Dishonour

by Jacqui Rose

  The clump of hair being pulled from his head made him yelp out as he was dragged silently by his father into the quiet of the front parlour.

  His father threw him towards the dark oak chair which was already placed in the middle of the room.

  ‘Sit down Arnold.’

  He couldn’t sit down. He needed to be brave for Izzy. She was relying on him. He had to get his father to understand Izzy was in danger. ‘No, Papa.’

  Arnold watched as his father gave a bemused smile and squinted his eyes, reminding Arnold of the monsters he’d read about in the storybooks at school.

  His father’s footsteps sounded on the wooden floor as he unhurriedly crossed the room. Arnold trembled and imagined that every pore of him was beating.

  He continued to look straight ahead; his view out of the far window blocked by the looming figure of his father centimetres away from him. The view of his father’s chest became the view of his father’s face as he crouched down to Arnold’s eye level.

  ‘What did you say boy?’ Arnold thought he was going to be sick; he could feel his knees tapping together and his body felt like his spine was no longer supporting him. His tears interfered with his speech as he clenched his fists desperately wanting to find strength. ‘It’s Izzy Papa, she needs our help.’

  ‘Sit down Arnold and listen to me. I’m going to go back to my office now. I’m going to leave the door open and give you the choice of staying here as I told you to, or break my rules by leaving this house without permission. Think carefully Arnold; the choice is yours.’

  His father swivelled on his heels, creating a squeaking sound on the highly polished floor as he went to leave. He stopped in the doorway, not bothering to turn to look at his son, only to give him a warning. ‘As I say son, it’s entirely down to you, but remember; bad things happen to boys who break the rules.’

  The room seemed to be spinning round as Arnold sat on the chair. He tucked his hands under his seat as his legs spasmodically shook. He needed to get to Izzy, he’d promised her he’d come back with help. If his father wouldn’t help, then he’d have to do it all on his own. He looked across at the open parlour door. It was only a few feet away, but for some reason Arnold couldn’t move.

  All he needed to do was to stand up and run; run out the door and go to help Izzy. But he couldn’t. Something he couldn’t see but could feel was holding him back. Fear was pinning him to the chair. Fear was stopping him going to save his sister.

  Arnold went to get up but found instead he sank ever deeper into the chair. His head became filled with a high-pitched scream unheard by the rest of the world. ‘Izzy, I’m sorry. Izzy please forgive me.’

  Arnie stood next to his father; as still and as silent as Izzy who lay on the mortuary table. It’d taken a group of locals several days to recover the body – decapitated by the steel mechanisms of the weir – from the turbulent waters of the River Coquet. The rescue team had stopped the search for her head, hoping it’d eventually be washed up on the mud flats further down the river.

  Nausea swept over Arnold and the overpowering smell made him think he was going to pass out. The remorse and the guilt; Arnold could almost taste it. As they stood alone in the room looking, his father spoke to him. ‘Your sister broke the rules Arnold; you see what happens when you break rules.’

  His father had told him not to, but he couldn’t stop the tears running down his face. The loud voice made him jump.

  ‘Stop those tears. Tears won’t bring her back Arnold. You made your choice. I gave you the opportunity to go and help your sister, but you decided to sit in the parlour and do nothing. In my books at best you’re a coward and at worst … at worst you killed your own sister. Now I want you to look at her Arnold. See for yourself what happens to people who break the rules.’

  Arnold span round to his father, who stared at him with a mocking sneer.

  ‘I can’t Papa. I can’t.’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘Please Papa.’

  ‘Do it.’

  Trembling with fear, Arnold walked up to the sheet covered body whispering under his breath to himself. ‘6, 8, 10, 12 …’

  ‘Stop muttering boy.’

  Arnold’s fingers reaching for the sheet were almost rigid with fear. He felt the bile rise up in his mouth as he took hold of the starched cotton sheet. Pulling it back, Arnold froze, as his eyes rested on the headless torso of his sister. He screamed, then turned to run out of the morgue with the image and the echoing of his father’s laughter following him.

