by Adele Parks
He roughly put his hand over my mouth and then pushed me backwards. I banged my back on the basin. Pain shot through my spine. As I registered that, he turned me around and bent me over. He kept my mouth covered as he undid his flies, hitched up my dress. I did struggle. I think I did. I was so shocked. I didn’t know how to react. You think you’ll know. You think you’ll shout and kick and fight. You don’t know what you’ll do. I couldn’t believe what he was doing. It was when I felt his hand in my pants that I bit a finger of the hand that was covering my mouth. I was about to yell out. Say no. But he smashed my head against the mirror that hung above the basin. I started to cry. I must have been making a noise, telling him to stop. Begging him to stop. Something, because he said, ‘Shut up, Daisy. Someone will hear us. You don’t want that.’
It was so efficient. In. Out. Violent, painful thrust after thrust. I could feel the anger and hate throb through him, into me. Deadly. It took for ever. It was over in a flash. I don’t know which. He finally withdrew, and my knees crumpled beneath me. I knelt on the floor. I don’t know if I was still crying. I was certainly shaking. He tucked himself away. He didn’t look at me, he looked in the mirror, swept his hand through his hair and then said, ‘Thank you, Daisy. I know we’ve both been wanting that for a while. Don’t worry, I’m the soul of discretion. Simon will never have to know what you’ve just done.’
48
Chapter 48, Simon
Thursday, 11th July 2019
Simon had arrived in prison an alcoholic, not a criminal. He’d tried hard to keep his head down, to keep clean and clear of trouble. A survival instinct. But now he’d invited trouble in, created it. He was awash with regret and frustration. He wished Daisy had never visited him. He wished that he’d listened to Leon and never approached the Dales. But most of all, to his utter shame and horror, he wished they had given him the whisky and that he’d drunk it because he longed for the underwater, you-can’t-touch-me feeling that came with being drunk.
We wished for that more than anything.
Whilst the blackouts he used to suffer were horrible, scary, he now realised taking responsibility for your own mess was worse. It would be better if he was, once again, a dead-eyed drunk; at least then the Dales would not be able to see the horror in his mind that shone through his eyes. But wishing did no good, this was his life. He’d made it this way, no one else.
It was as he imagined. He was being asked to do things for the Dales. He’d had to deliver the weed to another prisoner. He hadn’t been told how to go about this. ‘You’re a clever man, be inventive,’ the Dales’ messenger had instructed. In the end, Simon decided to take a book to the dopehead’s cell. He handed both things over. He’d need to get the book back soon though. It belonged to the library, he had to return it, but he was afraid of going back to the dopehead’s cell. He didn’t want to tighten their association. He was also instructed to put a sock down a loo, take a crap and then call a screw and tell him the loo was blocked. It was obviously a diversion, Simon didn’t ask what from. He wasn’t told and that suited him. The less he knew, the better.
Both jobs had been excruciatingly nerve-wracking. Blocking the loo could lose him privileges, yard time or Association Time; being caught with weed would mean he’d kiss goodbye to his release. Although, he had started to wonder whether that was such a dreadful thing. What did he have to look forward to on the outside anyway, if Daisy didn’t want him? If the Dales did? Maybe he was safer here. The thought, skimming across his mind, sickened him, as he realised that if he preferred to be in than out, he was on the road to being institutionalised. He’d heard about lifers; old blokes that re-offended the moment they got released because they couldn’t cope with being anywhere else than prison. When he’d first been told about these men, he’d thought it was the most depressing thing in the world, a monumental defeat, a waste so catastrophic that he couldn’t compute it. The fact the concept now seemed attractive to him, even fleetingly so, was sickening. Simon used every moment of his yard allowance to try to fight his drift towards wanting to stay inside. He felt the weak sun on his skin, he watched birds swoop in the sky and insects scuttle on the tarmac. He remembered to envy their freedom.
