Prisoner

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Cool, thanks. She’ll be made up.’

  ‘No problem, Dalton. You going to buy some eggs?’

  ‘I will do, mate, but I cycled in today. Do you deliver?’

  I laugh as he disconnects the line. Billie is brushing the floor near the office. I call her in.

  ‘I just had a call.’

  ‘Not the police?’

  ‘No, from the chickens. They wanted to say they can’t wait to work with you in the mornings from now on.’

  ‘No, fucking, way. I got it,’ she whispers. ‘I really got it!’

  Before I can move, she steps forward and pulls me into a body-length hug. She gives me a huge wet kiss on the cheek. I give her a little squeeze in reply, but grab her shoulders and move her back.

  ‘Well done. Go and tell your mates.’

  It’s a warm day, but I feel much hotter all of a sudden. Billie runs up and down the wing shouting, ‘I got the fucking job.’ Tex finally leaves Rose-Marie’s cell.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask her.

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She gestures to Billie. ‘It’s nice when they taste a bit of success. That’s probably one of the first things she’s achieved. Hopefully, she’ll learn the value of trying hard for something instead of just taking it.’

  Billie is positively bouncing at lunchtime. She keeps attempting to dance with people, so I keep out of her way. It’s five minutes to lock up, when I hear loud music from Rose-Marie’s cell. Billie comes steaming out of Rose-Marie’s cell door, which she leaves open, and the song fills the landing. It’s Len Boone’s Love Won’t Be Denied. It’s a local classic. There’s a kind of line dance called the Peterborough Shuffle that they always do in nightclubs around here. I’ve even seen the routine on YouTube.

  ‘Come on, Miss,’ says Billie, and starts doing the moves in front of her. Rose-Marie stands next to her and joins in.

  ‘Dare ya,’ I say to Tex.

  Soon, the entire wing is in line, Tex included. Even the Romanians are trying to copy the others. They all move up and down the landing, laughing and singing the chorus. Billie winks at me as she passes. Jessica and Red bump into each other and giggle like schoolchildren. I spot the SO, Nasima, at the gate. I wander over, dodging the prisoners’ arms trying to drag me in. I’m laughing when I get to the gate, thinking that the only group thing the male prisoners enjoy with such enthusiasm is rioting.

  ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘All ready for bang up, Dalton?’

  ‘There’s one or two out of their cells, but we should be on time.’

  Her face has half a smile, but her eyes are cool.

  ‘Take it easy there, Dalton. Don’t get too close to them.’

  I nod, but I can still feel Billie in my arms.

  39

  My bike has a puncture when I leave at lunchtime. I got offered overtime again in Male Separation and Care. I’d heard someone is shitting up in there, which means they are smearing their own excrement over their walls, window, and door. Triple time wouldn’t tempt me to work in there on a baking hot day like today. I don’t mind the walk home. It will only take just over an hour. I need some peace to think anyway.

  Abi and the kids fly out tomorrow. I don’t know what to say to them, or her. Asking her not to go seems pathetic, because it’s only a holiday at the moment. What would I do if I had the opportunity of a break? She clearly needs one. Perhaps if she returns refreshed, we can get through this tough phase. Life was so much simpler before children, but would I trade in what I have? I could tell her not to come back. Draw a line under the whole thing. I allow myself a little grin, knowing my priorities changed the moment I had children. Even forgetting that, from what I’ve seen of life, if you start another family, the same problems rear their heads again further down the road.

  I blow out a big breath as I walk along the rowing lake. The sun’s beating down, but there’s a breeze here. I think of the girls dancing and laughing on the wing. That’s the craziness of prison right there, but it’s just a distraction.

  When I did roll count afterwards, many were withdrawn. Feeling alive in jail is a double-edged sword. It makes you remember those on the outside and what you’re missing. Time slows, and the nights draw out, especially if it’s children that you’ve left behind.

  When I get home, I’m dripping with sweat. My mood deteriorates while fixing the puncture in the front tyre. Tilly rushes over and wraps her arms around me as soon as I open the lounge door. Sobs wrack her little body. Abi rises from the sofa with a determined look on her face. I pick up Tilly and press my nose against her neck. She has her very own smell. I inhale deeply, not knowing when I’ll next be able to. After thirty seconds, I crouch and put her down.

