‘Dad?’
‘I said it went “okay”. But it isn’t a nice experience, Martha. You sit around waiting, for ages. They search everyone. And I mean everyone. A full-body search. You have to be buzzed through all these security doors to get through to the visiting hall. And the other visitors…well, you can imagine. It’s really loud.’
She stared at him, waiting for him to say it.
‘The tables are squashed together. You don’t have any privacy. And it smells. Bad.’
‘So?’
‘I really don’t think it’s the type of environment you should have to be in.’
‘But that’s the only way I’m going to get to see him.’ She crossed her arms.
Dom ran a fingernail under the rims of his nails, cleaning out imaginary dirt. ‘I’m worried about you going. The noise, the intensity of it.’
The old anxiety card. She flushed. ‘But I want to go and see him.’
‘And I’m not saying you can’t.’ He sighed. ‘I’m just asking you to think about it – about what it will be like, being in that room with all those other people; a room that you can’t just get up and walk out of, if you’re feeling…a bit off. It really wasn’t the easiest place to be in for me, never mind you. Besides, you don’t need to go all that way. You can have a much more private conversation with Harry on the phone. He really is okay. It isn’t like on TV. He has classes and the gym, and there’s a library. What I mean is, it’s not awful.’
‘So I should be able to go.’
‘Martha.’ Dom rasped his hand across his face. ‘Please. Can you leave it, for now? Trust me, he’s okay. I’m not lying. He’s keeping his head down. Getting through his days. You’ll be speaking to him at the weekend. Let’s talk about it then. Now, sweetheart, if you don’t mind…I have a few things to catch up on for work.’
They’d argued about it, on and off, for most of the following week. Dom was understanding, protective and so very rational, but totally implacable. Martha was not going to be allowed to go and see Harry, and that was that.
Chapter 59
THEY ALL did it: counted down the days between visits. Family wasn’t what they talked about in the gym and the rec room; there it was all screwing and going to the match and big nights out, and takeaways and cars and muscle definition; but everyone, without exception, looked forward to getting visits. The system cranked up the ante: the paperwork, the strict rules, the restrictions on numbers, the infrequency of visiting days. But they all put in their requests for permissions on time and as stipulated, with the more literate helping the illiterate. It didn’t matter how long your stretch; everyone needed time with someone who cared, to keep them going.
Harry waited in line with the other lads. The atmosphere – as always, on the way in – was upbeat. There was a lot of banter amongst the guys, and with the screws. At last the door up ahead opened and they were allowed to file through. The inmates went into the room first. They made their way to their allocated tables; numbers were given out while they queued up, to avoid potential flashpoints between certain prisoners and certain family members. It reminded Harry of a weird version of an exam hall, except that here the invigilators weren’t someone’s auntie earning a few extra quid; they were prison officers with eagle eyes. But the buzz in the atmosphere and the tension were very similar. DeeAnne, who worked in the little tuck shop and was one of the few women they saw week in, week out, smiled through the hatch at many of them as they took their seats. Once settled, they all looked at the clock. Any delay was met with frustration. Time was precious when it came to visits, and they resented being deprived of even a second.
The searches and processing must have gone smoothly that day, because the door opened on time and the relatives flooded in, bringing with them a colour and an energy that were normally so lacking in their day-to-day lives on the inside. At that point, each inmate had eyes only for his visitors. It was a powerful mix of anticipation and anxiety, because there was always a risk – until your visitor set foot in the room – that they hadn’t come. Nearly every time there was one poor sod who waited, watching everyone else being reunited with their loved ones, only to realise that the last visitor had entered the room and the seat opposite them was going to remain empty. That was a long walk.
The noise levels in the room rose as the visitors flooded in. The kids and the mums were always the loudest, the most demonstrative. Harry had been surprised, the first few times, to see how much physical contact was allowed. Of course some of the lads pushed it when their wives and girlfriends came to visit, but more often than not it was their partners who pulled away, rather than the screws who had to intervene. Because although the inmates could kiss and hug and lift kids onto their knees and fist-bump their mates, there was absolutely no privacy. It was a big, impersonal room, full of people sitting at tables crammed too close together, patrolled by officers and filmed by the numerous cameras.