Simon was given things in return for his help. People didn’t jostle him in queues with the indifference he’d encountered up until then. They gave him space. His status as a Dale man earned him respect, or maybe fear. Simon preferred it when the cons had thought he was a nobody. Then, a bar of chocolate turned up on his bunk. It was Dairy Milk Wholenut. Daisy’s favourite. The coincidence unsettled him. He stared at it as though he’d been confronted with a live snake. How had they got it in his pad? Who were they anyhow? Another one of the Dales’ men, or a not-completely-legit screw? If the screws knew he was one of the Dales’ gang he was no longer under their radar either. That was dangerous. He didn’t want to eat the chocolate.
‘What you got there?’
Simon jumped as he heard Leon’s voice. He was just back from showering; his hair was wet, dripping on his shoulders. Shower days were treasured by not only the person taking the shower but their cellmate too. Small things were valued. Slightly less stinky pits or feet were just that.
‘Chocolate.’ Simon waited for Leon to ask for some. Leon didn’t.
Instead he asked, ‘Where did it come from?’
‘Not sure,’ Simon admitted. ‘It was here when I came back in. Just lying on my bunk.’
‘Shit.’ Leon’s eyes, grew round, panicked. He understood, as Simon had, the implications of finding such a gift. ‘I don’t want to know what you are being thanked for,’ he muttered darkly.
‘I’m not sure about that yet, either.’
‘Come again?’
‘Well, maybe this is a thank you for services rendered thus far but what if I’m looking after something else that I’m not aware of?’ Simon nervously glanced around the cell. It was conceivable that whoever brought the chocolate had left something else behind too. The chocolate was a flag. They could be harbouring contraband without knowing it. Not just chocolate or even weed, maybe a mobile or cocaine. Leon absorbed this, unsurprised. He’d spent his entire life expecting the worst. Bad luck, compromising situations, cul-de-sacs and violence. He’d spent his entire life eating it up. Sharing his cell with Simon had, up until recently, seemed too lucky, too good to be true.
‘Shit, mate. What have you got us into?’
‘Not you, Leon, I promise. If there’s anything here, and if we get caught, I wouldn’t involve you.’
‘What should we do?’ asked Leon, demonstrating that, despite the evidence, he thought Simon was the one who might solve this.
‘For now, nothing. We need to act normal. Just carry on. Let me think.’
They got through roll call and when the cell doors were locked it felt like something close to a reprieve that they were locked in for the night. Everything else locked out.
‘Should we start looking or is it wisest to stay ignorant? It probably is. Then if there is a cell-spin and they find something, we’ll be genuinely surprised,’ Simon suggested. Leon groaned, climbed up on to his bunk. ‘Mate, I won’t land you in this,’ promised Simon. It was clear Leon didn’t believe him. People had made promises to Leon all his life. And broken them.
There were risks to being padded-up with someone involved with any stashing. Besides their cell being ransacked top to bottom, there was the chance of a thorough strip-search of both cons. It was hassle Leon could have done without. Silently and simultaneously both men ran through the scenarios that Simon’s involvement with the Dales could result in. Searches and sniffer dogs may or may not turn something up. If anything was found, then both cell inhabitants were liable to be charged and would have to face an adjudication hearing in front of the governor. A range of penalties could ensue. A loss of privileges, or wages, time in the isolation unit. Worst case scenarios, depending on what they found, were that time might be added to Leon’s prison sentence, and Simon would lose his chance to
serve the rest of his time on-licence. He’d be in here for another three years.
‘We should search,’ said Simon, suddenly.
‘Why the change of heart?’
‘Well, if the contraband is found in my locker or hidden under my mattress, then only I’d take the wrap but if they’ve concealed anything in a communal area we’re both liable to be charged.’
Leon dropped down from his bunk and glared at Simon. Simon hurried on, ‘I said I’d own up but sometimes they can be bastards. Decide to make an example. We can’t risk it. We should check around the loo, under the basin. Is there any room for anything inside the window-frame?’
