by Martina Cole
Georgio nodded. ‘Very pretty, they both are.’ Timmy kissed the photograph and grinned. ‘Have a guess what my old woman told me. You know that young fella that just come on the Wing, Broomfield? Well, he’s a nonsense. He’s in here for interfering with little kids, the piece of shite! Seems he raped a five-year-old girl. I thought he was funny, because unlike most cons he never says a word about his blag. I’ll give him fucking blag! I thought he was a nice kid, you know, quiet type. I gave him a fucking roll-up the other night. You wait until I tell Lewis. He’ll have the screws’ guts for garters for not telling him. I bet they’re waiting to segregate him somewhere. He’s even got his own cell, ain’t he! By Christ we were all dense, we should have smelt that rat before it was stinking.’
‘He’s really a nonsense?’ Georgio’s voice was disgusted.
Timmy nodded. ‘Fucking real, ain’t it? Imagine putting him in here with us. But apparently, he’s a bit schiz, like - not all the ticket. He’ll be even worse when I’ve finished with him, the ponce! He raped a little girl, a little baby. Not even at school yet. She had to have thirty stitches after he’d finished with her. No wonder he likes watching the kids’ programmes, eh? Probably gets off on them.’ And Timmy stamped from the cell to regale everyone on the Wing with the news.
Georgio was stunned. The boy was as good as dead, or at least in for a serious injury. Georgio could not find it in his heart to feel any compassion. Most of the men on the wing had children or nieces and nephews. Even the gays hated nonces. Paedophiles were the scum of the earth in this place and that was how it should be. No one had any time for the ‘social worker syndrome’; the argument that these men had been abused themselves as children. A lot of the cons came from bad homes where they’d been abused, beaten, whatever. But they worshipped their children like gods. Could not understand a mentality that said, forgive them. Even the devout Catholics couldn’t find an ounce of mercy for them.
Everyone was of the same opinion: get rid of them. Get them on the hospital wing and out of this environment. The murderer of a man in a fight was given his due; a man who murdered a girl down a lonely lane or whatever was given grief. It was how the prison set-up worked and the screws accepted this, even agreed with it. They must have been hard-pushed to put Broomfield on A Wing.
Georgio put the nonsense and his troubles out of his mind. He wasn’t worth the energy or the time.
He walked slowly to the recreation room, which was nearly empty, and sat at a small table shuffling a pack of cards aimlessly, trying to work out what to write to Donna to make her come round to his way of thinking.
He had to get out - and she was the one person no one would ever suspect of helping him. He had already decided how it was to be done. All he needed was her co-operation and he would be home and dry.
Samuel Broomfield walked into the room and smiled at Georgio, who dropped his eyes quickly, observing the boy surreptitiously as he flicked through the TV screen until he found a children’s programme. Georgio watched Broomfield watch the children, who were running round a TV studio playing a game.
Three hours of heavy traffic later, Donna pulled up outside the high-rise block of flats in East Ham.
‘Got time to come up for a quick coffee, Donna?’
‘OK then.’ She helped Caroline and the children from the car. Locking up, she followed them inside the building.
The entrance hall was full of litter, old newspapers, Coke cans and circulars. As the lift doors opened she was assailed with the stench of urine, human as well as canine.
On the seventh floor they disembarked, all giving a hearty sigh of relief and taking in a deep gulp of air. Donna was surprised to see Caroline unlock two mortice locks as well as a Chubb lock on the front door. It was dark in the lobby. Walking into the flat, Caroline turned on the hallway light.
‘We have to use the lights all year round here. Come on in, Donna. Michael Joseph, take your coat off and put it on your bed. ’Vonne, go and put the pushchair in the cupboard. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Donna followed her down the hallway into the lounge. The kitchen led off it and Donna looked around her at the neat home. The walls of the lounge were painted pale green; a deep green Dralon-covered Chesterfield and two chairs were strategically positioned to give maximum space, and the TV was in a dark wood cabinet. The large windows had deep green, swagged velvet curtains. A small coffee table held a few ornaments and a leadlight cabinet contained books and cut glass. The total effect was delightful.
