Cutting the Cord

by Amanda Bateman

  “But your trip with Josef—” Bea began.

  “Europe, Asia, America, the rest of the world will be there next month, next year, next century but, my busy Bea, my beautiful Bea, you won’t. The trip, Josef can wait; this can’t.”

  “But, Janie, I don’t want you to see me wasting away.”

  “You told me you’d never desert me all that time ago when I was afraid that you’d leave just like mum did. You promised you wouldn’t and I promised never to leave you. Do you remember?” Bea nodded her head smiling at the memory. “You taught me never to make a promise I couldn’t keep. So, don’t ask me now to break it, please. Let me do this for you. Let me take care of you like you’ve taken care of me, of Charlie, of Megan, of dad. Please don’t deny me this, Aunt Bea, I beg of you.” Bea held Janie close to her then held her at arm’s length.

  “I taught you too well, I think,” began Bea. “Now it’s come back to bite me in the bum, as your grandad George would say. So how can I refuse your offer? But it comes with one condition,” warned Bea. “You mustn’t tell a soul about any of this until after Christmas is over. Can you promise me that? You as well, Harry?” Bea shouted over her shoulder at her brother. “Let me have this last Christmas Day with the rest of the family unaware of what’s happening. Can you both be brave enough to do that one small thing for me? I’ll promise to tell everyone the truth after we’ve had the annual Boxing Day party. I know it’s a big ask but I beg of you both, please let me have this Christmas without pity. With the rest of the family and our friends believing I’m cured. I want our last Christmas together to be a happy one, not one marred by sadness. Can you promise me that? Please say you can.” Harry walked over to his sister and daughter and pulled them both into his big, strong arms.

  “We’ll make sure it’s a Christmas to remember, Bea. “We promise, Janie, don’t we?” Janie gave Bea a big smile.

  “This is my brave face, Aunt Bea,” she joked. “I’m going to wear it until Christmas is over. It’s my gift to you.” The three of them hung on to each other for dear life, afraid to let go, afraid of what the New Year had in store for them all.

  ELSIE

  Christmas day 1982

  “Move it, Arnold,” bellowed Prison Officer Lewis, as she swung open Elsie’s cell door. Elsie slid off her bunk and with her towel under one arm and her toiletry bag in the other she headed out of her cell, along the landing, down the stairs and into the shower block. Elsie came to a halt outside the entrance to the showers. Steam was causing a fog like blanket inside.

  “Move yourself, Arnold.” PO Lewis yelled at her. “I’ve got better things to be getting on with than babysitting you.” And with that shoved Elsie in the back into the shower’s entrance. Elsie turned to face the prison officer.

  “Aren’t you were supposed to check the block’s empty first,” enquired Elsie. Lecherous Lesbian Lewis, as she was known among the inmates, gave Elsie a sickly grin.

  “It’s Christmas Day, I thought I’d let you have a little dignity, by way of a Christmas present, you might say.” Lewis let out a shrill laugh. Instantly, Elsie knew that trouble lay inside the showers for her and Lewis was party to it.

  “Go on, Arnold, get in there before I have to give you a fucking beating for disobeying an officer.” She spat out at Elsie. Elsie adjusted the rolled-up towel under her arm and tentatively edged forwards into the steamed-up shower block. Usually, Elsie would head to the right-hand side of the block, but her instincts told her to head left instead. Once she turned the corner and was out of view from PO Lewis she placed her toiletry bag on the floor, throwing her towel into it. Left in her hand now was a shard of metal protruding from a makeshift handle of rolled paper and Sellotape. She held it in a vice-like grip as she slunk further into the corner of the shower block. Elsie pressed her back hard up against the shower’s tiled wall and waited.

  Eventually a clothed figure came into Elsie’s view and was heading towards the bank of steaming showers on the far wall. Elsie could see a glint of a blade as it caught in dim light of one of the overhead caged bulbs. She took a deep breath then lunged herself at the back of her would-be attacker.

