I gasp as she walks away from the office.
‘Billie, come back here.’
She returns but doesn’t look at my face.
‘Just go. Someone has to get the position. Why shouldn’t it be you?’
‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never had no proper interview before. What do you do at one?’
‘You answer the questions.’
‘What are they?’
‘How would I know? I’m not the chicken master. Myerscough is.’
‘Is he the weird old guy or the fat younger officer? I’ve seen two out there.’
‘The older gentleman.’
‘All I know about chickens is they like rolling in mud and dust. That’s it. Oh, and the Mayo Chicken at McD’s is really good. Cheap, too.’
‘See, you knew more than I did. Look, I printed this off for you. It’s information on chickens. You can knock him dead. It says chickens bathe in dust to get rid of mites and things. Remember it all, tell him you love animals, you’re reliable, and you won’t let him down.’
She reads the information sheet very, very slowly, especially considering there’s only five facts. I wonder about her reading skills.
‘The letters c and p are missing on here,’ she says.
I take the sheet off her.
‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, my home printer is on its last legs.’
‘Makes it tricky to read when it’s about chickens.’
Finally, she looks at me. The sunlight from the big window at the back of the wing strikes her blue eyes, making them sparkle.
‘You did this at home for me?’
I nod.
‘Sod it. I’ll try. Shall I go dressed like this?’
‘They aren’t recruiting for ring girls at a boxing match. Just dress sensibly. It’s a physical role outside. Don’t you have any loose clothes?’
‘Tara sent me a load of stuff in before she arrived herself, but I’ve put on weight since I was here. I go to the gym like mad and do loads of exercise in my cell, but I was skinny when I arrived. You’ll have to bring some clothes in for me from Next. I’ve got a catalogue and marked a few, so it’ll be easy enough.’
‘Very funny. Take the interview seriously, and you’ll be fine.’
Suddenly, she looks focussed. She flicks her hair back and takes a deep breath.
‘Thank you.’
‘No worries. One last thing, I was just wondering what you were in for.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a different level of clearance out there. You’re next to the gardens, so if you were in for threatening people with a pitchfork, they’d probably think twice about letting you loose.’
‘Oh. Well, me and my partner were in the street and some guy walked past with an expensive phone. My partner, impulsively like, pushed him over and grabbed the phone, then legged it. I wasn’t hanging around to get caught, so I ran away too, but there was CCTV and they found us.’
It’s a rather fluffy explanation of street robbery, which must be a terrifying experience for the victim. It’s no wonder Billie got two years for it. I’m not sure what that would mean to Security, but it’s not important at this point.
‘Go and get ready. I’ll walk you down when it’s time.’
I spend the next bit of the morning drinking tea in the office while thinking about not seeing my children for two weeks. Sheraton has done all the searching and is on top of the ACCT book observations. The wing is deathly quiet, which would have me patrolling the landings on the male side looking for trouble. Instead, I eat a bag of crisps and flick through Cosmo, which Tex must have brought in.
At Billie’s interview time, I knock on her door in case she’s getting dressed.
‘One minute,’ she shouts out.
A few seconds pass, then she opens the door but steps backwards to the bed. She’s wearing a loose blue shirt and white, three-quarter length jeans. The shirt is completely undone at the front, revealing half of each nipple.
‘Do you reckon I’ll get it like this?’
‘Come on, Billie. Do that up. You’ll get me sacked.’
I step outside and pull the door shut. Half a minute later, she glides out of the cell with the shirt buttoned up and I lock the door behind her. We walk along the landing. Rose-Marie, who is half-heartedly mopping the floor, gives her an up and down.
‘You at court again, Billie?’
‘Yeah, I’m going to tell them you did it.’
Rose-Marie laughs and mimes ‘wanker’ at her.
We stop at the gate, where Billie takes deep, slow breaths. Myerscough is walking past.
‘Hey,’ I shout to him. ‘I was bringing her over.’
‘I just brought one of the other interviewees back, so I’ll take her with me. Save you a trip.’
Billie turns to me.
‘Wish me luck,’ she says.
