by Jane Corry
‘The nurse says that she seems to be trying to say something,’ says Mum. ‘I know the consultant said that most improvements take place in the first year. But miracles happen, don’t they?’
I take my sister’s hand. It’s plump, sweaty. ‘Do you understand, Kitty?’ I ask.
For a moment she really looks like she’s about to say something. Then she laughs. Dribble comes out of her mouth. I get up. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ I say. ‘I can’t deal with this.’
Then I leave. Conscious that I’m not just a lousy daughter. I’m a bad sister too.
41
July 2001
Ali
The roaring in my ears was a car.
Crispin’s Mum’s car with an L plate on the front.
Coming straight towards us.
‘Get off me.’
The summer house. The tapping trees.
I can’t let Kitty tell Mum.
CRASH.
A blue uniform in the air. So graceful. Like a swan in flight. A perfect arc.
I watched, mesmerized, from the ground where I’d been thrown. Frozen.
The thud was heavy. Leaden. Final.
42
May 2017
Alison
If anyone had told me that I’d be in Lead Man’s apartment this evening, I wouldn’t have believed them.
We’re sitting on a smart brown leather sofa – close but not quite touching. He’d called after the hospital visit and in a weak moment I’d said yes.
I’d begun to think that Lead Man didn’t want me to see his place. Was it possible he had a wife hidden away? This is a world where anything can happen. Like a prisoner claiming to be my father. Who knew my mother smelt of lavender. If I’d been wearing it myself – as I usually do – I could have just put that down to a lucky guess. Then again, maybe Stefan had smelt it on me during previous classes.
‘Tell me about your sister, then,’ he says, picking a tiny fragment of glass out of my hair.
‘Our relationship wasn’t easy before the accident,’ I say carefully, leaning back against a turquoise cushion with red and gold embroidery. There’s a distinct oriental air about Lead Man’s place. Maybe it’s the silver and purple jars on the contemporary side table or the faint whiff of joss sticks. That pink paper lantern light. And the soft velvet cushions, ornately brocaded with silver buttons. Intriguingly, there aren’t any photographs. I’d like to know more about his family – whether he has a brother or sister – but something tells me not to pry too soon.
‘In what way wasn’t it easy?’ asks Lead Man. His arm is draping itself round my shoulders now. It’s sending shivers down me. Nice shivers.
‘She was always arguing with me. Prickly. Hostile when there was no need.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Frankly, I’m not surprised that she and Johnny aren’t working out.’
I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t mean it. At least, I don’t think I did.
‘It sounds as though he’s more able-bodied than she is. It can’t be easy for them. Especially with a baby on the way.’
‘I don’t know how we’re going to manage. Sometimes … sometimes I feel guilty about the accident.’
‘Why?’
Stop right there, I tell myself.
‘I … you know … keep wondering if I … well, if I could have done anything that would have saved her.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.’
Liar! Liar!
To my relief, he changes the subject. ‘Tell me,’ he says. ‘What is it like in prison?’
I’ve found, since I’ve started this job, that everyone asks that question, from my mother to the college receptionist. The truth is that it’s hard to describe unless you’re actually there to smell the air. The desperation. The resignation. The anger. ‘It’s like another universe,’ I say.
‘Are the men very unhappy?’
Most people – the few I have told – generally ask if they’re dangerous. Lead Man himself did this when he first found out. But the ‘unhappy’ question is an intriguing one. I’m not even sure if I’ve thought of it myself. ‘Some. But you get the feeling that others are more comfortable inside than out.’
He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
I consider a thick-fingered bulldog of a man in my group who has a history of escaping just before his release date so he gets another sentence. ‘Many don’t have any family waiting for them. They’re scared of coming out and finding themselves alone.’
‘That’s sad.’
Then I find myself blurting out something else. ‘There’s even a murderer who’s convinced he’s my father.’
Lead Man laughs. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘No. And … I can’t help wondering if he’s right.’
He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
So I tell him about Stefan and the information he knows about me, ranging from my name to the lavender scent which both Mum and I wear. He shakes his head. ‘Criminals can find these things out. It doesn’t mean anything.’
His hand is stroking my thigh. Slowly, gently.
‘I know.’ Hadn’t I been telling myself exactly the same? Even so, it’s reassuring to hear it from someone I respect. Respect? Or have feelings for?
He’s speaking again. That rich dark voice stirs longings inside me that I didn’t know I had. Or that I once had, but thought had gone for ever. ‘I think that when you’ve got as much on your plate as you have, it’s easy to imagine things. You need to relax, Alison.’
His fingers brush my hair away. Then his mouth comes down on mine.
Hungrily, I kiss him back. I am lost. And it feels wonderful.
When I get dressed the next morning, as well as putting on trousers and a modest top, I also spend a bit of time on my face. And I wear a smile. You have to show you’re confident in prison. That you’re not intimidated by anyone. Not even men who claim to be your father. And, of course, it’s easier to smile this morning after the wonders of last night. The only dampener was that Clive had to leave early. ‘Another buying trip abroad,’ he’d said regretfully, kissing me on the mouth. ‘I’ll ring as soon as I’m back.’
