‘He’s even more irresistible than me,’ chips in Jimmy.
‘Do I sense a good story for the diary?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Half a dozen,’ says Darren, ‘but not tonight because we’re just about to be banged up.’ He can’t hide his pleasure at the thought of keeping me waiting for another few hours.
8.00 pm
Once I’m banged up, I start making extensive notes for my phone call to Alison, who returns from New Zealand tomorrow. I then turn to Hamlet. I am resolved to read, or reread, the entire works of Shakespeare - thirty-seven plays - by the time they transfer me to an open prison. If I succeed, I’ll move on to the Sonnets.
After a couple of acts, I switch on the TV to watch the unforgettable John Le Mesurier in Dad’s Army. What a distinguished career he had, making a virtue of letting other people take centre stage. Not something I’ve ever been good at.
DAY 54 - MONDAY 10 SEPTEMBER 2001
5.51 am
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…
Tomorrow, I will need to book a call at seven in the evening with my son James, to find out if the emerald has arrived. I can’t contact him today because on Monday we’re banged up at five-thirty, and he’ll still be at work in the City.
Tomorrow… Macho Malcolm leaves for his D-cat prison, and neither Darren nor Jimmy are willing to breathe a word about his sex life until he’s off the premises. However, I can report that the woman officer who was spotted outside Malcolm’s window was today seen walking down the corridor with him towards his cell. But this is the stuff of rumours; tomorrow I will be able to give you the facts as reported by Darren and Jimmy. However, Darren did let slip that three women were involved. He knows only too well such a hint will keep me intrigued for another night.
Tomorrow…
As for today, I rise a few minutes before six and write for two hours.
9.00 am
Pottery. I take a grapefruit into art class, and an empty jar of marmalade for Keith (kidnapping) as part of another still life he’s drawing for his A level course. Keith didn’t even take up painting until he was sent to prison. When he comes up for parole in six months’ time, he will leave, at the age of forty-six, with an A level. Much credit must go to Anne and Paul, who are every bit as proud of this achievement as Keith himself.
Keith tells me how sorry he was to read about my mother’s death, and goes on to say that he was in prison when his wife died of breast cancer at the age of thirty-nine. He then adds the poignant comment, ‘I shall not mourn her death until after I’ve been released.’
Shaun (forgery, artist) confirms that he’s given up on Dale, and will now concentrate on Jules, Steve and Jimmy. We discuss how he’ll deal with the arrival on Wednesday of his cache of special drawing paper, oils, chalks and pencils without the other prisoners becoming aware of what I’m up to. We don’t want to get our smuggler into any trouble, and we certainly don’t need any other inmates to feel envious.
Envy is even more prevalent in prisons than it is in the outside world, partly because all emotions are heightened in such a hot-house atmosphere, and partly because any little privilege afforded to one, however slight, seems so unfair to others who are not treated in the same way.
I spend the remainder of the class reading a book on the lives of the two great female Impressionists, Marie Laurencin and Berthe Morisot.
2.00 pm
Gym. Once again I complete my programme in the allocated hour. Just to give you an update on my progress, when I first arrived at Wayland four weeks ago, I managed 1,800 metres on the rowing machine, and today I passed 2,200 for the first time. When, and if, I ever get to a D-cat establishment, I can only hope they have a well-equipped gym.
3.42 pm
Mr Chapman unlocks my cell door to let me know that Mr Carlton-Boyce wants to see me.
Mr Carlton-Boyce, who seems to be the governor on my case, tells me that he can do nothing about the reinstatement of my D-cat until the police confirm that they will not be going ahead with any enquiry concerning the Simple Truth appeal.
‘However,’ he adds, ‘once that confirmation comes through, we will transfer you to an open prison as quickly as possible. I am still receiving a pile of letters from the public every day,’ he adds, ‘but they just don’t understand that my hands are tied.’ I accept this, but point out that it’s been six weeks, and the police haven’t even interviewed me. He nods, and then asks me if I have any other problems. I say no, although I have a feeling he’s referring to Ellis and the gym incident.
5.30 pm
I call Alison. I make an appointment to speak to Jonathan Lloyd, my agent, at five tomorrow and my son James at seven. I have to book ‘time calls’ because, as you will recall, no one can phone
5.45 pm
Banged up for another fourteen hours, so once I’ve gone over my script, I turn to my letters, one of which is from a journalist.
How flattering the press can be when they want something.
9.00 pm
I watch David Starkey present the first of an engrossing four-part series on the six wives of Henry VIII. I had no idea that Catherine of Aragon had been made regent and conducted a war against the Scots (Flodden 1513) while Henry was away fighting his own battles in France, or that they were married for over thirty years, and of course would have remained together until death if she had only produced a son. More please, Dr Starkey. I can’t wait to learn about Anne Boleyn next week; even I know that she was the mother of Elizabeth I, but not a lot more.
