The Division Bell Trilogy

by Rachel McLean

  “No. It’s out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  He glared at her. “Just accept it, alright? If you want to get through this, you have to do as I say.”

  She wouldn’t have this chance again; she had to convince him. She stood up and approached him, softening her voice. “Can I tell you something?” she said.

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “I’m desperate.”

  His neck blushed a deep pink. She smiled to herself. “Desperate?” he asked.

  She nodded. “To find my family. To be reunited with my husband.”

  His blush faded. “Oh.”

  She nodded. “My son was arrested just a few hours before me. My husband – Yusuf – said he’d find him but I’m not so sure. And my younger son, he was with social services last time I heard. I want to know if they’re OK. I want to get out of here as quickly as I can, so I can find them.”

  She drew in a breath, aware that she’d garbled her words. Had she said too much?

  He nodded. “I understand.” His face was no more than a foot from hers, and his pupils were dilated. She forced herself to stay where she was, not to shrink back.

  “Can you help me?” she asked.

  He frowned at her, regaining his composure. “Sit down, please.”

  She did. He took his own seat to face her.

  “You have to understand that it isn’t as simple as that,” he said. “Everyone here has someone they want to be reunited with. Everyone wants to go home. Some more than others. Even I—”

  She widened her eyes in encouragement but he changed the subject. “I can’t fast-track you,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You’re not ready.”

  She slumped back. “But nor was Rita. I’m way more ready than she was.”

  “I know. You don’t imagine I don’t know that, do you? But Rita was fast-tracked precisely because she wasn’t ready.”

  He blushed again; he shouldn’t have told her that. But she could work it out. Maybe if she tried the same for herself…

  “OK,” she said. “I’m new too. Almost as new as Rita. If I’m not ready, you can make an example of me too. Think of it; humiliating the fancy politician in front of all those women. They’d love it.”

  “Don’t be absurd. You don’t want to be humiliated like that.”

  “I don’t care. If it gets me closer to finding my family, I’ll do anything.”

  He leaned back, watching her. “Look.” He paused, pursing his lips. “What if I help you another way?”

  She recoiled. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re desperate to find out where your family are.”

  She nodded.

  “Well, what if I talk to the governor, see if I can find anything out for you. That way you can at least satisfy your curiosity.”

  “It isn’t enough. I need to be with them. You can help me get out of here. I know that’s your job. Surely you have performance management here? Won’t it look good for you, if you help me pass through the programme quickly?”

  He stood up. “Don’t you understand, it’s not as simple as that!”

  She flinched. Why so angry?

  He sat down. “Sorry. The situation with Rita has frayed my nerves. Look, I can help find out about your family. I’ll see what information I can get for you. That’s all I can do though.”

  She said nothing.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

  Again she said nothing, but stared at him instead. He lowered his eyes.

  “And then I can apply for Celebration?” she asked.

  He sighed. “No, Jennifer. I’ll get you some information. But that’s all I can do. You’ll have to put up with it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It wasn’t one of Mark’s scheduled slots to meet with the governor. She didn’t like interruptions, but today was different.

  He knocked on her door, waiting for her to call him in. She didn’t look as surprised to see him as he had expected.

  “Mark, come on in. What can I do for you?”

  She was behind that monstrous mahogany desk, the one they’d dragged into her ground floor office from a former study on the first floor. Behind her was a huge bay window, draped with red curtains. He wondered if they’d been there before or if she’d had them brought in; they matched her clothes. The low sun shone behind her head, dazzling him and shrouding her in light.

  She was the only staff member with an office up here; the rest of them were relegated to the basement. He craved daylight and fresh air; the high window in his office had been painted shut years ago. Still, at least he had a window. Perks of seniority.

  “Morning, Yonda. I need to—”

  “How’s our new girl? Rita. She made quite a spectacle of herself in Celebration.”

  He shook his head. “She’s coming round. Starting to get the message.” Yonda cocked her head, not speaking. “Slowly,” he finished.

  “Why did she react to Meena like that?”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, I told her that she’d imagined Meena. That I’d been her counsellor all along.”

  “That’s a little unorthodox, isn’t it? I know we want to get inside their heads but she’d only been here a couple of days.”

  He blushed. “I thought it would help to subdue her. She was aggressive towards Meena, refusing to cooperate.”

  Yonda waved a hand. “I know all about that. Took me two days to fill out the paperwork. How did you expect to carry on with the lie, given that she was bound to come across Meena eventually?”

  “Cross that bridge when I came to it, I guess.”

  “Hmm. It didn’t help, at her Celebration. Shocked the other women too. And I’ve had to deal with another complaint from Meena.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Wish I’d never taken her on, between you and me. Did you see her scanning the crowd at Celebration?”

  He shook his head.

  “Hmm. Looking for her old group mates, I imagine.” She pulled off her reading glasses and placed them on the table. “We need to watch her.”

  “Meena?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fair enough.”

