Shadows Of Regret

by Greenwood, Ross

  The house was empty without Jack. Before, his large presence lingered even when he wasn’t there. We had a week to cope while they conducted the autopsy. Heart failure caused his death. An electrician fell off the scaffolding but a dead man hit the concrete below.

  It was soon clear we wouldn’t be able to manage. I was too young and clueless to be the woman of the house. Gwyn too poorly and frail. Even though I’d grown up having to look after myself, it became obvious how much Jack had done. With him gone, the washing machine belched water over the floor and we struggled to control the central heating.

  Everyone left quickly after the service. Bethany drove us to our house in silence and pushed Gwyn into the lounge.

  ‘Let’s take a walk, Katie.’

  We shuffled along the path in the warm sunshine. Bethany cried again. A deserted playground beckoned, so we sat next to each other on a swing.

  ‘We’ve found a place for you in a children’s home in Peterborough. I didn’t want you to go into emergency foster care. Sadly, it’s plain to see that you can’t stay with Gwyn.’

  ‘Is that the care system?’

  ‘I suppose so. Why?’

  ‘I remember you telling Jack that children struggled if they had been moved around the care system more frequently.’

  Bethany collapsed in tears, and I wondered why she did the job. Turns out she’d been thinking the same thing.

  ‘I’m afraid the home is thirty miles away so you will be out of my area. Besides, I’ve decided to leave the service. You’ll be my last client and my favourite.’

  ‘Can’t I come live with you?’

  Her shuddering gulps indicated that wouldn’t be possible. I feared as much. She couldn’t say that which I suspected was true. I must be an unlucky person as bad things happened to the ones I loved.

  ‘What’s heart failure?’

  She recovered to explain. ‘I believe when you’re born, your heart has a set number of beats. I think your uncle just used his up.’

  The next morning, I packed my belongings. I gathered my clothes, my unused bike, and the only picture I had of my parents. Bethany failed to arrive. When a lady with a name I couldn’t remember drove me to the home, I realised I didn’t have a photo of my aunt or uncle. Gwyn had hugged me goodbye and promised to visit but she never did. They told me she died some time later. I didn’t get to attend that funeral.

  Bethany told the lady she’d write, but I saw no letters. I heard from her replacement that she took a job at an insurance company and moved to Cardiff. I was alone again, but experience had hardened me. Do not get too close to anyone as you can’t rely on them and they soon disappear. What flaws lurked inside me? I wasn’t angry about events that were out of my control. That would engulf me nearly twenty years later.

  9

  February

  Approved Premises - Cambridge

  I’ve spent many hours staring at the television but not seeing it. I remember watching a film while I was inside. There was a sad part where an old felon killed himself because he had been incarcerated for so long, it institutionalised him. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. I crave the routine. Prison regime left you little time for daydreaming. With nothing to do, I stare at the clock and think I would be working right now, or in the gym.

  It was the hours in your cell that were tough. Then your memories found you. I could spend the entire night stuck at the moment before dreamless sleep, subconsciously replaying the facts over and over and yearning without hope for a different outcome.

  I’ve only seen the girl upstairs a couple of times and she barely acknowledged me. Familiar smells of illegal substances filter through the ceiling. Sally seems content to let her be. She said that it was nigh on impossible to house anyone with an arson conviction as they were such a danger to others. At the incredulous look on my face she explained that Tammy had been assessed and her risk was low. That wasn’t reassuring, but it made sense. She had to live somewhere. Otherwise she would be homeless, uncared for, and slip into old habits. And there’d be more fires.

  The night worker told me Tammy’s peccadillo was putting lit envelopes through people’s letter boxes. We didn’t have one as the building was always staffed, so we should be okay. I thought the craziness of prison would finish after I left, but real life is worse in some ways.

  I have to sign in at regular times so even if I want to venture out, I’m not able to go far. After another month, they will lower the frequency so I can do more. In the meantime, this is it. I must push myself to do things, yet every time I step through the front door, I feel vulnerable.

