‘England doesn’t get cold like this,’ Irena wailed to Poppy. ‘This is Polish winter!’
‘Not often,’ agreed Poppy, who was at home because school had closed. She thought the snow was beautiful, and Jude’s mum had promised to drive them to Hampstead Heath that afternoon so that they could toboggan down the slopes.
‘I’ll ring Lennie,’ said Irena.
Poppy left the house while Irena was talking to Lennie and when she got back, Irena had just had her fourth phone conversation with her.
‘It will be OK,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘Lennie says forecast say that snow and ice come quickly and go quickly. Besides, she has a 4x4 car, good for all weather conditions. Tell to your friends. Their parents will want to know. Lennie’s son is a driver by profession. We can all be safe and comfortable, whatever the weather, although weather will be good.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Poppy. Her face was burning from the hours she had spent dashing about in the snow. Secretly, she was wondering whether something else – perhaps an earthquake – would stop them from watching her dad sing in Her Majesty’s Prison Castlerock.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
On the first Saturday in December, Lennie, smartly dressed in a red trouser suit, appeared on Poppy and Irena’s doorstep.
‘Your coach awaits you, ladies and gentlemen.’ She smiled at all the faces peering at her from the narrow hallway.
Encouraged by Irena, they’d dressed smartly in their own style. Irena had put her hair up and stuck a glittering comb in the side. Poppy was wearing an embroidered skirt brought back from Poland. Jude wore a slinky lurex top. Will had a green shirt (which Poppy privately thought turned his pale complexion green too) and Angel sported a shiny black tracksuit which was so baggy, it looked as if it might fall right off him at any minute.
‘Aren’t we fine!’ said Lennie as they bundled into the large black people-carrier.
‘Hi, there, and welcome!’ Lennie’s son, Bernard, waved from the front seat. He was broad-shouldered, with a shaven head above a thick cable-knit sweater. Lennie sat beside him, Irena behind her, Jude and Will beside her and Poppy and Angel in the back row.
Despite Poppy’s misgivings, it was hard not to feel excited. Outside, it was still cold and there were lumps of greyish snow on the pavement. Poppy thought of the steep winding road up to the prison. She couldn’t imagine them making it to the top, even if they were in a 4x4.
Angel nudged her. ‘Some car!’
‘Do you think it can go over snow and ice?’
‘Course it can. Did you see the size of its wheels?’
Poppy hadn’t. She left that sort of thing to boys. So it seemed another reason for not getting to Castlerock had been overcome.
‘Comfortable back there?’ Lennie called from the front.
‘Very comfortable, thank you,’ they all replied.
They were soon on the outskirts of London. A tape of Kaiser Chiefs blared out cheerily from six speakers.
‘There’s more snow out here.’ Irena was staring anxiously out of the window.
Poppy, who was sitting directly behind her, touched her shoulder. ‘It’ll be OK, Mum. Angel says this tank will go through anything.’ Thank you, my darling.’ Irena gave her a smile.
When they were deep in the countryside, Bernard pulled in at a service station. ‘Toilets, coffee-break, petrol and stretch your legs,’ he announced.
They all climbed out and then returned quickly for hats and scarves. An icy wind blew in vicious gusts.
‘It’s freezing.’ Jude shivered theatrically. ‘I’m stretching my legs in the car.’
As they set off again, Irena looked up at the sky. Although it was mid-morning, it was as dark as if night was falling. ‘I’m afraid there’s snow up there,’ she said to Bernard. He shrugged.
They drove on. All the cars had their headlights on. But Bernard put on a tape of Christmas carols and although Lennie complained it was too early in December for carols, they sang lustily, sometimes using the wrong words and not exactly in time.
At one point, Irena clapped her hands over her ears. ‘I hope Frank sing better than this,’ she moaned – and everyone burst out laughing.
Meanwhile, the threatening sky seemed to drop lower and lower. Then it became tinged with a sinister yellow glow.
‘Do you think it’s the end of the world?’ asked Jude dramatically.