  ‘Daddy, come with us. I hate your job.’

  I glance up at Abi. So that’s how she’s told Tilly. I’m not sure if that’s clever or devious. I suppose telling her the truth wouldn’t be very helpful unless she’s made up her mind to stay out there.

  ‘Next time, sweetie,’ I reply to Tilly. ‘Did you tell Ivan?’ I ask Abi.

  ‘No, I thought it best to wait until we were there.’

  All of a sudden, I understand that this could be it. They leave tomorrow. I drop onto the sofa and put my face in my hands.

  ‘Go to your room for a few minutes, Tilly,’ says Abi.

  After she’s gone, I brace myself for bad news.

  ‘Jim, I don’t think we’re coming back. Maybe we’ll stay there for a few months, but perhaps more. I can’t get my head straight here. What will you do if we don’t return?’

  Finally, the anger arrives.

  ‘Are you fucking mental? That’s called quitting. Poor Abi. Is it all too hard for you? Going to ask Mummy and Daddy to look after your children for you because you’re not up to it. You’re a failure. A disgrace. You’re taking my kids away from me because you’ve given up. If there was any way I could raise them myself, I’d tell you to get on the plane alone and burn your passport at the other end.’

  I expect a furious reply from her, but her lack of venom hurts more.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jim. I’ve left as much money in the account as I could. Hopefully you’ll be able to afford to stay here at least until August when the lease runs out, then we’ll have somewhere to return to if that’s best for us. If I need any more money, I’ll email and ask. I won’t use the card otherwise, but my dad said he’ll pay for meals out and travel until we have a plan.’

  ‘You mean if that’s best for you. Do you really expect me to sit around for a couple of months and wait for you?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘Don’t be like that?’ I feel the tension in my face as it curls up with fury. ‘We’re done. If you come back, I’m off. You’ve made your choice, and that wasn’t me. Do you think you can leave with my kids and I’ll be all easy-going and let’s see what happens? You’re off your head.’

  I stand up and close my eyes, knowing I’m scatter-gunning insults because I’m hurting.

  ‘Jim, please have one last dinner with us before we go. I bought burgers and some buns. We’ve got chips in the freezer.’

  My head is ready to explode. I do what many other weak men before me have done in such circumstances. I grab my wallet and head for the pub.

  40

  I drink four pints of strong lager at The Dragonfly pub, spending nearly twenty quid. I’m too annoyed to get drunk, and it feels like a waste of money. Instead of having another one, I walk to the Spar and buy a six-pack of Stella. With few options, I head to Fats’s house and ring the doorbell. After a full minute, Lena opens the door.

  ‘Apologies, I’ve been painting the bathroom ceiling.’

  At my confused face, she smiles. ‘Just kidding. I was watching Friends reruns on Netflix, and it took me a while to get in the chair.’

  ‘Ah, sorry. I should know that disabled people joke as much as normal people.’

  She laughs long and hard.

  ‘It’s perhaps more pleasant to say, people with
impairments like to laugh as much as non-disabled people.’

  I pull a Wallace from Wallace & Gromit face.

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘I’m just pulling your able legs, that’s all. Are you after Fats?’

  ‘Yeah, is he in?’

  ‘No, he’s at Braddock’s. I think he’s made a friend there.’

  ‘Ah, no worries. I was bored and looking for company.’

  ‘Well, me too! Enter my domain.’

  She’s backed away and hurtling towards the kitchen before I can respond, so I shut the door behind me and wander in.

  ‘Are those beers cold?’

  ‘Yep, icy. Took them from the back of the cabinet.’

  I sit next to her at the table and pass her one over. She takes it, opens the ring pull, and has an almighty glug. She lets out a long, low burp, which reminds me scarily of Fats. I can see what attracted them to each other.

  ‘Come on, doofus, put the rest in the fridge before they get warm.’

  ‘Does Fats see a lot of Braddock now, then?’

  ‘Yep. They’re on the same shift pattern, so Braddock gives him a lift in most days. Fats never did like that bike, even after your joke.’