Leon rolled his eyes. ‘And if we search and we find something, what then? You gonna take it to the Dales and say, “Thanks but no thanks. I won’t do this for you”? Don’t be a dick.’
The men knew that a few nights in the isolation unit was a holiday camp compared to what the Dales could dish out. They’d seen men scalded, beaten and cut as punishments. They’d heard stories about ex-junkies being forcefully injected with heroine to ‘teach them a lesson’. They lived in a place where, worst case scenario, people were murdered for breaking the complex, unforgiving internal codes. ‘You’re a Dale man, now. We can’t do anything but wait.’ Leon said with a weary, defeated air.
‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Simon into the darkness.
49
Chapter 49, Daisy
Lucy works long hours and although she offers to take holiday, I can see it wouldn’t be an easy thing for her to swing. Besides, how would I explain that? Lucy and I suddenly bonding? Surely a flag for the apocalypse, the end of the world, when all will be revealed. Connie would be suspicious, she’d want to know what was going on. I tell Lucy I’d be fine, as Daryll is busy through the day at work too, he never visits then. She’s clearly far from comfortable with my plan. ‘We should go to the police. If you run, he has won,’ she argues.
‘No, he hasn’t, because I have Millie.’
‘At what cost? You both have to give everyone else up; your family, your friends. You have to give up your job, Millie’s school, your home. Daisy, you shouldn’t be made to do that. You’ve done nothing wrong. He’s the one that needs punishing.’
‘It’s not your business, Lucy.’
‘It is. Now you’ve told me, it is.’
‘No, it isn’t. You can’t boss and barge your way into my life.’
‘That’s not what I’m trying to do,’ she replies, patiently. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’
‘I’m not yours to protect.’
‘You sort of are. That’s what friends do, they protect each other.’
My heart moves into my mouth. She thinks of herself as my friend. After all the years of me sniping at her, being rude to her, it’s quite something. But Lucy thinks she can sort this out because she’s pretty and has a great life; she can’t really imagine how awful someone else’s life might ever turn out to be. What it is to be trapped, choiceless. This isn’t something you can charm or talk your way out of.
‘If you want to be on my side, then listen to me, please. Don’t bully me as he does,’ I tell her. She looks shocked but clamps her mouth closed, prepared to listen. ‘Think what will happen if we go to the police. He’ll just deny it. And he can be very convincing. Even if they believe me and we get a case to court, he’ll deny it there and in court I’ll have to convince more people, an entire jury. It will be a horror,’ I sigh. ‘I just can’t face anything more. I just can’t. I’ve been through too much already. So has Millie. Please, Lucy, if you can’t keep quiet for me, then do it for Millie. Imagine the impact on her. She’ll grow up knowing her father was a rapist. In which case, an alcoholic who nearly killed you looks like a relatively good bet by comparison.’
Lucy falls silent and considers. ‘I do understand but you said he’s still hurting you. How can you think of living with that? I can’t live with that.’
‘I’m not even sure he sees it as rape. He thinks we are in some sort of a relationship.’
‘What sort of relationship? I don’t believe that for a moment,’ argues Lucy hotly.
‘A dysfunctional relationship, maybe, but there are plenty of those. He implies the way he has sex with me is some sort of game.’
‘A rough game by the look of your bruises.’
‘Yes, but some people do play rough games. He twists things, somehow makes out that I want this but I’m just not that into sex, that I’m a bit shy so I won’t say that I want it.’
‘That’s sick.’
‘He’s clever.’
Lucy looks furious. ‘Don’t build him up to be something bigger and better than he is, Daisy. He’s a rapist. Have you ever told him you don’t want sex?’
‘Yes. Every time.’
‘Then he knows what this is, Daisy. And so do you.’
‘I’ve asked him to stop. I’ve told him I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him to come to my house. But he says he’ll take Millie. He says he’ll have a DNA test, prove she’s his and then sue for custody. He keeps going on about what a life he could give her in comparison to the one I give her. He has a great job, he’s buying a big flash house, he wants to send her to private school. He could offer quite a different narrative. A court might look favourably on all that.’
