. I was in shock, I suppose, and couldn’t really associate myself with being a convict. The people in here are seriously evil – the complete scum of society. For the few first years, it was a long hard struggle to accept that I was inside with such people. I went through the emotions of anger, denial, rage, blame, and depression and, after a very long time, finally acceptance. As humans, we are all capable of killing – all it takes is provocation and the loss of control for just one second and your life is never the same again.

  There are people in here for all types of crimes but, as Category B status, they are mainly the worst of the worst – rape, murder, robbery with firearms… I’m sure you get the idea. And we all have an opinion of the person, depending on the crime. For example, anything to do with children is severely looked down upon and that prisoner is pretty much an outcast with little protection. It’s almost like we have built our own judgement system within our imposed system. I suppose it’s a way for us to get back a little control. Or perhaps it’s just human nature to be able to categorise people into boxes. I also think it’s a way of making us feel better about ourselves – sort of like, ‘well, yes I did a bad thing but it’s not as bad as the raping and killing of a child’. I promise you I’m not trying to be flippant, just trying to explain how it works. Either way, the irony is not lost on me, but we do what we can to survive in here – both mentally and physically – and we do need each other, whether for cigarettes, protection, or company. When being isolated, there’s a strange sort of comfort in knowing that just on the other side of the wall the
re’s another person.

  The other people we regularly interact with, of course, are the guards. We give them nicknames, depending on the way they treat us. Some are better than others. ‘Thefty’, for example, loves nothing more than confiscating things. We dread him being on postal duty because he’s been known to pocket a few things from the inmates’ letters. But he’s not the worst. ‘Suit’ (rhymes with Brute) likes to get unnecessarily physical, especially if a fight breaks out. Sometimes, I think he almost encourages it, taunting us. I suspect he just likes the action. It wouldn’t surprise me, though, if one day he ends up in here as well. Some of the guards are all right, however, and you can have a bit of banter with them if you catch them in a good mood. The morning shift seems best but those doing the night shift tend to be harsher. I guess the time must pass slowly for them with little to do except patrol. Not half as slowly as it does for us, though. I’m sure the guards will be happy to get rid of one extra prisoner. It can get really crowded in here at times. I often wonder what made the prison guards decide that this career was for them. I mean, did they just wake up one day and decide they wanted to work in a prison? I wonder how much they get paid. Anyway, I seem to have digressed so I best leave it here.

  Michael

  7 April 2011

  Dear Michael,

  I’m glad you enjoyed the paper and, hopefully, it wasn’t too out date by the time you received it. They are easy for me to save so I will try to send you one each time. There should be one included in this letter as well. Check out the article on page five – I really found it quite amusing!

  You’re right, the warmer weather is more than welcome, and in the Lake District it also feels like it has been a long time coming. But with the celebration of Easter approaching and the arrival of flowers (we also have lots of daffodils), it’s starting to feel a little more like spring. At this time of year in the Lake District, I always like to think of William Wordsworth’s poem. Do you know it?

  I wandered lonely as a cloud

  That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

  When all at once I saw a crowd,

  A host, of golden daffodils;

  Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

  Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

  Visiting the Wordsworth House and Garden was one of the first things I did when I arrived in the area. Set in Cockermouth, it’s the birthplace of the poet and is still kept as it would have been in the 1770s. It was truly magical. Do you like poetry? I’m not an avid reader but I do like the odd piece.

  This season also means spring-cleaning. Although I dread it, once I get into it I get quite a lot of satisfaction from a good clear-out. I literally do the house from top to bottom over a couple of weeks. Nothing goes untouched and even my husband gets involved by doing the garden, the gutters and the drains. What an exciting life we lead! Saying that, we have perhaps had more than enough excitement and I find a general contentment in the routines of daily life. Spring-cleaning is my chance for a new start and every year, I have the same thought: perhaps this year will be different? Cleaner, fresher, better. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for?

  I remember when Helen used to start back at school after the Easter holidays, there was always such promise in the air although some stress as well, as exams were usually held during that term! I don’t know who used to get more anxious, Helen or myself! Looking back, I realise all that anxiety was a complete waste of time She loves studying – did I mention she has a Ph.D.? It was a very proud moment for my husband and me.

