Prisoner

by Ross Greenwood

  As promised to Myerscough, I’m going to drive into work so I can take some eggs home. I wallow in bed for as long as possible, stretching and enjoying the freedom. When I can’t leave it any longer, I sit up, but find myself distracted by the space that Abi used to fill. There are a few of her hairs on the pillow. Will her head ever lie there again? I can’t even remember the last time we spooned, never mind went further. But if a man has needs, then so must a woman. What could I have done differently? Her needs might have been to feel appreciated or, better still, wanted.

  I pull my uniform on and take the last clean shirt down. I need to put a wash on tonight. Downstairs, the kettle boils and I make a quick cup of coffee and add loads of cold water so it’s drinkable. Even so, I burn my tongue as I really am cutting it fine. I have a fast glance at my emails on my phone and there is one from Abi. The title is ‘Moving.’ I see part of the first line.

  I’m sorry it’s come to this.

  Great. I place my phone back on the worktop, walk outside and get in my car in a daze. It’s a weird, light-headed drive to work. I’m guessing it’s shock, because I don’t feel cross. Perhaps it’s panic. Maybe I’ve been expecting it, but reality has hit home. I’ve been casually thinking of the implications of them staying in Spain, but not fully comprehending that I will rarely see my children now.

  When I arrive at the prison, I park in the far corner, open the door, and vomit dark liquid, which I hope is just coffee, over the tarmac. There’s a bottle of water in the footwell, which is warm and old, but anything to quench the acid in my mouth. I get out of the car and a few drops of rain hit my face. The clouds above are black, rolling and threatening. I hadn’t even noticed. The oppressive threat of thunder is in the air. It’s about time this weather broke. Lennox arrives and screeches to a halt. She gets out of her car and sprints past me, laughing.

  ‘Ah, Dalton. Feels like I haven’t seen you for ages. I suspect you’ll be with us soon anyway.’

  I run after her.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Your brother-in-law was at court yesterday.’

  ‘Did they bring him back?’

  ‘No idea. I was only on an early. Talks a lot of bollocks, that boy, so who knows what happened?’

  There’s a big queue of uniformed men and women at the gatehouse. Braddock is at the rear, shaking his head.

  ‘What’s up?’ I ask him.

  ‘The scanners aren’t working properly. They won’t recognise all the fingerprints.’

  ‘Maybe some of us have been sacked, and this is the new way of finding out.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past them.’

  ‘Hey, did Colt return last night?’

  ‘Yes, and all his minions. Despite his bullshit about changing their pleas, they went guilty. The judge wanted pre-sentencing reports due to their ages. They’ll be sentenced together in two weeks. Then we can get rid of them either way.’

  A weight slides from my shoulders. I can cope with two weeks. After that, I’ll be away from temptation for good. We receive our keys and radios, and I say my farewells as they split off to the male side. When I reach the houseblocks, the reception staff are taking that day’s courts and releases. One of them is Tara.

  She sees me and her face splits into a big grin.

  ‘Dalton!’

  She runs up to me and throws her arms around me, then her legs. I glance to the right where all the staff are staring out of the hub. Most are laughing. Tex is pretending to cuddle herself. The only one who doesn’t look amused is Nasima. I decide I don’t care and hug her back.

  ‘Come on, Tara. I’ll quickly walk you over. I’ve got three minutes.’

  ‘Good. I thought I wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to you, but I left a message with Kitty, just in case.’

  ‘Sounds serious.’

  ‘It could be.’

  There are fifteen prisoners milling around. Most of them will be at court. You can tell the ones who are leaving because they’re smiling and nervous with plenty of make-up on. The others are just nervous. I shout out to the officer who’s escorting them.

  ‘I’ll get this door, you go.’

  He opens the houseblock doors and marches off with the inmates trailing after him in a line like schoolchildren.

  ‘Right,’ says Tara. ‘The rumour is that Zelda’s got a weapon that she brought back with her from the other prison she was in.’

