Prisoner

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘You all right?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to be.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘That was Oscar One. He wants to see me straight away.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘It’ll just be a shit job.’

  ‘No, he said to meet him in the HR manager’s office.’

  He rises from his seat, breathing fast, eyes flashing from side to side. I’m not sure I want to know, but can’t help myself.

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘It’s the kid, Billie. She was so keen and enthusiastic that I wanted her out here as much as she wanted to be. I just gave her the position without getting clearance, thinking I’d get it sorted in a few days. She said she was only in for theft, so I didn’t worry about getting it. Then I liked her company here and thought nobody would notice anyway, but yesterday I had a look at her record.’

  He shakes his head and pulls his coat on.

  ‘It’s my stupidity that Oscar One will want to talk to me about. I’d better face the music. Help yourself to eggs. There are loads in the fridge. It’s a pound for a dozen now to get rid of them. Is Billie finished with her jobs?’

  ‘She said ten minutes.’

  ‘Okay, make sure you lock up here and she leaves her wellies. Wish me luck.’

  I wave him off at the door, where I see Billie’s pink trainers haphazardly dropped. If Myerscough has broken security protocol, then he’ll need more than luck. I think of the sailors being lured to their doom by the Siren’s song. I pull four boxes of six eggs out of the fridge, put them on the side and leave two pounds on the table in payment, even though I doubt Myerscough will be back to collect it.

  The heavy raindrops are increasing in number, so I run across to Billy. A sudden gust of wind almost yanks the barn door out of my hand. I hang onto it and laugh at the vision inside. It’s like a scene from The Wizard of Oz with chickens, straw and feathers flying about the place. The only thing that’s missing is Zelda on her bicycle. A long roll of thunder echoes, seemingly just above the roof and I feel a sudden chill.

  ‘Come on, Billie, quick.’

  I take her hand and pull her out of the swirling dust and debris, locking the bolt on the door. It’s so dark that it could be night time; even the prison floodlights are flickering on. The rain hammers down with an angry force, pounding my head, and drowning out other sounds. We run to the office. Billie laughs next to me as I frantically try to fit my wet keys into the office door lock. A massive flash of sheet lightning rips the sky apart and lights up the steel and concrete walls around us, followed by a mighty boom of thunder. Billie has her arms out, head tipped back, eyes closed.

  ‘I’m still here!’ she screams.

  I finally get the door open and the gate behind it. Billie staggers in after me, resembling the world’s prettiest clown as make-up pours down her cheeks. I’m soaked to the skin. We stare into each other’s eyes, grinning, then crush our faces together. Micro-thoughts of my life before meeting her zip through my mind like the light show in the sky above, but they too are gone in seconds.

  I force myself to step back, panting hoarsely.

  ‘This has to be the last time,’ I whisper.

  She kicks off her wellies, pulls down her trousers and yanks off her wet shirt. No underwear today. She moves to the table and sits on the edge of it, legs spread, pulling me in. Not for a kiss, but to stare at me while she unbuttons my trousers. Intense, serious, dark-blue eyes, running with mascara, give her the appearance of an evil demon, but she’s so beautiful, so perfect.

  I stare up and down her body and take my time. If the prison director himself opened the door, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

  58

  When we’ve finished, I’ve no idea if we’ve taken thirty seconds or ten minutes. Billie wobbles as she pushes herself up from the desk. She staggers over to the piles of clothes and pulls her cold wet shirt back on. Myerscough’s pound coins are stuck to her bottom. They drop off as she bends over to pull on her trousers. She laughs.

  ‘Are there any more up there?’ I ask.

  ‘I hope so.’

  I can’t help giggling too, as I zip myself back up and finally get my breathing under control. Billie scrapes her wet hair back and exhales. She looks like who she is: a young woman who ran with her lover through the pouring rain before making frantic, urgent love. I feel the same emotions on my face. We step outside and I lock the doors. I turn my head into the curtains of rain that are sweeping across the prison landscape, praying they will wash away the truth.

  We walk back in silence, in the same way you stroll along the beach with the person of your dreams, both safe in the knowledge that this is what life is all about. I have to stop myself taking her hand.

  The food trolleys are coming over as we reach the houseblocks. The torrential downpour soon has the orderlies soaked as well and we sneak in behind them. Kitty is with them and glances from me to Billie. She looks away, but she is smiling. The person who isn’t smiling is Zelda. She waits at the wing gates. Billie takes our trolley and pushes it noisily to the servery, but Zelda’s eyes are on me.

  Lunch is a blur, as is roll count. I grab the security seals from the office and fill in the paperwork for Rose-Marie’s property. I tie the seal on and carry the big plastic bag to the hub. Tex can’t look at it. Nasima stares at it with pity. It’s not much to leave behind.

  ‘Take Rose-Marie’s belongings to Security, please, Dalton. You can go straight home afterwards.’

  I squeeze Tex’s shoulder and get out of there before I can think about what I’ve done. The rain has dropped to a consistent rhythmic pattering as though it could continue forever, but I can’t feel it now. The strong wind blows me across the sterile area to the admin block as if with a purpose, and I trudge up the steps.

