by Ruth Dugdall
Cate put her coffee down. “Whether or not she gets parole is up to the board. But I wanted you to know my conclusion.”
“Just get out.”
“Jason, I . . .”
“Go now!”
Cate stood and walked swiftly from the room, turning when she heard the sound of shattered glass to see that Jason had punched his fist through the photograph frame with the picture of his dead son. There was blood on his fist and he was crying, muttering to himself those same words she had heard before. “What have you done? Oh God, what have you done?”
52
Black Book Entry
10 a.m: the parole board will be sitting around a table, piles of reports in front of them. Talking about me. They’ll have Callahan’s report, which I’ve read, and Cate’s, which I haven’t.
I’m watching from the window as seagulls perch. Where do they nest? I’d like to see, like to watch them care for their chicks. I would like a chick. A new baby. A girl this time, sitting in a baby chair, pink with yellow stars.
I hold my nest, my precious nest. The twigs are old and brittle, but still entwined in that perfect shape of a home.
Rita and Mum come to me often now. Tell me there is a new baby, a little girl. I know she’s yours, Jason, and soon she’ll be mine; I’m just like a magpie, stealing from another’s nest. Oh, my head hurts so much. It hurts from watching the clock and waiting.
I need to be released. I need to be free to find a nest.
Natalie Reynolds pushed a handmade card under my cell door earlier. ‘Good Luck,’ it says, with a black cat on the front made with sequins and pipe cleaners. Funny how black cats are associated with luck when they’re such sly, aloof creatures. I’ve been like a cat, dressed in black, padding softly through Emma’s home. Cats can have lots of homes; they’ll feed from several people, each one thinking they are its master when all along it has mastered them.
I’m lying on my bed, watching the ceiling and making out shapes, as a free person would watch clouds. Every wall has stains or marks that can be beautiful if you squint. It’s after lunch and I’m sleepy, dreaming away the time before I get my news.
Heavy boots coming. Stopping outside my cell. The key turns in the lock. It’s the only notice we get, as the officers never knock.
The door heaves open and Officer Burgess stands in front of me. His skin looks sore and he has purple bruises under his eyes. He’s too young to look so haggard, so defeated. A boy like him has no business working in a prison.
“Alright, Wilks?”
He doesn’t look me in the eye. I make him nervous. He wouldn’t unlock my cell without a good reason.
“Get your shoes on. We’re going for a walk.”
“Where?” I ask.
“To see the Governor.”
This is the moment I’ve been longing for and dreading, in equal measure. I close my eyes, my hands clasped together as if in prayer, and think of freedom.
I follow Burgess off the landing and across the prison to the administration block, trying to control my breathing, knowing I’m about to hear my fate.
The Governor’s office is large and dominated by a massive desk. On it is a blotting pad, a wooden desk-tidy, and a picture of a smiling woman with burgundy lips. Sitting behind the desk is the massive bulk of the Governor poised like King Canut before the sea. My stomach folds in waves, which only he has the power to stop.
Burgess is in awe of the imposing figure, and swallows hard as he speaks. “Here’s prisoner Wilks, sir.” He pushes me forward, and I step to the front of the desk, head slightly bowed.
“Thank you, Burgess. Are you her Personal Officer?”
“No, sir. Officer Callahan is. He’s on nights this week, sir.”
The Governor eyes me up and down with undisguised fatigue. “Do you know why you’re here, Wilks?”
“Because of my parole decision, sir.”
“That’s right, Wilks.” He lifts a piece of paper from his desk, and I crane my neck but it’s too far away to read. He looks at it, as if reading it for the first time. Like he has all the time in the world. And then his head snaps up, relish on his lips.
“Bad news, Wilks. You didn’t get it.”
It must be wrong. There must be some sort of misunderstanding. “What?”
“You heard.”
“But I told her everything!” My brain is confused: she has a child. I told her I didn’t hurt Luke. “The probation report . . .”
The Governor doesn’t let me finish, his voice rising above mine.
“She said you don’t deserve parole. The board weren’t going to release you after that.”
My head hurts. The tension inside me breaks, shattering into a million parts. All that time, hoping and praying and for nothing. You didn’t get it.
“You can go now,” he says, both the Governor and Burgess watching me. All those hours, waiting. All those words wasted.
My knees give way, and I collapse to the floor, sobs wracking me for the first time in four years, tears salting my mouth.
53
Black Book Entry
I was sitting on the sofa, catching my breath. Waiting.
Emma ran into the tennis club, nearly throwing herself at me. “Where the fuck is he, you witch? What have you done with my son?”
She was close, too close, and I thought about slapping her hard, but I saw that with any movement she would go for me, like a dog. Her face was contorted with misery and anger. I slowly looked to the large windows, to the empty tennis court beyond the glass.
I’d called you, and you’d come readily. You were walking with Luke, holding him, and pacing the outer edge of the court. Did you think I was stupid, Jason? I knew all along that you were fucking Emma. It was time to stop pretending.
“He’s over there,” I said to Emma. I watched as she saw her son with her ex-husband. “With Jason.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, forgetting me. “How the fuck?”
“I want it to stop, Emma.”