So this was what sex was all about. Not like that horrible night in the summer house. But an act of love which was passionate yet gentle at the same time. How am I going to wait until we see each other again?
Meanwhile, I need to find out more about Stefan. It’s not that I believe his wild claims, but there’s something in me that’s curious about this man. Maybe, I tell myself, as I drive to the prison, I could make some discreet inquiries.
‘I’ve got someone in my class called Stefan,’ I mention casually to a prison officer at lunch.
‘The old bloke with the stick who’s been in the san? Heard he’s not got long.’
So he is ill then? I feel a slight misgiving. ‘Do you know what he’s in for?’
He tucks into his sausages and beans with relish. ‘Best not to ask, if you want my advice. Might scare you off the job.’
I get the feeling that this is exactly what he’d like. ‘Bleeding-heart do-gooder,’ I hear the same officer say to another as they leave the dining room. ‘What’s she hoping to achieve in this place?’
I’m beginning to wonder myself. Despite Clive telling me how ‘brave’ I am, I’m seriously thinking of handing in my notice, even if it means I’ll be broke. My share of the fees for the home is no longer so important with Kitty’s new status. Johnny’s parents will surely help. And I’ve been further spooked by Stefan’s warning, which is still lingering in my head.
This is a bad place, Ali. You are in danger.
Tonight, I vow, I will have it out with Mum on the phone. I will tell her exactly what Stefan said. And when she confirms, as I know she will, that he’s lying, I will go straight to the governor. This criminal might be old and disabled but he can’t be allowed to get away with this. He’d sworn he’d had nothing to do with those threatening messages. But if he�
�d been cunning enough to be transferred to ‘my’ prison, he’s surely capable of anything.
Or there is another option I could take. One I hardly dare to think about.
43
July 2001
Ali
Could that really be my sister? That crumpled shape in a pool of blood and navy blue school uniform? Violin case near her head. A shoe by her feet. A polished shoe. Crawling towards it, I tenderly held it against my throbbing cheek. If my sister’s shoe was all right, it surely meant that she was all right too. Like me. The car had merely knocked me to one side. I was winded and my nose raged with a throbbing pain but I was still here.
There should be some warning before your life cracks into little pieces. Maybe it wasn’t happening at all. Perhaps, in just a second, Kitty was going to stand up. Dab the blood off that navy blue school uniform. Clean up her shoes. And say, with a cheeky grin, ‘Had you fooled then, didn’t I, Ali? It’s OK. I won’t tell Mum. Your secret’s safe with me.’
But instead, she was just lying there. Silent.
The only consolation was that her chest was still rising and falling.
I daren’t touch her in case I did more damage.
But she was alive. Thank God!
I sat on the verge with tears of relief pouring down my cheeks. Life without my sister – however difficult she’d been – was unthinkable.
As for Vanessa, I dared not look.
44
May 2017
Alison
There’s an atmosphere in the prison the next day. I can smell it. Taste it. Something is going to happen. You sense it when you’ve been here a while. There are times when I can hardly believe how much has happened since I came inside. Or how I have changed.
It’s chilly. I wrap my cardigan around me, a rather lovely hyacinth blue which I haven’t worn for a while. As I get closer to the building, I notice a man waiting outside.
My heart lifts.
Martin. Probably my most promising student. A courteous one too. It’s been a revelation to me, since starting here, that there is so much talent in prison. The music teacher says the same. She has one man who has learned to play the saxophone during his fifteen-year stint. And the writer in residence, some years ago, apparently put an ex-con in touch with his publisher. The man in question is now on the best-seller list. At times, I wonder if I might help Martin hit the headlines too.
‘How are you doing?’
Unlike most of the other men in my group, Martin doesn’t call me ‘miss’. It’s as though he knows I don’t care for it.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I say in reply to his question. ‘You sound as if you’ve got a bit of a cold.’
‘I don’t feel great but I didn’t want to miss class.’ He shrugs. ‘It’s what keeps me going.’
I’m flattered. But also concerned in case I catch something. We have to be careful not to go near Kitty if we’re not well, says Mum. Her injuries make her prone to chest infections. She is ‘frail’, although you would not think it to see her body – growing even more huge in pregnancy – taking up the entire width of the wheelchair. I have to say it for my sister: she keeps on smiling with that crooked grin and saliva dribbling out of her mouth. At times, her determination to keep going amazes me. At other times, it terrifies me.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ I ask.
Martin sneezes. ‘Got this virus, haven’t they?’
‘OK,’ I say, looking around. I’m sure I’ll be all right with Martin. ‘Let’s go in, shall we?’
I allow him to draw what he wants today. Free sketching, I call it. In fact, it’s a bit of a cop-out. My mind won’t focus for so many reasons. Kitty. Stefan. And I keep thinking of Lead Man. Or rather Clive. Though I’m almost scared to recall the memories of our night together in case they disappear.
Concentrate, I tell myself. Get your mind back on the job. I glance at the clock on the wall. If I’m not careful, we’ll run out of time.
‘Need any help?’ I ask Martin.