10.00 pm
The lead story on the news is that John Prescott’s retaliatory punch during the election campaign is to be referred to the CPS. Over the past few weeks several inmates have pointed out that they are serving sentences from six months to three years for punching someone after they had been attacked, so they’re looking forward to the deputy prime minister joining us. I have little doubt that the CPS will sweep the whole incident under the carpet, I say when I raise the subject with Darren. They didn’t in your case,’ he remarks.
True, but it won’t go unnoticed by the public that we can expect two levels of justice in Britain as long as New Labour are in power. I just can’t see Mr Prescott arriving at Belmarsh in two sweatboxes. Perhaps I do the CPS an injustice. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…
DAY 55 - TUESDAY 11 SEPTEMBER 2001
5.39 am
I suspect that Tuesday September 11th 2001 will be etched on the memories of everyone in the free world as among the blackest days in history. But I shall still report it as it unfolded for me, in time sequence, although aware that my earlier reportage may appear frivolous.
9.40 am
Pottery is cancelled because Anne’s car has broken down, so all the prisoners in the art class have to return to their cells (the first irony). Back on A block, everyone on my spur is shaking hands with Malcolm, who is about to be transferred to a D-cat. He comes to my cell to say farewell, and hopes that I will be joining him soon, as he knows Spring Hill is also my first choice.
‘When are Group 4 collecting you?’ I ask.
They aren’t,’ he replies. ‘Now I’m in a D-cat and past my FLED, I can drive myself over to Aylesbury, and as long as I’ve checked in by three this afternoon, no one will give a damn.’
No sooner has Malcolm left the wing, than Jimmy slips into my cell. ‘I’m ready to talk now,’ he says.
Jimmy and Malcolm are both D-cats (Jimmy remains at Wayland because his home is nearby) and are the only two inmates at Wayland allowed to work outside the prison walls every day. Both of them have a job maintaining the grounds beyond the perimeter fence during the week, and at an animal sanctuary on Saturday mornings. The sanctuary is a voluntary project, which concentrates on helping animals in distress. The work ranges from assisting lame beasts to walk or birds to fly, to having to bury them when they die.
Every Saturday morning at the sanctuary, Jimmy and Malcolm join several volunteers from the local village. Among them one lady who has left
Malcolm in no doubt how she feels about him - Malcolm has the rugged looks of a matinee idol, and possesses an inordinate amount of charm.
One of the tasks none of the volunteers relish is having to bury dead animals, and Percy the hedgehog was no exception. Everyone was surprised when the lady in question stepped forward and volunteered to bury Percy. Malcolm, gallant as ever, quickly agreed to accompany her into the forest that bordered the sanctuary.
Armed with spades, they disappeared into the thicket. Forty-five minutes later they reappeared but, Jimmy noticed, minus their spades.
‘Where’s your spade, mate?’ demanded Jimmy.
‘I knew there was something else we were meant to do,’ Malcolm blurted out. They both charged back into the forest, and Malcolm returned only just in time to be escorted back to the prison.
Jimmy goes on to tell me that Malcolm left Wayland just in time, because one of the ladies who served behind the counter at family visits has also just signed up to join the group on Saturdays at the animal sanctuary. Not to mention the female officer who I saw standing outside his cell window for an hour two nights ago, who is now thinking of applying for a transfer…
‘God knows,’ says Jimmy, ‘what Malcolm will get up to in a D-cat where the regime is far more relaxed.’
‘Is he married?’ I ask.
‘Oh yeah,’ Jimmy replies. ‘Happily.’
1.17 pm
I am sitting on the end of my bed reading The Times when Darren bursts in without knocking - most unlike him.
‘Switch on your TV’ he says without explanation, ‘they’re running it on every channel.’
Together we watch the horrors unfold in New York. I assume that the first plane must have been involved in some tragic accident, until we both witness a second jet flying into the other tower of the World Trade Center. To begin with, I feel the commentator’s comparison with Pearl Harbor is somewhat exaggerated. But later, when I realize the full extent of the devastation and loss of life, I am less sure. The reporters have already moved on to asking, ‘Who is responsible?’
Although I am mesmerized by this vile piece of history as it continues to unfold, prison timetables cannot be altered, whatever is taking place in the rest of the world. If I don’t report to the gym by three fifteen, they will come in search of me.
3.15 pm
Much of the talk in the gym is of the carnage in New York and its consequences, although several of the prisoners continue their bench presses, oblivious to what’s taking place in the outside world. As soon as the hour is up, I rush back to my cell to find that the Pentagon has been hit by a third domestic carrier, and a fourth commercial plane thought to have been heading for the White House has crashed just outside Pennsylvania.
430 pm
For several hours, I sit glued to the television. Among the snippets of news offered between the continual replays of the two planes crashing into the twin towers is a statement by William Hague; he has postponed the announcement of who will be the next leader of the Conservative Party as a mark of respect to the American people.
The prime minister cancels his speech to the TUC in Brighton and hurries back to Downing Street, where he makes a statement fully supporting President Bush, and describing terrorism as the new world evil.
7.00 pm
The sight of innocent people jumping out of those towers and the voices of passengers trapped on a domestic flight talking to their next of kin on mobile phones will be, for me, the enduring memory of this evil day. Calling my agent and my son James was to have been the highlight of my day. It now seems somewhat irrelevant.
