Prisoner

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘For me?’

  She blushes. ‘Not in a weird way, but most of the officers are kids, and you’re a man. I didn’t want to look all horrible and dull.’

  I’m not sure what to say to that. To think I thought it was easy over here.

  ‘How about putting your scruffs on and helping with the cleaning?’

  ‘Okay, you win. Not much gets by you, does it?’ She smiles. ‘If I’m going to take my clothes off, you might want to close the door.’ She winks. ‘You can be on either side.’

  I shake my head and pull the door to. Tex has been supervising the cleaning but has returned to the office to answer the phone.

  ‘Rose-Marie’s returned from court,’ she says with a grimace.

  ‘Bad news?’

  ‘I assume so. She’s bawling in Reception. I’ve said I’ll go and fetch her.’

  Tex races off. I sit in the office chair and write in the observation book that Rose-Marie is back, bringing us back to a roll of twenty-one inmates. I haven’t made many comments in the book, so I scribble that we’ve cleaned the stairs today. A pair of shapely legs in tight shorts arrives in front of me as I’m writing. When my eyes track up, they reach an even tighter, cheap, thin T-shirt and a pair of erect nipples on a large pair of breasts. There’s no sign of a bra. My eyes continue to Billie’s face. She’s doe-eyed.

  It’s lucky I’m sitting at the table, or my chin would be on the floor. Billie stretches her arms out, which jiggles her assets.

  ‘Reporting for cleaning duty, sir.’

  It’s rare that I’m lost for words. I splutter something indecipherable. She smiles, sticks her tongue out, and leaves. I hear laughter from the other girls and a couple of wolf whistles. The gates clang, which I assume is Tex back with Rose-Marie, so I leave the office to check what state she’s in.

  Billie runs past me to see Rose-Marie and it’s like a scene from Baywatch. I wander over and look at Rose-Marie’s face, which is now crumpled over Billie’s shoulder. Her shoulders heave with sobs and she makes a keening sound. She drags herself away from Billie and staggers towards me. I have a moment of horror where I think she’s going to hug me, until I realise I’m standing outside her cell. I quickly open it and she rushes in and pushes the door shut.

  When I turn back, Tex has squared up to Billie.

  ‘Did you forget something, young lady?’

  ‘No, miss, not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Very funny. Go and put a bra on.’

  ‘What for? I don’t need one.’

  ‘Put a bra on.’

  ‘I don’t remember reading in that welcome booklet that you gave me anything about having to wear a bra, so I won’t.’

  ‘It’s provocative and against the decency rules.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says me. Now, put a bra or a shirt on.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Go to your cell.’

  Billie shakes her head. I take three steps closer, causing my keys and chain to jangle. Billie turns and glowers at me.

  ‘I’m giving you a direct order, Damage. Now move!’ growls Tex.

  Billie has murder in her eyes, and my skin contracts at impending trouble. She leans in to Tex and snarls.

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Billie spins on her heels and saunters past.

  ‘Did you mind, sir?’

  I keep my eyes on her face but say nothing. I follow Tex into the office; she drops into a seat.

  ‘That girl is trouble,’ she says.

  ‘Seems so. Is she often like that?’

  ‘Sometimes, but she can be sweet. I don’t think she’s had an easy life.’

  ‘You called her Damage then. I thought you said you always used their first names.’

  ‘She is the exception. I sometimes call her Damage to remind me of what I’m dealing with.’

  32

  I grab two tea bags out of my rucksack to make Tex and me a cuppa and to give her a chance to calm down. While they are brewing, something strikes me. I saunter around the female side with the mindset of not being in danger, but I’m a tall man approaching middle age. Tex is a short, fiftyish woman. If she gets into a scrap, one on one with a young inmate, the result wouldn’t be a certainty.

  Even though prison officers receive personal protection training, it’s pretty basic and is more to do with delaying the fight until backup arrives. If an angry girl from the streets started on Tex, she could get hurt quickly, perhaps by someone like Billie. In fact, maybe that’s why they nicknamed her Damage.