It was not the sort of environment that Harry’s dad felt comfortable in – not at all. It was obvious that Dom hated the close proximity of other people, their crisp-munching and laughing and swearing. As everyone around them chatted away and shared news from home, they sat opposite each other, struggling to find things to say. Harry often caught himself thinking, If only Martha was here, but Dom had said, from the outset, that was not going to happen. They had their regular phone conversations and, in a recent special concession, the occasional Skype call, so a visit was, in Dom’s eyes, unnecessary. And besides, he’d lectured – looking around him with barely concealed disgust – this was not the environment for a fourteen-year-old girl. The fact that Martha wanted to come, pleaded to, every time they spoke on the phone, held no sway with their father. She would not be visiting, and that was the end of the matter. As a result, his dad’s visits were more of a trial than a pleasure, for both of them. The fact they were also a rarity was almost a relief.
The last batch of visitors was coming through. The prospect of the empty chair loomed large for Harry, but suddenly there was Mo, smiling and waving like he was out on the town on a Saturday afternoon. As he made his way through the maze he crashed into the back of a woman’s chair, jolting her forward. Potential for a flare-up. Harry saw his friend go into a classic Mo apology mode, all waving arms and teeth. Just the sight of it made Harry smile. And, as so often with middle-aged women, even the mother of one of the hard-case inmates, she seemed amused rather than annoyed by Mo’s clumsiness. Words were exchanged that were clearly friendly. She laughed, and Mo finished the last few steps over to Harry’s table without incident.
‘I’m such a klutz.’ Mo dropped into his seat, obviously pleased to have made it across the minefield of the visitors’ room without triggering a riot. ‘How are you, man? It’s really good to see you.’
‘I’m okay. You?’
‘Me. I’m good. Before we start, Mum gave me some spending money so that we could buy sweets.’ He pulled a face. ‘She still thinks we’re twelve! She sent in some food as well, but they took that off me. Said you’d get it after it’s been checked.’ He grinned. ‘They’re obviously searching for blades in my mum’s samosas.’
‘Veggie?’
‘Of course.’ Mo stood up and fished a tenner out of his pocket. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Anything particular you want?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Whatever. Tell her “thank you” from me.’
‘Will do.’ Mo headed over to the serving hatch, made his selection, then wandered back bearing a carrier bag. ‘Go on then. Open your beautifully wrapped present.’
Harry pulled the bag towards him and looked inside. It was stuffed full with chewy sweets, chocolate bars and soda. The thoughtfulness of it touched Harry. He picked out a pack of Haribo, opened it and took a moment making his selection. Three fried eggs, followed by some gummy bears and an engagement ring, for starters. He looked up, his mouth full of gelatine sweetness. ‘You wouldn’t believe how crap the food is in here.’
He offered the bag and Mo grabbed a
handful. They chewed in companionable silence for a few moments. Mo glanced round and smiled at the kids racketing around the room; he even nodded at Saleem, the one Asian officer on duty. Saleem was leaning against the wall, overseeing the interactions at DeeAnne’s serving hatch, checking that it was only cake and coins being exchanged.
Harry cracked open a Coke. Took three big gulps. It was heaven.
‘You really all right?’ Mo asked. ‘Not having any trouble?’ His eyes raked the room. Taking in the flab and the muscles, and the tattoos and the screws.
Harry took another pull of Coke and felt the caffeine and sugar careering into his system. ‘Yeah. Fine. Really. You learn who to avoid, early on. Most people keep themselves to themselves outside of work and the canteen. There’s some aggro, but not much. There’s bound to be, with everyone banged up together.’
‘No trouble…in the showers?’ Mo fake-leered.
‘I have my admirers, but no one that I can’t handle.’
Mo cackled ‘The one near the door?’ He’d deliberately picked out the biggest, most brutish-looking guy – who happened to be called Gabe and was one of the nicest guys on their unit.
