by Simon Mayo
Ant took Max by the arm and eased him down. ‘He says you can sit,’ she whispered in his ear. Max allowed himself to be guided to the floor, where he sat with his head on his knees.
‘I want to see Mattie,’ she said. ‘I want to see my brother.’
‘Ah yes. The sorry tale of Matthew Norton Turner,’ said Grey, preening.
Ant looked away, eyes narrowing. Something in Grey’s tone, his words, his stance, seemed significant. Her head still throbbed from the taser but she forced herself to focus. And then she remembered.
Correction.
‘That’s what you said before Mattie’s film.’
‘I may well have done—’ began Grey.
‘All those lies . . .’ interrupted Ant. ‘Why did you do that? Why go to all that trouble?’ And then, her eyes widening, she answered her own question. ‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew I would go crazy . . . knew you’d have to send me to SHU. Then MacMillan told me the plan . . .’ She stood with her mouth open, everything suddenly clear. Terrifyingly, brutally clear. Her words were slow and quiet, almost hushed. ‘It was your plan, wasn’t it?’ she said. ‘You let me visit Holloway. Let me visit Pentonville. You wanted me to cause trouble!’
Grey’s mouth twitched. He came closer, stopping just out of reach. ‘All this time? It’s really taken you all this time? There was only one person who was ever going to be able to cause enough trouble in both prisons, and that was you. All I had to do was . . . allow it to happen. I knew that MacMillan had got friendly with you. I had the plan planted, and he passed it on to you.’
‘But I wasn’t supposed to make it out of Pentonville, was I? Me getting back to Spike wasn’t part of the plan, was it? I remember you saying I’d messed up.’
‘I hadn’t expected a full-on riot,’ said Grey. ‘That is true. A more minor incident would have been fine. Just enough to show up the whole useless system. Just enough to send shock waves through the prison service. To get rid of flabby thinkers like Gaunt and Burridge. But you complicated matters.’
‘By surviving . . .’
‘Yes, by surviving. But the outcome was satisfactory. Holloway blew, Pentonville blew and Spike was invaded. You wouldn’t have escaped that either, but the stupid governor opened the cell doors and evened up the sides.’
‘Not all the doors,’ said Ant quietly.
Grey shrugged. ‘Couldn’t be helped.’
Now Max cleared his throat, spitting blood onto the carpet. ‘But it could. That’s the whole point,’ he said, his voice brittle but steady.
‘If it was you that caused the riot, you could have stopped it, but you didn’t. You could have saved my parents, but you chose not to. That makes you guilty. All this time I’ve blamed Ant for their deaths, but I was wrong. It was you.’
Grey waved his arms. ‘You believe what you want,’ he said. ‘No one cares about you or your opinions. I’d even forgotten you were here. Take him away and lock him up with the others. Let’s not concern ourselves with him any longer.’
The POs walked over and hauled Max to his feet.
Ant and Max exchanged a long, stricken look.
‘I’m so sorry, Ant,’ he whispered, then McTavish bundled him out of the office.
Ant stood, her head bowed. She shook with the effort of controlling her anger and her tears. ‘I want to see my brother,’ she repeated. ‘Please can I see my brother?’
‘Do you know, Abigail – in all the time we’ve known each other, that’s the first time you have ever said “please”.’
‘Please can I see Mattie?’ she said again.
‘Once you’ve recorded a message for me,’ said Grey, using his TV voice again. ‘I want you to tell everyone in Bodmin that you are actually finally here. They’ve been worried about you, you see. Some indeed might have hoped you’d escaped capture. We just need to set the record straight. There are screens in the cells, so you can speak to all your old friends. And, of course, your brother. You need to apologize.’
Ant shook her head. ‘I don’t need to apologize to anyone.’
‘Oh, but you do,’ said Grey with obvious relish. ‘The re-strapping, you see, is not going to be easy. You have experienced it before, but this is new. Improved. Ant-proof, if you like! There is an injection of anaesthetic, then titanium rivets go under the skin and latch onto the vertebrae. Perfect. Usually this procedure is performed by one of our medical team. But now everyone needs to know what happens if you break the rules. So today, to discourage the others and make sure there is no more nonsense, you and your Spike friends are going to re-strap each other.’