  I place the cup in front of Tex and I’m surprised to see she’s crying. She tries and fails to pull herself together. I stand in the doorway to monitor the wing and block anyone else from seeing her sobbing. After a few minutes, when I look back, she’s wiping her eyes.

  ‘You want me to have a word with Billie?’ I ask.

  Tex releases a snotty chuckle. ‘It’s not that silly girl, it’s Rose-Marie.’

  ‘Did she get years or something?’

  ‘No, that’s the thing. The evidence was damning against her. The judge had a word with the prosecution after looking at the details of the case. It’s obvious Rose-Marie’s had a rough time, and she’s also pregnant. He said if Rose-Marie pleaded guilty and saved the state the cost of a trial, he would treat her leniently.’

  ‘Isn’t that good news?’

  ‘Rose-Marie’s solicitor reckoned on two years. She’d serve one, have the baby here, and be out a month afterwards, hopefully to some place with the kid.’

  ‘Sounds like Rose-Marie’s plan all over.’

  ‘Yeah, but the judge was too lenient. She’s seen so many women who are also victims that she only gave her ten months. Rose-Marie’s served nearly five months already, so she’ll be out in a few weeks.’

  ‘Ah, not so great. There’s no late checkouts here.’

  ‘No, she’s devastated. In a few weeks’ time, she will be pregnant, homeless, skint, and more than likely back on drugs.’

  ‘Can’t the prison find her a room somewhere?’

  ‘I’ll get resettlement on it tomorrow, but it all takes time. There are forms to fill in and risk assessments to pass. She has violence on her record and the hostels are full. The one thing this country isn’t short of is hurt women desperate for a safe place to stay.’

  ‘Hasn’t she got anywhere or anyone she can count on?’

  ‘No, her dad abused her, so she can’t go home. She burned the rest of her bridges. She’s threatening to do something terrible. I’m trying to talk her out of it. She’s mentioned committing another serious crime just to come back in. I tell you, Dalton, this world is fucking mental.’

  With that, she cries again. It is sad, but I’m still not sure why Tex is so upset. Should she be this involved?

  After an uneventful mealtime, when Billie stayed in her room and had her dinner brought to her, I push the food trolley out into the hub area. Tara is collecting the ones from outside each wing to take them back to the kitchens.

  ‘Evening, sir, I’m looking for a big strong man to assist me with these trolleys. If you locate one, please notify me.’

  ‘I’ve been searching for muscular men all day long, but no luck. I’ll give you a hand until we find one.’

  ‘Cool, I can give you the details of my plan. Sometimes I’m so thrilled by it that I can’t sleep. But first, I should tell you my story.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m interested. You know you talk differently to everyone in here.’

  ‘It’s part of the tale. Now, if you’re pushing comfortably, then I’ll begin.’

  I open the houseblock doors and push the first trolley out.

  ‘I had a fairly privileged life. My mother was a headteacher and my dad was a librarian. They met at Cambridge University and were both of the same ilk. Bookish, solitary people who liked helping others. We lived in a nice house in Helpston and they sacrificed many comforts to send me to a private school. My mother’s parents were very old and still lived in Africa. My mum came o
ver to study, but fell in love and wanted to stay. My father’s parents disapproved of the love match, and completely distanced themselves, eventually retiring to somewhere in Devon. When I was twelve, my parents and I were hit by a joyrider and we ended up in hospital. I was the only one who didn’t leave in a box.’

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Yes, being orphaned is quite a shock. I had nowhere to go. I entered the care system and was sent to a posh woman’s house. Her name was Lavinia Burford. My mother’s keen intelligence and my dad’s plummy accent were passed on to me. The comprehensive school was okay, but I got bullied for the way I spoke and how clever I was. I was already struggling with bereavement and not having any counselling to help me through it. Kitty and Billie were already being fostered by Lavinia. They were also angry with life.’

  ‘You fell off the rails.’

