Prisoner

by Ross Greenwood

  Red drops to the floor and begins a terrible wailing. I lock the door. Laurinavicius has vanished by the time I get back to the servery. I look up and see her cell door quietly close and decide I can’t be bothered with the paperwork.

  At 8 a.m., Billie arrives at the office while I’m eating my Twix and filling in the ACCT books. We have nearly half the wing under regular observation, and all of their anxieties have been exacerbated by the news of Rose-Marie’s troubles. Billie, however, waltzes in as though she hasn’t a care in the world. Her hair is even blonder and her tan is a deep rich mahogany. She’s starting to look as if she doesn’t belong here until she picks up my last chocolate finger, puts it in her mouth and mimes giving it a blowjob.

  I gasp at the cheek of it but find it hard to stop staring. Only the phone ringing distracts my attention. It’s Breakman from the hub. I expect bad news, but she just needs a favour from Tex or me. Unusually, she asks me to come to see her as opposed to telling me straight away. I chuck Billie out of the office, telling her to keep the Twix. I get the third stare that I can’t decipher in as many hours from Liz when I arrive at her side. There’s no calling this SO ma’am—even the prisoners call her Liz.

  ‘What’s up, Liz?’

  ‘I need an hour of your or Tex’s time for constant obs.’

  I feel the colour run from my face. If a prisoner is put on constant observation, it means they are immediately likely to self-harm or try to kill themselves. It’s usually because they have lost their minds or because they’ve done something so terrible that the pain of living is too much for them.

  I’ve only done it once before. The elderly man in question had strangled his wife to death. Every time he was unrestrained, he smashed his head against the wall. I went home covered in blood. They had to sedate him in the end. Breakman’s asking for an hour, but if the inmate is awake, it will feel like a year.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Phillipa Kennedy.’

  ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘Killed her child.’

  50

  Breakman gives me a tired shrug.

  ‘I wouldn’t fancy it either,’ she says. ‘But the rest of the shift today are young. I don’t want them to go through it, and, before you ask, I’m doing an hour myself this afternoon.’

  People naturally believe that if someone starts acting crazy, they get taken straight to a hospital to be looked after and treated. If only life worked like that. Many of us live such isolated existences, struggling by on our own, that there’s no one to notice when the wheels come off the rails. Sometimes we’re a long way from the track before anyone else realises. The first to know are often the police, and that’s usually because a crime has been committed.

  Unless the offender is completely insane, they have to go through the rigours of the justice system. That’s overnight in the police cells, before being presented at magistrates’ court, who, in this case, would send them straight to prison. Prison officers aren’t trained to deal with this kind of thing. You just get on with the job whoever arrives and deal with any conflict. If you stay in the role long enough, you learn to process what you’ve seen and heard. Or you try to forget.

  I consider Tex’s history and her current mental state.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I say to Liz.

  After leaving the hub, I shout through the wing gates to Tex, who’s still doing cell checks, that I’m at a meeting for an hour. It’s a strange walk, out of the houseblock into the bright sunshine, and to the relative darkness of Healthcare. I let myself in and stop at the first cell in the single corridor. There are thirteen further rooms on the right-hand side. This one is like a goldfish bowl. Inside, a thin, pasty, sickly inmate in prison greys lies on her bed fiddling with an e-cig. Braddock sits on a plastic seat in front of the large window with an orange ACCT book on his lap and a pen in his hand. He gives me a pained expression. It seems they’ve been pulling mature officers from all over the prison.

  Oscar One, MacStravick, is in the office talking to a female officer when I present myself. The healthcare officers tend to be time-served after they’ve had enough of the wings. That experience stands them in good stead on the rare occasions that something like this occurs. They’ll have done many sessions with the lady already.

  ‘Thanks for doing this, Dalton,’ says MacStravick.

  ‘No problem. Is she violent?’

  MacStravick looks to the other officer, who replies.

