Poppy's Hero

by Rachel Billington

  Irena looked at her sharply, ‘What do you know about the walls?’

  ‘It’s like that in all the films.’ Poppy felt herself blushing uncomfortably. She looked out of the window and wished the journey would never end.

  But it did. She and her mum got off at the stop before the one she had got off with Will and walked along the other side of the road. A tube train running noisily to their left made Poppy jump.

  They crossed the road and passed a row of grey, dismal-looking houses. ‘You see, there’re other children going there too,’ said Irena in a trying-to-be- cheerful tone. Poppy put her head down.

  When she next looked beyond her wet feet on the wet pavement, she saw some high railings and a trail of people going through them. They were not heading through the big gateway but to a building at the side of it.

  ‘There!’ said Irena, sweeping her arm like a tourist guide. ‘Take at look at that grand entrance. It’s probably been in half of those films you watch!’ She gave a strangled gulp and stopped abruptly.

  Poppy glanced up and saw two ornate towers on either side of an extremely large door. ‘Yes’ she agreed. She never ever wanted to watch another prison movie.

  ‘The prison was first built in the 1880s,’ mumbled Irena.

  ‘How nice,’ said Poppy, although she wanted to say, ‘Stop trying to make things better, Mum.’ As if it made any difference when this dreadful place was built! Unless, perhaps, it had ancient underground tunnels her dad could use as an escape route.

  Thinking about this, Poppy followed her mother through a side gate and soon found herself in the visitor’s centre. In fact it was rather nice, everything very clean and new. The receptionist even smiled at them.

  While her mum was sorting things out, Poppy noticed the whole place was filled with leaflets, explaining all kinds of things, from visiting hours to special helpers called Samaritans. She decided to collect the lot and take them back to Will. Some of it had to be useful.

  ‘Whyever have you got those?’ asked Irena, returning at her most distracted.

  ‘Something to read,’ said Poppy. If you want to keep them, I have to put them in the locker with my handbag.’

  ‘OK,’ said Poppy. ‘It says here that we can bring clothing in for Dad but not hooded jackets, hooded tracksuits, plain navy blue tracksuits, caps, hats, gloves and scarves and ties.’

  When she next looked up, she noticed a boy about her age who was also collecting all the leaflets. He saw her staring and gave her a big wink. Poppy couldn’t help smiling; he just had one of those faces. She watched him go back and sit with a woman, a younger girl and a baby. Again, he caught her eye and this time gave an expressive shrug as the baby let out a great howl.

  They waited for nearly an hour as the room got fuller and fuller and Irena glanced at her watch more and more often. From her reading, Poppy discovered that you could post into the prison stationery, stamps, a religious medallion and a wedding ring but everything else had to go through the prison shop, library or an approved catalogue.

  At last there was a sudden surge upwards as everyone round them stood up and headed for the door. Poppy found herself behind the boy, who was now holding the wailing baby.

  ‘He’s like a police siren,’ said the boy.

  ‘Ear-plugs?’ suggested Poppy.

  ‘We left them at home,’ said the boy. He looked at Poppy over the head of the baby, who had the biggest brown eyes and the longest eyelashes she had ever seen. ‘I’m called Angel. God’s truth. What’s yours?’

  ‘Poppy.’

  ‘Like in the fields.’

  ‘And on Remembrance Sunday.’

  By now they were moving out of the centre, through the impressive gate-house and into the prison itself. But Poppy was so busy with her new friend that she forgot to take note of the details which she’d promised Will to do – for escape purposes.

  She couldn’t miss the security, however. Two or three prison officers began to shout at them, ‘Through the scanner and then over here for a pat-down.’

  Poppy lost sight of Angel as she and her mum tried to do what they were told. She could hear the baby wailing from somewhere and wondered if he got patted down too.

  When they’d finished the ‘pat-down’, which was horrid – a woman officer feeling all over her body – they were shepherded into a narrow space with glass doors on either side. One door shut behind them and, before the other opened, a group of them were crammed in together for several moments – which felt much longer. Poppy let out her breath as the other door opened.

  ‘Call it the airlock, don’t we,’ said a kindly older woman who’d noticed Poppy’s anxiety. ‘Gives me claustrophobia every time.’