  ‘Right, thanks for that. Why is that so urgent?’

  ‘Duh, dummy! She’s psychotic, and she’s under Billie’s spell. Jealousy makes people evil in here, and she’s already an evil witch, so I assume the next step is murderous.’

  ‘Okay, cool. I’ll get her cell searched, but it’s probably plugged.’

  ‘Yes. You’ll have to go diving for it.’

  We laugh, both knowing that there’s no way that would happen. They don’t even do strip-searches on the women now without crystal-clear intel because the chances of finding anything are remote. The vast majority are compliant and the others have places we can’t search anyway. Most of the females have histories of abuse and being strip-searched at what is already a stressful time can be incredibly traumatic. It doesn’t seem to bother the men, unless they’ve tied a mobile phone to their dicks.

  Tara smiles, but we’re walking so fast, her little legs are close to running. She has a full pink tracksuit on and looks as if she’s going on holiday.

  ‘Look out for Billie, too,’ she says. ‘She always ends up in trouble, but she’s just trying to make her way like everyone else. Being rejected and abused has made her clingy. She wants everyone to need her, then she wants to keep them close to her, even when it’s bad for those involved. She likes you, we all do.’

  ‘What made me so popular?’

  ‘I’ve been considering that. In a way, when your adolescence is stolen, it’s hard to grow up. We all daydreamed when we were younger about being part of a proper family. You’re like a cool father figure. Many of us in here never had a dad about when we were growing up. So, we’re still searching for him.’

  ‘I’m only thirty-five.’

  ‘That’s old enough. Your problem, Dalton, is that you care, even if you don’t want to. But that can be dangerous in here. Treat Billie as you would a Siren.’

  ‘You mean like an alarm?’

  Tara raises her eyebrows and lets her mouth drop open.

  ‘It’s Greek mythology.’

  ‘Still don’t get it.’

  ‘The Sirens sang their beautiful songs and enticed the sailors onto the rocks.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Like them, Billie’s appeal is hard to resist. If you respond to the call, it will end badly.’

  My face falls. Tara gives me a last hug, and a peck on the cheek.

  ‘If it’s too late, then stop it now. She just wants to be happy, but she probably won’t do anything to hurt you. Remember that. And God knows how she got that chicken gig with her record.’

  I merely nod.

  ‘Laters, Dalton. I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I hope I never see you again, except perhaps to get my nails done.’

  Tara smiles, but she’s crying. She turns and runs up the corridor. I lock the door and plod back to the houseblocks, feeling like weeping myself. Despite Tara’s kind words, I’m disappointed with myself. I don’t know the rules over here. I’ve become unprofessional and everything I hated in a prison officer. Change has to start today, and that means talking to Billie.

  When I return to the houseblocks, Nasima beckons me into the hub, which now has only her in it.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Can you explain that?’

  I slump into a seat and rub my eyes. I’m a skydiver hurtling towards the ground, knowing he left the chute on the plane.

  ‘I can try,’ I finally say.

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘We basically got on well. She told me she saw me as a father figure, which makes me ancient. Anyway, I liked her, and she
didn’t seem like a bad person. She’s just a girl who needs kindness.’

  ‘There are professional boundaries.’

  ‘I know, or at least I did over the male side. Honestly, I haven’t cuddled any of the blokes over there. But she was going home. She hugged me. What do I do? Yell “get off” in her face? Drop her? It’s different here. These aren’t wings full of violent villains, they’re full of victims – you told me that. Nearly all of them have been exploited and abused and let down. They’re broken and ruined.’

  I stop when I say that and, before I know it, I’m laughing. Broken and Ruined. It’s Kitty and Tara. It should be our jobs in prison to fix those who are sent here. Give them the tools and assistance so they don’t come back. I understand the staff are trying, but as always it comes down to money. These girls need therapy and training, housing and education. If the government is struggling to house and help citizens and their children who don’t have criminal records, then where does that leave people like Tara? They have no choice but to return to the life and circumstances that sent them here in the first place.

