by Annette Heys
You mustn’t go on punishing yourself for what you did. I know that to take a life is a terrible thing but you are paying the price for what you did and I believe you are genuinely sorry.
Just try to concentrate on the future. One day you’ll be released and can make a new life for yourself.
Kate.
The next day Michael was first in class again. He seemed happy and relaxed for a change. She told him she had read his letter and joked that the punctuation had got worse since he’d practised it last week. He just grinned and said he could never do full stops and things.
She quickly passed him her letter which he immediately slipped into his folder. A sudden wave of dubiety passed over her at this covert exchanging of letters which had something of a conspiratorial nature. She hadn’t realised she was staring at him until he turned away, embarrassed. ‘I get the impression from your letter that you don’t have too high an opinion of yourself.’
‘You’re right there,’ he quipped.
‘Well, I think you’re being rather hard on yourself, so I’d like you to do something for me.’
‘Depends what it is.’ A suggestive look crossed his face.
I’d like you to write down ten good things and ten not so good things about yourself. Can you do that?’
‘I’ll give it a go but don’t be surprised if I get stuck on the good things.’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’ She was about to offer some words of encouragement when the rest of the students began to filter through so she left Michael with his task and turned her attention to them.
As usual, the morning went quickly. Crow man wasn’t in class this morning. Apparently, he’d been sent to ‘the block’ for his involvement in some scam or other and wouldn’t be back on education for a week. At least the lads would get a break from his constant interruptions which, although generally amusing, were not conducive to study.
At the end of the lesson, Michael came over and left two sheets of paper on her desk. ‘Done it,’ he said, ‘but it was hard work. You always make me work hard. You’re a real slave driver. I bet that husband of yours never gets any peace with you around.’
The students began to file out of the room as she packed her things away. ‘That’s nothing to what I’ve got lined up for you next week.’
‘I can believe that.’ He thought a while before speaking. ‘If I was your husband I wouldn’t want you working in a place like this. Doesn’t he worry about you?’
‘I don’t think so, though he does sometimes tell me about jobs in colleges if he happens to come across them in the paper.’
‘There, I’m right. No husband who cared about his wife would want her to work in a prison. Have you applied for any of them?’
‘No. I usually forget about them or find they’re not suitable.’
‘You should try for something else. Anything would be better than working here, that’s for sure.’
‘You’re keen to get rid of me, aren’t you?’
‘You must be joking . . . I’d . . . we’d all miss you. You’re a great teacher.’
‘Well, I haven’t seriously thought about it. Besides, I enjoy working here.’
He suddenly went quiet and then blurted out something that was obviously troubling him. ‘I’m up in front of the Lifers’ Board a week on Friday.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I have to sit in front of a load of people, prison officers, doctor, chaplain and they ask questions about what I did and how I feel about it, stuff like that.’
‘And do you have a problem with that?’
‘It’s pointless. They ask the same questions every time and I’ve already told them what happened. I don’t see why I should tell them again. I hate it.’
‘Why?’
He kept playing with his pen, turning it over and over in his hands. ‘I get so nervous I feel sick. They’re all just staring at me and waiting for me to say something.’
‘Maybe, because you won’t talk to them, they think you don’t care about what you did. Why don’t you tell them you get nervous at these sessions?’
‘What? Tell them I’m scared of them? Naw. I’d rather say nothing.’
‘Do you want me to have a word with someone before then?
‘No. It won’t do any good. They’re a sadistic lot. They’d have a right laugh. No, don’t say anything to anyone,’ he insisted.
She assured him she wouldn’t. It was a stupid suggestion. Prison wasn’t a place where you could show any sign of weakness. Someone who had been bullied all his life would be very much aware of that.
An officer came to the door. ‘Hurry up, we’ve not got all day while you stand around chatting,’ he said, winking at Kate. Mac didn’t see the funny side. He turned on his heel and made for the door.
‘See you Monday,’ she called but he didn’t answer. She opened up the two pieces of paper and read the contents.
I think these are 10 goodish things about me I will let you decide on this
Get on well with people only if they are worth knowing
2.Trustworthy if someone tells me something I don’t tell anybody else.
3.To kind for my own good a few people have taken advantage of this.
4.I think Im a bit to polite as well
5.I dont know if this is good or bad I always put others before me if they need help
6.I think Im a bit to honest as people have often said so
7.I know Im to generous as well but again people have taken advantage of this
8.Yet again I dont know if this is good or bad always try to please others
9.I can be a loyal friend to anyone but never found anybody to trust up until now that is and that person is you Kate I wished I knew you outside
10.Id say I was a caring person I would help anybody in any wayI could which is something else people taken advantage of and this is why I am the way I am People have always taken advantage of my good nature.