  With the element of surprise Elsie managed to plunge her makeshift knife into the side of the other woman before she’d realised what was going on. As Elsie drew back to take another stab at her, the woman turned and caught Elsie across the side of her left cheek with her knife. Elsie stepped back in shock and the attacker went on to press home her advantage, but Elsie just managed to sidestep the blade coming towards her. Instead of plunging into her stomach it swiped the side of her loose-fitting prison shirt and snagged there, before falling to the tiled shower floor. Elsie quickly used the attacker’s force against her and slammed her own blade into the advancing abdomen of the woman hurtling towards her. She let out a gut-wrenching squeal as she collapsed to the floor. Immediately Elsie could hear Lewis calling out.

  “Brownlow, have you got her?” she called out into the steam.

  “Help,” gurgled Brownlow from the floor. Elsie kicked the fallen knife out of her attacker’s reach then, quickly retrieving her towel, she flung it out on the floor, holding onto the one end and stooping down low. Lewis rounded the corner.

  “Brownlow, where are you? What’s going on?” she whispered once again into the steam of the shower room.

  “Over here,” croaked Brownlow. Lewis took a step forwards, her right foot falling onto the towel. As she lifted her left foot, Elsie pulled on the towel with all her might. Lewis let out several screams as both of her feet left the ground and she came crashing down on the cold, hard tiles of the shower block floor. Elsie gathered up her own home-made knife and crawled across to the large drain over by the running showers. She prised off the grate in the far corner then stuffed her knife down the drainpipe and let the water do the rest of the work for her. Replacing the grate, Elsie got to her feet and ran past the two women laid out on the floor, speeding out of the showers, and pulled the alarm cord outside the shower block. Exhausted, Elsie slumped to the floor, her hands held tightly over her ears to protect them from the shrill sound of the ringing alarm bells and waited for the cavalry to arrive.

  ***

  27th December 1982

  Governor Johnson placed a chair by Elsie’s bedside and sat down. Elsie turned her head to face him. He smiled at her. Elsie would normally have smiled back at such a good-looking bloke but the stitches on her left check were starting to heal and that meant they were not only driving her mad with the itchiness but they’d pulled the skin all round them incredibly tight.

  “Eight stitches, they say. I’m afraid they’re going to leave a permanent scar, Mrs Arnold.” Elsie just nodded in agreement.

  “Anyway, I’m not here to talk scars but about the events of two days ago. It seems Prison Officer Lewis had connections to an old friend of yours, a Mr Tommy Jones. Her brother owed a lot of money to one of his associates. The brother offered him access to you via his sister in lieu of his debts being wiped out. Tommy agreed, with an added bonus to Lewis for getting the job done and a few quid bunged to Brownlow’s family. Brownlow confessed all, once she realised that Prison Officer Lewis was placing all the blame at her door. Brownlow has five children back home and only a few months left of her sentence to serve. She coughed up everything she knew to get a favourable hearing and a lower sentence should you press charges.” Elsie pushed herself higher up the bed.

  “So, it was Tommy’s doing then, not that sicko lesbian Lewis? I thought she’d just got it in for me ’cause I wouldn’t let her have her sick, twisted way with me.” Johnson didn’t seem surprised by Elsie’s insinuations.

  “We have been aware of Prison Officer Lewis’s, shall we say, activities for a while now, but unfortunately no one was prepared to make an official complaint against her.”

  “Can you blame anyone? They’re all either a bunch of screaming lesbians or just downright bullies. Complainin
g to one of your PRISON OFFICERS about bloody anything is like taking your life in your own hands. They’re bigger villains than us cons,” blurted out Elsie.

  “I can understand your way of thinking, Mrs Arnold, but not all of my officers are as corrupt as you might believe. But, that aside, I’m here to see if you’d like to press charges against inmate Irene Brownlow?”

  “And what will happen to her if I don’t? Or, more importantly, what will happen to me if I do?”

  “Brownlow will receive an extra two months on her sentence for causing a, shall we say, disturbance, if you should refuse to press charges. You will remain here as a guest of her majesty. If you do decide to press charges, she’ll be up on an attempted murder charge. You will be transferred to another prison regarding your safety.

