Blood Sisters: The #1 bestselling thriller from the author of My Husband's Wife

by Jane Corry

  My stomach feels sick – empty. But Sandra is rattling on. ‘You’ve got to sign in for your keys at the main office as soon as you get here and then sign them out when you leave. If you take them home, you’ll be dismissed. Got it?’

  Actually, I want to say, ‘Would you mind running through that again?’ But instead, she’s giving me a form to sign, and suddenly I have the keys to the prison! Shouldn’t I have to go through a more rigorous induction before taking on a responsibility like this?

  ‘We’re a bit short-staffed today, so I can’t take you to Education. I’ve got one of the orderlies to do it instead.’

  I have a mental picture of a porter pushing my sister’s trolley in the hospital.

  ‘A medical orderly?’ I ask.

  Sandra gives me an are you an idiot? look. ‘Men who have proved they are trustworthy can volunteer to be orderlies. They do jobs like dishing out the post or taking visitors around the prison.’

  The door opens. ‘Ah, Kurt. Here you are. Thanks. Can you take Miss Baker to Education? She’s the new artist in residence.’

  The boy with the stained teeth and long hair grins at me. I recognize him immediately. He’s the one who offered to help me earlier. The one I’d turned away. ‘Follow me, miss.’

  There appears to be no option.

  I’ve been to the Education hut before, of course, at my interview. But I won’t find my way again through this labyrinth without Kurt. All the buildings look the same, apart from a few which have signs. My guide takes great pleasure in pointing them all out as if showing me round his own house and grounds.

  MUSIC ROOM.

  MULTIFAITH ROOM.

  GYM.

  LAUNDRY ROOM.

  LIBRARY.

  ‘It’s like a village,’ I blurt out. Kurt laughs as though I’ve just said something really funny.

  ‘Yeah. A village what you can’t leave.’

  Another building is coming up. COMPUTER CENTRE.

  ‘Are you allowed to email home?’ I ask.

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Kurt shakes his head as if explaining something to a small child. ‘Not unless you want to get shipped out. Towards the end of your sentence, you can have a day out with your girl to prove you’re responsible enough to come back. But I’ve got to wait a bit for that.’

  I long to ask Kurt how long he’s got until his sentence is up but bite the words back. ‘So, what happens at the computer centre?’

  ‘We do exams and stuff so as, when we come out, we’ve got some experience. Some of the men do qualifications in plumbing too.’

  Before I can ask him more, we arrive at the Education hut. ‘Bet you’ll have loads of students signing up for your classes, miss.’

  ‘Art’s not an easy option, you know,’ I say, more sharply than I mean to.

  ‘Didn’t mean it that way.’ Kurt grins. ‘It’s ’cos you’re a woman.’

  I feel another uneasy shiver passing through me. ‘There are other female staff around here.’

  He’s standing between me and the door. Not only are his teeth stained but I can smell his breath. ‘Yeah, but they don’t look as pretty as you, do they, miss?’

  I don’t know how to reply. It’s clearly an inappropriate remark. Is he flirting with me? I don’t dare to say anything, though. There’s no one around if he gets angry. Why? This is a prison. Someone should be here. Looking after me. I yearn for the safety of my outside classes: my students like Horse Face, Lead Man and Beryl, who don’t represent any kind of threat.

  ‘Come on, miss,’ he continues. ‘Aren’t you going to open the door?’

  I search for the right key on my black belt. There are three. One for the Education hut, which we’re standing outside. Another for the art room, inside Education. And another for the staffroom, in a different cabin. None has a label. I find the correct one on the third attempt.

  ‘Lock it behind us,’ purrs Kurt.

  I can almost hear the words at my own inquest. The victim locked the door behind her. She willingly walked into the trap.

  But according to Sandra the key lady’s instructions, I could get sacked if I don’t.

  Relief! There are voices inside. Laughter. Mugs clinking. We’re not the only ones here.

  ‘Hello! You must be Alison. Just in time for a coffee before we start.’