‘It’s lovely in here!’
‘Well, don’t sound so surprised about it!’ Caroline grinned. ‘Me and Wayne done this place up just before he was nicked. I emulsioned the walls again a few weeks ago - keeps it looking fresh and clean.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and put on the kettle.
‘I bet your house is nice,’ she called, ‘what with the swimming pool and everything.’
Donna followed her into the kitchen and sat at the small table under the window.
‘It’s all right. Big is the best description. But it’s not homey like this place.’
Caroline was surprised at the honesty of the words. ‘Have you made up your mind yet what you’re gonna do?’
Donna shook her head and lit a cigarette. ‘I’ve got a lot of thinking to do about it all.’
Caroline sat opposite her. ‘He ain’t asked for a divorce, has he? Only a lot of the long-timers go through that. It’s a self-defence mechanism. Before you give him the big E, he gives it to you, like.’
Donna grinned. ‘No, it’s nothing like that, Caroline. I wish I could tell you about it, but I daren’t.’
Caroline shrugged. ‘You keep your own counsel, girl. But if ever you need an ear, you know where I am. I appreciated what you done today. It was very good of you.’
‘Believe it or not, Caroline, I enjoyed it.’
Michael Joseph came into the room, divested of his coat and also his trousers. He pulled himself up on to Donna’s lap and she kissed the top of his head.
‘Why don’t you stay for supper? It’s only ham and eggs but you’re welcome to it.’
Donna smiled. ‘All right then, Caroline, I will!’
She sat with the children and kept them amused while Caroline prepared the meal. She didn’t want to have to think just yet about what her husband had said, and Michael Joseph and Chivonne were the perfect excuse.
She enjoyed herself enormously.
Dolly heard Donna’s key in the lock at nine-thirty and she rushed out into the hallway.
‘I’ve been worried out of me brains about you!’
Donna kissed the woman’s cheek and said, ‘I met a girl, gave her a lift home to East Ham and stayed on at her place for me tea!’
‘You what! Come away in and I’ll make you a drink and then you can tell me all about it.’
Donna sat at her scrubbed pine table and looked around the kitchen while Dolly made the coffee. She had never really had fun in this room, not like the fun she had experienced in East Ham this evening. The children had regaled her with stories of their doings, of their trips to the park and their nana’s house. About their little wants and dreams. She had envied Caroline so much as she had made them get into the bath and then their pyjamas. Her own home seemed sterile by comparison, overclean and without a crease anywhere. She knew that if she walked into her lounge, her drawing room, dining room or conservatory, there wouldn’t be a thing out of place. No evidence that people actually lived in this house . . .
For the first time in years she saw in her mind’s eye the baby she had lost. Its perfectly formed body lying in the bed. The deep red of the blood as it seeped from her body on to the white sheets, surrounding the small foetus like a crimson blanket. Georgio picking it up gently with kitchen roll and placing it in a small shoebox, then holding her hand as they waited for the ambulance.
The strain of the day came over her. She took a deep breath to stem the tears, but they came nonetheless. Big wracking sobs that made her ribs ache and he
r heart sore. She felt the hot saltiness as they ran down her face and into her mouth. Felt Dolly’s arms go around her, hold her to her big bosom and murmur endearments to her.
‘What happened love? Is it Georgio - did he upset you?’
She cried harder, remembering the hospital, the lights and the operating theatre. The knowledge that all her chances were now gone, that it was all over. Sadness mingled with a kind of relief. Georgio’s disappointed face, his tears as he had held his son’s small body. She saw her parents’ funeral, and her own wedding day, all inexplicably linked somehow. Then she saw the smiling faces of Michael Joseph and Chivonne, covered in ketchup and smelling of baby sweat and the dirt from the floor of the visiting room in Parkhurst.
Finally she saw Georgio saying to her, ‘Get me out of here.’
And then she knew she would do whatever he asked.
She owed him that much.