Ant felt faint, sensed her legs starting to buckle.
‘Just a brief message,’ said Grey. He inspected himself in a small mirror, then, satisfied, packed it away in the make-up bag. ‘And you should know that if you try anything, say anything, do anything that I disapprove of . . . then, when it is time for you to re-strap your brother, the anaesthetic will have run out.’
The camera shot was in close-up. Her face was blank, her eyes dead, her voice flat. Only the throbbing vein by a goose tattoo on Ant’s neck showed her true feelings. She read from a card.
‘My name is Abigail Norton Turner – some of you call me Ant. I was on the run after starting the riot at HMP London. This morning I was caught, having broken into HMP Bodmin. I will be part of the re-strapping today. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused and understand the price we’ll be paying.’ She paused, looked at the camera, then back at the card. She rubbed one of her tattoos as she read the final line. ‘The sooner we can accept the justice of the new criminal code, the better life will be for us all.’ There was the briefest eyes-to-camera shot, then the recording finished.
*
Mattie was delivered to Ant’s holding cell just before midday.
‘You have one minute!’ snapped the PO. ‘Everyone’s on their way. You speak so I can hear you at all times.’
Ant and Mattie embraced, sobbing. She held him tightly until he stopped shaking.
‘You heard about Dan and Gina,’ he whispered.
‘Speak so I can hear you!’ snapped the PO.
‘Yes,’ said Ant, speaking unnecessarily loudly, ‘I did. Does everyone know here?’
Mattie nodded. ‘If only your pass had worked!’ he sobbed.
She pressed her hand over his mouth. ‘Mattie, stop. We haven’t time—’
He pulled away. ‘And I’m so sorry I got caught, Abi! He just came out of nowhere! I couldn’t shout out—’
This time she placed a single finger over his lips. ‘I know, Mattie. I found your journal . . .’
He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Did you find Grey?’ he said.
Ant frowned. ‘He found me.’
There’s so much I can’t say.
‘Where’s Max?’ he asked.
Ant sighed. ‘They took him. I don’t know where.’ She watched his sad face take another blow. She glanced at the watching screw – another one she recognized from Spike. ‘Listen, Mattie. You know we’re re-strapping each other?’
His eyes filled with tears and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
‘Mattie, we’ve survived everything else they’ve thrown at us. We’ll survive this too. But we need to rehearse it.’ She turned her back on her brother and raised her T-shirt. She ran a finger down to the base of her spine. ‘That’s the bottom vertebra. Right there. You feel it . . .’ He placed his trembling right forefinger on it. ‘Count up one – that’s the strap vertebra. Don’t use that one again please – go for the third or fourth.’ She broke off and approached the PO. ‘Do you have a pen please?’ she said. ‘We need to rehearse this re-strapping. I think I need to mark the spot for him if I can. It’ll just take a second.’
The man shrugged and removed a marker from his breast pocket. ‘That’s about what you’ve got,’ he said.
She took the pen, and whispered to Mattie.
‘Hey, no whispering!’ shouted the guard. ‘I told you already! I need t
o hear everything – understood?’
‘Sorry, Officer. Just trying to raise his spirits,’ she explained.
‘Well, I need to hear,’ he said, checking his watch.
Mattie took the pen and Ant bent slightly. Over her shoulder she said, ‘OK, let’s do this. Mark me up. That’s it, Mattie. The T four. Put a mark just to the side, an X or a circle. Or an arrow. Anything. Finished?’
‘Almost,’ he said. ‘Just want to make sure.’
She felt the pen tip on her skin, then checked back with the PO. ‘You ever seen a re-strapping?’ she asked.
‘Pen,’ he said in reply, holding out his hand.
‘Finished.’ Mattie pulled Ant’s T-shirt down. ‘I put a circle and an arrow.’ She took the pen, then handed it back to the PO. ‘What’s going to happen, Abi?’ he whispered.
The PO’s radio rattled. ‘Stand by the door,’ he ordered.
Ant and Mattie stood hand in hand. His grip was tight. ‘It’ll be the anaesthetic first,’ she said. ‘Small shot just where you put the mark. Then there’ll be a new version of the strap-gun. Place the titanium where the needle went in and fire. I’ll be fine – just don’t hesitate.’