  A jolly-looking woman with jet black hair down to her waist pumps my hand. She has long red glossy nails which seem more suited to a beautician on a cosmetics counter. ‘I’m Angela, the education coordinator. Good to meet you. I’ve never come across a real artist before.’

  She’s appraising me as though slightly disappointed. Maybe I should have worn something more colourful than cream and black.

  ‘Are you famous? They did tell me your name but I have to say it didn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘Never mind. We all have to earn our living, don’t we? Builders’ tea?’

  ‘Do you have peppermint, by any chance?’

  She snorts but in a kindly manner. ‘Bog-standard or nothing. If you want something fancy, you have to bring in your own, as long as you can get it past Security. I advise bringing in your own mug too. Ours are all a bit chipped.’

  ‘You don’t know who’s been drinking from them either,’ adds Kurt.

  ‘That’s true enough. Kurt here’s the fussiest of us all. Now, let me tell you how this place works.’ Angela sits down heavily on a chair, indicating I should do the same. I can’t help looking at her hair. She’s of an age where many women would choose to cut it. I think back to when I chopped off mine. I was eighteen. It was soon after the accident.

  ‘The men that come here,’ continues Angela, ‘they might be around for two weeks or two months or two years. If they want to come to Education to improve themselves, they have to go on a list. When they’re accepted, they can take qualifications in maths or English. Nothing fancy like A levels or an Open University degree cos they’re not here for long enough – although if they’ve already started in another prison, they can keep going, provided we’ve got the staff. Which we don’t always have.’

  ‘Where does art fit in?’

  Angela throws a you tell me look. ‘No idea. All I know is that we were told we’d got some kind of grant so we had to have an artist. It’s up to you to put up posters and get your own students here.’

  I think back to what Kurt had said about prisoners wanting to come and see me because I’m a woman. ‘Will I have a guard with me?’

  ‘This is an open prison, love. We don’t have that kind of one-to-one security. Sides, there’s no need. There’s usually someone around in Education. We haven’t had any trouble since …’

  Her voice tails off.

  ‘Since when?’ I ask urgently.

  She sighs, looking at me unsurely.

  ‘Come on, I can handle it.’ I make myself sound braver than I feel. ‘I’d rather know.’

  ‘OK.’ She speaks slowly and hesitantly. ‘Since one of the men threw boiling water mixed with sugar at someone he didn’t like. Doesn’t happen often, though. Only once since I’ve been here.’

  ‘Why sugar?’

  ‘Sticks to the skin.’ She waves her words away as if they shouldn’t have come out in the first place. ‘Now, let’s show you the resources cupboard. There’s some paper there you could use. And felt-tips. That all right for you?’

  I spend the rest of the day making posters.

  WANT TO LEARN TO PAINT OR DRAW?

  I’M THE NEW ARTIST IN RESIDENCE.

  SIGN UP IN THE EDUCATION OFFICE FOR MY CLASSES.

  Then I do a little drawing of an artist’s easel using the faded felt-tips from the stationery cupboard. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.

  On Angela’s advice, I pin up my posters on the Education hut’s noticeboards and then around the rest of the prison. And I do the same in the staff dining room, where Sandra the key lady is sitting with Angela. ‘Come over here, love, and join us!’

 
I’m not sure about eating food that’s been cooked by prisoners.

  ‘I’ve found the odd pube,’ says Sandra, when she sees me pick at my bowl of macaroni cheese. ‘Only kidding! Watch out. You’ve dropped your fork.’

  Usually I have a solitary sandwich in the car when going from one class to another. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had dinner with friends. In fact, I don’t really have any. And that suits me fine. So I’m surprised to find that it’s actually rather nice to have some company over a meal that someone else has cooked for me. Angela, it turns out, has a retired husband at home and one son in Australia. Sandra got married last year and is ‘trying’ for a baby. They’re both remarkably open.

  ‘What about you?’

  My mouth is half full as Angela speaks. It gives me time to compose a reply.

  ‘Happily single.’

  The two women glance at each other.