I think these are some of my bad points I would never do any of this stuff for anybody but you Kate
1.Id say I am a bit to quite this is the way I have always been
2.I dont open up as much as I should do
3.I cant find many things that interest me
4.People say Im not positive enough.
5.I dont or cant mix with many people as I should do.
6.I find Im a very dull and boring person to know
7.I don’t get involved enough with things
8.I know Im a very hard person to get to know
9.Im not a person who has much confidents
10.I find I dont show my true feelings to people this is something Ive never ever showed in front of some one else its always when Im by my self
Kate carefully studied each of his comments. It isn’t easy to define one’s own traits but these were a pretty bleak testament as to how he saw himself. It was obvious he had difficulty interacting with people. She felt it must have been the years of abuse he had suffered as a child that had destroyed his trust in humanity. He’d built a wall around himself to protect what little there was left to hurt. The kind and caring aspect of him would be kept locked away inside because he couldn’t trust anyone not to abuse it. She also knew something about building walls, how to retreat inside oneself. It can be seen as stubbornness but it’s simply a form of self preservation, a device to prevent oneself from getting hurt.
Perhaps she could get Michael to interact more in class through discussion. Maybe if he listened to other people’s experiences and opinions, it might open his mind.
As she walked out of the classroom, she asked herself what it was she was trying to achieve. Jim was right, she was no psychologist, but she had to try to help him be more positive, which
was more than anyone else seemed to be doing here for all their talk of prison being a place of rehabilitation.
That sense of freedom she’d felt on her first day when she left the prison, and the welcoming feeling of walking into her own home immediately afterwards had never deserted her. Some days were more demanding than others and she could only imagine it was her own self doubt that made it so. Nothing had happened to give her cause for anxiety. The week had started well enough.
She jumped at the sound of the telephone. ‘Is that Mrs Stuart?’ It was a voice she didn’t recognise and hoped it wasn’t another of those annoying cold callers.
‘This is Avis Estate Company. I’m sorry to tell you your son has fallen behind with his rent and we have you down as guarantor.’
It took a few seconds before she replied, ‘How much behind?’ Her moment of contentment faded as she waited for an answer.
‘Three months, that’s twelve hundred pounds. We need full payment within fourteen days or else . . .’
‘Yes, yes, I understand. You’ll get your money. Goodbye’. She replaced the receiver. Twelve hundred pounds. What the hell was he up to? She thought about lunch and paced around the kitchen opening cupboards and slamming them shut, all the time thinking about anything but what to eat. Jim was never here when she needed him, though realistically she knew he wouldn’t be the least bit supportive judging from past experience. She grabbed some paper and scribbled a note. Had to go out. Back soon. It told him nothing. Better that way. He’d made it clear how he felt about her son’s attitude to money.
As she drove along the motorway, she realised Ben might not even be at home. It was the middle of the afternoon so he should be at work. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find, but she would wait. She’d wait until he got home and she would demand to know what was going on. The traffic was heavy and she found it hard to concentrate, her head so full of questions. She didn’t realise she was ambling along in the middle lane until some smart Alec undertook her, swerved in front and then slowed down. She had to brake violently to avoid slamming into his boot. He stayed there just long enough to vent his anger in a display of crude hand gestures before speeding off up the motorway. Anger rose in her. Why did people behave like that? Did it never occur to them that someone might have problems?
Kate arrived at the flats, still slightly shaken, and parked the car. She looked up at the grey windows of the high rise building, at the straight, featureless walls. It seemed ugly and uninviting, quite out of place in the new development going on around it. Its life was limited. Soon it would be pulled down and its occupants moved into smart, new houses. If Ben messed up now he wouldn’t get re-housed. He’d be out on the streets.
The side door into the flats was open. The lock had been broken, a common occurrence in this area. She entered the lift that stank of piss and stale cigarette smoke and went up to the tenth floor. She compared this environment to the prison she’d recently left when she foolishly believed her day could only get better.
Before knocking, she studied the dark metal door and gazed around the gloomy, windowless corridor. She’d forgotten just how dingy the place was. From somewhere within she heard music playing and realised Ben must be home. As she banged on the door the music faded and she heard her son’s voice.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Mum. I need to talk to you.’
There was a long pause before he answered. ‘Hang on a minute.’
At last the door opened and she could barely believe the apparition before her was indeed her son. His dark hair hung over his neck in long, greasy strands. His face was pale and gaunt and she could see he’d lost weight. ‘Are you going to let me in?’ she asked, trying not to show her distress.
‘It’s a bit of a mess. I haven’t had time to clear up,’ he mumbled.
She brushed past him, along the hall and into the living room where a greater shock confronted her. A dozen or so empty wine bottles lay strewn around the floor. Several ash trays overflowed with cigarette ends, and a variety of pizza boxes, some displaying the dried up remains of food, lay open on the carpet. Dirty cups and glasses, crumpled clothes and papers, including unopened mail, covered most of the surfaces. The air was stale and heavy, with no one smell in that awful concoction predominant. She felt anger rising in her as she looked from this scene of utter decadence to Ben. ‘What the hell have you been up to?’