  England is out there. I could sightsee or watch a film but instead, I slump on the sofa. Sally reassures me it’s normal after so long in prison and to take each day as it comes. The inactivity makes sleep impossible here, too. Today, I’m going for a run. It’s hard to get my head round the fact I can go anywhere if I return by lunchtime.

  The best thing so far about being free is the shower. You didn’t hang around in prison bathrooms. Although as my sentence progressed they introduced lockable cubicles. But the doors were still low so staff, or anyone else, could look over them. Here, I’m safe. I’ve spent money on toiletries as a treat, and fifteen minutes under a blasting stream of hot water makes me feel human and alive.

  I even take a shower before my run to wake me up. When I’m finished, I find Tammy chatting to a bloke in white paint-splattered overalls outside the door. Tammy has a towel in her hand and, despite the wild hair, looks normal. There’s even eye contact and I hear the first clear words from her mouth.

  ‘My bathroom’s being painted, so Sally said to use yours. I almost gave up as you were in there so long.’ She casts a sneaky look at the workman. ‘She must have been especially dirty.’

  I step out of her way, unsure what to say to that. I sidle by as my embarrassed face registers her meaning, and she delivers an unwelcome compliment.

  ‘Nice tits.’

  The man and I both stare down at my chest which a damp T-shirt struggles to hide, and I sprint away to my room.

  You could say I have been blessed or cursed on the boob front. They were, after all, the cause of my downfall. Never having had a proper relationship, I struggled to understand the fascination. It didn’t take long for people to notice in the prison — staff and inmates.

  After the mind-blowing implications of the sentence had receded, I’m ashamed to say I used that fact to get what I wanted. A strange young officer would bring me in virtually anything if I let him squeeze them for a minute or two. That was it; I didn’t even have to undress. Other officers would insist on that, and I sunk to a blowjob once. I had no idea what I was doing and suspect I wasn’t very good at it because he never came back for more.

  In fact, he was wary of me afterwards. Perhaps he was more ashamed than I was. Maybe he felt guilty at taking advantage of me, even though you could argue I was getting something off him. Twenty cigarettes in that case. Prisoners can only afford rolling tobacco, so an actual fag was a real treat. I kept them as they were fantastic currency.

  Inside, people exchanged cigarettes for drugs or cash even though you weren’t allowed either. Buyers would ring their friends and get them to transfer money to a bank account of your choosing. The powerful would offer beatings for less than a pack of smokes.

  Later, I realised that the officer’s lack of control shocked him. He was married and if I’d reported him to the authorities, they would’ve prosecuted him for misconduct in a public office. Dismissal and prison would have been his reward for a few minutes of pleasure. Definitely not worth it with my poor technique.

  I put my tightest bra on under a baggy top. My best leggings — with only one hole — go above my new trainers, and I wave at Sally as I leave the premises. The air is sharp and welcome. Being cold never bothered me after I went away. It rarely kills you, and in the scheme of things it seems unimportant to moan about.

  I jog in a straight direction. Getting lost would stres
s me. I know the name of my road, so can ask for directions but would rather not. And then I increase my pace. As the miles tick by, I experience a sense of contentment I can’t describe. Other joggers nod at me as we meet. I admire their purpose-made outfits and resolve to change mine.

  Gears shift inside me as I reconnect with the world. Everything is clear; cars, people, even leaves and blades of grass are defined. By the time I return and burst through the door, I sport a sloppy, foolish expression. The painter I met this morning greets me on the stairs. He steps aside. His smile is coy.

  ‘Sorry, about earlier. I didn’t mean to, well, you know.’

  Up close, he has nice white teeth and a twinkling grin. I glance at his fingers and see a gold band. History has taught me not all men respect their vows, so I’m wary.

  ‘No problem.’

  His eyes search for confirmation that he hasn’t overstepped the mark.

  ‘You aren’t going to finish your painting loitering around here.’