  ‘I’ve not found the right man yet,’ I add. That’s true enough. I just don’t add that I’m not looking for one. Even so, a flash of Lead Man’s face pops into my head.

  ‘He’ll come along when you least expect him,’ says Sandra brightly. ‘I met my bloke here. One of the officers. When the guys know you’re available, you’ll get loads of offers. Trust me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ chuckles Angela. ‘But don’t go off with one of the prisoners, will you? We had someone from Education who did that last year. She got jailed.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘At it like rabbits, they were. In your room, actually.’

  I shiver. Another image to block out.

  Luckily, the conversation moves on to something else and the afternoon goes much faster than the morning. Before I know it, I’m signing out, having remembered to collect my precious paints.

  As soon as I get in the car, I check my mobile in the glove compartment.

  Missed call from Mum. She’s left a message.

  Hope your first day went all right. Please ring when you get this.

  Her concern reminds me of my first day at ‘big’ school when she was waiting for me at home with hot buttered toast and a comforting hug. My sister had been finger painting at the time on the kitchen table and chose that moment to have one of her toddler tantrums by chucking the blue pot on the floor. I’d been furious with her back then but now I feel a sick twinge in my stomach for not being more understanding. After all, she’d only been little.

  Block it out.

  I punch in Mum’s number. It goes straight to answerphone. Good. It makes it easier to lie. ‘Everything was fine,’ I say brightly. ‘Honestly. In fact, I think I’m going to like it. Will ring when I get home.’

  As I drive back to my flat, I feel as if I’ve just stepped off a spaceship. The people walking past seem weirdly normal. A father with a pushchair; an old woman with a too-heavy shopping bag; a leggy teenager texting; a middle-aged couple holding hands. So very different from the planet I’d been on today. It was like that period immediately after the accident when I couldn’t understand how everyone else could go on as if nothing had happened, when our lives had just caved in.

  My heart flutters at the prospect of going in again tomorrow. But at the same time, I realize I’m almost excited. It’s like being on a scary high. I’ve hardly thought about my life outside all day. And it’s been a relief.

  Yet, as I get out of the car and walk towards my front door, I have the distinct feeling I am being watched. Even though, when I turn swiftly, I can’t see anyone behind me.

  6

  November 2016

  Kitty

  It had been just over four weeks now since the man with the flabby face had gone and so far he hadn’t come back. Kitty knew it was four weeks because her bleeding had started again the other day. They all had to have their ‘monthlies’ ticked off on the chart. ‘This one’s as regular as clockwork,’ one of the carers had remarked chirpily.

  Four weeks equalled one month. It was weird, the way her brain remembered some things although it couldn’t quite pin down others. Like what it was about the flabby-faced man that had upset her so much.

  Margaret, her roommate, hadn’t had periods for years now. She was too old. Margaret had come here when she was a teenager. Respite care. Just for a week to give her parents a break. But they had never come back to collect her. So now a cousin paid the bills.

  ‘She … says … it’s … easier … than … having … me … to … live … with … her.’

  Margaret prided herself on being one of the few residents who could speak out loud and clearly.

  Pity she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut at night. Kitty could hardly sleep because of Margaret’s snoring. If only she could have a room of her own. But they all had to ‘double-up’ so that if one of them got into trouble and couldn’t press the alarm button, the other would.

  At least, that was the official line. In practice, most were incapable of pushing anything.

  ‘They … just … say … that … to … save … money,’ Margaret had told her the other week when no one had been able to summon help after Dawn had slipped on a puddle of her own wee. ‘It’s … not a … safety … issue. It’s … cos … it’s cheaper … for the home … if two … people … can … share … a room.’

  Meanwhile, Barbara with the straight blonde fringe was coming today! The girl who reminded Kitty of someone she couldn’t remember. She was going to bring her mouth organ – and Kitty was going to hum. Over the last few weeks, it had become their ‘thing’, as one of the carers called it.

  ‘Here she is, here she is,’ chanted Duncan.

  Kitty could have screamed with frustration. Barbara was hers! No one else’s. She felt a burning jealousy that reminded her of another time. There was someone else she had wanted all for herself. Who was it?

