I reach for her. ‘We’ve got to go!’
She screams; her arms flail into me. I lurch backwards to protect my bump. It feels like the belt from before tightens around me. Like a squeeze of period pain. It must be the stress. The smoke. The lack of air.
‘Come on!’ Ness shouts.
I try again with Rhianna’s mum. ‘Listen to me! This way!’ Grab hold of one arm before it smacks me in the face again as she jumps at the wall. ‘It’s going to be okay.’ I dodge the other arm, her frantic face. ‘It’s okay. We can get out the door. The door,’ I repeat louder, firmer.
Her eyes break away from the window and swivel to the door, a second before it hits home and her body does the same thing. Her hoodie rips the nails on my hand as she breaks free and sprints. Another tile falls. The ceiling is crackling now, like pork belly on a barbecue.
‘Jenna!’ Ness screams. Her eyes are streaming in the smoke, and half her face is covered by her T-shirt. I pull my own up, the fabric sucking into my mouth. We need to wet them – that’s what they say for fire safety, isn’t it? But the sink and water are now behind a wall of flame.
Ness has got most of the women through the door. I join the remaining two as we hurry out. I take her hand as we stumble into the corridor. Huge gulps of air.
‘Is everyone out?’
‘Yes! It’s clear!’ Ness yells from behind her T-shirt.
I grab the door.
‘What are you doing?’ she shouts. ‘We’ve got to go.’
But we’ve got to stop the flames. This is a prison. It’s a metal door. That must count for something. I swing it shut on the hellscape that a few minutes ago was the visitors’ room.
Ness pulls me by the hand. Run. Run. Run. My heartbeat drums the survival instinct into me. Everyone is running. Away from the fire. The alarm is ripping through the prison. There are screams, crying, frightened moans. There must be guards out here. Saviours. To bring things under control. But I can hear voices billowing toward us. Shouting, singing, and above it all the steady chant of: ‘Respect! Respect! Respect!’
Have the officers lost control of the whole prison?
Now
I rip off my tabard and pull up my hood. Ness copies with her own top.
‘Keep your hands hidden.’ I point at her painted nails.
She pulls her sleeves down over them.
‘And . . .’ I wipe at her expensive make-up with my sleeve. Think of the times she wiped my face as a kid. No one can know she’s not a prisoner. Gould spoke to her. She saw her. If she realises she’s in here now . . . The word ‘hostage’ convulses through me. I grip my stomach.
‘You okay?’ Her eyes, smudged from the smoke and my handiwork, make her look like a concerned clown.
‘It’s just a stitch. Come on, let’s keep moving.’ I want as much distance between the fire and us as possible. Everywhere smells of burning plastic.
We race down the corridor past the classrooms. Inside, people are dancing around with computer monitors lifted above their heads.
‘Shit,’ breathes Ness.
Behind us the library doors burst open. A huddle of women hurtle past us, whooping. It’s all unfolding so fast.
Through the glass windows of one of the classrooms I see the pretty freckled girl. She spots me at the same time, drops the folders she’s strewing about the place, jumps the desks and hammers against the glass at me.
‘Move!’ I say, as she shouts at the others behind her in the room. Where do you hide in a prison? Oh god, Kelly. You showed you could successfully barricade yourself in your cell. ‘We need to get back to my cell. It’s the safest place. We can wait it out.’
‘Okay.’ Ness squeezes my hand.
In front of us, Rhianna’s mum is laughing hysterically with another woman. They’re opening and closing office doors. ‘They’re all gone!’ she cackles. ‘Not one of the cowardly buggers left!’
How has this happened? Gould. Has she been planning this or did she just seize an opportunity? Were her followers prepped? Had there been a signal? I should have stayed in my cell. I think of Kev’s bleeding face. Stan running for the door. He knew Gould and he’d run. Anything rather than be locked in with her.
My bump makes me tire quicker than normal, but I’m still stronger than when I came in. My legs more powerful. Thank you, Kelly, for all the Pilates you made us do. Ness is puffing rhythmically, used to jogging. If not quite in these circumstances.
‘Like running from the cops on the Orchard,’ she says, catching my eye.
