‘I thought I’d better have that as a backstop,’ she said.
‘We’ve got a reasonable basic library here,’ he said. ‘Don’t spend your own money. That thing costs a fortune.’
‘A friend asked me what I’d like as a present for my new job.’
‘I wish I had friends like that.’ He picked up a framed photograph. ‘Your daughter?’
‘Yes, that’s Hilly.’
‘How’s she settling down?’
‘She’s missing London, or says she is.’
‘Her father’s—?’
‘Dead. It was in my cv.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’
He sipped his coffee and began to pace slowly up and down the confined space. She was reminded of a tiger in London Zoo and retreated behind her desk to give him more room.
After a moment he said, ‘How was sick parade?’
Dr Symes was away at a course on financial management and taking the parade was part of her being tossed in at the deep end.
‘There seems to be an epidemic of sore feet.’
‘That’s our standard problem. It’s the prison shoes. All you do is give them a chit that says, “Shoes to fit” and they go off and change them. Insomnia’s the other fashionable ailment.’
‘I had a couple this morning wanting tablets. I said we’d see.’
‘If they’re coming up for trial and need a couple of good nights to get their heads together, I’m usually sympathetic. But not otherwise. Though it’s pretty hard on them. How the hell anyone gets to sleep after being banged up most of the time I don’t know. The other problem is IBS. Lots of that around. A good hospital officer can spot irritable bowel syndrome a mile away. We call it worry guts, and it’s a fair description. They’re all anxious, especially the remands, no matter how macho they appear on the surface. Once they’re sentenced they tend to settle down a bit.’
He pulled a letter from his pocket and gave it to her. It was from a firm of solicitors and addressed to the Governor. The writer asked about the nature and severity of the injuries sustained by their client, Mr Jason Newman, at the hands of the police.
‘He’s talking about possible damages,’ Anne said.
‘Has Newman given you any indication he wants to sue the police?’
‘None. Anyway, according to the notes he started it, and he’s never denied that.’
‘Then it’s just an attempt to make a case for bail. Not a chance on a charge of attempted rape. Would you like to deal with it? I usually give them a ring, though I don’t think I’ve dealt with this particular firm before.’
‘I’ll see Jason first, then phone them.’
She had lunch in the canteen then walked down the hill into the town. She strolled in the High Street, now a pedestrian precinct, and let the sunshine warm her face. She had suddenly begun to feel claustrophobic inside the prison walls and had decided to go walkabout to prove to herself that she did not belong there except by her own choice. Smiling slightly she wondered if the large book which Clive had given her had anything to say about gaol fever.
Jenks was in his small cluttered office in the hospital when she returned. His door was open and he was smoking a cigarette. It seemed to her that with the exception of Tom Melville, everyone, staff and patients, smoked. Jenks was bent over a diary and several printed forms and did not appear to hear her.
‘Hello, Mr Jenks.’
He looked up. He did not quite mark his place with his finger but only seemed to.
Anne said, ‘I’d like to see the remand prisoner, Jason Newman. Is that possible?’
‘If you go over to D Wing one of the officers will bring him to the medical room.’
‘I’d rather see him here, in my own room.’
‘I’m sorry, miss, but we make the appointments a day ahead.’
‘But what if we don’t know a day ahead who we want to see?’ It was said as sweetly as she could manage and hid the irritation she felt.
‘In that case you go to the medical room. I mean I can’t go fetching prisoners. I got to do these transfers for tomorrow.’
‘Well, what do you suggest then, Mr Jenks?’
‘I don’t know, miss.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t call me “miss”.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The word you used. Miss. I’d rather you didn’t use it. Since I’m a doctor I prefer to be called Doctor. Do you think you can manage that?’
There was a pause as they stared at each other. She knew she was being irrational but she sensed that now, at the beginning, was the time to make her stand. She had met people like Jenks before: staff sergeants in the army, petty officers in the navy, union officials: unqualified people who controlled little empires, who had power without much responsibility and were forever guarding their dignity.
She had probably made an enemy of Jenks, but from the moment they had been introduced she had felt his hostility. Far better have it out in the open so they both knew where they stood.
‘Mr Jenks, I’d like to see Mr Newman. I’d like to see him now. And I’d like to see him here.’
She had really no idea whether or not she was in the right or whether she was breaking a set of sacrosanct prison rules, but she had gone too far to turn back.
Jenks put down his pen and shuffled the papers in a gesture of exasperation. Then he stubbed out his cigarette and called, ‘Les!’
‘Yes?’
Les, his dimples showing nicely, came down the corridor, smiling at Anne.
Jenks said, ‘Dr Vernon,’ the word doctor was emphasised, ‘Dr Vernon would like to see a remand called Newman.’
‘Oh, yeah, the tennis player. You want to see him here, doc?’
‘Please.’
‘Right. I’ll have him over in a jiffy.’
‘Thank you,’ Anne said.
In her room she found herself trembling slightly. ‘That’ll teach him,’ she thought. But at the same time she thought she might regret what she’d done.