Her voice curled up like a snake ready to bite. “What twisted game is this, Rose?”
“Jason’s mine. You had him, and you left him. He’s mine now.”
She was still looking through the window. “Who are you, Rose? Who the fuck are you? I know about the breastfeeding, you sick bitch . . . I’m going to get my son.”
She was backing away from me, seeing me for the monster I am, and I grabbed her arm, held her fast. She was terrified.
I pulled her close, and she flinched in my grip.
I spoke quietly but shot every word through with force. “I want you to stop fucking Jason. Or I’ll tell Dominic who Luke’s real father is.”
Emma’s face collapsed, her mouth dropped open.
“Did you think I didn’t know, Emma? I can see the likeness even if your stupid husband can’t. He wouldn’t want you if he knew, would he? If he knew you were still fucking your ex. And I will tell him, Emma. I promise you I will.”
She was mute, looking from me to where you were still pacing with Luke, ignorant of what was happening just yards away. Ignorant that I’d discovered your secret.
“You’re mad,” she said, quietly. “Luke is Dominic’s.”
“Don’t lie to me! I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re crazy.” Her eyes were wide with fear and she was pulling away.
“I won’t tell Dominic anything. It’ll be our secret.” I pulled her close, brought my lips to her ear, my teeth grazing her lobe. “But please stop seeing Jason. Please.”
She wrestled out of my grip. “I want my son. Now.”
I held her, a hand on each arm, thinking how fragile she felt. “I’ll get him.”
I went into the tennis courts, where you were holding Luke, telling him the rules of tennis as he gazed up at you, mesmerised.
You didn’t want to see her, did you? Not while I was around. You thought I had no clue that Emma was still your lover. You quickly placed Luke in my arms, holding him just a beat longer th
an necessary, pausing to stroke his chin. “See you again, little man.”
I told you nothing about my argument with Emma. I told you that I would see you at home later. I tried to smile, and you kissed me. Dry lips on my cheek.
I returned to Emma, handing Luke back to her. She snatched him from me. I thought she was pathetic, holding him away from me as if he was in danger.
She had made her mind up, and her voice was firm. “I’ll never see Jason again. I promise.”
The relief was immense, like my heart bursting open. “Thank you.”
“But you are never, ever to see Luke or me, do you understand? We never want to see you again. Do you understand?”
I did understand. It was all over. Emma would give me you, but losing Luke was the price. I agreed.
And with that, gripping onto her son, Emma left.
I started the car, realised I was shaking. I’d lost him. For the second time a baby was being taken from me.
All the loss and grief of losing Joel snowballed into the pain of losing Luke and I hardly know how I managed to drive. There was only one place I could go to think, one place where it might make sense: Joel’s grave.
The flowers had died, and I tried to arrange the dry buds as best I could. I hadn’t been to Joel’s grave since that day with Emma. I’d been too wrapped up in my worries about your infidelity, too much in love with your living son to care for my dead one. But Joel was out of harm. No one could ever take him from me again.
Comforted, I knelt on the earth, kissing the sun-warmed headstone, tracing his name with my finger. “Oh, Joel. My boy. My darling.”
I spoke as softly as if he were only sleeping, and felt calmer. The worst had already happened. Nothing could touch me now.
I could survive anything. I put a hand in my pocket for a tissue and came upon the key to Emma’s back door.
Taking it out I pressed it to my throat, feeling how the heat of my skin was soothed by the cold metal. I may no longer be welcome by the front door but I always had this.
But even as I thought it, I knew that secretive night visits would never be enough. I wouldn’t be able to play with Luke but just sit quietly by his cot and watch him sleep. No more trips out in the pram or the car; I would never be able to take him to see Father Christmas, or to the toyshop or play in the park.
I couldn’t bear the thought. This shadow of motherhood was worse than no motherhood at all.
I couldn’t bear to think of Luke growing up without me, but I knew I had no choice.
I would never see him again, but I would have you.
That night I went to say goodbye.
The house was in darkness, and Dominic’s car was gone. I let myself in for the final time.
54
Janie stood alone in her cell, holding the present Rose had given her. Janie loved presents, especially when they came from Rose. The special gift was folded, wrapped up in yellow tissue paper. In her cell Janie slowly, very slowly, opened the present and unfolded the dress until it was flat on her bed.
It was lovely. Pink with tiny white flowers stitched around the hem. No sleeves, so she’d be nice and cool. It was so hot this summer. She’d need help with the zip, which was all the way up the back, but Rose would help her later, when she’d pulled herself together. Poor Rose. She really thought she’d get parole.
Janie pulled off her leggings and T-shirt, and stood only in her faded knickers. She doesn’t wear a bra, doesn’t need to since she’s flat as a pancake, as her dad would say. The dress was a little loose, but so pretty and light that she loved it anyway. Standing on tiptoe, she twisted around to see herself in the tiny mirror above the sink.
Rose had chosen this dress from a catalogue. She’d had it sent in for her and gave it to Janie before she’d got her bad news. Rose liked it when Janie dressed up. And a new dress was a good trade for a bit of snooping. A bit of stealing. All she had to do was get her the key from the big house in Chantry Drive. The one with the pink baby chair with yellow stars.