  ‘No, she’s quiet and withdrawn. Doesn’t seem to know where she is. The doctor’s been in with her loads. He’s hopeful he can get her into a secure hospital in a few days, but he says she’s relaxed now.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘We haven’t probed too deeply. A delivery driver found her little son naked next to the bins at her house. He rang the police, and she went wild and attacked them when they kicked her door in.’

  ‘And she’s relaxed after that?’

  ‘The doc says she’s had a schism of some sort to cope with what’s happened. Her life outside isn’t real any more. She thinks she’s at a confusing hotel.’

  A young police officer, because that’s what the response drivers usually are, would have discovered that small body and their life will never be the same again. I suspect mine might not be either unless I manage to find some empathy to bring to this experience. After how I feel about what Rose-Marie did, I’m not ready to stare at someone for an hour, judging them.

  ‘Can I sit in there with her?’ I ask.

  MacStravick considers it for a moment and then smiles.

  ‘Sure, good idea. Keep the door open though.’

  I leave the office and walk to Braddock, whom I pat on the shoulder. He hands me the book, then moves faster than I’ve seen him do for years as he gets out of Healthcare. I pick up the chair and move it into the cell, where I place it against the window. The woman fails to register my presence, so I sit down and fill in the book to say I’ve taken over.

  ‘Hi, I’m here to keep you company.’

  She doesn’t say anything or look at me for the first fifteen minutes. The only sounds are her sucking on the e-cig, which doesn’t appear to be charged, and the scrawl from my writing. It already feels as though I’ve been in here for a couple of hours.

  ‘Do you get on with these e-cigs?’ she asks, causing me to jump.

  ‘No, not really. The real thing is better, but much worse for you. Like many things in life.’

  She considers that for a moment, scrapes her hair back behind her ear, Billie-style, and carries on puffing. I lose all track of time. She’s well spoken and despite looking fifty, sounds closer to thirty. The room smells strongly of urine. Another ten minutes pass in a glacial manner.

  ‘You’re right,’ she abruptly says. ‘Bad things sometimes feel good.’

  A tendril of fear tightens around my heart. I don’t want to have any kind of conversation about what she’s done.

  ‘My first name is Jim, but people call me Dalton here. You’re Phillipa, aren’t you?’

  She nods.

  ‘That’s a nice name.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do you enjoy this warm weather?’

  A small up-tick at the side of her mouth. ‘No, too hot.’

  And that’s how it goes. Trite questions from football to ice hockey, and cooking to gardening. As she talks, I can see her teeth are dirty and her fingernails are bitten to the quick. I steal a peek at my watch after what feels like many months have passed and see I only have a few minutes left. I hear the sound of approaching boots.

  ‘Why am I here?’ she suddenly asks.

  I struggle for a few moments.

  ‘So we can look after you.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Some people need looking after.’

  ‘I think I’d like to go.’

  ‘You’ll be able to leave soon, when we have everything in place for you.’

  For the first time, her head turns to me and our eyes connect. S
omeone taps on the door.

  ‘I’ll take over now, Dalton,’ says MacStravick.

  I keep my focus on Phillipa.

  ‘I’ve got to go now, Phillipa. Mr MacStravick here is going to make sure everything’s all right.’

  When I stand, she jerks herself upright, but doesn’t say anything until I get to the door. I pass the pen and book over to MacStravick.

  ‘Dalton,’ she whispers. ‘Thank you.’

  I nod and leave at the speed Braddock did. Outside Healthcare, as if to expel something rotten from my core, I release the longest, slowest, deepest exhale that has ever left my lungs.

  51

  When I return to the houseblocks, Myerscough is locking Billie behind the wing gates. He looks sicker than Phillipa in Healthcare, while Billie appears angry. I begin to suspect that there might be something weighing on Myerscough like a bad diagnosis.

  ‘You all right, mate? Just doing quarter days now?’

  Dark eyes stare back at me.

  ‘They put a call out over the radio for me to report immediately to Healthcare. That can’t be good news.’