She was calm again by the time Jason arrived. ‘How are you feeling now?’ she said as he lowered himself onto the small metal-framed chair.
She could have answered the question herself; his eyes were bloodshot and there were purple smudges below them. His skin had a greyish pallor.
‘I can’t sleep.’ His voice, coming from such a big frame, was filled with a childlike anguish.
‘I’m not surprised. Are you getting any exercise?’
He shook his head.
‘If it goes on I can give you something for it. I’d like to look at your face.’ With the solicitor’s request in mind, she made a careful inventory of the damage.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
He frowned, as though to say: whose side are you really on? ‘About what?’
‘About what happened at the police station.’
‘My lawyer—’
‘It’s because of your lawyer I’m asking.’ She mentioned the letter. ‘I’ll have to ring him. He’ll want to know about the injuries. I may have to give evidence. And you’ve never denied starting the fight. Did you?’
‘The questions were pretty rough.’
‘But only questions. They didn’t start anything?’
‘No. They just took it for granted I was guilty. They said I was a rapist. They even talked about me and kids. It was disgusting. I mean I didn’t do anything like—’
‘Don’t tell me any more now, Jason. I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to know things like that. Not about what you’ve been charged with. Have you seen your wife yet? What’s her name by the way?’
‘Margaret. No, she hasn’t been.’
‘There may be all sorts of reasons. She’s pregnant, isn’t she?’
‘Eight months.’
‘Well then, she might not be feeling up to it.’
‘She hasn’t written or phoned.’
‘It’s a bit early for a letter. Have you tried phoning her?’
‘A dozen times. I
get the engaged sound all the time. It’s as though she’s taken it off the hook. Maybe the press got hold of her. Is there anything in today’s papers?’
‘Not that I’ve seen.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘There’s another royal scandal. It’s wiped everything else off the front pages, and it’s five years since you stopped playing. That’s a long time these days when everyone wants to be famous for fifteen minutes. Anyway, you’re sub judice now.’
He was silent for a moment and then said, ‘It’s horrible.’
‘What is?’
‘Being here.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘dan you?’
‘Well . . . no, not really.’
‘It’s being in with the Rule 43s that’s worst.’
Shame was written all over his face.
‘It’s for your own safety, Jason.’
‘That’s what they say. But it’s like being in . . . I don’t know, some sort of private jungle where we can eat each other but have to be protected from everyone else. We’re called nonces. Did you know that?’
‘I’ve heard the word.’
‘On my landing there are rapists and paedophiles and flashers and God knows who else and they talk about it. They talk about what they’ve done all the time and how they’re going to do it again when they get out. One man talks about buying kids. Little girls. Another guy married a woman because she had two little boys. He planned it that way. Months and months of planning just so he could get near them. And when he did—’
‘I can guess, Jason.’
‘But I’m not like that. I want to get out of there. Can’t you get me into an ordinary cell?’
‘I suppose I could speak to someone if you really wanted me to. But think about it. At least you’re protected where you are. Talk to your lawyer about it.’
‘I’ve hardly seen him.’
She was surprised.
‘He was appointed by the court,’ he said.
‘But I thought—’
‘That’s what everyone thinks. That I’m as rich as Croesus. The fact is I’m broke. I lost everything in the Lloyds insurance crash. I was in one of the syndicates that went bust. They took my house, the cars, everything, even my tennis racquets. They said they might have some value at auction because I’d played with them.’
‘I’m sure he’ll do his best, Jason.’
‘All he wants to know is did I follow the girl? Was it in my mind? Did I plan it? I told him no, I didn’t, but I don’t think he believes me.’
*
Anne was still feeling slightly battered from her encounter with Jenks when she left the hospital at 5.45 and walked across the yard to the main gates. It had been a long day and a tiring one.
‘’Night, doc,’ the duty officer called as she stepped through the opening in the huge wooden doors. It was still daylight on a crisp autumn evening.
‘Good night,’ she said.
The greeting had been casual, friendly, and for a moment she felt a slight spasm of warmth at the knowledge that she was beginning to belong. But did she want to belong? As she walked to her car in the reserved car park she knew this was a question that was going to haunt her and she sensed that it was still not quite resolved in Tom’s mind either. The prison service – even the phrase – had bad vibes, and yet the people she had met, with the exception of Jenks, did not seem to bear any resemblance to those depicted in tv documentaries. As with everything, she thought, you saw what you wanted to see.
As she unlocked the car door a voice said, ‘You better look sharp. Don’t let them catch you.’
She looked up and saw an elderly woman with a small round red face who was wearing a long fawn coat with fur trim that had seen better days. On her head she wore a cheap polyester scarf. Her eyes were almost black and shone like a bird’s.
‘You want to be careful,’ the woman said.
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Visitors ain’t allowed here. I saw them tell a bloke off for parking here. I seen you before, ain’t I?’
Anne had a faint recollection of the woman but could not place her.
‘You was visiting yesterday, when I arrived.’
‘Were you . . . did you bang on the door?’