  A sigh. “Oh, Mark. I mean you need to watch her. I’m too busy here. Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under from management? They arrested six women involved in that vehicle attack last week and they’ll be here any day now.”

  He looked at her desk. There was nothing on it except a pristine laptop and a small porcelain figure of a dog; a Yorkshire terrier.

  “Surely you aren’t surprised?” she asked.

  “No.” He was as much drawn to the news as anyone, despite his better instincts. There was nothing good happening; more attacks, more unrest, more distrust. Forval, the company that employed Yonda and the orderlies, was making a fortune from it.

  “So. You sort out your troublemakers. I want Meena to take them on once you’ve calmed them down, but first I need to know if we can trust her.” She paused. “Or do you want to add a whole extra group to your roster?”

  “No. I’ll watch her,” he said, pulling at his collar.

  “Anyway,” she said, closing the laptop. “What did you come here for?”

  He pulled in his chest. “Jennifer Sinclair.”

  “Ah.” She smiled and stood up, rounding the desk and perching on it. Today she was wearing a flowing green dress, with red collars. Her shoes matched it, gleaming against the threadbare rug.

  “She wants to get out.”

  Yonda laughed. “Of course she does. They all do.”

  “I mean it. She’s desperate to be reunited with her family.”

  “Well, that’s not about to happen. I already told you—”

  “I don’t think she’ll take no for an answer.”

  Yonda frowned. “Did I not make it clear the other day, Mark? She’s got to stay here. I’ve got instructions. So have you.”

  He scratched his nose. “I know. Yes, I did unde
rstand.” He told himself to keep calm; Yonda responded to professionalism. She only treated him with respect when he subtly reminded her that he’d come here via a medical career and her via a none-too-successful management one.

  “I offered her a compromise.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “A compromise? Since when were we negotiating with prisoners?”

  “Patients.”

  “Whatever. I think you’re forgetting what this place is.”

  He felt his body slacken. Was he getting soft? Had they got to him? “I’m not. I just want to keep things running smoothly. We don’t want her causing us trouble.”

  “You didn’t offer her,” – she wrinkled her nose – “sexual favours, did you?”

  He blushed. “No. Of course not.”

  “You know what happens if I get wind of anything like that again.”

  His blush deepened. “That’s irrelevant.”

  “Hmm. Anyway, I don’t think this is a good precedent. We don’t start making bargains with them.”

  He swallowed. She stood up again, stretching her heavy legs, and slid back into her chair. She opened the laptop and started scrolling through her screen. Was he being dismissed?

  “Shall I tell you what I offered her?” he said.

  She sighed. “Oh, go on then. If it makes you happy.”

  “I suggested that if I give her information about her family, then that would be enough.”

  “Enough?”

  “I made it very clear that she can’t be fast-tracked. That’s what she wanted.”

  Yonda snorted. “That’s not happening.”

  “I know. Which is why I suggested—”

  “And exactly what information about her family do you think we should give her? The truth?”

  “Well, that depends.”

  “On what.”

  “On what the truth is.”

  “Let me see. I’ve had an email about her, this morning.”

  He leaned forward. She gave him a warning look and pulled the laptop closer to her, clicking between windows.

  “Does it give us anything I can use?” he asked.

  She put up a hand. “Wait. Let me read it.” She picked up her reading glasses and slid them onto her nose, frowning as she shuffled them into place. They made her look older, more intelligent. He wondered if that was deliberate.

  She sat back, running a hand across her forehead. The fingertips were light on her skin, scratching it with her long nails. Did that hurt, he wondered.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She looked up as if surprised to see him there. “Tell me what you propose,” she said.

  “OK. I’m not saying we tell her the truth about her family. But if we give her something that makes her believe it’s not in her interests to get out of here quickly, she could stop pushing for fast-tracking.”

  “What do you think would do that?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked around. “Mind if I sit?”

  She waved a hand and he pulled one of the easy chairs towards the desk. As he dropped into it he immediately regretted it, as he was now a good four inches lower than her. He lifted himself up and perched on the front of the seat.

  “Well, there’s her husband. Yusuf Hussain. I think she’s worried he may have been arrested too, after her. For helping to hide their son. But the son, Samir, he’s what she’s most worried about. I think. And then there’s the younger one. She thinks he’s in care.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “No. I thought you might.”

  “With the grandmother. Jennifer’s mother. Family services thought it best that he didn’t go back to the father.”

  He nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for the women here to have children moved between homes, poor things. He thought of Olivier, somewhere in Canada with his mother, and felt his heart harden.

  “If we told her all that, maybe she’d be satisfied.”

  “I’m not so sure. Anyway, we have bigger fish to fry.”

  “What?”

  “This email. She’s going to get a visitor. An important one.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I didn’t think they dirtied their hands with coming here. But we need to prepare.”