  I’m also planning our summer holiday at the moment. We’re going abroad this year and very much looking forward to it. Even Helen has decided to tag along with ‘the olds’, as she calls us! It’s been a very long time since we have gone abroad for a holiday, or even taken a local holiday, for that matter, so the trip will do us all good. While the Lake District is beautiful, I’m ready for a change of scene and some stable weather! We’re planning to go for a fortnight and I’m in the middle of researching where to go. It has to be mixture of relaxation for Helen and me, and things to do for my husband. I was thinking of a cruise, as you can visit many destinations in one holiday, but I’m not sure Helen would be too keen. My other idea was to visit the Caribbean. Personally, I have always wanted to go to Asia but it’s such a long flight, and I’d rather spend the time on the holiday and not on a plane, if that makes sense. Still, I dream of tasting sushi in Japan or exploring the Ganges in India. There’s still so much to see in the world!

  Your last letter really gave me a true picture of your life there. If only for some company, the other inmates must provide some distraction to the daily grind of incarceration. I can imagine there are some really dangerous people and you are on your guard at all times.

  I think it sounds like a good idea to lay low in the lead up to your parole. It’s only a couple of months now and I really hope it works out in your favour. It will be good to have something to look forward to.

  Catherine

  Catherine placed her pen down. She headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on for a coffee and absent-mindedly watched the water boil. The simple routine brought her back to her own domestic reality as opposed to the darker themes of her letter writing.

  Sitting back down at her desk, she reread the letter. She feared she had written too much about the holiday. She was not convinced that a prisoner would want to hear about someone else’s holiday plans, especially after being locked up for so long. But she was starting to run out of things to talk about and it was true, she was really looking forward to the break. She had convinced Richard to go all out – business-class flights, a five-star hotel, and she was planning to book some spa treatments. She had even managed to get Helen to agree to a shopping trip to Manchester to get some new summer clothes and swimwear. Catherine wanted to make it as special and as memorable as possible as she suspected it may be the last one they took together as a family.

  Chapter 29

  Alison

  Out of habit, Alison had started sitting in the same seat for each of her lectures. She noticed that another student was sitting next to her but it was only when he finally turned to introduce himself that she realised he had been sitting next to her for the last few days. His name was Mark and he was from Dublin. He was quick to laugh and had an easy-going nature that relaxed Alison immediately. It became the norm for them to have a few minutes of catch up before and after the class. After a year sitting by herself, it was nice to have a friend whom she could chat to and talk with about the course. They often bumped into each other in the library or study hall and started having a sandwich together for lunch. His sense of humour and easy take on life made her laugh and she enjoyed his company.

  ‘You know,’ he said one morning as they walked to the law library, ‘I had a bet with a friend on how long it would take you to notice me.’

  Alison laughed apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I get so engrossed in taking notes, I rarely notice what’s going on around me!’

  ‘No kidding! I even tried borrowing your pen to get you to realise a handsome chap was sat next to you!’

  Smiling, Alison remembered. ‘Yes, and you didn’t realise that you had a pen right in front of you, which sort of gave it away.’

  ‘Ah, so you did notice something?’

  ‘Of course! Go on then, how much money did you lose?’

  ‘Twenty quid,’ Mark replied, deadpan.

  ‘What? Seriously! Why would you bet so much money?’

  ‘Because I was certain you wouldn’t be able to ignore my Irish charm! Little did I know how much of a bookworm you were,’ he teased.

  Still unable to believe that he had lost so much money, Alison said, ‘I’m really sorry it took so long to formally meet you but it’s your own fault for betting on me!’

  ‘That’s OK. How about you make it up to me, by writing up my notes for a week?’ he winked.

  Alison laughed. ‘I have enough of my own work to do, without doing yours as well!
Come on, let’s get going before the library gets too full.’

  ‘Aw, Alison, you’re such a tough task-master, and there’s me feeling sorry for myself, and you just throwing salt into the wound now,’ he complained, his Irish accent sounding like music to Alison’s ears.

  ‘How about this?’ Alison countered. ‘I’ll buy you a meat pie on the way and we can each write up half the notes, photocopy them and swap – will that make it up to you?’

  Mollified, Mark replied, ‘That’s more like it!’

  *

  Of course, he never let her buy the pie, but instead cheerfully chatted with the shop girl, who was so charmed by him she gave it to him on the house.

  ‘See!’ he said gleefully to Alison, as they stepped out of the pie shop into the sunshine. ‘Not everyone is impervious to my charms. Just you!’

  ‘Unbelievable! If only that poor girl knew what I have to put up with!’