  The real surprise came immediately afterwards, when two spaniel dogs came to greet them, sniffing round their legs.

  ‘Poor things,’ said Poppy, who liked animals, ‘spending time in prison as if they were criminals.’

  ‘They’re just doing a job,’ said the dog-handler, ‘same as the rest of us.’

  Poppy looked at the man who, like all the other prison staff, was wearing a white shirt with epaulettes, black trousers and a bunch of keys at his waist. It was odd to think he’d chosen to spend his time behind those terrible walls. His face seemed nice enough. Perhaps, if he knew Big Frank was innocent, he’d help Will and her to get him out.

  ‘Do you like working in prison?’ she asked, but he’d moved on with the dogs who were sniffing someone else, and didn’t answer.

  Now they were herded through more locked doors, across a courtyard and into yet another waiting area. ‘I’ve never waited so much in my life,’ said Poppy to her mum, ‘and why did those dogs sniff everybody? It’s disgusting!’

  Before Irena could answer, a cheerful voice pronounced, ‘Drugs!’

  ‘Hi,’ said Poppy to Angel.

  ‘Easy to tell you’re fresh in,’ said Angel. ‘Looking for drugs, aren’t they. Those dogs have noses like bloodhounds.’ He paused. ‘Guess they are bloodhounds.’

  Poppy noticed that her mum was eyeing Angel in a not very friendly way.

  ‘This is Angel,’ she said, before Irena could move on. ‘He’s with that little girl and the baby.’ She knew her mum would be suspicious of the way Angel looked, with his wild black curls and baggy, low- slung jeans.

  ‘We’re all angels,’ said Angel. ‘My sister’s Seraphina and my baby bro’s Gabriel. My mum is putting out for another called Raphael.’ As Irena frowned, he added carelessly, ‘My mum’s very into God, on the angelic side.’

  ‘My mum’s Catholic,’ contributed Poppy. ‘So’s my dad, really.’

  As she said the word ‘dad’, she felt her face go bright red and her legs felt all wobbly.

  ‘Inside, is he?’

  ‘Yes,’ mumbled Poppy, grabbing her mum’s hand. How could she be chatting like this? Now she wanted to sit quietly with her mum and prepare to see Big Frank.

  Angel seemed to get the message because he sloped off back to his own family, saying over his shoulder, ‘See you.’

  ‘Who is that boy?’ whispered Irena.

  ‘Just a boy.’

  ‘He must be at least a couple of years older than you.’

  Then they sat silently and Poppy could feel her mum’s hand getting all sweaty, but she hung on all the same.

  Soon after, there was another surge forward as in the visitor’s centre, and Poppy realised that numbers were being called out.

  ‘What’s our number, Mum?’

  ‘Z2717AB.’

  ‘Z2717AB!’ shouted a prison officer at the door.

  Still holding hands tightly, Poppy and her mum walked quickly to the door.

  Chapter Eight

  At first Poppy couldn’t see her dad. The room that they were led into was very big, very hot and already half-filled with people. They were formed into little groups, huddled together round tables as if expecting a storm to hit them. The tables and chairs were painted blue and bolted to the floor

  Poppy no
ticed that her mum looked just as confused. Then she saw him.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Sshh.’ Irena squeezed her hand nervously.

  Poppy, who was about to run across the room, stopped abruptly. She was in prison. She must remember that. At each end of the room was a raised platform where two or three officers watched over the scene below them. Several more paced up and down the room, their keys jangling.

  Poppy tried not to imagine what would happen if someone got out of line. Her legs felt wobbly again. Over there,’ instructed an officer, looking at their number.

  They walked over quietly and when they reached Big Frank he seemed subdued.

  ‘Hi.’ He stood up. He might be quiet, but he was as tall as ever. He kissed Irena and hugged Poppy. Usually when he did this, he lifted her off the ground so her whole body swung like a pendulum. This time he set her down quickly.

  ‘Let’s sit.’ He spoke dully. No jokes.

  What was Big Frank without jokes? Poppy sat down obediently. Her dad’s face was much paler than normal and his hair seemed dimmer, too.

  ‘You’re not eating properly, are you?’ said Irena reprovingly.