  ‘And that doesn’t bother you?’

  ‘Which bit?’

  ‘Him leaving you here while he’s having a good time.’

  ‘Hell, no. He has a life to lead. I’m the only one stuck in this chair. Actually, it’s helped make my mind up. Before all this, I did the accounts at the slaughterhouse. I liked it, the numbers and all that, but Fats and I left together. Since the accident, I’ve had rehabilitation, and I did a course in bookkeeping.’

  ‘And passed?’

  ‘Yes, but that was a year ago. I’ve been dossing around the house, getting fatter, and putting off rejoining the real world. I thought people in chairs were wheelchair-bound and that’s how it feels, but I’ve realised that if Fats can get over his shyness and make friends, then so can I. From now on, I’m a wheelchair user, and I’m applying for jobs.’

  With that, she finishes the can, gives a little whoop and throws it in the corner of the room, missing the bin by a good metre.

  ‘And today, I had an interview!’

  She spins her chair and heads for the fridge. She grabs two cans and plonks one in front of me.

  ‘Come on, slowcoach.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Good, I think they like me. I know the system they use. I was worried they wouldn’t have ramps and stuff, but it was fine. I was scared the taxi driver would drive off because I haven’t got an electric chair.’

  ‘Can’t you get one?’

  ‘Probably not. I was lucky and broke my back near the bottom, so I have pretty decent core strength, and I’m not generally incontinent, although I might be tonight.’

  She giggles and I join in. With make-up on, she looks a lot more feminine. We chat for a bit, but, as always, the conversation comes back to the prison.

  ‘How about you, Dalton? You leaving that shithole yet?’

  ‘No, sometimes I reckon it’s harder for us to leave than the inmates, especially after they put the wages up.’

  ‘I wish Fats would quit.’

  ‘I think he feels the same as me and just tolerates the place. It’s stupid but I feel obliged to stay. There are a few bad officers and others that don’t care, so I know that when Fats and I are on shift the jail is a better, safer place for everyone inside it.’

  ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘That place is eating him up, I know it. But he does it to punish himself. He doesn’t sleep well, and he’s quiet. If you knew him when he was younger, you’d see how much he loves to laugh.’

  ‘I always thought that he was a loner. Why does he want to be punished?’

  ‘Because it’s his fault that I’m in this chair.’

  ‘What?’

  She chuckles again, but it doesn’t sound convincing and the laughter soon tails off.

  ‘It wasn’t, really. It was black ice on those country lanes. We shot off the road and into a ditch. The van that was following did the same thing and hit us hard. That’s what did for my back. Fats says he knows those roads and because of that it was his fault, but if the vehicle behind hadn’t been so close, then it wouldn’t have happened. It’s just one of those things. He believes by helping people in the prison, he’s making up for it somehow. Bless him. To be honest, he never was that bright.’

  ‘God, I didn’t know. I asked him for a beer once, and he said he doesn’t drink, so I thought he was a loner and didn’t push, with having enough of my own problems.’

  ‘And what are they?’

  I smile, not wanting to put a further dampener on things.

  ‘Well, aren’t you quite the nosey one?’

  Her booming laugh is back.

  ‘Get my last beer, straggler. You know Fats talks about you all the time. Thinks you’re the best officer in the place. He misses you now you work on the dark side.’

  ‘He’s always giving me compliments, but he’s twice the man I am.’

  We pause for a moment, then burst into laughter again.

  41

  I open my eyes on the sofa and moisten my tongue to get it off the roof of my mouth. It takes a few seconds to recall last night. Lena had a bottle of nasty wine, which we had to mix with Diet Coke to make it drinkable. I staggered home at eleven. All the lights were out, and I realised I hadn’t taken my keys, but the back door was unlocked.

  Our bedroom door was closed, but the kid’s doors were ajar.

  I spent about ten minutes at each of their bedsides, listening to their breathing and snuffling, then kissed them on their foreheads. Abi was still moving around in our room, so I raised my hand to knock but, in the end, I just went downstairs. I fell asleep in seconds.