  I stare at the guy in the security office. He’s glancing back at the big television behind him that flickers through the view from the security cameras around the perimeter. I lick my lips and place the bag on the empty table next to him. He glances at me for a second, then tells me to put the bag in the corner. I leave with haste. There’s only one other person in the queue at the gatehouse. It’s Myerscough, who also looks as if he’s had an emotionally exhausting day.

  I wait until we’re both outside and trudging towards the car park. The eggs I bought are still on his desk, long forgotten.

  ‘What did they say?’ I ask.

  ‘Suspended, but it’s over.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘She’s got violence on her record. There was an incident when she was eighteen with a knife. There are all manner of tools in the gardens. Anything could have happened. They’ve more or less said if I leave quietly today, they’ll pay me until the end of the month, and just put the error down to getting a bit old and forgetful.’

  ‘It seems a harsh way to go after all the years you’ve given this place. One mistake and that’s it.’

  A strange expression comes over his face, which he quickly stifles.

  ‘It could have been worse,’ he says. ‘Even though this place has taken everything.’ He scowls at me. ‘Security had one of those forms sent to them that allows the prisoners to grass on each other. It was signed with a single letter – Z. It’s jealousy, plain and simple, but I can’t have all the prisoners working out there.’

  Outside, he forces himself to walk fast to his car and I watch him go. Just before he gets inside his vehicle, he glances back at the prison for one final look. I follow his eyes. With the sinister, swirling clouds of black and grey behind the high buildings, the prison makes me think of a Victorian mental asylum rather than a place for rehabilitation. But maybe that’s the truth of it.

  59

  I drive home drained and tired, but not feeling particularly guilty, which surprises me. It doesn’t get much more stupid than shagging a prisoner. Maybe there’s a hint of relief that it won’t be happening again. I analyse that fo
r a few moments and then the shame arrives. It’s not just Abi I’m letting down, but the kids too. It’s a massive risk to take as well. Am I going out of my mind?

  The officers who end up on the other side of the bars themselves are those who bring drugs or phones in for their lovers. Many of the prisoners attempt to seduce the guards on purpose and have no remorse when the officer loses their job or worse. I wonder if that’s Billie’s motivation.

  I’m with the lifers now, anyway, and Zelda is back, so I should have little to do with either of them. Deep down, though, I don’t regret it. I know on my deathbed, hopefully in many years time, I will remember that moment in the rain and be grateful. It was the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever had, all with the thrilling risk of getting caught.

  I pause and reconsider. What about the births of my children? To be honest, they weren’t exhilarating or thrilling. I felt nervous, helpless and scared. Those feelings remained to some degree until they could talk, which was a while with the boy. It’s funny to think my children are my finest achievement, when all I did was some grunting, followed by a bit of back-rubbing nine months later.

  Yet, they have given my life meaning. They’ve made it solid and real. I’m beginning to see that instead of them unsettling my equilibrium, they are actually what anchors me. How can I have been such a fool?

  It’s strange how connected I feel to Billie, but I must finish it. I won’t have that many shifts before Colt’s back at court. Will Billie be mature enough to handle rejection? She could cause trouble for me. God, what an understatement that is. But even parked outside my house, I’m thinking of her and how I would like to do it again, just one more time. I shake my head and get out of the car.

  As soon as I enter my kitchen, I remember my family, who used to live here. I understand that once you have children, your priorities change. If you are a decent human being, you put your life aside to raise them because they’re too young to do it for themselves. They are your responsibility. Although what can I do if fucking Abi has given up on me? I remember the email from her.

  I turn our laptop on because I hate reading small writing on tiny phone screens. It’s Tilly’s laptop, really. I’m surprised they didn’t take it, seeing as they aren’t coming back. The email is surprisingly long:

  I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I suppose we can’t help where we are. I have spent the last week looking for someone to blame. To start with, it was you, and then it was me. But it’s not either of us really. It’s life, and you’re right. That’s what I gave up on, not you.

  I’ve been completely honest with my mum and dad about our situation and they both laughed, which was a surprise. They said nearly all parents go through a similar stage. A lot of their friends split up in this period, believing life would be better, but it wasn’t. Some realised this quickly and got back together, for others, it was too late, and they regretted it.

  My dad wanted me to move out to Spain because he suspected you were beating me or cheating on me, because I seemed so unhappy. He feels terrible now, because he realises that, without grandparents, we’re missing a vital support. A night out, or even a few hours’ peace here and there, could make all the difference to our relationship and therefore our happiness. But not only have they been absent physically, they have been distant mentally, which he says is going to change.

  The children miss you so much it breaks my heart even though Ivan has been more settled out here. He loves Paps and Mops, as he’s nicknamed them, and trails around after them. Tilly has missed Karen, Rebecca and Jolene, her three amigos.

  So here goes. I want to move back home. I’m sorry it’s come to me asking, but I feel I have to because of the way I left. My parents have helped me see that this is just a tough stage of life, which we’ll get through. And probably, when we’re out the other side, we’ll look back on these years when the kids were young, and we’ll miss them. As long as we stay together. Soon enough, it’ll just be you and me, and that’s what I want.