  Outside the mortuary the local priest came up to give his commiserations to Arnold’s father, turning to Arnie afterwards. ‘As for you young man; all you have to remember is it’s only the body of your sister that’s been taken. Her spirit is still with us. The body you saw in the morgue is no longer Isobel’s. She’s left that one now. She no longer needs it. As long as a person’s spirit lives on; so do they. Isobel is all around you. She’s here, and you’ll find once your grief eases, you’ll see and feel her everywhere.’

  ‘But where … where will she be?’

  The priest smiled at the peculiar little boy in front of him. ‘In all that is beautiful Arnold, you’ll find Izzy. In all that is perfect, she’s there. You just have to look.’

  Arnold nodded his head but his mind was elsewhere. Izzy was still here. She was still alive. She hadn’t left him after all. She loved him. And now all he had to do was find her.

  The horn being blown startled Arnold, stopping the flood of memories. He drove into the hospital car park and could see her standing by the entrance of accident and emergency.

  Opening the passenger seat door Arnold smiled, speaking warmly. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, it seems to be a thirty mile per hour zone everywhere; I didn’t want to get caught speeding.’

  Tasha smiled, looking at his handsome face. ‘It’s all right babe. I’m just grateful you came.’ She leaned over and gave Arnold a kiss on his cheek.

  He’d been right, she was perfect. Just perfect. His perfect little Izzy.

  10

  ‘Fuck.’ Freddie threw his unauthorised mobile phone at the door of his cell. He watched it break into pieces, making him angrier than he already was. Turning his rage on the leg of the metal bed, he kicked it until the viewing window of the cell door slid open.

  ‘What’s going on Thompson? You better not be wrecking your cell, otherwise it’ll be a stint in solitary.’

  Freddie stepped towards the open hatch and saw the bearded face of the deputy governor peering through. He sneered at him. ‘I think we both know how that ain’t going to happen. I ain’t going nowhere. But if you insist on playing at being superman, go ahead, be my guest. It just could end up getting a bit messy though. All I want is to let off some steam in me cell without a bleeding screw sticking their frigging neck in.’

  The deputy quickly looked around; hoping no one else had heard Thompson’s threat. It wouldn’t do to lose the authority and respect he’d worked so hard to establish within the prison. But it wouldn’t do either to pass off the threat as idle. He knew Thompson’s reputation. Knew it wouldn’t take more than a nod for Freddie to get his men to pay him a visit at home. He had a wife and daughter to think of. He’d been in the service thirty-odd years now and it didn’t get any easier. He’d spent more years behind the high grey prison walls than most lifers had. Retirement couldn’t come soon enough.

  Clearing his throat, he whispered through the hatch.

  ‘Okay Thompson, what’s up? What do you want? Just whatever it is, keep it down.’

  ‘I need to use the phone.’

  ‘You know the rules; no phone calls on lock down.’

  ‘Yeah and you and I both know I don’t give a shit about them.’

  Even through the hatch, Freddie could see how nervous the deputy governor looked. He could see the sweat coming through the wiry whiskers of his greying beard. ‘It’s more than my job, Thompson.’

  ‘Not my problem … governor.’

  Th
e cell hatch door closed and a few moments later, Freddie could hear the rattle of keys.

  ‘Okay make it quick … and mind, I don’t want any trouble.’

  Freddie didn’t bother answering. He smirked as he was led into the main section of the prison wing. Even though the wing was on lock down due to a fight in the recreational area earlier, it was as noisy as ever. Shouts and bangs were heard coming from discontented prisoners behind the rows of slate grey steel doors.

  His reputation and influence made it possible for Freddie not to share a cell with anyone else. The other cells in the wing were overcrowded, four men to a two man cell; but he’d made sure the screws had been paid off nicely. Having the eight feet by ten feet cell was the only slight comfort he had in an otherwise relentlessly harsh regime. There was no way Freddie could serve time and share a cell with a stinking farting stranger.