I just smile because she won’t need it. The rest of them don’t stand a chance.
37
Billie’s away for forty-five minutes and it’s Sheraton who lets her back on the wing. She goes straight to her cell. I supervise the servery at lunch, but Rose-Marie does a decent job. Billie and her pad mate are the last to come out.
‘Well? How did you get on?’ I ask.
‘Good. I remembered your research, and I feel confident.’
She smiles mischievously at my raised eyebrows, then picks up her cellophane-wrapped sandwich, crisps and fruit. She takes one glance at the sandwich and lobs it towards the bin. Two Romanian girls, who are nervous and furtive, have just arrived. They look as though their journey over here cost them more than money. Their empty eyes follow the food’s arc as it thuds into its destination. They wait for me to leave.
The Italian girl, Zelda, whom Billie shares her cell with, collects her food and gives me a hard stare before walking away. It’s the kind of glare that puts you on edge on the male side and has you looking over your shoulder for the rest of the shift. I notice she has the same Nike tracksuit bottoms on that Billie was wearing earlier. I wonder if they’re Billie’s or hers, although it’s not unusual for girls to share their clothes. Even the men do it for special visits from girlfriends and wives.
We’ve just locked up after lunch when the office phone rings.
‘Whisky 1,’ I say.
‘Hi, is Officer Dalton on there?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Hi, it’s Kennett in Details. You want some overtime?’
I glance out of the window. When it’s icy, the prison has a sense of menace. In the sunshine, though, it seems benign. The prisoners dawdle to soak up the rays as they walk between Main Street and the houseblocks. It’s not so bad here then, and I’ve got an oil leak under my car to pay for. But I know how to play the game.
‘No, thanks.’
‘Come on, Dalton. Time and a half.’
‘Overtime is always time and a half. That’s like telling me dogs bark.’
‘I’m desperate. I’ve always loved you, Dalton.’
‘Ooh, tempting. After all, you are my type.’
Kennett is the hairiest man I’ve ever met. Neck, arms, you name it.
‘Time and three quarters.’
‘What’s the overtime for, Kennett?’
‘It’s an escort.’
‘And?’
‘You want the prisoner’s blood type?’
‘Spit it out.’
‘Funeral escort. It’s Glenn Bell, his mother died.’
‘Ooh, nice. Those mourners just love us.’
‘I’ll owe you. It’s local, but it starts in fifty minutes.’
I smile. Now I know that fine detail, I really do have leverage. At this brief moment in time, Kennett is the most desperate man in this place.
‘I want Christmas Day and Boxing Day off this year. I’ll do all of New Year’s in exchange.’
‘Done.’
‘And double time.’
‘Don’t push it. Get your arse straight over there.’
; I put the phone down and quickly leave the office. When I’m striding through the sterile area to Male Reception, I pass Tex, who’s on her way in. She’s stooped and barely waves. Escorts are two-man jobs unless the prisoner is high risk, then it’s more. When I get to the reception desk, I ask SO Odom who’s doing the escort with me.
‘Officer Flynn from the female gym. I’m glad it’s you that’s going, Dalton. He’s kicking off.’
I find Flynn in a room with Glenn Bell, who has two black eyes. Brilliant. I vaguely know him. He’s one of Colt’s posse, who messed with Gronkowski.
‘Come on, bruv,’ he shouts. ‘If we miss it, there’s gonna be bare trouble. Swear down.’
‘Enough, we’ve got plenty of time if you shut your mouth. Here’s the warning. You piss me off once, that’s it. You’re straight into the taxi, and back here. You say goodbye to your mum when you’re released.’
‘Okay.’
‘Promise.’
‘Come on, man. I promise.’
I nod to Flynn. She cuffs his hands together in front of him, then cuffs his right wrist to my left wrist. The SO comes in and checks they are secure. We follow him and he opens the reception gate. A taxi is waiting. Flynn’s role is to make notes, carry the mobile phone in case we get jumped, and be in charge. My role is usually to look serious. Funerals are different. There will be a lot of emotions and, ridiculously, some of the prisoner’s family will think it’s the escorts’ fault that their little boy is in handcuffs.