  ‘Yes, all of us. They protected me from many who saw me as easy prey. No one messes with Billie, but we got mixed up in drugs and drink. I remember having a whitey and throwing up over myself. Billie undressed me and Kitty held me in the shower. They always looked out for me.’

  ‘At least you had them.’

  ‘Yes, but I was so unworldly to begin with that I didn’t know how far I could fall until it was all too late. I still didn’t need a bra at that point, but I was about to change. I’ve always been tiny and didn’t have my period until I was fourteen, yet I’d been in front of the magistrates many times before that.’

  I’m not surprised by her lack of boundaries. Many in here have either never been taught what they were, or have given up worrying about them.

  ‘Did you ever end up in a juvenile detention centre?’

  ‘No, you have to do something really bad for that. The youth court justices know what they’re doing. Kids like us are already falling apart. Locking us away would make it permanent. You could probably argue that sending anyone to prison does that, but anyway.’

  ‘Is that how you got your nicknames, like a gang thing?’

  ‘No, incredibly it was the woman who ran the care home. She was always lovely to me. She did everything for us, too, our washing, ironing, dinners, you name it, but she was weird. Her husband was rich, but he’d left her and lived in London.’

  ‘In what way weird?’

  ‘At bedtime, she’d come to my room and brush my hair. She’d tuck me into bed and say, there, there, I’m sorry it’s all been ruined for you. Then she would stroke my back or arm and just softly repeat the word. Ruined, ruined, ruined, and I’d fall asleep.’

  We stop pushing the trolley and I open the doors to Main Street. She stares at me to gauge my reaction. I realise who she looks a bit like now. She’s a smaller, thinner version of Nelly Furtado, but with brown eyes. Next to the big trolleys, she’s so small, but she is strikingly attractive in a reserved way, more handsome than pretty. She’s waiting for a response.

  ‘Creepy,’ I eventually say, even though that doesn’t seem strong enough.

  ‘Yeah, I knew it was odd at the time, but, you know, she was kind to me, and I needed a mother figure. She also bought me a lot of books because I love to read. It was a passion created at private school. I was the best at English by miles just before my parents died, and if you consider the highest achievers tend to be at private school, that’s something. As you might imagine, reading is the only way I can tolerate this place. Anyway, Lavinia was doing the same thing to Kitty, apart from she was saying broken.’

  ‘Gross. That’s probably worse. What had happened to Kitty?’

  ‘That’s her story to tell. She thinks you’re nice though. She reckons she can see people’s auras sometimes and you have a special one.’

  I smile. ‘That’s reassuring to know.’

  ‘Don’t get carried away. Good people still do bad things.’

  With that, she rams the last trolley into the others at the kitchen door. I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Oops,’ she says, ‘but it makes me fume to remember it.’

  ‘I’ve met quite a few prostitutes,’ I say without thinking.

  She nods with a raised eyebrow. ‘I bet.’

  ‘On a professional, rather than recreational, basis obviously. You don’t fit the image I have. Why do you do it?’

  ‘The money, of course. Are you thinking of skanky crack whores? What about the posh pros who service the Premier League footballers? They call themselves escorts, but it’s no different.’

  ‘Why not just get a job? You’re obviously very bright and come across well.’

  ‘Because in the mess our lives became, we missed loads of schooling and most of our exams. I have no qualifications, a very unstable place to stay, no money, no experience and a criminal record. Would you give me a job?’

  ‘Can’t you go to college and retake your exams?’

  ‘Wow, I should have spoken to you years ago, you’d have had me sorted out in no time. What would I be living on while I was studying?’

  ‘Okay, smart arse, why don’t you hook at night and study by day?’

  We’re walking back now, and she links arms with me. There’s no one around, although there are cameras everywhere.

  ‘That brings us nicely to my plan. I want to own a beauty salon. Nails, make-up, eyelashes, hair, the whole caboodle. A nice place just for women. I don’t need qualifications for that. Kitty’s going to work for me.’

  ‘As the bouncer?’