‘Not far now.’ We pass through another unlocked gate. Gould has done a fine job.
Suddenly the alarms stop sounding around us. The sound was so loud that it still echoes through my head. My heart pumping in time. Is it over? But no . . . I can still hear shouts. I skid to a halt as the wing comes into view. Ness pulls up next to me, panting. Not from exertion – she’s too fit for that – but anxiety. Or adrenaline. Or both.
‘Christ,’ she says.
The wing opens up before us like the mouth of a snake.
Groups of women are running along the landings, heaving what they can over the side. The metal nets strung between the walkways droop with furniture, blankets and fire extinguishers. Overhead someone emerges from a room, a computer monitor above her head, before she smashes it down onto the ground. Another cheer goes up.
The flash of two officers’ helmets makes my heart surge, but they’re being worn by a woman I recognise from the library and another inmate. They must have pulled them from the offices. Which means they must have had access. A loud cheer comes from above as two women heave a metal filing cabinet up and over the parapet and it plunges into the nets. Gould’s unmistakable high-pitched laugh floats above them.
This is it. I run up the nearest staircase, pulling Ness behind me. ‘This way. Keep your head down.’ Hopefully they’ll be too busy entertaining themselves to notice us. Thank god my cell is this end of the wing. Other people are still in their rooms. Nervous faces peer out, watching everything unfold. Several doors are closed. Other people had the same idea as me. Find a place of safety, hide, wait for a response.
I’d seen video footage of riots inside the men’s prisons last year. Cheering, shirtless, staggering men, wrecking the place. They too had gone for the safety nets, but I realise that what is happening here is different. Those heaving things up and over aren’t doing it in a random fashion, but focusing on one spot. The netting is drooping under the combined pressure. Soon it will snap, and fall onto the net below, and then that one will give. Is this the difference between men and women? Our violence feels more choreographed.
The top-floor landing is empty. Thank god. Gould is directing the attack on the nets from the other side. I try to stoop, hide my bump. Please don’t look. Please don’t see us. But she doesn’t turn. Her back is to us, red shiny arms marshalling the women carrying more ammo out of the surrounding offices. With all the noise and activity no one pays any heed to us. I pull Ness, with a sweaty hand, into my cell.
I push the door closed. Everything is how I left it. But there’s no time to think. Ness is panting, staring round the room, taking in the box of my things on the floor.
‘What is this?’ She picks up the list of things I know about the person who framed me.
‘We need to block the door,’ I say, struggling to get purchase on the bed, as I reach beyond my stomach and plant my feet behind me.
Ness is still staring at my notes.
‘We need to keep you safe.’ With my bum in the air, I manage to heave the bed across the floor. The scrape of the legs scream at me to hurry. Ness turns at the noise.
‘Stop!’ she says. ‘I’ll do it.’
The bed shifts away from my hands as she moves it with ease.
‘Just like when we were kids, huh?’ Ness places it in front of the door, the hatch just visible under the top bunk. And I remember the times we barricaded ourselves into our rooms when Mum’s horrid friends came over. How we’d watch telly and I
’d do my homework. And I have the bizarre feeling we’ve always been headed to this point.
‘If we flip it up, it’ll properly block it. But we won’t be able to see what’s going on.’ I drag the small cabinet and chair over, ready, so we can pile them up if necessary. My breath catches and my stomach twinges. Oooff. Breathe. I steady myself.
‘You all right?’ Ness takes the cabinet.
‘Think it was the running.’ I exhale. ‘I’m fine. Put that on top of the bed, away from the door – so we can see as soon as help arrives.’
Ness deposits it as instructed, claps her hands together to dislodge soot and dust. She looks around. ‘It’s not too bad in here, is it?’
‘You try sleeping next to that toilet in this heat and then get back to me.’ It’s a relief to smile.