  His laugh is pleasant and easy, and I surprise myself realising mine is too. As he canters down the stairs, something else shifts in me. I have much to learn. It’s good to think some of it will be fun.

  10

  The Girls Arrive

  After another heavenly shower, I head to the kitchen for breakfast. My probation worker, Tim Thorn, is leaving. He gives me a cold smile and says he’ll see me next week. I’ve been to his office twice where he is all business. Only here at the house there is something off with him. It’s only a shadow, but it is there and I’ll need to be careful.

  There are two women in the kitchen with Sally. They must be the prison releases she said would arrive. After introductions, I casually glance at them and, even though I know their types, they couldn’t be more different.

  Maleeha has the same shocked expression on her face that I wore. She must have served serious time. By her looks, I guess she originates from Pakistan or India. There were few like that in the prison system. Maybe their supportive culture is a factor, or they hide their crimes in their communities. The odd heroin addict slips through, but they’ve often been rejected at some point. They struggle in jail with stigma and shame.

  Her race and demeanour mean I can have a guess at what she did, but I’ll let her tell me. The other lady, Nancy, has the pockmarked skin of a committed user. Due to the lack of teeth, her face is sunken, which makes her age difficult to judge, but I’d say they were both in their mid-thirties like me. Sally leaves us to get acquainted.

  Nancy assumes her stereo type. Inside, there are many more like her. They are loud and brash, rude and uneducated. Most suffer hard lives. They hide themselves behind an arrogant, cocksure, jokey demeanour as they’ve found it the best way to stop themselves being hurt or taken advantage of.

  ‘What are you two here for?’ she asks.

  You’ve got to give her credit. It’s a great first getting-to-know-you question.

  Maleeha ponders this and decides she doesn’t want to start her day with a fabrication, so she admits to what I suspected. ‘Manslaughter.’

  I lie and use the same reason.

  ‘My days! I’m stuck here with you two murdering bastards, and with old Firestarter upstairs, it’ll be a struggle to get life insurance in this house.’

  She grins at me and I have to smile. I wait for her to continue as I know she will.

  ‘I got six months for nicking Lego. Can you believe it? The judge told me he was sick of seeing me and sent me down for longer so I could get clean. Probation promised to help me when I was released. So here I am.’

  This time I can’t resist. ‘Why did you steal Lego? Was it for your children?’

  ‘I had kids and lost them years ago. Careless, really.’ A cloud passes over her face and gets pushed away. ‘The Lego was just there, near the shop exit. You get how it is. What did they expect? I picked it up and legged it. Unluckily for me, a gym freak was on security, and that was it.’

  Maleeha and I aren’t surprised by any of those statements. We were the first time we heard stories like that. It’s depressing to believe people think that way, but they do. Nancy continues.

  ‘I was in one of these places before. You need to keep signing in. What a massive ball-ache! I’m not allowed any booze either as part of my licence conditions. How shit is that?’ She glances at Maleeha. ‘I bet you don’t drink?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Your type never does.’

  ‘My type?’

  ‘Yeah, you know. Pakis.’

  Maleeha shakes her head. ‘It may surprise you to hear I was born in Leeds. My parents are from Sheffield. My husband and his parents grew up in Peterborough.’

  ‘So, what? You still look like one. Talking of which, don’t you lot go back to your families? Where’s your husband?’

  ‘I killed him.’

  I stifle a laugh at Nancy’s wide eyes even though she recovers fast. Good for you, Maleeha. You’ll need that punch to get through the next stage of your life. She has brown skin, but her accent is broad Yorkshire. Her English is a lot better than Nancy’s. She speaks slowly.

  ‘I read an article suggesting that it doesn’t say alcohol is haram — forbidden — in the Quran like it does with pork, only that it’s not advised. Admittedly that would probably infuriate the majority. Someone got 80 lashes recently for drinking in Saudi Arabia. Let’s hope that isn’t in your conditions.