  Freddie picked up the phone and dialled the familiar number. He’d been calling all day and there’d been no answer. Even in normal circumstances not being able to get in contact would’ve driven him crazy but being inside, it was a whole new level entirely. The call connected then cut into voicemail. ‘Shit … Tasha it’s me. I don’t know where you are or what the fuck you’re playing at but you need to answer … I’ll call back later and you better start picking up.’

  Freddie slammed the phone down back in the cradle. Breathing quickly and deeply he bit down on his knuckle, noticing his wedding band as he did so. What he really wanted to do was put his fist through the wall.

  ‘Missus playing away Thompson?’

  The smirk and the narrowing of Freddie’s eyes was enough to tell the deputy governor he’d said the wrong thing. The fist hitting his mouth confirmed it. Later the deputy governor would tell his wife it wasn’t the blow which had surprised him, it was how much it’d hurt.

  Supper time clanged out the usual sounds of metal trays and plastic plates. Mashed potatoes and meat stew slopped onto the blue dishes, with a lucky few coming away with apple pie and custard, the rest coming away with only overripe and undercooked fruit.

  Freddie sat in the corner of the large canteen, waiting for his meal to be brought to him by one of the other lags. His fist throbbed and he rubbed it absent-mindedly. He’d spent the last couple of hours in his cell awaiting his punishment but as the whole of the wing had been on lock down anyway, it hadn’t really been much of a hardship.

  Freddie knew full well no real punishment could be dished out to him. The person who was supposed to reprimand him was the person he’d hit. And the person he’d hit had taken him out of his cell, letting him use the phone when he shouldn’t. Stalemate.

  ‘All right Freddie? A hooker for your thoughts?’

  It was Eddie Davidson. An old acquaintance of Freddie’s and a fellow lifer; sent down for putting an axe in his long-term girlfriend’s head. A couple of months ago he’d been moved from Parkhurst for trying to start a riot, transferring to the same prison as Freddie but to a different wing, making this the first time they’d had a chance to meet up. Freddie smiled.

  ‘You know how it is Eddie. But good to see you mate.’

  Eddie sat down, glaring at another prisoner who’d come to sit at the same table but catching Eddie’s hostile stare, thought better of it. ‘I wanted to thank you for getting me moved to your wing Freddie. Appreciate it mate.’

  Freddie waved away the thanks. ‘Turn it in Eddie. You and me go back a long way. The minute I heard you’d been bounced here I had to make sure you were looked after. I couldn’t have you holed up with the nonces on E-wing. Anything you need, come to me.’

  Eddie smiled, showing off a mouth of neglected teeth. ‘I’m the one who owes you pal, so if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.’

  ‘To tell you the truth Eddie, it’s just good to see an old face. I could do with the company.’

  Freddie stopped abruptly as his food was put in front of him and waited for the lag to walk away before he continued. Pushing his food round the plate and putting anything looking like onions to the side, he talked, trying to keep his voice free of the emotions which were gnawing away at him. ‘I’m struggling here Eddie. Finding it a bit rough. You heard about Ray-Ray?’

  Eddie nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Cheers. He was given a good seeing to before they crisped him with acid. Odd thing is, nobody’s come forward to say who did it yet. I don’t know what to do mate, it’s crippling me up. I’m stuck in here and I need to be out there finding whoever did this.’

  ‘You’ve no idea who?’

  ‘I’m racking me head and no one comes to mind; but in saying that, everyone comes to mind. You’ve got no fucking friends in this business. My son needs me. I want to get out and put me ear to the ground. Get it sorted and be there for him. And then the other thing doing me nut in is …’

  Freddie paused and glanced at Eddie, deciding if he should confide in him. But there was no need, the look in his eyes seemed to give Eddie the clue he needed to guess. ‘You worried about Tasha?’

  Freddie shrugged his shoulders as he pictured the way Tasha had walked away from him in the hospital. ‘A bit. I dunno, she seems different somehow. I know it’s hard on her me being in here, but I’ve done bird before and she never behaved the way she is doing now. You know, stuff like not answering my calls, cancelling visits. I asked her where she was when Ray-Ray was attacked; she couldn’t give me an answer. I’m at a loss mate and I don’t want me brain imagining things which might not be true. But I know she’s angry with me. Blames me for what happened. And a woman scorned and all that …’ Freddie trailed off, slightly embarrassed.