‘Didn’t it make a clatter? Thought I’d woken the dead.’ She gave a throaty giggle. ‘You’d best move it.’
‘I’m allowed to park here. I work in the prison.’
‘Oh . . . I’m sorry, dear, I thought you was a visitor like me.’
‘No, I’m one of the doctors.’
‘Excuse me.’ There was a sudden change of attitude.
‘Whatever for?’
‘For talking to you like that.’
‘Nonsense. It was kind of you to warn me.’
‘Only, they do make a fuss.’
‘I’m sure they do.’
Anne pulled the car door open. The woman came closer.
‘Excuse me,’ she repeated. ‘Are you one of them psychitratist doctors?’
‘No, just an ordinary one.’
‘I only asked because of Billy.’
‘Billy?’
‘Billy Sweete. I’m his grandmother.’
Now Anne recalled her more closely. She had spoken about her grandson to one of the officers. What was it she had said? Something about burning?
‘Please, can I have a word?’
‘I don’t think this is the time to—’
‘I need help, doctor.’ There was something about the way she said it that reminded Anne of Jason’s cry for help and she felt immediate sympathy.
‘Okay, go on.’
‘Doctor, he needs to go to a hospital. He burns things . . . and he does other things, mad things, and they had him in a hospital . . . His mother’s dead, see, and his father abandoned him. So I’m the only relation, see, and that’s what they done . . .’
‘What?’
‘Released him. To his only relation. That’s me. Care in the community, they says. No more keeping people in hospital. Well I says it’s not fair. I mean who has to cope? Not them as lets them out. It’s us what has to look after them.’
‘Mrs—’
‘Tribe. Ida Tribe. And him with matches and lighters. You know, doctor, once he made a bomb. A bomb! I says to him, Billy, if you let that thing off in my house I’m going to call the police.’
‘Mrs Tribe, I—’
‘You got to get him into a hospital, doctor. You got to tell the judge. And then keep him there. I know what you’re going to say. You’ll say that’s cruel. But what about me? I’m frightened to go to bed with Billy in the house. I ask myself: what’s he going to do? I listen to his mumbling and mumbling. He says it’s praying. But who’s he praying to? I mean, God ain’t going to listen, is he? Would God listen to someone like Billy with his burnings and his . . . well, his other things? Never. God ain’t got time. ’Course he ain’t. There’s all the rest of them in here. If God had to listen to all the people in gaol he’d have no time for people who weren’t in gaol, if you follow me. No, it’s them foreign heathen gods he’s got. And the smell. I says to him, Billy, no more lighting that filthy incense. It goes right through the house.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But he never listens to me.’
The torrent of words stopped as abruptly as it had started.
Anne said, ‘I’ll make inquiries. Leave it with me.’
She got into the car.
‘What’s your name, dear?’ Mrs Tribe said, the social gap between them suddenly closing.
‘Dr Vernon.’
‘I’ll remember.’
Anne drove off. As she turned from the prison she looked into her rearview mirror. Mrs Tribe in her moth-eaten coat, a white plastic carrier bag in her hand, was standing in the middle of the empty car park. She looked like someone who had been abandoned on a coral atoll.
Chapter Seven
‘Grandpa and me are writing a book,’ Hilly said.
‘I,’ Anne said. ‘Grandpa
and I. Let me dry your ears.’
‘Not you. Me!’
‘Okay, you. Now the other ear.’
Anne had come home early enough to give Hilly her bath and had also planned to make the supper.
‘I was going to,’ her father had said.
‘I’ll do it for all of us. I’d like to.’
‘I had it planned.’ He sounded petulant.
‘What had you planned?’
‘Smoked haddock and poached eggs.’
‘But you had that last night.’
‘I like it. Watch used to make it.’
‘You can’t have it every night. I mean Hilly can’t.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’ll get sick of it.’
‘Have it your way.’
He took The Times and a whisky and soda and she watched him go out of the kitchen towards his basement flat. He was wearing an old grey sweatshirt and the long wrap-around skirt – this one in blue and brown – called a kikoi which both men and women wear in East Africa. Anne thanked God they were not expecting visitors.
She made Hilly a toasted cheese sandwich and hot chocolate then took her up to bed. After she had read her a story Hilly said, ‘What’s a fang thief?’
‘A what?’
‘Something like that. Grandpa told me but I can’t remember.’
‘Never heard of it. When Grandpa picked you up at school was he wearing his kikoi?’
‘No.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘Mummy . . . am I ever going to have a father?’
It pierced her like a knife.
‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘Everybody at school has fathers.’
‘Lucky them. Maybe one day. You’ve had a father.’
‘Paul.’
‘That’s right, sweetie, your real father. The one who made you.’
‘But he’s dead.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And he’s never coming back.’
‘No, darling, never.’
‘Not even one day.’
‘Not even then.’
They had had this conversation before.
Hilly turned on her side. Her thumb came up to her mouth. Anne started to reach forward then thought: if it comforts her then let her have it. Anyway, she was doing it less frequently.
Burn Out (Dr. Anne Vernon Book 1) Page 5