  ‘And, our families, as you so sweetly put it, disown us after we do something terrible. The community rejected me for bringing shame to them. I was in prison for eight years and not one person came to visit, and I have two brothers. My children were kept away, but I had no choice in committing that crime.’

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ said Nancy.

  ‘He was beating me and my sons. He was so abusive.’

  A lifetime of knocks prevented Nancy getting an education, but she is street sharp.

  ‘You would see it like that. You could look at it different. When you took his life, you erased their father. Then, when you went to jail for eight years, you also robbed them of a mother. Before your actions they had two parents, now they have none.’

  Maleeha collapses into her seat and weeps. I’m shocked to the core by Nancy’s brutal perception. I locked my emotions away when I first went inside and they are yet to reappear. Others, like Maleeha, keep them on display.

  Nancy recovers quickly. ‘Come here. Give us a hug. Don’t mind me. I say it how it is.’

  She smothers Maleeha in a strong cuddle and rocks her back and forth as if she’s trying to shake money from her. Remarkably, it works and Maleeha’s sobs quieten.

  ‘You’ve had no contact with your kids in all that time? Knowing they were living with your family? Wow. Can’t have been easy. You’ll be able to visit them now, won’t you?’ asks Nancy.

  Maleeha breaks down again. I pick up the mantle.

  ‘They tend to be prudent with letting you see vulnerable children if you’ve stabbed their father to death.’

  Nancy considers my words and nods. ‘True dat.’

  The slightest whiff of marijuana drifts in with the draught made from someone opening the front door. Nancy’s eyes imperceptibly widen. She picks up her plastic prison bag and says she’s off to her room.

  ‘Catch you ladies later. I’ll cook council house curry. You’ll love it.’

  I decide that I like her, despite her ignorant views. The curry sounds dangerous. Unsure what to do, I make Maleeha and me a cuppa. Then I sit next to her and wait until the tears stop. It’s a long five minutes before she gathers her composure.

  ‘I’m sorry. You don’t want to see that. I don’t know how I can move on. They were my world. He beat the kids so badly that I feared he would kill one of them. Their parents are gone but at least they’re safe.’

  People’s lives are so complicated. You would think a child’s safest place is by her mother but that’s not always possible. I remember Rada’s gesture from the day I left p
rison, and slide my fingers across the table. I take her hands in mine, and she squeezes back. It’s comforting for both of us.

  ‘She’s right in a way,’ Maleeha says. ‘Her attitude was common in jail. Few females in our community are behind bars, and I was completely unprepared for it. I’d never been exposed to drugs, the constant scrutiny, or being questioned by staff. Before, I was a private, tolerant person. The anger and perpetual arguing wore me down.

  ‘There was little support for Muslim women inside, and I was disowned outside. Although, I can’t blame them because I did a wicked thing. Other Pakistanis in the system told me they were rejected and criticised when they tried to return to their home town. They had to start from scratch and, without help, they fell into lives of theft and prostitution. What am I going to do?’

  My path is as uncertain, so I have little advice. I decide to try. ‘We’re in the same place, me and you. How about we look out for each other? We can’t be alone if we support each other.’

  Her grip tightens to confirm acceptance. I’m drawn to Maleeha, too, but I fear for her. She is a troubled, lonely soul. Moving on will be difficult. Perhaps impossible.

  11

  March

  Making Friends

  Having the two girls in the house has been a tremendous help. It’s nice to be with others who understand what you’re going through. Sally lifted some restrictions and extended all our curfews to eleven p.m. We’ve been to the cinema and Maleeha and I ventured to the swimming pool. I could barely remember how to swim, it had been so long. Judging by the splashing around of my friend, she’d barely learned. Nancy declined, cryptically saying people like her drown in water.

  Nancy told me she attempted to buy weed off Firestarter as she still insists on calling her, but the girl slammed the door in her face. We’ve discussed getting a flat together after our time is up here. I asked Sally about it, who smiled and said it was something to consider. It was a sad knowing smile that only I picked up on. I know when I’m being humoured, but I deemed it unnecessary at this stage to push for reasons.