  Eddie gave a wry smile. ‘Seriously? You’re asking me? I’m not exactly the best person to get marriage counselling from.’

  Freddie blinked then leaned back in his chair roaring with laughter, remembering the reason Eddie Davidson was doing life.

  Starting to eat his apple crumble, Freddie listened as Eddie bent forward and spoke in a whisper.

  ‘What you need to do is break out.’

  Freddie looked at him in bemusement. ‘This ain’t the 1960s Ed, and it certainly ain’t Midnight Express.’

  ‘I’m being serious.’

  Freddie stared at him. ‘You and I both know people don’t escape from prison; not any more anyway, and certainly not from a high-security one. Nice thought though.’

  ‘Freddie, hold up. I’m not saying to break out from here; you wouldn’t stand a fucking option mate. Pull me up if I’m wrong but I’m presuming you’ll get compassionate visits to go and see Ray-Ray in hospital?’

  Freddie raised his eyebrows, and for the first time since the conversation had started, he began to take some real interest in what Eddie was saying. ‘Yeah, go on.’

  ‘Well, I know it’d be no good either to try to do a runner from the hospital but going there or coming back. Different matter entirely. What you got to lose? You’re serving minimum of what? … ten, fifteen years?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  Eddie whistled, shaking his head. ‘Fuck me. Twenty-five long ’uns for killing a nonce. World’s gone mad.’

  ‘Eddie, remind me to come to you when I need cheering up won’t you?’

  Eddie grinned; thankful they could both hang onto their sense of humour. ‘Okay, so you’re burning a quarter. If you’re lucky you’ll be out in eighteen, maybe fifteen, but it’s still a long time.’

  ‘This still ain’t helping.’

  ‘Think about it; money’s not going to be a problem to you when you’re out, so the only two headaches you’ll have are finding the muppets who thought they could get away with turning Ray-Ray over, and sorting out the missus. And once that’s done, you get on a plane and live happily ever after, sipping sangrias in the sun.’

  ‘Sounds easy when you put it like that, but ain’t you forgetting the one small matter of how I’m actually going to get from being inside a reinforced prison van to lazy days in the sun?’

  ‘You’ve go
t enough men to sort out being sprung.’

  ‘The being sprung part ain’t the big pain Ed, though it’d still take some doing. The authorities being clued-up is the pain. They don’t take chances now. Each time they take me to see Ray-Ray, they’ll use a different route. They could easily add another two hundred miles on, just so we don’t go the same way.’

  ‘That’s where I come in.’

  ‘I’m desperate to get out to be there for Ray-Ray, so much so I don’t even know how I’m even going to get through the next few hours, but that don’t make me stupid Ed.’

  Pushing the bowl of cold apple pie to the side, Freddie sighed and started to get up from the table. He liked Eddie and trusted him, but he certainly didn’t want to talk shit with him. Half the inmates in prison spent their time talking about escape plans; the other half spent their time feigning their innocence.

  Freddie understood it was a way of the men coping, but personally, he wasn’t interested in living in a fantasy world. His way, whether he liked it or not, was to face the time he had in front of him. He wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to get his head round it, but bullshitting himself wasn’t an option.

  Eddie continued. ‘I know a driver who works for the security firm who provides the transport for here. He sorts out the rosters so it won’t be a problem for him to be the one who works the day you visit Ray-Ray. He’ll also be able to tell us the day before which route he’ll be taking.’

  Freddie sat down. His mind was racing. What he was hearing sounded almost too good to be true. ‘Is he trustworthy?’

  ‘Yeah, trust isn’t the issue. I’ve known him a while and sorted out a few things in the past for him.’

  ‘So what’s the issue then?’ Freddie paused, squinting his eyes and letting Eddie have a flash of the hardened face everyone was scared of. ‘What’s in it for you Ed? I know you and me have a history, but I also know no one in life gives a bag of candy without wanting a blow job in return.’

  Eddie licked his lips nervously. ‘I want to come with you.’