  He’s correct to be fearful, while naïve Billie is annoyed at having her morning outside cut short. I’m tempted to let him go there unsuspecting. I want to forget the experience myself rather than implanting it in my brain by talking about it, but I can’t do that to him.

  ‘It’s a nasty one. Keep chatting to her and tell her we’re doing the best we can for her. I wouldn’t get involved in any specifics.’

  He frowns. I nod and walk towards the hub. Breakman beckons me in.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s more terrible news, Dalton.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Now what?’

  ‘Rose-Marie’s died in hospital. I just found out.’

  I immediately look to the wing, where I spot Tex taking delivery of some tea packs from Tara and Kitty. They’re all laughing.

  ‘Shit,’ is all I can come up with.

  ‘Yes, I know. Can you do lunch and lock up on your wing by yourself? I’ll come on and help for roll count. I’m aware how involved Tex was, so I’m going to send her home.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay, ask her to get her things and come to the hub straight away.’

  I leave the hub and let Tex know. She’s not stupid and is already crying by the time I open the gate to let her off the wing. Tara watches her leave. She’s not daft either.

  ‘I take it Rose-Marie didn’t make it,’ she says.

  ‘Keep it to yourself. You know what will happen when people find out.’

  ‘Your secret’s safe with me, Dalton. In fact, all your secrets are safe with me.’

  I squint at her expressionless face.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You seem very pally with Damage. Is she getting to you? I warned you about her.’

  ‘Don’t you have any work to do?’

  ‘I’m warning you again, that’s all. The reception orderly has just returned and told me that the witch is back.’

  ‘Who is the witch?’

  ‘Zelda. She’s been given an eight-stretch with a deportation order. Women only receive time like that for violence or something very serious, so be careful of her, too.’

  Lunch goes smoothly, but Red doesn’t collect her food. When I open her door, she’s still kneeling on the floor in the same spot I left her in at breakfast.

  ‘Red, come on, get up.’

  I help her up and she turns to me. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face seems to have collapsed. Slowly, she reaches out and puts her arms around me and pulls me into the tightest hug I’ve experienced, as though she’s trying to climb inside me for safety. I return it in kind. There’s no sexual intent, and I need it as much as she does.

  ‘What’s wrong, Red?’

  ‘I just miss my three little boys.’

  Red is nineteen.

  Breakman comes on the wing for bang up. I’m barely functioning after everything that’s happened today. Breakman doesn’t appear much better. Red is at least lying on her bunk when we reach her. She stares impassively at me.

  ‘Red,’ I say. ‘I’ll get lunch cover to look in on you over the next hour, okay?’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Laurinavicius frowns defiantly at me from her bed when I crack her door for the head count, but it’s obvious she’s been crying as well. When we return to the hub, Peabody is on lunch cover. I give him the full update.

  ‘Christ,’ is all he says.

  While we wait for the roll to clear, Breakman says she’ll see every inmate on an ACCT book individually after lunch and let them know about Rose-Marie. I’m glad I’ll be out of here in a few minutes. I feel like sprinting to the gatehouse. The emergency in-cell telephone rings. Breakman picks it up just as ‘the roll is clear, both sides’ comes over the radio. I stand and start shuffling out with everyone else seemingly desperate to escape.

  ‘Dalton.’

  I stop, sigh, and turn.

  ‘It’s W1-17, she’s left her ID card in your office after being in the gardens. Be a sweet and drop it off.’

  Shaking my head, I head back to the wing. I can’t see her ID card on the table or hanging up with the keys, so I return to Billie’s cell. I open the door to see her standing in front of me in functional underwear, but it would be impossible for anything to detract from such perfection.

  She grabs my belt buckle and pulls me in with the same hunger that Red did, but there’s no yearning for comfort, only lust. She pushes the door shut behind me. I’m too battered by the day’s events to resist and half-heartedly return her pressure, but in seconds my body responds. She undoes my zip and quickly frees my penis. In another second, it’s in her mouth. I put my hand down to push her head away, but instead I run my hands through her hair. I forget to listen out for the wing gates clanging or the sound of approaching feet, not caring even that there’s a slit in the curtain. Heaven doesn’t hold such concerns. I finish fast and Billie swallows. She rises with an intense smile, then kisses me gently on the lips.