Hopefully it won’t come to that. The guards will regain control soon. There are non-inmates in here. Even if they are prepared to let us fight it out amongst ourselves, they can’t let innocent people get hurt. This is an almighty screw-up. I’d never have believed how fragile the ecosystem of a prison was if I hadn’t seen inside one. You think it’s this impenetrable fortress. Top-brass security. Porridge, Escape from Alcatraz, Shawshank Redemption, all those shows are nothing like the reality. The officers aren’t super cops, they are human. I think of the fleeting look on Ryan’s face before he closed the door. Half of them barely out of school, and there aren’t enough of them. Fallenbrook is a wreck of a building, reworked and reworked over hundreds of years till it’s no longer fit for purpose. All the offices we passed. Mixed in among the cells. Weakening what should have been a ring of steel. The events of the last half-hour have this aching, hollow feel of something that was always inevitable.
I try to slow my breathing. They will have a plan. A strategy. We’ll be out soon.
‘It’s okay, little one, we’re gonna be all right,’ I whisper to my bump. I have to protect my family. Me, Ness and the baby.
Outside the viewing hatch, the rioters show no signs of relenting.
Now
There’s a flash of brightly coloured headscarf and Vina appears on the landing opposite. ‘Guys, come on – this isn’t a good idea!’ She has her arms open wide like she’s preaching. Or facing a firing squad.
‘Christ, she’s got balls.’ Ness’s breath tickles my ear.
My muscles clench.
‘Shut up, Vina,’ someone shouts.
‘This isn’t gonna help anyone,’ Vina tries again. ‘What they gonna think when they see this mess?’
‘They’re treating us like animals!’ shouts one young brunette, her fair face twisted into rage.
‘And you behaving like animals,’ Vina says. ‘You think this gonna change their mind?’
‘Fuck off, Vina-Vagina.’ Annie looms into view.
‘Yeah, fuck off, grandma,’ says the young brunette. I dig my nails into my palm.
‘I’m trying to help you, missy. You don’t think this’ll add to your sentence?’ Vina’s face is stern.
Annie suddenly charges at her.
I inhale sharply. Put my hand up as if I might grab her out of harm’s way, the door cool against my fingers. Vina stumbles backwards as Annie stops right on top of her. She stands at her full height, bending her face down so it’s in Vina’s. Vina holds firm. Hands on her hips. Defiant.
‘Christ,’ Ness exhales.
‘We’ve got to help her.’ I reach for the door handle.
‘No.’ Ness grabs my arm. ‘Think of the baby.’ My heart hammers against my chest like it’s trying to hammer against the door.
‘We said: fuck off,’ Annie says.
The shouting has died down now, everyone’s watching.
‘We?’ says Vina.
Step down, Vina. Walk away.
‘We run things now,’ says Annie. She smiles. Then, quick as a flash, headbutts Vina in the face.
‘No!’ I jump up.
Ness’s arm holds me back.
Vina’s nose explodes She flies backwards and falls with a sickening clang onto the metal walkway.
Her cellmate runs forward to help. ‘You fucking maniac!’ she shouts at Annie, who’s grinning and looking round the wing.
‘You hear that? We run things now,’ Annie bellows.
‘Yeah!’ the freckled girl appears, a riot vest over her joggies. ‘You either with us or you’re in our fucking way!’
‘You’re either with us or against us!’ cries another.
There are more jeers. The pretty brunette looks momentarily unsure as Vina’s cellmate helps her up and away. But it’s only a second before she too has her fist in the air.
You’re either with us or against us. Thank god no one heard me cry out. Thank god we got back here. Blood rushes through my ears. ‘Fucking hell.’
Ness looks stunned. Pale.
‘I’m so sorry, Ness. I got you into this . . .’ She shouldn’t be here. How long before the guards get control of the prison again? How long will we have to hang on for?
‘Shush,’ Ness says, preservation taking over.
If we just keep quiet. Just keep our heads down, we can make it out of this.
A face appears the other side of my window. Millimetres from my own. Gould. Instinctively I shove Ness so she falls out of her line of sight.
‘Boo!’ Gould says, with an ugly grin.
Ness plants her feet on the floor, and pushes her back against the bed, wedging the door shut.
‘You can’t get in!’ I shout as Gould leers through the glass. Every fibre of my body screams to run.