  That was it, thought Poppy, he was a lot thinner.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Frank. He patted his stomach and gave the pretence of a smile. ‘I’ve been meaning to go on a diet for years.’

  He turned to Poppy and addressed her for the first time. ‘How are you, then? Having fun with Jude and all those nice friends of yours?’

  Poppy stared at him. There was no way she could answer truthfully. ‘I’m seeing more of Will.’

  ‘Short for Wilhelmina?’

  Poppy saw this was supposed to be a joke but couldn’t bring herself to smile. ‘He’s a boy.’

  ‘Aha! Into boys now!’

  Poppy looked away, blushing. There was something embarrassing about her dad. She felt he was really very sad and wished he’d let it show instead of pretending.

  ‘Will’s very clever.’ said Irena, trying to be helpful. ‘Despite his health problems,’ she added.

  Poppy let her parents talk. She screwed her hands tightly together. She longed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Over the other side of the room she caught sight of Angel. He seemed to be at a counter buying drinks.

  ‘I’m thirsty,’ said Poppy.

  ‘Oh, yes. You too, Frank?’ asked Irena, feeling in her pocket for the coins they’d been allowed to pick up again after going through the scanner.

  Her dad had always been the one who paid for things. As Poppy stood up, she caught sight of his face; the expression on it reminded her of a small child who’d been seen doing something wrong. He looked ashamed.

  But he’s innocent! she thought. It’s not his fault he’s in this weird place. Hiya.’ Angel was still standing by the canteen. ‘Enjoying being a film star, are you?’ He raised his eyes and, following his gaze, Poppy saw that there were cameras directed at every table.

  ‘It’s horrible here, isn’t it!’ Suddenly overcome by everything, Poppy only just managed to stop herself bursting into tears.

  ‘You get used to it. Some of the kids even enjoy it.’ He pointed to where some younger children were playing with toys in a special area. He turned back to the counter. ‘Want me to order for you?’

  ‘Coffee, tea and diet coke,’ said Poppy. She was still thinking about her dad. ‘But he’s innocent!’

  ‘Cheers.’ Angel used a voice as if he was patting a puppy on the head. Then he ordered the drinks.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Poppy suspiciously.

  ‘All our dads are innocent, aren’t they. My dad’s been in and out four times since I can remember and he’s always innocent, isn’t he.’

  There was no question mark at the end of the sentence. Poppy glanced back at her dad, now huddled with her mum against the storm like all the others. She supposed all the turned backs were because they were avoiding the cameras. ‘But my dad is innocent!’

  ‘‘Course he is, like I said before.’ Angel picked up his drinks. ‘Better go.’

  Poppy was sure he didn’t believe her, and thought of one way of showing him she was serious. ‘I’m going to help my dad escape from here. That’s how much I know he’s innocent!’

  Angel stopped and, for a moment, Poppy suspected he was going to laugh. Instead he asked softly, ‘How you planning on that?’

  ‘Will and I have done a recce already. We. . .’

  ‘Not here.’ Angel interrupted. He nodded at the prison officers all around. ‘I’ll catch you at school one day.’

  ‘School?’ Poppy gawped. ‘We’re not at the same school, are we?’

  ‘St Augustus of the Holy Angels. My mum rates that school.’

  ‘But I’ve never seen you.’

  ‘I’m in the top year. Don’t mix, do we.’

  With that, Angel left and Poppy, perilously balancing her two cups and a can, headed across the room. On her way she passed a couple who were having a row. They had been whispering, but suddenly the man shouted a swear word at the top of his voice. Immediately, two prison officers closed in. Immediately the room felt full of danger.

  Poppy hurried back to her mum and dad.

  ‘Thanks.’ They hardly looked up from their conversation. Poppy thought her mum had been crying.

  ‘Did I say tea?’ Irena pushed the cup away.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Poppy. How could anything be right in a place like this? The man who had shouted was being hustled forcibly out of the room. He was tall with an ugly big paunch. His girlfriend was crying noisily. A woman nearby tried to console her but she pushed her away roughly.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ Irena stood up, ‘I’ll go. You talk to your dad for a bit.’