He is cupping his arm protectively round the sheet of paper I’ve given him. I’ve noticed that quite a lot of my men do that: it’s almost like they’re back at school and don’t want anyone to see what they’re writing in case it’s not good enough.
I respect that. So I doodle myself; my mind still elsewhere. Then I stare down at my page.
The clock is ticking. I stand up, pushing my chair back. It’s time.
But Martin is already standing up.
‘I’m a bit stuck,’ he says. ‘Can you come over here and help me?’
‘Sure.’
My throat tightens. Martin has drawn three figures. They are unmistakably schoolgirls. Each one wears her hair in plaits. They are crossing a road. And a car is coming towards them.
45
July 2001
Ali
‘Are you all right?’ It was a woman’s voice. ‘What happened?’
I tried to speak. But nothing came out.
‘Ambulance.’ The woman had a mobile phone. Kitty wanted one. David was going to ‘treat’ her on her next birthday.
‘Just past the bus stop. A schoolgirl’s been hit. Badly. No, wait. Looks like two.’
It was only then that I made myself glance at the body to my right. Blonde plaits splayed. Violin case by her side.
Vanessa.
‘And a car. No one has got out. There’s a lot of smoke. Should I go and see or wait here? There’s a third girl too. She’s hurt her face but she’s right next to me, in shock. Stay here? Right.’
‘Put my jumper around you,’ said the voice. ‘It might stop you shaking.’
‘Please,’ I coughed, gagging on the blood which was running into my mouth. ‘Help them.’
Mum wouldn’t be able to cope if Kitty died. Nor would David. Nor would I.
‘I’m not going to move your friends,’ continued the voice. ‘I don’t want to make their injuries worse. Just sit tight now. Help will be here fast.’
My teeth were chattering so much that my words came out as a stammer. ‘Sh-Sh-She’s m-my … s-sister. The other one … sh-sh-she’s my sister’s f-f-f-riend.’
The woman had a granny-type face. I would have liked grandparents.
‘Who should we contact, dear?’
‘I c-can’t remember … any numbers.’
‘Never mind. The police will sort it out when they arrive.’
‘We’re going to be late for school,’ I blurted out. ‘Kitty and Vanessa are p-p-laying in the concert. I’m due to collect … collect a prize.’
The granny face was sitting next to me now on the pavement, holding my hand. Mopping my face with a handkerchief. ‘It’s all right, dear. Honestly.’
Then the voice changed. ‘Look at that. The driver’s getting out of the car. Goodness. It’s a schoolboy.’
Crispin’s screams were wrenching the air. ‘My mother,’ he was yelling. ‘My mother!’
And just at that moment, a siren began to wail in the distance.
46
May 2017
Alison
My heart thuds in my throat. My mind flails madly. I’ve found, since starting here, that men sometimes draw their crimes. ‘Does this picture have a particular significance for you?’ I ask, barely able to get the words out.
‘Significance!’ He snatches the drawing and brandishes it before my eyes. ‘So I was right! You really don’t recognize me, do you?’
‘What are you talking about?’
He grabs my hand and makes my fingers trace his scars. They are slightly bumpy. The touch of his skin makes me feel sick. ‘It’s me. Crispin. Crispin Wright. The cool kid, they used to call me.’ He says the last bit with an irony that twists his entire face.
‘B-But your n-name …’ I stutter.
‘Think I could use Crispin in a place like this? After the attack, they let me use my middle name instead. Just as well my surname is fairly common. There was a double-barrelled geezer in a pad next to me. Didn’t last five minutes, poor bloke. M
eant I got a longer sentence, but it was worth it.’
He sniffed, wiping his hand across his nose. His manners had clearly altered as well. ‘Had to change the way I spoke, too. When you’re in prison, you can’t afford to stand out.’ He touches his scars with an index finger as if carefully stroking them. I wonder whether he realizes the irony. ‘It’s one of the reasons they did this to me. Posh brat, they said.’
His face is now very close to mine. I can smell his stale breath. ‘Schoolgirl killer. They didn’t like that either. There’s honour amongst thieves, you know. Drug dealing is cool. But mowing down a kid – that’s different. And it’s all your fault.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, I think you do.’
I’m really scared now. His clenched hands are moving towards me as though he’s going to hit me. I step back. To my relief, he stays where he is.
‘I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time,’ he spits. ‘Even so, I had to look twice when I turned up at that first class. Changed a bit, haven’t you? Nice new nose. Different surname, too. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who’d altered this. And those long sleeves you wear to hide your scars? I’ve seen them ride up every now and then. Self-harming. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?’
He whistles. ‘Sign of guilt. I had a cellmate like that. Anyway, when I realized you didn’t recognize me, I had to make myself wait a bit. Get you onside. Play teacher’s pet.’
I want to say this can’t be true. None of it. But I can see glimpses of the old Crispin now behind those scars. That arrogance. The way he seemed to know exactly what I wanted. Still insecure teenage Ali, desperate for approval.
‘I’m glad your sister’s found a husband.’
A flash of fear passes through me. ‘How do you know that?’
He ignores the question. ‘Does that mean she’s all right now?’
‘She’ll never get better,’ I hiss, ‘after what you did.’