DAY 56 - WEDNESDAY 12 SEPTEMBER 2001
5.44 am
Yesterday was dominated by the news from America, and what retaliation George W. Bush might take.
Tony Blair seized the initiative by calling a press conference at No. 10 for 2 pm, which would be seen by the citizens of New York just as they were waking. I don’t want to appear cynical but, at the end of the press conference, when the prime minister agreed to take questions, did you notice who he selected from a packed audience of journalists? The BBC (Andrew Marr), ITV (John Sergeant), CNN (Robin Oakley), Channel 4 (Eleanor Goodman), The Times (Philip Webster) and the Sun (Trevor Kavanagh). I sense Alastair Campbell’s skills very much in evidence: only the major television companies and two Murdoch newspapers. However, to be fair, by recalling Parliament, Blair looks like the leading statesman in Europe, and that on the day when the Tory party are planning to announce their new leader.
9.00 am
Life goes on at Wayland, so I report to the art room for my pottery class. Our clandestine accomplice has successfully smuggled in the special materials that Shaun needs to complete his art work for this volume.
11.15 am
I call Alison at the office for an update. She tells me that the pressure has shifted onto KPMG to deliver an interim report, so as not to keep me waiting until they’ve completed the full investigation which apparently now includes some accusations Ms Nicholson has made against the Red Cross which have nothing to do with me. Can’t spare any more units, as I have to speak to James tonight, so I say goodbye.
2.00 pm
Football. Wayland’s match against RAF Marham is, to my surprise, still on. Not that I expect there would have been many fighter pilots in the visitors’ team. We lose 4-3, despite Jimmy’s scoring two goals. Three of our team receive red cards, so Wayland ended up with only eight players on the field, having led 3-2 at half-time. By the way, all three players deserved to be sent off. As soon as I return to my cell, I switch on the TV.
4.00 pm
Most of the Muslim world are swearing allegiance to America, as they must all be fearful of retaliation. Yasser Arafat even gives blood to prove his solidarity with the citizens of New York. The prime minister continues to underline his support for the United States, as he considers the atrocities in New York to be an attack on the democratic world. I suspect he views this as his Falklands. Let’s hope it’s not his Vietnam.
6.00 pm
After supper Sergio convenes a board meeting. Item No. 1, he confirms that the suitcase and contents have been delivered to his friend in north London. Item No. 2. The emerald has arrived in London, with all the correct paperwork completed. Item No. 3. A colleague of his brother’s will be flying into London on Saturday, bringing with him the gold necklace, a catalogue raisonne of Botero and four photos of Botero oils that are for sale. He pauses and waits for my reaction. I smile. It all sounds too good to be true.
8.00 pm
All the news programmes are replaying footage from every angle of the American passenger jets flying into the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York. All the commentators are in no doubt that the US will seek some form of revenge, once they can identify the culprit. Who can blame them? It’s going to take a very big man to oversee this whole operation. President Kennedy proved to be such a man when he was faced with the Cuban crisis. I only hope that George W. Bush is of the same mettle.
7.00 pm
I phone James. He tells me that he’s tired; he’s just started his new job in the City. Because of the upheaval in the American market they expect him to be at his desk by 7 am, and he doesn’t leave the office until after 7 pm. However, he confirms over the phone that the emerald has arrived, so out of curiosity I ask him what it looks like.
‘It looks magnificient, Dad,’ is his simple reply. ‘But I’ve no idea if it’s worth ten thousand dollars.’
‘When are you hoping to see the expert?’
‘Sometime this weekend.’
I don’t ask any more questions as I wish to save my remaining units for Mary.
Quite a lot seems to be happening this weekend. Mary will visit Wayland on Friday. liana will have news of the Botero paintings on Saturday. Sergio’s friend flies into London on Sunday, by which time James should have a realistic valuation of the emerald. I only wish I could read Monday’s diary now. Don’t even think about it.
DAY 57 -
THURSDAY 13 SEPTEMBER 2001
6.03 am
It was a clear cold night, and for the first time two flimsy blankets were not enough to keep me warm. I had to lie very still if I was not to freeze. It reminded me of being back at boarding school. As two blankets are the regulation issue, I shall have to speak to Darren about the problem. I’m pretty confident he will have a reserve stock.
8.15 am
I watch breakfast television while eating my cornflakes. The news coming out of Washington is that the State Department seems convinced that it was, as has already been widely reported, Osama bin Laden who orchestrated the terrorist attacks. We must now wait and see how George W. Bush plans to retaliate. The president’s description of the terrorists as ‘folks’ hasn’t filled the commentators with confidence. Rudy Giuliani, the Mayor of New York, on the other hand, is looking more like a world statesman every day. When the report switches from Washington to New York, I am surprised to observe a pall of smoke still hanging over the city. It’s only when the cameras pan down onto the rubble that one is made fully aware of just how long it will be before that city’s physical scars can be healed.
Purgatory Page 18