Chapter Eleven
Junie Dent was thirty-two, looked thirty-five and fancied herself as nineteen. Five foot two and ten stone, she had inordinately small hands and feet. Her hair was long, permed and shiny, her breasts were huge, and all her own. She suffered from a large belly, but in a nice tight girdle she thought she looked very good. She had been Danny Simmonds’s mistress for five years. Since Danny’s son had been knocked off his bike by a hit-and-run driver, she had gradually come to realise that she could finally get him off his wife. Lorraine was now off her shopping trolley, as Danny so succinctly put it.
As she was pushed up against the wall of her tiny hallway, holding in her belly as best she could, feeling Danny’s hands pulling open her dressing gown and grabbing at her breasts, she resigned herself to the inevitable. Danny was six two, and seventeen stone. He held her up against the wall with his hips, and she bit on her lip as he thrust his erect member inside her.
Rubbing her large breasts, he talked filth into her ear for two minutes before he said throatily, ‘I’m coming, girl, I’m fucking nearly there.’
She looked into his face and went into her usual routine. ‘Come on, Danny boy, give it to me. Go on, Danny, really shove it up me, hurt me!’ Interspersed with little moans.
Danny shuddered inside her, and for a split second Junie was frightened that he’d let her fall down on to the hall carpet, but Danny kept his grip on her as his legs gave way under him.
‘Fuck me, June, that’s what I call emptying the old chain locker!’
Junie smiled. ‘Put me down, Danny boy, before you drop me.’
He lowered her gently to the ground. Walking to the bathroom, he smiled at her. ‘I’ll just wash me tackle and then I’d better be off. Not bad, eh? Twice in two hours.’
Junie followed him into the bathroom. Putting her small hands on to his shoulders, she ironed out imaginary creases with the palms.
‘I love you, Danny. You know that, don’t you?’
Turning from the sink, he zipped up his trousers. The funny thing was, he knew she really did love him. In her own way - the same way that he loved her. Her large blue eyes were bright with unshed tears, and for the first time in months Danny felt a flicker of real emotion.
‘Come here, girl, give us a cuddle.’
As he held her against him he marvelled at how short she was. Even though, in the eyes of the world, she was a hefty bird. To him she was still petite. After all, he had seven stone on her.
Kissing the top of her silky head he said sadly, ‘I’ve got to go, love, the old woman’s expecting me home. I told her I’d gone to a Masons’ do.’
Junie smiled and followed him to the front door. ‘I’ll watch you from the balcony, all right?’
He kissed her quickly and went down in the lift whistling to himself. Junie was his lifeline. He made the trip from his home in Silvertown to Plaistow four times a week, sometimes more. Since his son’s accident, he was relying on her increasingly. Stricken with guilt, he had grown apart from his wife, knowing in his heart that his son’s accident was his fault. Like most men of his ilk, he couldn’t live with that, so he blamed his wife.
It was much easier.
Leaving the block of flats he walked across the small concrete car park and got into his dark green Cosworth. He could see Junie’s outline on the balcony and smiled to himself. She was so uncomplicated, was Junie. You shagged her and you had a laugh, and that was it. No long drawn-out conversations, no recriminations. No nothing. Not like his wife, who had known all along about Junie and didn’t have the decency to keep her trap shut about it.
What the fuck did these women want? he asked himself.
He flashed his lights so Junie would smile to herself in the darkness. He knew how to be romantic - whatever that mad cow at home thought.
As he put the key in the ignition he heard a noise behind him, and as he turned to look, he felt a rope going around his neck. Next thing, the passenger door was opening and he smelt petrol. Trying to pull at the rope, he felt the coldness of the petrol as it hit his face and shoulders, and soaked into his pure wool jacket.
Half-fainting with fright and lack of breath, he felt the pressure on his throat ease. As he tried to straighten himself up in the car he saw the naked flame of the lighter.
‘Tata, Danny.’