  ‘Hi, everyone!’

  Barbara had her hair done up in a ponytail today. How she would love to have one too. Instead, her hair was hidden underneath the black helmet that was keeping her skull together.

  ‘Look who I’ve brought!’

  There were some other schoolkids with Barbara. All wearing the same colour blazers. Red. As though someone had dipped them in blood.

  ‘We’re going to form a band. The supervisor thought you’d like it.’

  ‘Hah!’ scoffed Margaret. ‘Free … entertainment.’

  ‘A band!’ Duncan began clapping and grinning madly, showing a wide expanse of fleshy red gum and grey teeth.

  ‘Fuck off,’ hissed Kitty. ‘This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I hum and Straight Fringe Barbara plays the mouth organ. It’s what we do. It’s our game and no one else can join in.’

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Kitty.’ Barbara was squatting down next to her chair. ‘We’ll still carry on with what we’ve been doing before. But it will be even better. Look, one of my friends has brought a cymbal. She and Duncan can bang it together. And this other friend of mine has brought a guitar.’

  ‘I … can … sing,’ butted in Margaret.

  Over my dead body, thought Kitty. That woman’s voice was worse than her snoring.

  ‘Come on, Kitty. Don’t sulk. Let’s have a go, shall we?’

  It’s as though Barbara knew exactly how she was feeling. Still, that’s what sisters did, didn’t they? Kitty had decided that Barbara was exactly the kind of sister she would have liked, if she’d had one. Someone who played with her. Someone who liked her. Someone who stuck up for her. Like those twins on telly.

  They were all sitting in a circle now. The girl with the guitar had started. ‘She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes!’

  Duncan was slumped in his wheelchair; a manic grin on his face and a shiny cymbal on his lap. One of the other schoolgirls was holding the stick for him.

  BANG.

  Duncan looked so ecstatic that it was as if he’d banged it himself.

  ‘Bugger the mountains,’ he beamed.

  One of the girls began giggling.

  ‘Don’t be shocked,’ whispered Very Thi
n Carer. ‘People who have head injuries often act in inappropriate ways.’

  What did that mean, wondered Kitty.

  ‘Coming round the mountain …’

  ‘Coming?’ roared Duncan, slapping his thighs. ‘That’s rude!’

  ‘Nice humming,’ whispered Barbara encouragingly to Kitty as if she hadn’t heard the outburst.

  There was a loud burst of clapping from the staff. ‘Bravo,’ said Tea Trolley Lady. She was one of Kitty’s favourites because she always gave her an extra bun if it was going.

  ‘One more time!’ laughed Smiley Carer. This was great! Maybe they could be a proper group one day like that one that was always on television.

  ‘And this is the kind of community interaction I’ve just been talking about.’

  They all looked up as Bossy Supervisor walked into the room. At least those of them who were capable of doing so. A very tall pretty blonde woman stood next to a short man with round spectacles, a very thick neck and a square haircut. He was staring down at the ground as though something interesting was going on there.

  ‘A band!’ The woman’s voice rang out. ‘That’s marvellous, isn’t it, Johnny?’

  The man with the thick neck continued to stare at the ground. He looked about Kitty’s age, although she wasn’t quite sure what that was exactly. At her last birthday, she’d had one candle on her cake. They all did. ‘It’s more democratic that way,’ Bossy Supervisor had said.

  Something moved inside Kitty’s chest. She liked this man! He was like her. She just knew it. For a start, she tended to watch the ground too. It was friendlier than some people’s faces. But somehow she had to get his attention.

  ‘Hummmmmm,’ she sang.

  The man’s head jerked up to look at her. Those thick glasses and his solemn expression reminded her of an owl from one of the children’s books that Dawn was so fond of.

  ‘Hummmmm.’ Kitty hummed again. A little higher this time.

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said. His speech was slow and plodding. His eyes were a lovely deep brown. They were also quite narrow – almost slits – as if he’d just woken up and was getting used to the light.