  The children and I are booked on a flight that lands at three next Friday. My dad said he’ll pay for a taxi to ours, but the kids would like it if you met us at the gate. I know I would too. Tell me what you think.

  All our love

  Abi, Tilly and Ivan.

  For a few seconds, my heart stops.

  60

  My brain struggles to comprehend what I’ve read. I pace the house, hustling up and down the stairs, but it’s no use. There’s a tightness in my chest that I’ve never felt before; not even the time I put on riot gear and charged in first at twenty armed prisoners who’d barricaded the library. There’s a flashing in my eyes. I pull on my running clothes, open the front door, and race down the road.

  I don’t care where I’m going; I have to run. Hurtling along the bus route into Orton Goldhay, I charge across the road, where I am rewarded with blaring horns and angry gestures. I run towards Hampton, sprinting alongside the queueing traffic. I tear by the fields, through housing estates, past pubs and shops. And still I don’t tire. If it’s still raining, it doesn’t register.

  Then, in an instant, the energy vanishes from my body and, like the controlled demolition of an old cooling tower, I lean to the side and collapse over a low wall into a bush. Lying there, in a hydrangea, I struggle to get my breathing under control and my heart to calm down.

  A few minutes later, I drag myself up and crawl onto the pavement. I haul myself to my feet and look behind me. The owner of the bungalow stares at me in horror from her doorway as I slouch away from her garden, wisely choosing not to approach me. I walk home, slowly.

  When I make it back, I think I’ve been burgled as the front door is open. Gary is sitting on my car bonnet. He also looks a little as if he’s been in a wet bush with his dirty baggy jeans and holey jumper, but he’s smiling.

  ‘Did you get any?’ he asks.

  ‘Get any what?’

  ‘I assumed that with you leaving the house that fast, someone must have been giving something great away for free.’

  I give him half a smile.

  ‘Rough day?’ he asks.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I kept an eye on your door for you. A repo man turned up, so your TV's gone, but the police said they’ll come back later.’

  I can’t summon a grin.

  ‘Want a beer?’ he asks. ‘Need to chat about things?’

  I stand there in front of him, arms hanging heavy by my side.

  ‘Sure.’

  By the time we’re slumped on my sofa with a cold one each, I’ve started to rationalise everything. I still need to talk it through with someone to help straighten it out in my head, but I can’t tell even him the complete truth. Gary seems relaxed around most topics, but what I’ve done is unforgivable.

  ‘Gary, can you keep a secret?’

  He smiles, but then sees my lack of one.

  ‘As long as it doesn’t involve children, I can. Actually, maybe not animals either. Sorry, go on.’

  ‘You know I said Abi left and was thinking of staying in Spain.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I got an email saying she’s coming back, she’s sorry, and she wants to try again.’

  ‘That’s brilliant news. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It would have been even greater news if I hadn’t had sex with someone else while she’s been away.’

  His mouth slowly opens, and quickly closes, but his eyes crinkle, then he’s laughing. I can’t help joining in.

  ‘Well, you were on a break,’ he says. ‘Or at least she was. That was quick work, though. She’s only been gone about a week. It would have taken me that long to shave my entire body and buy some acceptable underwear.’

  ‘What do I do? Surely I don’t tell her?’

  ‘Who’s the girl? Are you still seeing her?’

  ‘It was a one-off, and I won’t be repeating it.’

  I try to swallow my beer, but it stays in my mouth when I realise it was at least twice depending
on how you count these things, and I almost have to spit it out. How am I going to feel lying to Abi?

  ‘I wouldn’t tell her, then. It won’t help. She hinted that she would probably stay out there, so it’s not like you were doing the dirty while you were together.’

  ‘That’s a very reasonable position to take, Gary. Although I’m not sure your wife, or mine, would see the facts in the same way.’ I take another large gulp of beer.

  ‘Hell, no,’ he says. ‘If my wife heard I said that, I’d be dragging a cross up the hill behind you.’

  I spray a mouthful across the room.

  61

  I sleep surprisingly well, although the run probably helped with that. I’ve got my first weekend off in ages and have been looking forward to a lie-in, but dark thoughts gather, so I rise and get on with the housework. Abi moaned that it never ended, and I can understand that now.

  My stomach rolls every time I think of Abi coming home. My hands alternate between clammy and cold, so I keep myself busy and spend all afternoon doing the little jobs that I’ve been putting off. There’s a hole in the shed roof, our bedroom needs painting, and three doors need glossing. I even go to Stanground Carpets and buy a roll of their cheap, hard-wearing rental carpet to replace where Ivan decided to do his painting. The fitter is free on Thursday, which is just in time.

  It’s midnight when I’m finished, but, without alcohol, sleep is impossible. I have two bedfellows when I retire: guilt and remorse. They are relentless in their need for attention. I get up at six and go for another jog, which helps empty some of the worry. I had better email Abi back today and tell her I can’t wait to see her, but I need to make sure I word it right.

  At 10 a.m., there’s a knock at the door. It’s Fats, holding a deckchair, and Lena.