‘Nothing like.’ Will gave her a shove.
‘Nonsense,’ said Lennie firmly. ‘You kids haven’t seen real weather. When I lived in Oklahoma we endured tornadoes on a regular basis. Called them ‘twisters’ because they could take off the head of a tree like it was a bottletop. Think Wizard of Oz.’
The snow began just as they reached the road that led into Blackmore Bay. Strong winds blew it sideways across the car.
‘Are you all right, Bernard?’ asked Irena nervously.
‘Like my mother says, ten years growing up in the US of A gave me a handle on weather. We’re just fine, Mrs Maloney.’
‘Call me Irena,’ said Irena in a small, I’m-trying-to- be-brave voice.
Blackmore Bay was already turning white, but the great stretch of sea remained a dark, glassy green.
‘Look,’ said Will, pressing his nose to the window pane, ‘it’s as if the sea is eating up the flakes of snow.’
They all watched as the thick white flakes hit the surface of the water and disappeared.
‘I’m glad I’m not on one of those boats,’ exclaimed Jude. They were passing the harbour where the rows of moored boats were even whiter than usual.
‘What a buzz,’ Angel whispered enthusiastically, ‘to go out to sea in a snowstorm!’
Poppy didn’t answer. She was waiting for the moment when they’d see the long causeway and ahead of it the steep cliffs of the island. It had been forbidding enough on a summer’s day. She peered anxiously round her mum’s shoulder.
They arrived at the causeway quite suddenly; one minute they were travelling on a snowy road with houses on either side, the next, there was just the sea. The murky atmosphere reflected in the water and turned it black.
‘The island’s ahead,’ Poppy told Angel, who pressed his face against the window.
Bernard had turned off the music and, as they reached the centre of the causeway, the only sound was the wind whistling and screeching across their car. Flurries of snow burst against the windows.
‘Where is it? The prison, I mean?’ asked Jude in a trembly voice.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Lennie in the same loud voice she’d used to announce her arrival at the house. ‘We see ahead of us the famous nineteenth-century prison of Castlerock at the topmost point of the famous and ancient Castle Island. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!’ Then she laughed. But no one else did.
‘They won’t get much of an audience, will they,’ said Irena. ‘Not in this weather.’
‘Most of them are up there anyway,’ pointed out Bernard. ‘Locked in.’
‘People living round here are tough,’ added Lennie. ‘And bored. And curious. They’ll show up for a convict production.’
Convict, thought Poppy. What an odd word for her dad.
They drove off the far end of the causeway and on to the island. A few minutes more and they were travelling along the winding road that led up to the prison.
‘I can’t see it anywhere,’ said Will, craning his neck from one side to another.
‘It’s above our heads,’ Poppy whispered to Will, ‘You won’t see it now till we get there.’ She noticed that everyone had gone quiet.
‘We’ll get up there all right,’ muttered Bernard to Lennie. ‘But if it freezes, we’ll have a right old time getting down without skidding over the edge.’ Sshh.’ Lennie shut him up quickly. ‘Everything will be fine.’
The car churned slowly upwards. On either side, great banks of windswept snow grew even higher. Then above them appeared the huge stone walls that had so frightened Poppy before.
‘
We’re nearly there,’ she told Angel.
‘Beats Grisewood Slops for house of horror atmosphere, doesn’t it?’ Angel didn’t seem at all shocked. Maybe it made a difference if it wasn’t your dad locked inside.
Then the tunnel closed over their heads. Jude gave a frightened yelp.
‘Made it!’ shouted Lennie, as they came out the other side. Amazingly, there were quite a lot of other cars parked already – mostly jeeps and 4x4s. ‘See,’ added Lennie, ‘country folk don’t turn tail at a few specks of snow.’
The snow was lighter, but it was bitterly cold as they bundled out of the car and went across to the visitors’ centre. Snow clung to its roof. High above it the enormous walls, outer and inner, rose into the sky, the snow turning even the barbed wire white.
Poppy took her mum’s hand. ‘OK, Mum?’