  “Prison Officer Lewis has been dismissed from the prison service and awaits sentencing as regards the attack on you.”

  Elsie pondered over what the governor had said then made her own request. “I know DCI Jack Wilde retires in a few days but before I make any decision can I see him or at least speak to him?” The governor rose from his chair and handed it to a nearby guard to return to the far end of the room.

  “I shall see if I can get hold of DCI Wilde, immediately, then I’ll send word of the outcome.” Then Governor Johnson strode out of the prison’s hospital wing with a guard close on his heels. Elsie slumped back onto her pillows and thought how close Tommy Jones had come to getting her erased.

  ***

  Elsie had been returned to her cell in solitary the following day with news that DCI Jack Wilde had agreed to make the journey to come see her. He’d be here within the next few hours. Elsie had paced up and down her cell awaiting his arrival. Finally, after what seemed like days not hours, she was escorted to one of the interview rooms in the prison. DCI Wilde was already seated at the table with a styrofoam cup of what looked like black coffee in front of him. He watched as Elsie was led into the room and sat down in the chair opposite him.

  “You are free to leave us now,” he informed the guard.

  “Are you sure, sir?” the young guard enquired.

  “Positive,” Jack assured him. The guard turned and left and once the door was slammed shut behind him, Jack spoke.

  “Eight stitches, eh? Heard your attacker got twice as many.”

  Elsie smiled at the DCI. “Self-defence,” she remarked. She waited for him to give a jibe about her reply but instead he took a sip of the black liquid from his cup.

  “Tommy Jones was blown up in his car outside of one of his clubs along with his hired goon, Barney, on Boxing Day. The men you told us about regarding Douglas Moore have either turned up dead or simply disappeared. Douglas Moore himself was the victim of a knife attack on Monday. He sustained internal bleeding and died late yesterday afternoon. Prison Officer Lewis was found dead at her home this morning. The official verdict is going to be suicide, as several bottles of pills and a half-empty bottle of vodka were found by her side. I, myself, received a note at my office this morning, saying I was to let you know you’re off the hook! From whom or what, I can’t say.” Elsie was dumbstruck by the amount of attacks that had taken place over a short space of time.

  “IRA?” she asked.

  “We think they are responsible, yes. Do we have proof? No!”

  “And Irene Brownlow?”

  “She’s being released from the local hospital back into the hospital wing here. If you press charges, you’ll be moved to a different prison.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You’ll both remain here.”

  “Yeah, but what about me?”

  “If you don’t press charges you’ll be seen as some sort of hero by the rest of the inmates. With the threat of Tommy Jones and Douglas Moore gone, you’ll have the choice of either remaining in solitary or being moved into the general population. If you do press charges, you’ll be moved to another prison and remain in solitary as it’ll be too dangerous to let you mingle with the other inmates. They don’t take to kindly to stitching up one of their own, as they see it, and no pun intended, by the way.” DCI Wilde took another slurp from his cup.

  “If you were me, what would you do?” Elsie asked.

  Jack took another sip of his coffee then smiled at Elsie.

  “I’d think Christmas had come at last. Not only are all my worse enemies dead but I get the opportunity to rub shoulders with my counterparts, instead of staring at the same four walls all day, every day. I’d drop all charges against Brownlow and even go as far as shaking her hand when I saw her again.” Jack rose from his chair and crossed to the door. “Right, that’s me done. As of now I’m a retired policeman with a plane to catch. Make the right decision, Elsie, for once in your life.” Then he was through the door and gone. Elsie decided to take his advice. After all, she could end up top dog of this hell hole, if she played her cards right.

  JACK

  29th December 1982

  Jack slid onto the passenger seat of the waiting unmarked police car and slammed the door shut.

  “Everything all right, Guv?” asked the young PC, who’d volunteered to drive Jack from his home on the outskirts of Blackpool to Birmingham airport via this place. Jack looked across at the PC.