  Nasima gets up from her seat and stares out at the prisoners as they begin queueing for their meds. She sits back down and takes a deep breath.

  ‘Perhaps it’s me who should apologise.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘It’s a tale of two jails. The male and female estates are different places, needing different techniques. You’ve been here more than five years, but nearly always on one side. In a way, you’re institutionalised. I shouldn’t have put you with the young offenders, who are our most troubled souls. They’re children really, and it’s natural to want to parent them.’

  I give her a tired smile. ‘It’s crazy what a lot of them have had to cope with.’

  ‘Look, Dalton. If you fancy a move to the female lifers’ wing, you can go because we need to get Officer Healy off there.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘One of the recently convicted women says Healy is the spitting image of her deceased husband. She has a picture of her husband in her cell, and it’s true. I thought it was Healy for a spooky moment.’

  ‘Ah, I see. So, she gets upset when she sees Healy on the wing.’

  ‘No, she gets angry. It was her who killed him.’

  I can’t help laughing again. I’m definitely losing it.

  ‘Sounds great, I’ll take it.’

  ‘Okay, good. I’ll ring Details and swap you both after today. I’d better let you get back to work.’

  ‘Cheers, ma’am. Appreciate the words.’

  ‘Any time. I’m sorry, but you’ll need to clear Rose-Marie’s cell.’

  She turns her chair around and moves her mouse to awaken her screen. I sit still for a moment with my head spinning, then walk onto the wing. The first person I see is Billie.

  ‘Morning, sir.’ She beams at me.

  God, I’m going to miss her.

  57

  Tex is still visibly upset as she supervises breakfast. It’s annoying that no one’s cleared Rose-Marie’s cell yet, and now it needs to be done today. There will be an inquiry into the end of her life because she’ll be treated as a death in custody. Her possessions may form part of that investigation and they’ll need to be handed over to a relative at some point, assuming anyone’s interested. All this will drag the pain out for Tex.

  Would it be better if someone who didn’t know Rose-Marie well emptied her cell? Maybe that’s the last kindness we can give her: to remove her things with respect.

  I don’t want to do the cell clearance, but I tell Tex to run the wing and I grab a thick plastic prison bag and get to it. The first thing I notice is how clean the cell is. With the men, you’re usually tidying them after prisoners have been dragged to the block, and they’re nearly always minging, the untidy state often matching their minds. But for people like Rose-Marie, who have lives that are beyond their control, sometimes keeping their cells neat is a way of trying to reclaim at least a small piece of it.

  There are a few photos of babies on the wall that I hadn’t noticed before. Were they the kids she had to give up? You can tell the inmates who have support because their friends and relatives send in loads of pictures and cards, to let them know they aren’t forgotten. The prisoner will cover the surfaces in them like wallpaper. Receiving a letter with home news might be upsetting, but the benefit of knowing that people still care outweighs the negative. The thought of meeting them again when you leave is what keeps many sane.

  It's a gloomy day and I need to put the lights on. I try to be methodical, but it’s hard not to think of Rose-Marie line dancing only a few days ago. She was still so young. Tears well up when I find a box that she’s made out of matchsticks. It must have taken her ages, but time is a universal luxury here. In it are her special items. There’s a lock of hair, a small plastic doll, some letters and a crucifix. I quickly put the box in the bag along with all her toiletries and food. I don’t read the letters.

  There’s a knock at the door and I open up to find Billie outside.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you emptying her cell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s got my shampoo.’

  ‘Really? What brand is it?’

  ‘It’s a white and blue bottle.’

  ‘Surely, if it’s yours, you would know the make.’

  Billie’s vexed for a moment, then triumphantly says, ‘Pantene.’

  I look in the bag, which contains a bottle of Pantene, and pull it out.

  ‘Okay, Billie. How much was in it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How much shampoo was in the bottle when you lent it to Rose-Marie?’

