Paul was taken out of the wing by the escort and led downhill to a huddle of buildings opposite a football pitch. He was taken into one which was known as the tin shop and handed over to a prisoner who introduced himself as Moxey.
Moxey’s job was to show Paul the ropes. He wasn’t in charge of the tin shop; there was a security officer responsible for that. The tin shop was where prefabricated waste bins were made. It was incredibly noisy. Paul could hear a radio playing somewhere. There were about forty men working in the shop: hardened criminals serving time for violent crimes. They all looked quite content, though. The difference between their past lives and this bore no comparison: life outside had to be blanked out.
He found Moxey to be pleasant enough. The man introduced him to several of the other cons in the shop, avoiding certain individuals. Paul guessed that these men were not the type who welcomed strangers readily.
Paul settled into life at Parkhurst quite quickly. It didn’t take long to get used to the routines and the food. He made friends with one or two inmates who helped him to know who were the ‘good’ screws and who were not. One thing he learned quickly was that he would probably be transferred to D wing.
Six weeks later, Paul was transferred. He was on the ‘ones’: the ground floor. By this time, Paul had acquired a few personal items of his own: a radio, writing materials and a selection of books: all small things to make life a little easier. He had a few friends. Moxey had become closest to him, and it was Moxey who warned him of what he could expect because of his reputation. It was one Saturday afternoon when they were out in the compound.
‘What reputation?’ Paul asked.
‘You topped Sam Finnegan,’ Moxey told him. ‘No one does that to their guv’nor unless they’ve got a screw loose. We have a kind of respect for other villains, but not all of them.’ He used his hands a lot as he explained and was rotating them as he put emphasis on his explanation. ‘You poison someone; you’re a creep. Rape a child; you’re a dead man in here, you wouldn’t last five minutes. Kill a copper; stupid. But you,’ he stabbed a finger at Paul, ‘you knock off your boss; the biggest villain on the south coast. You’ve got to have balls to do that, Paul, real balls.’ He clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘So you got a bit of respect from some of the cons, a bit of a reputation. But not all of them,’ he warned, ‘so you’ve got to watch your back.’
Paul wanted to avoid trouble but it came looking for him as Moxey had predicted. It happened as Paul was queuing for a meal at the hotplate. Queuing was always done in an orderly fashion, but just as Paul reached the servery, he was hustled aside by one of the inmates. Paul was about to say something when someone grabbed his arm. He turned and saw a small, thin-looking character shaking his head vigorously. Paul looked down at the man’s hand which still gripped his arm. He noticed the long nails. The man removed his hand and Paul nodded, and then picked up his meal, ignoring the thug who had shoved him aside. He went back up to his cell. It wasn’t long before the man who had grabbed his arm appeared at the cell door. There was nothing striking about the man’s physique other than he had no real physique at all: he was just skinny. His hair was black and swept across the top of his scalp in a comb-over. There was something about the way in which he stood at the door, one hand on his hip, the other held forward, palm down, elegant.
‘Let me warn you,’ he began, ‘not to tangle with that lunatic.’
‘What lunatic?’ Paul asked.
‘Billy Isaacs, the nutter who pushed in at the hotplate. He was trying it on.’ He stepped into the cell and lifted his hand. ‘He wanted you to start something.’
‘Start what?’
‘Oh, use your fucking loaf.’
Paul couldn’t help but laugh. Whoever this runt of man was, he certainly had a turn of phrase. ‘You mean he wanted to start a fight with me?’
He dropped his hand and put it against his hip. ‘Wouldn’t have been much of a fight, sweetheart.’
Paul laughed even harder. This guy was as camp as they come. But before Paul could make any comment, another figure appeared and pulled the man away from the cell door.
‘Out of the fucking way, Maisy.’
Maisy flicked a hand at him and screamed, ‘Don’t you touch me, Isaacs.’
Someone else moved behind Isaacs and ushered Maisy out of the way. Isaacs stepped into the cell.