‘I fainted last time . . .’
‘I know, Mattie.’
‘It’s not going to be any better, is it?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
They heard heavy footsteps in the corridor, and Mattie started to shake again. ‘I don’t think I’ll be fine,’ he said, his voice barely audible.
Ant hummed a tune, then softly sang the words:
‘Manman ou pa la lalé nan maché,
Papa ou pa la l’alé larivyè
Si ou pa dodo krab la va mange’w.’
‘And here comes the crab,’ she muttered.
The door swung open to reveal a shuffling procession flanked by POs. Heads down, defeated, the strutters didn’t even glance round. Ant and Mattie recognized their friends, but they seemed smaller. Beaten. Doomed.
‘Join the line!’ shouted the PO, and Ant and Mattie filed out. Daisy and Jimmy were allowed the briefest embraces before they were pushed away. Ahead of them, Amos was staring straight in front.
‘Norton Turners in the last two places! Go!’
Blakely waved at Ant, as if he was in a supermarket queue. In front of him, the red-faced woman with blonde hair shuffled forward as though her shoes were full of lead.
Daisy twisted round, her face blotchy, her eyes red. She looked from Mattie to Ant. ‘I’m so sorry about Dan and Gina,’ she managed, before being hauled forwards.
‘Thanks, Daisy. So glad your mum’s OK!’ she said. ‘And you too, Jimmy.’
He turned and, eyes full of tears, acknowledged her briefly with a nod. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he mouthed. They shuffled forward a few steps. ‘And sorry ’bout your dad, Amos,’ called Ant. He said nothing; didn’t even react.
‘He’s not talking much,’ said Daisy.
‘You know what’s happening, right?’ called Jimmy, finding his voice.
‘Yeah.’ Ant remembered what a mess his back was already. ‘You OK?’
‘Aim for the fourth vertebra if it’s you,’ he said in reply. ‘And stay strong, Mattie!’
Behind her, Ant heard Mattie reply, but his voice didn’t carry.
‘The Durrows aren’t here!’ she called. ‘Go, Lena!’
‘Go, Tilly and Sam!’ said Daisy. She twisted round again. ‘Max?’ she mouthed.
Ant shrugged her shoulders. ‘No idea. He was taken . . .’
The line had shuffled to a halt in front of a set of double doors. A short woman with a ponytail looked along the row, then spoke into a radio. ‘Guests have arrived.’ She listened to the reply in her earpiece. ‘Twenty seconds,’ she said, arm out to prevent them walking on early.
‘Like we care about missing our cue,’ muttered Daisy.
Mattie tried to reach for Ant’s hand, but a PO pushed him away. The red-faced woman was sick on herself and then on the PO next to her; Amos retched over his shoes.
‘Just so you know,’ called Ant, ‘no tricks from me. Grey’s a sadist. I’m not giving him any excuse to make it any worse.’
‘Like how?’ said Jimmy. ‘Any worse than this?’
‘Like refusing us anaesthetic . . . That kind of thing.’ A shudder ran along the line. Mattie shot his sister a quizzical look but she shook her head.
Say nothing.
The ponytailed woman shouted, ‘Matthew Norton Turner to the front. Abigail Norton Turner, stay where you are.’
Mattie clung to Ant, but two POs pulled him free. Ant wanted to scream, but there was no point.
‘Feros Tig ti fre!’ she called. ‘Stay fierce, little brother!’ She watched as he was led to the front.
‘OK, you’re on!’ said the ponytailed woman, waving everyone forward. The POs pushed them towards the courtyard. As Ant passed the woman, she hissed, ‘Shame on you,’ in her empty ear. ‘This isn’t some game show, you know.’
The floor manager looked surprised. ‘But you’re the goose girl!’ Of course it is.
Ant stepped into the courtyard.
They were at the opposite end to the viewing platform – now with a large video screen attached. The banked seating rose to the left and right, wrapping around the podium in the centre. Four drones hovered high above.