  ‘I don’t know, half?’

  ‘Ooh, close! This is virtually full. Poor show, lying to get your hands on a dead person’s property.’

  ‘It was worth a go. She won’t be needing it where she’s gone.’

  ‘Her family gets everything. Anything else? Shall I ring the mortuary and ask them to check her mouth for gold fillings?’

  ‘Very funny.’ She looks left and right on the wing before continuing. ‘Hey, if I can get a bail hostel, I’ll be able to leave on tag in a few months. We can hook up without worrying about what anyone says.’

  My stomach lurches. I’d just been thinking that nearly everyone leaves. I hadn’t considered the fact Billie might want to see me when she gets out. What the hell have I done?

  ‘Billie, you know I’m married.’

  ‘You were married yesterday, and that didn’t stop you, now, did it?’

  I shake my head as she saunters away. I feel sick but decide the best option is not to dwell on things. I put the shampoo bottle, which is actually only a quarter-full, back in the bag. Next, I count Rose-Marie’s bras and knickers and place them inside. She was another inmate who could have done with some new ones.

  I’m not sure if Billie meant to imply with her comments that Rose-Marie was going to hell or if that’s in my own thoughts. A small part of me wants to think of Rose-Marie as a baby killer but I don’t think that’s fair. Although, it is difficult not to imagine the foetus as a small newborn. But it’s also clear that society, or at least her position and decisions within it, had backed her into a corner where the only choices were too awful to comprehend. That’s what I always say: prison makes little sense. You just have to do your best, bite down on the heartbreak, and try to survive.

  I stop and relock her door to give Tex a hand with mass movement, which is when the entire houseblock heads off to work wing by wing, but we’ve only got a roll count of fourteen now. The two Romanians agreed to their deportation to Romania, where they’ll be allowed to be free. They’ll probably be back in the UK within the month and returned here not long after.

  ‘Commence movement,’ comes over the radio. The girls gather at the gate and filter through. Some laugh, others are anxious and looking for threats that I can’t detect. Billie is the last to leave her cell and has made an effort with her appearance. T
he other workers are drab in comparison and look as though they’re going to work in an industrial laundry, even though that work’s actually done on the male side. Billie could be heading to the make-up counter at Boots. Even her gardening trousers are ironed.

  After the last worker has gone, I skip the morning meeting and head back to finish the cell clearance. It takes until eleven to clear out and mark down all of Rose-Marie’s things, which is the time I said I’d see Myerscough. I leave the door wide open and ask one of the wing workers to mop the floor. Someone else will live there soon, thankfully unaware of their new home’s history.

  ‘Tex, I’m off to buy some eggs and pick up Billie. You want any?’

  ‘Yeah, definitely. Get me two boxes. For some reason, I thought they’d taste weird, but they were so golden, and I got a double-yolker. He only feeds them organic stuff, so they should be miles more expensive.’

  Smiling, I leave the houseblock and take the side exits to the gardens, which are at the back of the prison and are the most open part of it. A huge crack of thunder booms overhead. There are threatening black clouds sprawling across the sky, seemingly not far above my head. Getting struck by lightning would just sum up my day, especially if it hit me in the groin. My nostrils flare at the smell of violence in this place again, but this is nature’s anger.

  The garden detail rush by me with their heads down as giant drops of rain fall out of the sky. The supervising officer races past without looking up. I reach the big chicken coop. Even their tiny brains recognise trouble. They’re scampering back inside as I open the door and find Billie. She’s brushing the floor.

  ‘Where’s Myerscough?’

  ‘In his office.’

  ‘Are you finished?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s going to hammer down in a minute. Everyone else has gone in.’

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I jog through the garden area. The office is on the side of the main prison and is more like a cupboard with a chair and a desk in it. A small room next to it has a fridge and a cabinet. Myerscough is just replacing the phone on its cradle. He leans forward and slowly closes his eyes.