  A powerful engine revs and pulls up outside, then a door slams. I leap off the sofa, pull the curtains back, and see the tail lights of a taxi outside our house. It looks top end, and not the normal type of taxi for around here. It can only be for Abi and the kids. I check my watch and see I have five minutes to leave the house to get to work on time. I’m still in yesterday’s clothes and shirt, both of which smell as if I slept on the floor of the pub.

  Abi, Ivan and Tilly step down the stairs. Ivan and Tilly have little backpacks on and look adorable, but Ivan is doleful, and Tilly, tearful. Despite my state, I pull them both into tight hugs. Ivan doesn’t resist.

  ‘Come on, kids. The taxi is waiting,’ says Abi.

  ‘Off you go,’ I say. ‘You’ll be back before you know it. Bring me some rock and send me a postcard.’

  ‘Daddy,’ says Tilly, ‘it’s not that kind of holiday.’

  By the look on Abi’s face, I would have to agree.

  Abi opens the door and the kids leave without a backward glance.

  ‘Let me help you with that big thing,’ I say, gesturing to the case.

  ‘No, I’ve got it.’

  She bumps it through the doorway, then turns to lock it. Abi holds my gaze for a few seconds, then closes the door.

  I listen to the car doors closing and my ears strain at the silence after they’ve left. I allow myself a few seconds of hope that they might reach the end of the road and turn back. The house feels immediately too big for me. Tears bulge in my eyes but I wipe them away before they fall. I’m in no fit state to think about the ramifications if they don’t return. Luckily, I have work to distract me and I have minutes to spare.

  I run upstairs and take a high-speed cold shower. There’s no one to moan to now, but at least it wakes me up. Abi has hung four work shirts and my spare pairs of trousers on hangers in the bedroom, all freshly washed and ironed. A sickness creeps into my stomach.

  I drag my clothes on and head outside. It’s warm already at six-thirty, so I leave my coat in the garden. When I push my bike through the gate, I see some arsehole has knocked over two bins during the night. There’s rubbish strewn all over.
A bag with little teeth marks, cat or fox, has been dragged for at least ten metres. A whiff of fried chicken and rotten eggs has my stomach revolving like a cement mixer.

  How can I blame Abi for wanting to get out of here? She comes from good stock and I’ve dragged her down to my level. Maybe the kids will be better off without me in Spain. No, that’s defeatist talk. I need a plan to get out of this place. I’ve let life happen to me as opposed to striving to do better. Drinking less would be a good place to start.

  I cycle off with my backpack bumping around on my back. I can’t believe I did that. Who the hell gets so drunk the night before his children go away that he sleeps through and doesn’t get to say goodbye properly? They must have come downstairs and had breakfast while I was still snoring. I’m so weighed down with self-loathing that I can barely turn the pedals.

  I’ve been to work with many a killer hangover before and always say never again. The prison is not an environment to feel delicate in. Luckily, all the security doors are opened by Comms as soon as I ask for access, and I arrive at the female hub at eight seconds to seven. Normally you start at eight at the weekend, but I’m relieving the night staff. The guy, whose first or last name is Timothy, gives me a dirty look, as if I’m late, but I return his stare with interest and he looks away.

  I need to ensure every person is in their cell on all five wings, not just my own, before he can go, which means looking in the observation panel of over a hundred of them. Then the roll count is my responsibility. My mouth is still Sahara dry as I check what the numbers should be on each wing. When Timothy says he’s going to the toilet, I have a couple of big sips of his freshly made coffee. Damn, it tastes good. I lurch to the first wing, which is Whisky 1 where the YOs are.

  The feeling of intrusion when doing this has never gone away in five years, although I bet it’s the highlight of Timothy’s night. It’s 7.05 a.m. and most of the cons are asleep. It’s easier when it’s hot because the cells are mini-ovens and the rotisserie chickens are on display. Each cell gets a three-second glance. A second to find them, one to identify them, and lastly, one to confirm they are alive. In the winter, it’s dark, and they’re wrapped in most of their clothes and covered by a thin duvet. Then you have to turn the light on if you can’t see them move. This is the time of day when you find bodies. It’s a well-known fact the darkest hours are just before dawn.