Tears sprung to his eyes and he flopped down into an armchair. His face twisted as he tried to control his emotions. He looked so pathetic and lost that the anger in her began to subside as she waited for his answer.
‘I lost my job.’ He was unable to make eye contact with her.
‘When?’
‘About two months ago.’
‘How?
‘I was ill. They said I needn’t bother going back.’
He sat staring at the wall, leaning on one elbow and rubbing the side of his face nervously. A picture began to take shape in her mind. The scene before her was one of extravagance, a lifestyle not conducive to unemployment. But seeing him now, this shadow of the person he was less than two months ago, he certainly didn’t look as though he’d been enjoying life, only comforting himself with the things least useful to his well-being.
She shifted debris off an armchair and sat down. They remained silent for several minutes. The afternoon sun glinted through grimy windows with a brash disregard for the mess illuminated in its soft rays. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back at home wondering what she’d have done next had there been no telephone call. Probably lunch and then she would decide what to have for tea. Such a simple matter, but one she would often grumble about because it was so damned tedious. She got to her feet and leaned against the window. Instead, she had this. It certainly put things into perspective.
She turned to Ben. ‘I suppose you can guess why I’m here.’ He didn’t answer. ‘How much in debt are you? I can’t imagine it’s just the rent you’re behind with.’
‘No, there’s the council tax and the phone’s been cut off,’ he replied without shifting his gaze.
‘How could you let things get so bad, Ben? Surely, you could have got some work, anything to tide you over, stop you getting into this state. Just look at yourself. You couldn’t look any worse if you’d been living on the streets.’
He buried his head in his hands and his body shook as he wept. She realised there was no point in pursuing the matter and went over and put her arms around him.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he uttered.
‘Well, I don’t suppose there’s any point in going over it now. Help me clear up this mess and then we’ll try and sort something out.’
Things were no better in the kitchen but by now she knew what to expect. She opened the fridge and reeled back from the stench. Whatever was in there, though it was very little, was in an advanced state of decomposition. The water was stone cold because, as she had already realised, the electricity was off. The first thing was a new card for the meter, and some food as there wasn’t a scrap of anything edible in the flat.
Altogether, his debts amounted to just over sixteen hundred pounds. She discovered he’d sold quite a few personal items, many of them birthday or Christmas presents, for food, drink and cigarettes. Food had been least important of the three, and it seemed unimaginable that he could waste money on drink and cigarettes instead of paying his debts. He must have known the heartache it caused when that happened. He’d been there, listened to the rows, witnessed the tears and frustration when there hadn’t been enough money to buy food, never mind pay the bills. As much as she needed to know why he’d ended up in this state, she didn’t think this was the right time. If she started to probe he’d probably get all defensive, tell her to leave him alone, that he’d ‘sort it’, and she’d go away wondering when the next phone call would be. So she sat down with him and went through
every item of money he owed and worked out a plan of action. She would lend him the money to pay off his debts and he could pay her back a realistic amount each month once he found himself a job. She scribbled out a flurry of cheques and worked out a monthly repayment plan. It all looked so simple and manageable on paper. If he earned x amount of pounds, then he could pay her back y amount of money per month over z number of years. The problem was, algebra and human nature don’t have anything in common.
On the drive back she went over the events of the day, knowing that things were not so cut and dried as she’d like to imagine. The relief she’d felt on walking into her home had dissolved into a hazy blur, replaced with a nauseating weariness. Though she had resolved Ben’s immediate problems, she was very much aware it might not be long lasting. She remembered all too clearly the state of him and his flat when he opened the door. It didn’t seem that long ago when, full of pride, he’d invited her and Jim round to see their newly decorated flat. She was as sure as anyone could be that he and Marianne would eventually marry. If he continued to behave irresponsibly, it was unlikely anyone would want to marry him. She also doubted whether Marianne really had asked him for a thousand pounds for a deposit. They hadn’t been apart long but already he had reverted to his old ways and somehow she knew that a few cheques wouldn’t put things right. Yes, they had sat down together and devised a plan of action but it was hers, not his.
As she drew nearer to home, another thought weighed on her mind. What was she going to tell Jim? How could she justify what she had done without having consulted him? She had deceived him once but this time she would have to tell him. She already knew what his reaction would be and she shuddered at the thought of a long, drawn out argument. ‘Throwing money at him . . . no solution . . . needs to sort out his own problems . . .’ Her mind became choked with questions but no answers, and it was with an aching dread she turned into the drive.
She went in through the back door and into the lounge where Jim was sitting reading the paper. He looked up and smiled at her and she was glad he seemed in good humour.