Ant knew that it would be hot, that the seats would be full; she didn’t guess that it would be silent. Strutters from prisons all over the UK were crammed into the temporary stands to each side of her, but they made no noise. Everywhere she looked, faces were straining to see her, as if needing confirmation that she had indeed been captured. She made eye contact with many she recognized from Spike. Some nodded, others blew kisses. Most looked scared. Bet you’ve been threatened, she thought. Everywhere tense and twitchy POs watched the crowd, hands resting on their batons. Bet you have too.
The podium now had an autocue, a built-in mic and a long low wooden bench running along in front. At one end stood the strapping table with its padded top; there were two small boxes of medical supplies underneath it. In spite of the midday heat, Ant shivered. She heard Daisy give a little cry.
‘Stay strong, Daisy,’ she called. Then with a cupped hand over her mouth, ‘It’ll be over soon. We’ll have our revenge.’
Daisy said nothing; her head was down, tangled, matted blonde hair falling over her face. A few metres in front of her, Amos tripped, causing the others to stop. He fell on his hands and knees, his chest heaving, and vomited hard. The nearest PO pulled him up so sharply that he stumbled into Blakely. It was only a small moment, but in a silent, small amphitheatre, the sounds of illness, fear and brutality brought the first shout from the watching strutters.
‘Leave him alone!’ someone called.
Ant spun round. She couldn’t tell where the woman’s voice had come from and no one was giving any clues, all faces staring resolutely ahead. She saw four POs run into a stand near the viewing platform, grab the first strutter they came to and haul her away.
‘Dixam pas!’ yelled another voice – from the opposite stand this time. Again, the only reaction came from the POs whose job it was to ensure an uneventful Correction. It wasn’t starting well. ‘Dixam pas!’ yelled someone else, male this time, and the POs launched themselves at the offender.
‘Bax! Bax!’ came the cry as more POs ran into the courtyard.
‘This Spike talk is going to make him mad,’ muttered Ant.
‘Is it live yet?’ asked Daisy as they reached the bench. ‘Can people see this?’
‘Think so, but if this carries on, Grey will have to pull it.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘Can and has.’
The newly arrived guards took up their positions – nearly every row now had a watching PO. The murmurs of anger and discontent died away. High above, the drones whined, one dipping away to a new position just outside the prison.
Daisy put an arm round Ant. ‘He’s going to keep you till last, isn
’t he?’ she said. ‘You’re top of the bill.’
Ant nodded. ‘Me and Mattie. He’ll keep Mattie till the end. So I don’t misbehave. But I want to go first, Daisy – I need to go first.’
‘But you can’t heckle, Ant. Please tell me you won’t—’
‘I know!’ she snapped. ‘I know, I know.’ She held Daisy’s hand. ‘God, I’m scared . . .’
‘What happened to Max?’ said Daisy.
‘They took him away. He’d just found out about his parents.’
‘Poor, poor Max,’ said Daisy. Then added, ‘And you and Mattie too.’
‘Have you seen your mum yet?’ asked Ant. ‘That was some good news.’
Daisy nodded but didn’t smile. ‘They’ve kept us separate. It’s been like being in SHU.’
The screen flashed the word Correction in large yellow letters.
‘Feels like someone is about to make a grand entrance,’ said Daisy.
The viewing gallery in front of them had one central camera; the only other one Ant could see was directly behind them, on the podium.
She knew what Mattie would say: Why are you checking camera positions? Then she would say, I’m not, and he would say, Yes you are. And what she wanted to say to him was, I might get a chance. Just one chance. But the price of me messing up is you getting re-strapped without anaesthetic. And I’m not sure it’s worth the risk . . .
The big screen switched to a shot of Governor John Grey, hands clasped in front of him as he walked. A ripple of sound came from the seats, a collective intake of breath mixed with hissing. To Ant it was the sound of fear, anger and hopelessness. She watched the screen as Grey mounted the podium. He’d always loved Correction, and was now relishing every moment. She watched the screen as Grey mounted the podium. He glanced at the bench in front of him, then around the stands, and finally at the podium camera. He removed a pledge card from his top pocket, placing it carefully on the lectern in front of him.
He was about to speak when there was a honking sound. Heads turned towards the far wall, where a solitary grey goose had just landed; it was flapping its way amongst the startled POs. There were a few nervous laughs in the stands as Grey waited, annoyed by the last-minute delay.