‘Not my type, darling.’
Around them the initial rush of greetings had subsided. A low hum of conversation filled the room, not all of it easy or lighthearted. Life went on; tensions and resentments came into prison with relatives, as well as chocolate and kisses. Watching the couples, Harry felt compelled to ask Mo the questions that his dad was unable, or unwilling, to answer.
‘You still see Jake around?’
Mo cartoon-stretched. ‘Nah. Not for ages. Paths don’t cross no more. I’m not “out out” much these days. Saving my pennies. He’s doing okay, though, I think. He put up a picture of himself back at training.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. In goal.’
‘God help ’em.’ The next question hovered. ‘And Tish?’
A gear-change. Mo went from laid-back to leaning forward in a split second. ‘Yeah. She’s good.’
‘Really?’ This time Harry genuinely wanted to know.
‘Yeah. She’s doing good. Really great.’ He didn’t elaborate.
‘Do you see much of her then?’
‘Yeah, you know. Around.’ Mo paused.
‘She seeing anyone?’
Mo shrugged, non-committal.
Harry felt a pain in his chest that could have been indigestion from eating so many sweets, but could have been something else. ‘Tell her I was asking after her, will you? Next time you see her.’
Mo picked up one of the wrappers from the table and twisted it in his hands. ‘Yeah. Will do.’
‘So, are you looking forward to starting uni?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Make the most of Freshers’ Week. I’ll want to hear all about it.’ The awkwardness of not knowing when that would happen struck them both.
‘I could try and call you,’ Mo said. God, life without texting was impossible.
‘Nah. Don’t bother, it’s a hassle to set up.’
‘Well, I’ll book to come in again. Tell you all about it.’ There was no getting around the difficulty of being a mate in these circumstances.
Harry was the one to fight the depressing turn of their conversation. ‘Seriously. I hope you have a great time.’
Mo nodded, but not with confidence.
The awareness that this was the last time he was going talk to Mo for at least a couple of months struck Harry. If he wanted to apologise, he had to do it now. ‘Mo. That night. In the car park. I’m really sorry. I was a bit of a mess. Jess…’ his voice wobbled, ‘and me, we’d had a row, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I wasn’t ever gonna hit you. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Apology accepted,’ Mo said. Harry breathed a little easier. ‘But, Harry…’ Mo looked pained, ‘what I still don’t understand is why you lobbed my phone, and why everyone has been really cagey about what was on it.’ He lowered his voice and leant across the table. ‘Was it drugs?’
Harry’s mouth felt furry. ‘No. I swear, Mo. It was some footage of me behaving like a dick at the party. When Jess saw it, she got upset with me. I took it out on you. It’s not logical. I know that. I was just on one. In that split second I wanted to smash something – anything – up. Unfortunately for you, I happened to have your phone in my hand.’ The lie stuck to his teeth worse than the sugar from the sweets.
Mo fiddled with the Haribo bag. ‘You know, Harry, you can tell me what really happened, if you want to. I know there was something going on between you and Tish and Jess. I won’t judge you. I honestly won’t.’
Harry looked at him and was sorely tempted, but what good would it do? None. There was no undoing that night.
As if complicit in ensuring that his burdens remained his own, the bell rang, signalling the end of the visit, and the moment for sharing passed. They fist-bumped goodbye – a hug would have been too much, a handshake not enough – and Mo got up and left, to get on with the rest of his exciting, expanding life on the outside, while Harry stood up and walked the fifty or so steps through the barred door back to his lonely, contracting life on the inside.
Chapter 60
THE ONGOING pretence made Sal smile. They were all in on it. Mo staying over ‘to study’ with Tish. As if! She didn’t mind. The atmosphere in the house was lighter, more positive than it had been for months. If there was a slight awkwardness when they encountered each other on the landing in their dressing gowns, and if her food bill had gone up, so be it. They were small prices to play for seeing Tish so happy. They were, she reckoned, managing the etiquette of this somewhat surprising development okay – all things considered.