‘Association tomorrow, Kennett. We’ll have a little chat.’ He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. ‘And watch out for that little faggot; he’s after anything he can get: a joint, blow job, fuck, anything. Got it?’ He stepped away from the cell door and disappeared along the landing.
Paul could still hear Maisy bellowing out insults. He started laughing again and wondered what the hell he was getting into. He had the rest of his life to find out.
Michael had very little sleep that night because of the decision he needed to make about Topper. If he agreed to marry her, she would no longer be an employee, but a member of the Kennett family. It meant a wage for someone to replace her in the kitchen. Did he love her? It was another question that had teased his mind half the night. He had feelings for her, otherwise he wouldn’t have half-killed his brother because of her. And what about Paul, did he have any right to be considered? Michael decided his brother had forsaken that right.
When he slept, his dreams were filled with images that had been part of his day and his problems. But when he woke, he had reached a clear decision: he would ask Topper to marry him. Later that morning he found Kate in her small office. He pulled up a chair to her desk.
‘I’ve made up my mind about Topper.’
A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. ‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘You’ve decided to marry her.’
He sniffed. ‘Never could keep anything from you, could I?’
‘Have you spoken to Topper?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I thought I would tell you first,’ he admitted. ‘It’s academic, really: Topper’s expecting us to marry anyway.’
‘You’re sure about this, Michael?’ she asked.
He nodded firmly. ‘As sure as I’ll ever be. I’m not likely to go far from Clanford socially, so it’s unlikely I’ll meet anyone. Topper is a local girl: I know her. It’ll work,’ he added, hoping to convince Kate there was nothing to be concerned about. It didn’t sound like he was too convinced himself as far as Kate was concerned, but she had promised to support his decision and kept her thoughts to herself.
‘Well, let me know when you’ve named the day; then we can get on with organizing a wonderful party.’ She brightened. ‘I think it’s time the people here at Clanford had something to cheer about. It will give them a lift.’
He got up and came round the desk, stooped forward and kissed Kate on the cheek. ‘I also have a business plan worked out for Clanford. I’ll let you have a copy later.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. ‘I think we’re going to make it work,’ he told her. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He left Kate sitting there more in hope than expectation.
Billy Isaacs came to Paul’s cell during association. Prisoners were allowed to associate in their cells in D wing when they were not working. At weekends association was usually in the compound. Paul had just finished his evening meal when Isaacs walked into his cell with two men. There wasn’t a great deal about Isaacs that would suggest his nature until you got to know him. He was as hard as iron, violent and psychotic with it. Whereas some men can show this to a degree simply by their body language and appearance, Isaacs was different. He could be charming, well-mannered and almost urbane. But beneath the façade, he was a dangerous animal, and Paul was to learn later that he was evil personified.
‘So you’re the man who killed Sam Finnegan.’ Isaacs sat on the end of Paul’s bunk. The two men with him remained standing by the open door. He kept his gaze fixed on Paul for a while, a glimmer of a smile on his face. ‘That must have taken some balls, to shoot someone in the back.’ He laughed. The two cons laughed with
him. Paul said nothing. ‘We don’t question motives here in the nick because we’ve all got our reasons for doing what we did, but we need to know what makes a man tick, and I want to know what makes you tick.’
Paul knew the score: he knew Isaacs was testing him. He also knew that in prison most cons wanted a quiet life, no trouble, so they could get out on early release for good behaviour. He also understood that the hard men in the nick could make your life a misery if you let them, and the only way to avoid it was to face up to them and let them know you weren’t going to be a pushover. He had to show that he had no fear of him.
‘What do you want, Isaacs?’ he asked.
Isaacs regarded him carefully. ‘I want to know what kind of man you are. I want to know if I’ve got to watch my back in case I get what Finnegan got.’
Paul shook his head. ‘I’m in here for life. If I’m lucky I’ll get out in twenty years. I don’t give a shit what you think, but that’s the way it is.’ He noticed the two men look at each other and share a joke. Isaacs didn’t look too amused, though. His eyes seemed to get smaller and his expression hardened.
‘My, my, you are touchy. We ought to do something about that.’