‘I just want to see your dad.’
Poppy wished it felt as easy for her. She glanced at Will and Jude who were staying close together. She thought they were trying to repress shivers – but not from cold.
The visitors’ centre was hot and filled with people, including half a dozen children. Lennie had already found a friend and was chatting animatedly. The heat inside and the ice cold air outside had combined to fog over the windows so that they couldn’t see out.
‘Look at that!’ exclaimed Angel excitedly, as a huge lump of snow slid off the roof and exploded on the ground.
A prison officer, tall and confident, came in with a clipboard. He began to check off their names.
‘Special treatment, isn’t it,’ commented Angel, who seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘Now let’s see about security.’
Angel, Poppy, Jude and Will did what they were told and took their coats over to the locker. Angel seemed to have become their leader.
‘If your dad’s Al Capone, then you know about the inside of prisons.’ Will joked. Angel smiled, as Jude asked, ‘Who was Al Capone?’
‘Gangster in Chicago,’ answered Will. ‘Killed loads of people.’ My dad’s not a killer,’ said Angel. ‘Robbery with violence is the worst he ever did. Had to carry a gun, didn’t he. Don’t mean he planned to use it.’
Poppy had never heard Angel talk about his dad’s offence before. Even if he hadn’t hurt anyone, it seemed really bad to her. Judging by Will’s and Jude’s shocked faces, they thought so too. She was glad her dad was innocent.
‘Drugs. That’s my dad’s main line of business,’ Angel added, raising his voice.
‘Sshh,’ said Poppy’s mum, who’d just joined them. She looked at the guard nervously.
‘Sorry, Mrs. Maloney.’ Angel shuffled his feet guiltily.
After a while they were gathered into groups of ten and shepherded inside the prison proper.
Poppy had hoped security might not be as bad as before, since this was a special event. But the opposite was true: shoes off, bodies patted down, mouths searched, dogs sniffing, and through the metal detector. Even then, several men and women and even children were taken off to be searched more thoroughly in separate cubicles.
‘Sometimes they even take off Gabriel’s nappy,’ commented Angel, watching them go.
Then it was into the ‘air-lock’ before allowing the dogs – which were black Labradors – to give them a good sniff. Jude automatically put her hand down to pat one and got a ticking-off from one of the guards: ‘They’re not here to socialise, you know.’ Jude took her hand away quickly.
At last they were through security and waiting in another room. Angel whispered confidentially, ‘See, they’re looking for drugs and mobile phones, but most of that stuff’s brought in by the screws, anyway.’
‘Is that so?’ Jude seemed to have got over the shock and gone back to her usual curious self.
‘Not here,’ hissed Poppy. Will nodded. It was best that Al Capone’s son kept his mouth shut for the moment.
When all the visitors had arrived in the waiting room, an officer announced that they would now be taken to the prison chapel where the performance was to be held. ‘You’ll get a chance to talk to your relatives and friends over tea and biscuits after the show.’
Once more, they were divided into groups of ten and led out across the open central space which Poppy remembered from before. Now it was white, although criss-crossed with large dark foot-prints. She looked up at the sky, uncomfortably close, and not a seagull to be seen.
The officer in the front was a jovial woman who clapped her hands together and told those nearest to her, ’You’re in for a treat. I saw it yesterday. Couldn’t believe my eyes. Might have been in the West End. Mind you, the work they’ve put in!’
Lennie, who was just behind her, nodded happily and even Poppy’s mum managed a smile.
‘It isn’t the full version,’ continued the officer chattily, ‘or we’d be here till midnight.’
‘What is the show, then?’ asked Angel.
Poppy realised that she hadn’t thought once about what they were going to see. All she’d thought about was meeting her dad, after so many months of rejection. ‘Guys and Dolls,’ she said.
‘That’s it,’ said the jovial officer. ‘You wait till you hear Sky Masterton blasting it out. Quite a voice, that one. Now then, one more set of keys and we’re in the promised land. Front seats reserved for Governor and guests, the rest of you anywhere.’