  “Who is it?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Ah-ah. Sorry.” She looked back at her laptop, her eyes scanning the screen. “Shit.” She turned back to him. “Look, Mark. Do what you need to do to keep her quiet. Sit on any ideas about fast-tracking. And make sure she reflects well on us.”

  He stood up. “Of course.”

  “I mean it, Mark. I’m relying on you. We need to be squeaky clean for this. No sign of that Rita woman. Jennifer is going to be our ambassador, and she’d better do a bloody good job.”

  He nodded, heading for the door. “I’ll warn her.”

  “No!” Yonda had stood up. “Don’t tell her. Don’t tell anyone. Just get the staff ready, and keep Jennifer Sinclair happy.”

  He looked at her. High pricks of red dotted her cheeks and her brow was damp. This was big. “OK,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I thought you’d tell her I need to be fast-tracked.”

  Mark pulled a hand through his hair. “No, Jennifer. That isn’t what I told you. We agreed that I’d get you information on your family. If I could.”

  She’d been anticipating this for the last four days. He’d been cagey after the last group session, refusing to answer her questions when she’d attempted to pull him to one side at the end. Glancing nervously at the other women, he had whispered to her that she needed to wait. She didn’t like waiting, when her family could be in danger.

  “It’s not good enough,” she said. “Whatever you tell me, how can I be sure it’s the truth? The only way for me to know what’s happened to them is to get myself released. And the only way to do that, as you well know, is Celebration.”

  He gave her an uneasy look and shuffled some files on his desk. Had he even spoken to the governor?

  “Have you spoken to her?”

  He looked up. “To who?”

  “To Yonda Hughes. The governor.”

  “You have to realise that you’re not the only patient here. You’re not her only concern, or even mine. I’ve got Rita to—”

  “I know.” Rita wasn’t doing well. In group she’d been taciturn, refusing to engage with anyone. The resistance was gone, the angry rebellion. But it had been replaced with a bleakness that worried Jennifer. She still didn’t understood why the other woman couldn’t lie her way out of here. Why none of them could.

  “You did promise me,” she said.

  He nodded. “Look. I have spoken to her.”

  She felt her heart lift. “And?”

  “And she wasn’t happy. She’s refusing to even consider fast-tracking you. Just like I said. It’s not as easy as all that, you know.”

  “It was for Rita.”

  He cocked his head. “You know that Rita was never going to pass.”

  “So maybe I should do the same thing. Act difficult, shout at you in group. Then you’ll make an example of me. Yes?”

  “Nice try. But no.”

  “I thought not.” She closed her eyes. She couldn’t stop thinking about Samir, wondering if he was going through this somewhere. Was there another place like this, for men? Or was he in prison? Had he been deported? Had they all?

  “But I did get some information on your family,” he said.

  Her head flicked up. “Yes?”

  He licked his lips then brought a finger to them, biting the nail. “It wasn’t easy. I’m not supposed to do this sort of thing, you know.”

  She could guess what he was getting at. “So you’re saying I owe you something, in return.”

  He shook his head, blushing. “No. Well, yes. If I give you this information, you have to promise to stop badgering me for fast-tracking. Your best bet is to stay calm, work through the programme with me. Who knows, if yo
u do that you might be able to get your own Celebration anyway.”

  “Might? Why wouldn’t that be definite?”

  His blush deepened. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that we can’t say for sure if you’ll succeed. Unless you try.” He leaned back and looked at her. “Will you try?”

  She eyed him. “If you tell me where my family are, yes.”

  “Good.”

  She caught him glancing at the files on his desk. “Is that my file? Is there information on them in there?”

  “What? Oh no, That’s something different. Not your concern.”

  She raised an eyebrow. There was plenty around here that wasn’t her concern. She wished she’d taken the time to make it her concern, back when she could.

  “Go on then,” she said, impatient.

  He sniffed. “Right. Well, your husband, Yusuf Hussain.” He looked down at his knees.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s awaiting trial.” He looked up. “There’s nothing you could do to influence that, even if you do get out of here. They don’t want you as a witness. If you got out of here, he wouldn’t be waiting for you.”

  She frowned. She’d worried he might be arrested too, but logic told her that it would have been at the same time as her. “What’s he on trial for?”

  Mark looked startled. “Similar crime to you, I imagine.”

  “But he didn’t hide him. Not knowingly. Not once they’d issued a warrant. That was all me.”

  “Oh.” Mark scratched his chin. “Well, I can’t say. All I can tell you is what I’ve got.”

  “Do you know when it’ll be? The trial?”

  He brought his head up to look at her, his eyes steady on her face. “No.”

  She nodded. “What about Samir?”

  He relaxed. “He’s in a detention centre, near Manchester. I think he was there when you were brought here.”

  She shrugged; she hadn’t been told much in prison.

  “Hang on a minute,” she said. “Why is Yusuf getting a trial, and I’m not?”

  He froze. “I don’t know.”

  “It makes no sense.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry. You just said it was you that hid him. You pleaded guilty, didn’t you?”