It’s hot in the taxi, especially with my jacket on my lap, but I brought it for a purpose. Glenn is, for obvious reasons, quiet. He’s a big unit for a young lad, and our shoulders touch as the taxi swings around a corner. The youngsters shave their heads to seem older, but Glenn has a ruddy youthful complexion and acne on his chin. I can feel how tense he is next to me. The church isn’t far, so I need to get started.
‘Were you close to your mum?’
‘Yeah, very.’
‘Mums still care, even when everyone else has given up.’
He moves his hands and therefore my left hand to his face to wipe away a tear.
‘Your dad about?’
He shakes his head.
‘Brothers or sisters?’
‘Yeah, two sisters.’
‘Okay, the rules are that you don’t touch anyone, but, as long as you don’t take the piss, I don’t mind a bit of hugging and kissing, but not with me.’
He laughs and a little jet of liquid comes out of his nose. I feel some of it land on my wrist. You need to talk to these angry young men as if they are human because they aren’t used to it.
‘Glenn. Don’t worry about crying. There are no cowards at funerals, only sons saying goodbye to their mums.’
By the time we pull up, Glenn is weeping. I almost have to pull him from the taxi. When we’re out of the car, I fold my coat over the handcuffs, so you can only see the edges.
‘Twenty minutes,’ Flynn tells the driver.
Everyone’s already in the church. The coffin is at the front. The place is rammed. If it’s going to kick off, now will be the time. Especially with the state of his face. A short, elderly lady limps towards us with a sour expression. She stares at me, then grins.
‘Oh, thank you for bringing him. Ah dinnae think he was coming,’ she says with a heavy Glaswegian accent. ‘We really appreciate it.’ She roughly grabs a big chunk of Glenn’s cheek.
‘Come here and give ya Aunt Mary a cuddle, ya wee bastard.’
She smothers him into a big hug, which presses my hand against her ample bosom. Her moist eyes look up at me.
‘We’ve got space for two at the front,’ she says.
‘I’ll wait at the back,’ says Flynn, who stifles a smile.
Flynn has worked in the jail for years and is solid. She’s an athletic type with many admirers, but another one of those who keeps prison life separate from home. Any hopes of a date are dealt with abruptly. She understands that even if I had Fats here, nothing could withstand a crowd this size. But it’s just another task in the day of a prison officer.
I usher Glenn to the front with my head down. The crowd wants subservience and respect. In return, they will act accordingly. Glenn’s sisters are scary, bigger versions of him. One of them surveys Glenn with grim fury, while the younger one winks at him.
The service is over quickly. Reading between the lines, the vicar does a good job with someone who has died too early after living a volatile life. Outside, approximately twenty people suffocate Glenn in hugs and kisses.
‘Come for a drink at the wake,’ says Aunt Mary to me.
‘Tempting, but me and Glenn won’t be drinking today. Thanks for keeping things sweet,’ I reply with a nod.
We get back in the car and return to the prison. When we arrive outside, we sit and sweat for nearly an hour due to an ‘incident’ inside. It’s fine, though. Glenn’s almost catatonic, and Flynn and I are on overtime. Finally, the taxi enters through the vehicle gate. Again, I practically have to carry Glenn from the car. The same Senior Officer opens the reception door for us. Two new arrivals are being processed.
I stand in front of Glenn, so they can’t see his face.
‘You all right, Glenn? Talk to me.’
‘I’m okay. I just can’t believe I’m not going—’
His face crumples.
‘Try to focus on the good times. Now, wipe your eyes and take some deep breaths.’
He does as I suggest.
‘Stand up straight and hold it together until you get back to your cell. Crying is fine at the church, but not so cool inside here. Tell me, did anyone give you anything to bring into the prison?’
‘No, guv. Swear down.’
‘Okay, step to the reception desk.’
Odom watches Glenn walk towards him, then stares over Glenn’s shoulder at me. I give him the nod. Flynn and I have a quick coffee in the kitchen area, then call it a day. We stroll past Glenn as he’s being searched by Odom.