He is an animal. And Lucy is right, he does know what this is. It’s not any sort of relationship. We have never kissed. He sometimes has to tie me up. It often hurts. I always cry. My body doesn’t want him, my mind doesn’t want him. My soul hates him.
50
Chapter 50, Simon
Simon and Leon didn’t have to wait long. At around about 11 p.m. an alarm went off. It was the alarm that a guard sets off if he was calling for backup. It could mean a fight had broken out or that someone (usually a guard) was being attacked. Both scenarios were unlikely at this time of night because everyone was locked up in their cells. They’d found something.
It was an unsettled night. Footsteps clanged up and down the metal staircases, along corridors. Voices could be heard but it was impossible to make out specific words. The voices seemed irritated and forceful, not angry or violent. Not a riot but something.
The next day, the routine for breakfast was not as usual. Very small groups of men were taken to the hatch, given cereal and juice, returned to their cells, locked up and then another group of half a dozen men were brought forward for food. It took a long time and the cons started to get impatient. They complained about everything all the time anyway, it gave them something to do. Complaining about being hungry and issuing threats about reporting the screws to the relevant bodies bounced about abundantly and with increasing aggression.
Despite the tight controls the rumours started up, because the only thing prisoners liked to do more than complain was gossip. Someone was in intensive care. Had been found in his cell last night. Cocaine. Might not make it. It wasn’t clear how the screws had missed this at roll call. Apparently, he was in bed under the covers. The screw checking had been in a hurry, thought he was asleep already. Who was it? Different names were knocked about. No one was certain.
They would probably spend the day in their cells. Possibly for as long as twenty-three hours. There were always staff shortages and that situation was currently exasperated because it was the summer and even screws had to take holidays. It was hard to imagine them at the beach with their families, building sandcastles with their kids, drinking wine with their wives, but it happened. The consequence was the prisoners were left in their cells for longer and longer periods of time. This combined with a crisis was unlikely to spell Association Time or even Purposeful Activity. Simon wished he had his library book. He re-read Leon’s tabloid paper, even though it was four days old now. There wasn’t much else to do, and he doubted Leon was in a chatty mood. They took turns in pacing about the cell, sitting at the small desk and then, defeated, simply lying back on their beds again. Leon played solitaire. Usually they played cards together but neither m
an suggested as much. Simon was taken by surprise when Leon suddenly broke the silence and asked, ‘That thing you told me about your wife, is it true?’
‘That she was driving? Yeah, it’s true.’
Leon sighed, shook his head. ‘You must really love her to have come here.’ Simon didn’t say anything. He had never been the sort of man who was especially comfortable talking about love and now, considering everything, Millie’s parentage, the request for a divorce, he felt like a fool. The air sagged. Stale and hopeless.
‘I can’t get my head around it. You gave it all up for her. Your freedom, your reputation, your ability to walk down the street and nip into a shop and buy a packet of chewing gum. Why would you do that?’ Leon asked.
‘It was just better if she was the one on the outside. You know: better for Millie, my mother, for everyone. She had a job and responsibilities. People depend on her. Whereas me—’ Simon broke off. He didn’t need to detail how much of a screw up he was, Leon knew. As if to underline the fact, at that moment, two guards banged open their cell door. They dragged Simon to his feet, turned him towards the wall and put restraining cuffs on him. ‘You step over there,’ one yelled at Leon. ‘Put your hands on your head and keep your mouth shut, if you know what’s good for you.’ The guards started to turn over their cell. Within a minute they found it tucked beneath Simon’s mattress. It was the first place he would have looked if he’d followed through on his intention of searching. He was glad now that he had not.
He was able to say, ‘I’ve never seen that before in my life,’ and mean it.
The guard put the cocaine in his pocket. ‘That’s what they all say, my friend. This place is chock-a-block full of people who are innocent. But we found a library book in Carter’s cell.’