At first Janie had thought it was Cate Austin’s house but after a few visits she saw that another woman lived there. A pretty, pale woman with a little baby girl. The little girl had golden hair. Officer Burgess had told Janie that Rose hadn’t got parole. He let her talk to Rose through the viewing window of her locked cell door. “Just for a few minutes,” he told her, “she’s in a bit of a state.” He walked away from her, to the office at the end of the corridor.
“I’ll come and visit you, Rose, after I’m released,” Janie promised, trying to comfort her friend.
Rose didn’t look up from where she lay. “They won’t let you do that.” Her voice was muffled.
“Then I’ll write—I’m quite good now. I’ll be waiting for you, on the day you come out. I’ll find us a nice flat in Ipswich.”
“There’s no point. Not now.”
“Don’t say that, Rose. It’s makes me frightened you’re gonna do something stupid.”
Officer Burgess was getting up from his chair in the office. He looked her way and tapped his watch. Time was nearly up.
“I just wish it had helped,” whispered Janie, “me doing all that snooping.”
“Nothing helped.” Rose was crying. “I won’t ever be free of the past.”
“Rose, who is that woman who lives in that big house in Chantry Drive?”
“Someone who used to be a friend. My best friend. I don’t think I’ll see her again.”
Officer Burgess was walking towards her, jangling his keys. In a few moments she would be locked up too. “Isn’t there anything I can do, Rose? If you want me to snoop in the house, I will. I’ll do anything you want me to.”
Officer Burgess shut the flap covering the viewing window and led Janie away. She twitched her head like a faithful pet, ready to run in a wheel that could keep spinning for two more years.
55
Cate picked up the phone on its second ring.
“It’s Callahan. I wanna talk to you.”
“Hi Dave.”
“Funny thing, love. Wilks didn’t get her parole.”
Cate leaned back in her chair. “Is she okay?”
“Hardly. I can’t work it out, see. She’s a model prisoner, and I said so in my report.”
Cate breathed deep, knowing what was to come. Despite his jocular tone she knew that Dave was angry. “I didn’t recommend release.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think she’s ready.” She wasn’t going to go into detail with him on the phone.
“I work with that woman day in day out and I think she’s ready.” Dave’s voice rose, “you meet her for a few hours, say she isn’t, and they listen to you? The day shift, you don’t know nothing.”
“Apparently the parole board don’t agree.”
“You patronising bitch!”
Cate sat up, knocking her knee on her desk. “Dave, we are both professionals. We both gave our opinions and . . .”
“Professionals my arse. You weren’t so fucking professional when you were opening your legs for Burgess, where you?”
Cate gasped, “that never happened.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you? But he says different.”
“Come on, Dave! He’s just a kid.”
Suddenly the line went quiet and Cate was aware of other noises, other voices in the background. “You hear that, Burgess? She said you’re just a kid and you don’t have enough dick to satisfy her.”
“Dave! Dave?”
But he wasn’t talking to her anymore. Hearing the poisonous laughter coming down the receiver Cate realised that Callahan didn’t care about Rose, he had set her up.
56
When Cate arrived at D wing the landing was quiet. The inmates would be at their work or in lessons, and Mark Burgess was in the office with his feet on the desk and his eyes closed. She did not disturb him but continued to the far end of the corridor and stopped in front of Rose Wilks’s cell door.
Cate knew that the Governor
had told Rose that she would not be released. She would still be reeling from the news. Opening the viewing flap, she could see the shape of her on the bed, covered with a blanket. She selected the key from the chain at her waist and opened the door.
Rose didn’t move. It occurred to Cate that she could be dead and she reached her hand for the place that looked like a shoulder, “Rose?”
The blanket was flung back and Rose was staring at her, her face was puffy and red but her eyes were dark. “I don’t want you here.”
“Rose, I know you’re upset. I know you’re angry with me.”
Rose closed her eyes and pulled the blanket back over her head. She began rocking, the whole grey bundle shuddering on the narrow bed. A muffled sound came from her, which Cate couldn’t make out.
“Rose?”
Touching her shoulder again, she tentatively lifted the blanket. “Rose?”
She was curled around an object, and Cate saw her hands were cupping something. It looked like a pile of twigs. “Rose, are you okay?”
“I don’t like fire,” she said, whispering with her eyes still closed. “It scares me.”
“Yes,” said Cate, soothing her.
“I’ve always hated fire. When I was twelve I burned down a disused beach hut with a group of kids from school. They ran while I stood rooted to the spot, hooked by the leaping flames. It terrified me.”
“Okay, Rose.” She was rambling and dazed. Cate thought about calling for Mark, asking him to send for Officer Todd from the hospital unit.
“I’ve always smoked. Even when I was pregnant. It calmed me down, I’d peel back the fold of silver foil, releasing the smell of the cigs. Even holding the white and purple box, relaxed me.”
Silk Cut. The brand of cigarettes that had started the fire in the Hatcher family home. Was Rose about to finally admit her guilt? She continued to rock herself, eyes closed, as Cate stroked her back.
“Luke was so still in my arms, head nestled to my chest. And then I heard her.”