  Big Frank said nothing. so Poppy sat down opposite him, feeling awkward. Now was the time to mention the Great Escape. But he wasn’t even looking at her. Maybe she’d lead in gradually.

  ‘Is your room – er – cell near here?’

  Frank seemed puzzled by the question. ‘Sorry, Pops, what did you say?’

  ‘I wondered where your cell was?’

  ‘Whether it has a nice view, you mean.’ His smile was a bit ironic, but friendly too.

  ‘I mean, is it far from here?’

  This time Frank gave a genuine laugh. ‘That’s a question I didn’t expect. Next time you visit, I’ll count how many doors the guard has to unlock and lock again to get me here. At least a dozen, I’d say.’

  ‘But do you live in the East, West, South or North block?’ This was a question Will had prepared.

  ‘Well, now.’ Frank looked round. ‘Which way are we facing, would you say? It seems to me we’d need a compass to work that one out.’ He paused and grinned at Poppy, ‘You’re not trying to spring me, are you?’

  Blushing, Poppy was about to answer, ‘Actually, yes,’ when her mother came back.

  Big Frank winked, and Poppy decided he knew her answer anyway. The only person who had winked like her dad was Angel. Strange, that. She tried to decide if Will and Angel would get on and thought, probably not.

  ‘They’ll turn us out soon,’ said Irena. ‘Anything you want to tell your dad, Poppy?’

  Poppy thought she’d already told him the most important thing. ‘What’s your cell like?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, Poppy,’ protested Irena.

  ‘You like that word “cell”, don’t you, darling?’ It was the first time Frank had used the word ‘darling’, and it made Poppy feel tearful all over again.

  ‘I just want to know what it’s like,’ she persevered.

  ‘The bad bits or the good bits?’

  ‘Oh, Frank,’ Irena protested to her husband.

  ‘I’ll tell you.’ Frank leant forward. ‘The good bits: in-cell television.’

  ‘That’s great!’ exclaimed Poppy.

  ‘The bad bits:’ went on Frank. ‘My cell-mate’s taste in TV programmes, his smelly feet and his whiny voice. Then there’s in-cell sanitation, i.e. a toilet beside your bed, a
hole in the door so you can be watched, the door itself, which is mostly locked and, worst of all,’ he took Irena’s hand on one side and Poppy’s hand on the other, ‘not being with my darlings.’

  These bitter words completely silenced Irena and Poppy. They stared at Big Frank miserably.

  ‘Time! Time’s up, ladies and gentlemen!’ The prison officers had come off their platforms and were advancing in a meaningful, heavy-footed way.

  The woman whose man had been taken away began arguing loudly with a guard. She kept yelling, ‘I’ve come all the way from Sheffield.’ Everywhere there was hugging and kissing – and crying too. Poppy could distinctly hear Gabriel’s wails. She could have wailed herself as Big Frank stood up, muttering, ‘Like pub closing time, except we’ve missed out on the booze.’

  Poppy wanted to kiss him once and then run away, but there were queues of people trying to get out and, anyway, her mum was still clinging to her dad.

  ‘Sshh, darling,’ said Big Frank, putting her gently aside. He was the one who walked away, with all the other men, heads down, not talking to each other.

  This was the very worst moment, thought Poppy, saying goodbye, and leaving her dad to his cell behind the walls with the barbed wire, the stony-faced officers and the beastly sniffer dogs. It made her even more determined to get him out.

  But Will would have been disappointed in her as they left the room and made their way back to the prison entrance. Poppy was too upset to notice how many doors were unlocked and locked or which way they were heading.

  It was only when they were outside the prison and crossing the courtyard to the visitors’ centre, that Poppy glanced backwards.

  ‘I wonder where Dad is now?’ She said to her mum.

  ‘Behind the walls,’ answered Irena, sadly. She seemed to be about to say something else, before stopping herself.

  Then they were back in the crowds at the visitors’ centre and queuing for their things from the locker. Everyone round them wore the same dazed look.

  ‘Do you really want all these leaflets?’ asked Poppy’s mum.

  ‘Yes. I do.’ At least she’d have something to show Will.

  As they turned to go, Angel caught up with her. He was again holding Gabriel, now gurgling with happiness as if he’d never been called a police siren.