‘What’s this?’ asks the SO, holding a small cellophane package up.
‘How would I know? My hands were cuffed,’ says Glenn.
‘Come on, you must have felt it go in your pocket?’
‘Have you just planted it on me?’
Flynn and I chuckle as we wave goodbye to Odom.
‘Take it easy, Glenn,’ I say. ‘And well done for being decent today. Can’t have been easy.’
Glenn turns to look at me. He’s not sure what to say to that. He clenches his fist and bangs his chest twice.
‘Whose are the drugs?’ asks Odom without hope.
I’m still smiling as I unlock my bike. My guess would be that it was the younger sister who slipped him that wrap. Maybe it was Aunt Mary, wanting the wee bastard to raise a spliff to his old ma tonight. It’s another nasty consequence of being sentenced to prison, which no one ever considers when they get sent down. Days like these can’t be retrieved further along the line. Glenn has plenty of free time to think about that. Perhaps this will be his rock bottom and he’ll decide to change.
I realise that I referred to him by his first name, whereas I’d have called him Mr Bell before. Is working on the female side making me soft? Oh, no. I also remember that I forgot to ring Abi to say I was staying on.
38
I slept well on the sofa last night. I cycled home expecting a big row, but Abi and the kids were out at Maggie’s again. They’d left me a doughnut from a pack of four. I realised that in a few days, even that won’t happen. I paced through the house, popping my head into the kids’ bedrooms. Nearly all their stuff was packed and ready to go. What remained looked unwanted, me included.
My family were still asleep when I left this morning. It’s Tex and me on today. We only have a roll of sixteen because of a few releases, and Zelda and two of her co-defendants have gone to HMP Bronzefield for their trial at the Old Bailey next week. They’ll stay there until it’s finished. I assume they’ll be back if they are found guilty. It must be serious f
or their trial to be at the Old Bailey. I should look up what Zelda’s in for, but I’ve been saying that for loads of the inmates. My motivation for checking on the male side was one of safety. I don’t really care what they are in for over here.
Tex started the day’s cell searches but hasn’t come out of Rose-Marie’s cell. It’s been an hour now, so I pop my head around the door, where I see them both crying. I tell Tex that I’ll finish off the AFCs, which is the official name for the searches; Accommodation and Fabric Checks. Under the last bed, I find a bag of mouldy fruit. It’s hard to say if it’s definitely being used to brew hooch because it smells so minging and isn’t sealed properly, but it’s a pretty safe bet it is. I have to say the men are better at it.
It’s in the Romanian girls’ cell. They look petrified when I hold up the bag.
‘Whose is the hooch? Is this yours?’ I ask the tall girl, Ana-Maria.
‘Sorry, no English.’
‘You?’ I say to the smaller one, Mihaela.
‘No English.’
Neither make eye contact. It’s funny, because I heard Mihaela arguing about not getting a banana yesterday at lunch, and her English flowed nicely. I’d be amazed if the hooch was theirs. They haven’t been here long enough to accumulate that much fruit or sugar. I pick it up, carry it out of the cell, and throw it in the bin. I catch Laimutė Laurinavicius frowning from the top landing as she watches me do it. There’s the culprit, but it would take all day to put her on report with a name like that.
Some of the cons dismissively refer to her as The Russian even though she’s Lithuanian, I think, and doesn’t speak great English. I’ve not had any kind of conversation with her yet, not even in sign language. She’s nearly as tall as me, but so thin. Her face has extensive acne scars, which detract a little from her prettiness, but she hasn’t caused any obvious trouble. It’s hard to guess who’s running this landing, if anyone. Maybe it’s her. The clever ones with their heads down are often pulling the strings.
I write the find in the obs book in the office and fill in a security report about the hooch. The phone rings. It’s Myerscough from the gardens.
‘Hey, Dalton, just ringing to say that Billie Harding was the successful candidate. She’ll work every morning, and the current girl can continue in the afternoons until she leaves. She can start tomorrow.’
Prisoner Page 13