She’d bumped into Shazia in town a few weeks back and had been thrown by her suggestion that they go for a coffee together, thinking that their conversation was going to be truly awkward, but as they’d sat eating cake, it had become clear that her own and Shazia’s subtext were the same. Are you okay with this? It was amazing, really, that you could have a conversation about your child’s love – and sex – life without mentioning either. Shazia had set the tone, before even a forkful of chocolate brownie had been consumed, by saying how much she admired Tish. How strong she’d been. How much of a credit she was to Sal. How much Tish’s ‘friendship’ with Mo had helped him get over the incident and all the trouble afterwards. How he seemed far more sure of himself now around other people.
It had been nice to hear. Really nice. Praise. It was a rare commodity in Sal’s life. There had also been the joy of being able to respond with absolute honesty about Mo. What a decent young man he was. How important he had been, and still was, in Tish regaining her confidence and her happiness. What a polite, well-mannered boy he was to have around the house. After ten minutes of this sort of mutual love-in, Sal had been reassured that Shazia was happy that their kids were close, but that still didn’t tackle the recent shift from close to…well…hooked up, sleeping together, in love? And the influence that had had on Mo’s choice of uni.
Sal decided to tackle it head-on. ‘And it’s good to see how much Mo seems to be enjoying uni.’
Shazia nodded. ‘Yes. And he’s working hard.’
‘You weren’t too disappointed when he decided to stay in York?’
There was only a fraction of a hesitation. ‘No. York is a good university, and the course is the one he wanted.’ Shazia divided the last of her brownie into small pieces. ‘And of course he wanted to stay around, to be near Tish.’ She ate a lump of cake. ‘He isn’t making a nuisance of himself, is he – coming over to your place so often? Because if he is, you must say.’
Sal smiled. ‘No. It’s nice having him around. And he’s no trouble.’ She paused. ‘As long as it’s all right with you and Nihal?’
Shazia paused and chased the last chunk of brownie around on her plate. ‘It is. To be honest, it’s the best of both worlds for us. Mo growing up, coming into his own, being much more independent, but still
being around, some of the time. Before all this happened, we were worried that he was too much of a home-bird. A bit lacking in confidence, compared to his sisters. Not any more.’
‘They’ve helped each other,’ Sal said.
‘Yes, they have. And he is very, very…fond of her.’
‘It shows.’
‘Good.’
They’d laughed then and gone on to talk about other things.
Looking at Mo now, making himself and Tish toast in her small kitchen, Sal smiled. He would curl up into a ball of embarrassment if he knew that she and his mum had discussed his relationship with Tish.
Mo must have sensed her attention, because he looked round. ‘Sorry, am I in the way?’ He made to move away from the counter.
She shook her head. ‘No, love, you’re fine where you are.’
He buttered the toast, added jam, piled it on the plate, hooked the two mugs with his fingers. ‘Is it all right to take this upstairs?’
He really did need to stop being so polite – but it was still nice to be asked. ‘Of course, love. Say ’bye for me – I’m off to work.’
‘Will do.’ He stepped over Harley and disappeared back upstairs.
Sal scratched Harley’s head for a minute or two before heading off to work, glad to her core that the accident had brought Mo into their lives.
Chapter 61
HARRY HAD been surprised to get her request to visit, but he’d agreed to it straight away.
Now here she was, weaving her way around the tables towards him. She’d never been able to walk into a room without causing a stir; Tish had always had the capacity to attract attention. It wasn’t just her looks, it was the way she carried herself – her ability to feel comfortable with the attention. She was happy to be admired. But the Tish who came through the doors into the visitors’ room was different. Now she didn’t so much own the space around her as pass through it. She slid in between the tables and chairs as if trying to create the least disturbance possible. The other men checked her out, but she kept her eyes down, avoiding their attention until she made it over to his table. Only then did she look up.
One Split Second: A thought-provoking novel about the limits of love and our astonishing capacity to heal Page 21