Paul knew he would have to brazen this little confrontation out, even if he was going to get a good hiding, but unless he showed some balls he knew he would always suffer at the hands of men like Isaacs. He stood up because he didn’t want to be caught in a vulnerable position by the two men at the door.
‘Unless you’ve got something useful to say to me, Isaacs,’ he said, ‘I suggest you and your apes here fuck off and leave me in peace.’
Isaacs was about to say something when a prison officer appeared behind the two men. His bulk seemed to block out all the light coming into the cell.
‘What’s going on here, Kennett?’ he barked.
Paul swivelled on his heel. ‘Nothing, sir; me and Isaacs were just having a little chat.’
The officer shouldered his way into the cell, pointed at Isaacs and told him to get out. Then he told Paul to get up and stand facing the wall. Isaacs and his two men walked away leaving Paul with the officer. Paul felt the man’s hands running up and down his legs, then onto his upper torso.
‘Turn round and empty your pockets onto the bed.’
Paul guessed the screw suspected there had been an exchange of drugs and money. It was common enough in the nick. He did as he was asked and dumped the contents of his pockets on to the bed. The officer rummaged through everything then grunted his satisfaction and left.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief and put his belongings back in his pocket. He was thankful that the screw had turned up when he did. He couldn’t bear to think just what might have happened if he hadn’t.
Not long after the incident, Maisy appeared at Paul’s door. ‘You had a visit from Isaacs, then?’
‘How did you know?’ Paul asked.
Maisy glanced one way then the other and then stepped into the cell. ‘I always like to know what’s going on. Can I come in?’
Paul nodded. ‘Sure, why not?’
‘Why not?’ Maisy repeated. ‘You’ll have everyone talking about us.’
Paul was annoyed. ‘What do you want, Maisy?’
‘I just wanted to know if you were OK. That Isaacs can be a nasty piece of work.’
‘The landing screw turned up. Broke the meeting up.’
Maisy chuckled. ‘Yes, I know: I sent him.’
Paul’s mouth fell open. ‘You sent him? Why?’
Maisy came further into the cell. It was almost like a covert meeting now as he lowered his voice. ‘I know what Isaacs is like. When I saw him come in here and his two goons standing at the door, I knew what he was going to do. So I told the screw I thought there was a bit of trading going on.’
‘So what was he going to do, Maisy?’
‘I told you the other day to use your fucking loaf. Isaacs is evil; he doesn’t give a shit about anybody or anything. He was going to rough you up, no question.’
‘Why would he want to do that?’
‘He wants to soften you up till he’s got you where he wants. Then he’ll have your arse.’
Paul sat upright. ‘What?’
Maisy nodded. ‘He’s a poof. Worse than me, in fact. I call them sort arsehole bandits. He’ll steal it off you if you ain’t looking. By force if necessary.’
Paul thought there wasn’t anything new in his life that could shock him, but he knew differently now. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘No, you don’t, do you,’ Maisy interrupted. ‘He’s tried it on me once or twice but he knows I’d scratch his eyes out.’ He held his hands up, showing his remarkable fingernails. ‘That’s why I keep them in good order.’ He affected an air of innocence.
Paul was trying to come to terms with what Maisy was saying, but his mind was turning over the shocking images of what might have happened in his cell if the landing officer hadn’t turned up. That’s when it dawned on him that Maisy had probably saved him from being raped.
Maisy put his hands down, laying them on his legs as though he was showing them off. ‘Look, Paul. You don’t mind if I call you Paul?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘If you let me, I’ll keep an eye on Isaacs for you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I know when his testosterone levels are up.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I can smell them.’
Paul couldn’t imagine having a homosexual as his guardian angel. The thought revolted him. But he had to admit that he had Maisy to thank for preventing some kind of assault. And he accepted the fact that he needed friends, people to look out for him if he was to survive the next twenty years in prison.
He laughed softly. ‘OK, Maisy. You keep an eye on Isaacs for me. And if there’s anything I can do for you.’ He stopped suddenly, not wanting to let the offer slip from his mouth.