  ‘You can fuck me any way you want, but I don’t have very nice underwear.’

  I look in her eyes to see if she’s joking, but her expression is plain. My brain is stunned by what I’ve just done. As I step out of the cell and push the door shut, I notice Billie’s ID card resting on top of her pillow, where no one could miss it.

  52

  I leave the wing thanking God that Billie’s cellmate, Zelda, is back today. I try not to think about the guilt as I cycle home, but it’s difficult. What the hell am I doing? But even when I feel disgust at being so weak and treacherous, my body responds in a different way. When I reach our street, I knock on Gary’s door to see if he fancies going for a drive, but no one’s in. I get in my car and drive to Serpentine Green shopping centre where there are plenty of shops to distract me, and I can buy cheap alcohol from Tesco.

  I browse in a sportswear shop and check out the footwear, but my trainers are okay for the moment. Tesco supermarket at Hampton is massive, so I stock up on everything that’s been depleted in our house. It takes ages because I don’t know where anything is. I find myself in the clothes section and wander to women’s underwear, feeling as though everyone in the store is taking sneaky glances my way.

  On the end of an aisle is a lacy black bra and knickers set. Apart from having smaller boobs, the model on the label even looks like Billie. I moisten my lips as I reckon Billie would look better in them. Imagine if I took them into the prison for her, and it was a random staff search day. It would take some explaining. I’d have to say they were for me. Shaking my head, I retreat out of there and grab a pack of work socks from the men’s section.

  Two and a half hours later, I arrive at home and haul my stuff into the house. I open a can of lager even though it’s warm and guzzle it immediately. And then another. It’s not until I’m nearly sick on the third can that I stop. I drink fast after I recover, knowing I have an eight o’clock start tomorrow, but if I pass out
before 6 p.m., hopefully I won’t be over the limit in the morning. After I’ve chinned the eight-pack, my brain still won’t give me any peace.

  I attempt to watch a film on Channel 4, but I can’t concentrate and stagger to bed. When I close my eyes, a carousel of women rotates through my mind. There’s Abi shouting, Kitty frowning, Tara laughing, Tex crying, Red howling, Billie teasing, and Rose-Marie dying. And their eyes are all looking at me.

  I grab my phone from the bedside table and check for a reply from Abi, but there are no new emails.

  53

  I wake up tangled in my sheets and drenched in sweat. It takes about thirty seconds for me to be able to focus on anything. The alarm buzzes and immediately elevates my headache to biblical. There’s no way I can drive, so I lurch to the shower and keep the water on for thirty seconds after it goes cold.

  Just before I leave, I check my emails. There is one from Abi. I make a cup of strong coffee, take a big breath, and sit down to read it.

  Hi, when you get paid, please transfer £100 to my account because the kids need a few things. A

  I lean forward, eyes wide, and scroll down for the rest, but there’s nothing else. She’s clearly seen my long email because she replied to it. I expect to feel angry, but I just feel sad.

  What are my children doing? Who’s looking after them? Do they miss me? It appears that Abi has moved on very quickly. Was I so easy to leave? She was probably considering this move for years. I have to fight for my children though. How can I best stay in touch with them? Even though I’m angry with Abi, I need to remain polite. She is the link to my kids. If they are in a different country, she is the only person who will be able to allow us to have a relationship.

  I involuntarily snarl at the thought of Abi dating again and bringing another man into Ivan’s and Tilly’s lives. Children adapt fast. I’ll give Abi a few more days to respond, then I’ll ask her to ring me. If she gives me her parents’ address, then I can send them a present or perhaps a letter to Tilly and a funny picture to Ivan. God. I’m sure I appreciated them when they were here and spent lots of quality time with them, but with all the madness floating around in my head, it’s hard to remember.