Junie watched in wonderment as she saw the man opening the passenger door of the car. She couldn’t see exactly what he was doing because the lights outside the flats very rarely worked. The little bastard muggers saw to that. It was only when she heard the screams and saw the flames that she realised something had gone very wrong. She wasn’t to know that the men had rigged up the car earlier in the evening, while she and Danny had been drinking Blue Nun and bonking away in bed as if their lives depended on it. The deafening bang as the car exploded made her sink weakly to her knees.
Lights were going on all over the tower block, and all that Junie Dent could do was cry bitter tears, because all she had ever really wanted was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Georgio lay on his bunk thinking about Donna and the events of the day before. He had hardly slept in the night and consequently felt ill. He had not bothered to shave or shower and he could smell himself. The sweat was sickly sweet; he had been weight-training the day before, waiting for Donna’s visit. He had gone out to her full of himself. Pleased to see her. And she had thrown him with her words.
It was like reliving a nightmare every time he thought about what had happened.
If she stopped seeing him now, he would have lost everything. The house was his main concern. He had placed it in her name, she owned it outright. If she divorced him he would have to make a claim on it. But then she could divorce him for desertion, lifers’ wives were given that privilege, and he wouldn’t have the heart to fight for half of everything. After giving it to her, it would look strange if he suddenly wanted it back. Anyway, he wanted it all; the house, the businesses and the money. He had sweated blood for it and he was entitled to it.
The noise around him was lessening. Men had slopped out, were waiting for their breakfast. He could hear Sadie’s voice above the others, laughing and joking as usual. Though what she found to laugh about he couldn’t tell. Georgio abhorred the whole prison setup. He hated being confined, being inside this cement box. Having every door locked behind him; not even having the privilege of turning a light switch on and off. He hated looking over his shoulder all the time, in case Lewis sent out a welcome party either to the showers or the gym. He had heard about a man who had had two immense weights dropped on his chest ‘by accident’. Accidents happened easily in here; he could never allow himself to forget that.
It was enemy territory, and he was at war. Except that his enemy was now trying to be his friend and Georgio found that harder to cope with. He stared at the photos of Donna on his cell wall. Her shiny hair . . . Closing his eyes, he imagined he could smell her perfume, the particular scent of her as they made love. He saw himself parting her legs gently, waiting until he saw the redness between them. He felt himself stirring. Wanted more than a
nything to be inside her, pumping away all his frustration and needs. How many mornings had she placed her arm across him and caressed him, and how many mornings had he kissed her and leapt from the bed, ready for the day and all it had to bring? He had wasted so much of her, had always known she was there, had taken her for granted. Good old Donna, his little wife, his hostess. He knew many men gave her a second glance and he had enjoyed that knowledge then, aware that she was wholly his. Now the thought tortured him, even though he knew she loved him.
Donna had been a good lover, a juicy lover. A woman who enjoyed being taken. But his tastes had begun to run to younger women who took the initiative, who took him while he lay back and watched. He told himself he made love to Donna and he fucked them. But the fucking was more exciting than anything he had ever experienced with Donna.
Timmy came into the cell smelling sharply of carbolic soap and Wash & Go.
‘All right, Georgio? That’s some bonk on you’ve got there. Thinking about home, are we?’
Georgio stood up, unembarrassed by Timmy’s observations. ‘It’s a piss proud actually. What’s the occasion? Should I wish you Happy Birthday?’
Timmy laughed amiably. ‘Broomfield gets it this morning. Cheek though, ain’t it, putting him in here with us? Ricky was like a fucking lunatic by all accounts. The boys are gonna have him first, in the showers. That’s what got me down there. Big Ricky’s gonna run his arse ragged! If you want a shower this morning, you’d better get down there quick smart, before the cabaret starts. No prizes for guessing which screws will be taking a front row seat, eh?’
Georgio picked up his shower gel and walked towards the shower, taking a clean towel from the pile at the bathroom doors. Standing under the freezing cold water he soaped himself all over quickly, then as he was rinsing off he saw Broomfield. The boy was standing uncertainly in the shower entrance.
‘What you looking at?’ Georgio’s voice was harsh.