  ‘Do not be fooled by her appearance. She’s actually a nice girl who’s been through a terrible time. I’m smart enough for both of us, and she trusts me. All the girls do. I’m clever. I know things, but will the banks lend me any money? Hell, no! But then I discovered small business loans from Barclays. I did a business plan, worked it all out, the figures add up, and the advisor was impressed.’

  ‘And they’ll lend you the money? Nice one.’

  ‘Not quite. Nothing’s that easy. He said he’ll match what I put down. They reckon if the owner doesn’t have their own skin in the game, the business is much more likely to fail. We need £40,000 to rent some premises, deck it out, and keep us solvent for the first year. After that, it’ll be easy just on repeat customers. Then I can rent bigger units, maybe even multiple places. I’m going to call it Birdies.’

  ‘Ah, as in jailbirds. Nice. So that’s why you’ve been working as a prostitute?’

  ‘Correct! I’m saving up like mad and I’m halfway there, but I was getting impatient and took too many risks.’

  ‘Is that what you do? Footballers?’

  We’ve reached the hub area by now. She’s buzzing with her salon idea.

  ‘Those footballers want blondes with pneumatics. Am I anywhere close to that? And Peterborough doesn’t have a Premier League team, anyway.’

  ‘What do you do, then?’

  ‘I cater for a specialist side of the market. It’s great money, and I don’t even need to have sex to get paid, just play a part with the occasional bit of touching.’

  ‘You mean like naked cleaning?’

  She leans forward to laugh, flashing those perfect teeth at me. ‘Don’t pretend to be innocent. You work on the male side. What do I look like?’

  With that, she skips off to her wing. A wave of revulsion washes over me as I solve her puzzle. She looks like a boy.

  33

  For the first time since moving to the female side, I am drained when I leave, but it’s not physical exhaustion. Myerscough is in front of me in the queue at the gatehouse. For someone who gets to work in the sunshine all day, he doesn’t seem very perky either.

  ‘You okay, Myerscough?’

  He turns around and takes a moment to recognise me, despite the fact I worked side by side with him for a year.

  ‘Hey, Dalton. You still alive?’

  ‘Just about, you?’

  ‘I’m retiring next January. That’ll be fifteen years I’ve given this place.’

  ‘Got any plans for retirement?’

  ‘No, not so much. It’s hard to imagin
e a life where I never come back here. Funny to think I’ll probably miss it.’

  He looks to the side and seems to peer into the distance despite staring at a wall. I notice his nose is red and covered in spider veins. Is that an age thing or a drink thing?

  ‘Once a screw, always a screw,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, although whether that’s good for your long-term mental health is hard to say.’

  ‘I’ll never regret working here, because it’s really opened my eyes to what the world is actually like for so many people.’

  He turns back to me and focusses his eyes. ‘I won’t either, but it affects us.’

  I can’t think of much more to say, not wanting to delve too deeply into that reply.

  ‘Hey, Myerscough. I’ve got a YO who wants to work with the chickens. How does she apply?’

  ‘Funny you should mention that. I currently have two girls out there. One is being transferred back to a jail near her home in a few weeks so she can have more regular visits and I had to let the other go today. She was just sitting around sunbathing.’

  Myerscough has reached the front of the queue and drops his radio and keys down while I grin behind him.

  ‘Prisoners, eh? You give them an opportunity…’

  Myerscough gives me a suspicious glance.

  ‘They’re laying now, so we’re selling the eggs. Half a dozen for a pound.’

  ‘That’s not too bad, them being free range and all that.’

  ‘Has your YO got any experience with chickens?’

  ‘It sounds like she’s been involved with a few different types.’

  Myerscough brightens. ‘Ah, well, we have two breeds: Sussex and Rhode Island Reds. It’d be nice to work with someone enthusiastic for a change. It’s a decent position, plenty of cleaning, mind. If you’re in tomorrow, send her over at eleven. You can buy some eggs at the same time.’

  Myerscough slips in front of two officers chatting and puts his index finger on the scanner. He smiles and waves at me as he leaves. I let two others pass through because I see Fats and Braddock clomping up behind me, chuckling together. I smile at them both.