Maisy smiled. ‘Oh, there’s plenty you could do for me, Paul.’ He leaned forward and touched him lightly on the hand. ‘But I won’t ask.’
Paul shuddered at the thought and vowed to spend as little time in Maisy’s company as he could. But from now on he knew he would have to watch his back: literally.
FIFTEEN
Laura, 2010
Max’s visit had affected Laura more than she could have ever imagined. It had been two days now and her preconceived ideas about the kind of man he was and his intentions towards Emma were so far off the mark that she felt stupid. She realized that her careful shepherding of Emma, although with good intentions, had probably been instrumental in Emma’s decision to run away. Why else would her sister have taken flight if it wasn’t because of people like her ex-husband and Laura herself who had always tried to control or dominate her?
It was now over a month since Emma had moved out. She had said nothing; just vanished. Laura thought of calling the police, but she knew what the standard response would have been about people who disappear: most of them choose to. She had to admit that in this case it looked as though that was exactly what Emma had done.
It was Saturday morning and Laura almost always shopped at the local supermarket, but she didn’t feel at all like shopping because her mind was on Max and Emma, and she couldn’t help beating herself up over her own contribution to Emma’s current state of mind.
The doorbell sounded. It startled Laura. She glanced through the front-room window and saw a courier van out front. She went to the door and opened it. The driver of the van was clutching a parcel and a clipboard.
‘Mrs Laura Morton?’ Laura nodded. ‘Sign here please.’
Laura signed for the parcel and went back in the house. She had no idea who the parcel was from and wondered briefly if it was from Emma. She sat down, put on her glasses and carefully removed the outer packaging. Surprise washed over her face as she pulled out a large, hardback book. She knew instantly who had sent it, and why. She tossed the paper aside and just sat there looking at the cover and the name of the author.
PAST IMPERFECT
&nb
sp; by
MAX REILLY
Laura opened the book. Max had signed it and enclosed a letter. She opened the letter. The handwriting was bold and strong: evidence of a writer who was skilled in penmanship.
Dear Laura
Now you know and hopefully you will read the book. When you hear from Emma, please don’t tell her about our meeting and what we discussed; I want to do that myself. I haven’t spoken to her for almost two months now. I have given up phoning because she simply ignores my calls. I do love her, Laura, and I know it will break my heart if I’m never able to tell her. So please, please let her know I want desperately to see her. I really do. Unfortunately I now have to go away: I have a book tour of Australia and New Zealand to get through, and it is likely to last two months at least. These things sometimes have a habit of extending themselves, so I cannot say when I’ll be back. When I do return, I will contact you in the hope that you have spoken to Emma. If anything dreadful happens (God forbid), please contact my publisher. And thank you again for listening so patiently: it helped me enormously.
Max
Laura had tears in her eyes when she finished. She read it through again and slipped it back into the envelope.
‘Damn!’ She thought of her sister, wondering where she was, what she was doing. Laura had imagined all kinds of scenarios, but probably the one she feared most was that Emma would meet someone and fall in love with him.
‘There you go again,’ she muttered to herself, ‘living Emma’s life for her.’
She got up from the chair and scooped up the wrapping and went through to the kitchen. She threw the paper in the bin, made herself a cup of coffee and picked up Max’s book.
‘Now then,’ she said as she settled herself into the chair. ‘Let’s see who the real Max Reilly is.’
SIXTEEN
Paul, 1982
Paul’s life outside prison caught up with him when he received a letter from Kate. It was to tell him that Michael and Topper had married and that Topper had given birth to a baby girl, Pauline; an acknowledgement that she was Paul’s daughter. Kate had made it clear in the letter that Michael would always be the father. She said that because of the long, round trip to the prison, having to catch the ferry as well, it was unlikely she would visit him very often, if at all. Kate’s decision didn’t upset Paul but he did send a letter back asking if he could see photographs of his daughter. He received no reply to that, and it was to be the last letter he received from Clanford. He did send a letter, though, to Kate giving her permission to sell his Jaguar and to use the money towards his daughter’s upbringing.
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