‘I don’t need to get in, Blondie,’ Gould laughs. She bangs the bunch of keys she took from the guard against the pane. ‘You need to get out.’
No.
Getting off the bed seems to take an age. Ness rolls to the side. I grab at the metal frame to pull it back into the cell. Try to get to the door, try to get it open.
I hear the key turn in the lock, my guts twisting in sync with it.
I tug at the handle, but it’s too late. Gould is already walking away. I hammer on the door.
‘Let me out!’ I scream. But either no one hears or no one cares. You’re either with us or against us.
Ness is next to me, pulling at the handle. ‘No, no. No!’
Don’t panic. Keep calm. My stomach twangs like a snapped guitar string.
Why’s she doing this? Is she gonna come back for me? I made it too easy for her. I backed us into a corner. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ My stomach flexes. I grip my baby. My baby, my sister. We are locked in here because of me.
‘There must be another way out!’ Ness says.
‘It’s a fucking prison cell.’ My pelvis squeezes. I hold my sides.
‘Fuck!’ Ness punches her fist hard into the wall. And again. And again.
‘Stop!’ I grab at her arm. She throws me off. I’ve never seen her like this.
She shakes her hand, her knuckles raw from the impact, one bleeding. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Okay, we just need to keep calm.’ She’s not talking to me, but herself.
‘Ness, you’re scaring me.’ I swallow.
She looks up and for a second I see something vile flicker in her eyes. She’s a stranger. Then she shakes her hands as if she’s flicking something off. ‘I don’t like being locked in,’ she says. And she’s Ness again. Her face a mix of worry and fear.
‘They can’t keep us in here.’ They can’t. I swallow the doubt bubbling inside me. I run the tap, douse my towel in cold water. ‘Here, put this on your hand.’ The bunk beds are still in the middle of the room, a monument to chaos. We circle them like we’re on a twisted merry-go-round.
Ness looks embarrassed. ‘Ta.’
Outside, those who were either caught up in the moment with Gould, or too afraid to be against her, are still busy piling things over onto the mesh netting. A mound of blankets is building on the end not bending toward the floor.
I’ve never known Ness lose it like that. How much pressure has the last few months
put on her? I need her to be all right for the baby. When we get out of this I’ll talk to her. Check she’s okay. If we get out of this. I shake off the panic slithering up my spine.
Thwarp, thwarp, thwarp. A sound comes from overhead. Outside. The window is too high to see out clearly. ‘Helicopter?’ I say.
Ness shrugs. Is it the police? Or could news of the riot be out already? I know some of the women have illegal phones – what would I do if I had one now? I’d call for help. I’d call someone. Turning my bump sideways, I try to tilt my eye against the hatch window to see the payphones in the wing, but can’t get the angle.
Another TV screen smashes on the floor outside the cell and I jump. If the news is out, maybe the helicopter is a TV one.
I switch our TV on, flick through the channels. It’s nearly lunchtime. I ignore the curl of hunger that spasms inside me. Is that what Gould is going to do – starve us? Don’t think about that right now. The adverts are running on ITV. I look at my watch, flicking back to BBC One, which is still finishing off Bargain Hunt.
‘You wanna watch telly?’ Ness sounds incredulous.
Back to ITV, just as the news starts. ‘Shush,’ I say. The newsreader is serious-faced as she runs through the headlines. An issue with the shadow cabinet, a car bomb in Afghanistan, and – this is it.
‘Rioting breaks out at Fallenbrook prison, as inmates seize control of the main wing . . .’
The newsreader’s words play over images of the prison taken from above. The building a rectangle of grim rock in the barren landscape. The helicopter is filming us. The footage switches to a ground angle. There are people on the roof! A woman, her face covered with a makeshift bandana, is bent, lifting and chucking off the slate tiles like they’re junk mail on the doormat. There’s a studied rhythm to the destruction, a hypnotic count, as if the prisoner, and I think I recognise her from my corridor, is trying to deconstruct the place one brick at a time. On the other side of the building, the fire brigade can be seen hosing down the smouldering visitors’ hall, its ceiling a charred crater. Dull smoke lazily drifting up.
On My Life Page 28