  “No, Turner, it isn’t! Now, let’s just get off this driveway and go find a pub. I could do with a stiff drink.” PC Mike Turner immediately turned on the engine, put the car in gear and pulled off the driveway. Jack Wilde was a decent bloke, so something must have upset him to put him in such a bad mood. After all, he’d seemed quite upbeat on their arrival at the house. Said it wouldn’t take him long to pass on the information he had but he’d been inside the house for over an hour. Mike was dying to know what had gone on inside but wisely chose to avoid the question.

  “I’m not too familiar with these parts, Guv, so I’ll head for the airport and keep an eye out for a pub along the way, if that’s okay?” Jack just nodded his approval and stared blankly out of the side window as houses and towns, turned to fields and farm buildings. All of them holding an interest to him. The clicking sound of the car’s indicator going on brought Jack out of his stupor. PC Turner was indicating to turn right into the car park of a pub called the Hare and Hounds. He smoothly brought the car to a halt, right outside the front entrance, then turned off the engine.

  “This do ya?” he enquired. Jack just opened the door and alighted from the car. Once again, he slammed the door shut. He never spoke a word as he entered the pub and made for the bar, with PC Mike Turner hot on his heels.

  “Mind if I find the toilets, Guv? Only my bladder’s bursting.” Jack just waved his hand at him, so he set off to find a much-needed loo. When Mike returned to the main bar area he found Jack was hunched over a pint of bitter with what looked like a whisky chaser by its side. On the opposite side of the table was a bottle of coke and a clean, empty glass. Jack looked up as he approached the table.

  “Hope the drink’s okay?” was all he said. Mike sat down opposite Jack and gently poured the coke into the glass.

  “I’d have preferred a lager, but this will do. Cheers,” he said as he raised the glass to his lips. Jack didn’t respond. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, Jack staring blankly into his pint and Mike taking in his surroundings. Eventually, Jack spoke.

  “That was Harry Arnold’s house we called at. Are you familiar with the case, PC Turner?”

  “Didn’t the wife kill the son and you found her in Portugal?”

  “Aye, that’s the one. I went to tell them that Elsie, that’s the mother, had been attacked in prison and that virtually all the people she’d used to get away had, one way or the other, met their maker over the last few days. I thought I’d let them know before I left the country.”

  “Weren’t they pleased to hear the news, then, Guv?”

  “Can’t say as they were, and I don’t blame them, after
them telling me their piece of terrible news.” Jack took a swig of his pint, quickly followed by a gulp of the whisky. Mike wanted to hear what the news was but waited patiently for Jack to continue.

  “Elsie Arnold was – is – a ruthless woman. She left one New Year’s Eve with her lover, Derek Collins, and left behind a dutiful husband and four children. Freddy, the eldest son, tracked her down and she stuck a knife in him for his trouble and framed Derek for the murder. Harry’s sister, Bea, came to the family’s rescue. It wasn’t an easy decision for her to make, as years before she’d been thrown out of her family’s home for taking up with a man her elder sister was in love with. Thing was, this man had neither feelings nor doings with the elder sister. So, Bea found herself out on her ear. Eventually, she was reunited with this man; Arthur was his name. They married and after many fruitless years Bea fell pregnant. It should have been the happiness moment of their lives, but Arthur was tragically struck down with a brain tumour and died within a few weeks. Bea was distraught and subsequently miscarried the baby. Life had dealt her another blow but, on hearing about her brother’s dilemma, Bea decided to face the family and come home to help her baby brother.” Jack paused for another slug on his pint. “Bea faced down her elder sister and mother and took charge of her nieces and nephew but then tragedy struck again. Arthur had a sister and niece in America. They’d visited them during their time together and Bea was godmother to their daughter, Megan. Just prior to Megan’s thirteenth birthday, her mother shot dead her husband and then turned the gun on herself. The father had been sexually assaulting the young girl. Bea flew to America and brought Megan back here. She was welcomed by Harry and his children and has grown into a well-mannered, thoughtful, clever young lady. She recently started university, she wants to become a vet and I do believe she’ll succeed.” Jack took another gulp of his pint and this time he drained the whisky glass as well. Then he continued to tell his tale.