The keys turned noisily; one heavy iron door, then another was pushed creakingly open and suddenly they were out of the dim cold and in a warm, bright, high-ceiling space. At one end was a stage, while the rest of the room was filled with plastic chairs. Behind the stage was a huge painting of the New York City skyline.
‘Hey!’ exclaimed Angel. ‘Guess this is my first visit to a theatre. Funny it should be in a prison.’
A big man stands on a brilliantly lit stage. He is wearing a flashy striped suit and a broad tie, luminously turquoise and yellow. His red hair is parted and plastered down. He is standing with a pretty woman dressed in the sober uniform of the Save a Soul Mission.
The man begins to sing to her. It’s four o’clock in the morning in New York City. He’s a high-rolling gambler and his name is Sky Masterton.
In real life he is Big Frank.
Sarah Brown, the Save a Soul soldier, joins in the singing as the two declare their love for each other.
The sentimental scene is broken up as a stream of gamblers burst out from the mission house where they’ve been enjoying an all-night poker game. They are, in no particular order, Nicely Nicely Johnson, Benny Southstreet and Rusty Charlie, Harry the Horse, Nathan Detroit and Big Julie, a hulk from Chicago nursing a bad temper and a snub-nosed revolver. They are all wearing wide-shouldered gangster suits, broad ties and wide-brimmed hats, and they talk out of the sides of their mouths with thick accents.
They sing and dance and crack jokes. Their big problem is how to find a safe place for their high-rolling game. At the centre of their story is Sky Masterton. Will he carry on a lifetime of gambling and thuggery – or will he be converted by the virtuous Sarah Brown to a different way of life?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Poppy sat among her friends in the middle of the audience. She decided to stop being surprised or worried and just enjoy herself. Now and again she looked along the row to her mum’s face, which seemed to wear a permanent smile.
The surprising thing was that, although they were inside a prison, they were having a wonderful time. Poppy knew Angel felt the same, because he kept whispering things like, ‘Wow!’ ‘Where are we, man?’ ‘Cool.’ ‘Where are we?’
Jude and Will weren’t so surprised, because they’d never been in prison before and didn’t know what to expect. When they whispered, it was about her dad: ‘I didn’t know he could act!’ from Jude. ‘Your dad’s the best thing in the show by far!’ from Will.
Around them, the audience – a mixture of prisoners, officers, family, and friends – laughed, clapped and cheered on the soloists.
‘Your dad’s so handsome!’ whispered Jude.
&
nbsp; For a moment Poppy closed her eyes. She pictured those days which seemed years ago now, when Big Frank had lived at home and used to pick her up from school. He was always the centre of attention, recognised by all her friends as a very special kind of dad. When he didn’t arrive, they’d ask disappointedly, ‘Where’s Big Frank?’ as if he was a celebrity or film star.
Now he was a star again. Poppy opened her eyes. The show was coming to an end. Sky Masterton was making his way round the stage beating the big bass drum of the Save a Soul Mission. He had given up criminal life for love of Sarah Brown. The whole cast began to sing a number called ‘Happy Endings’, with Sky in the middle.
Then they were all bowing and the audience stood up and clapped and shouted and whistled, determined to show just how much they’d enjoyed it.
‘Even the screws are clapping,’ said Angel in amazed tones.
The cast was joined on stage by the director of the production and she was joined by the director of the musical society who’d put on the show. Then they were joined by the Governor. He praised everybody, ‘especially the men who’d never before opened their mouths except to fill them.’
This got a bit of a laugh and a few ironic cheers. Someone shouted ‘Music!’ So the Governor went back to his seat and the man who’d played the synthesiser appeared, followed by the man on the drum set and the man on the electric guitar. There was more cheering and a few prisoners stamped on the floor.
As the noise rose, Poppy noticed a forward movement from the prison officers standing at the side of the chapel. It reminded her unpleasantly where they were. Then it was all celebration again.
The lights came up among the audience. Lennie hugged Irena. ‘He was ab fab, my dear. A real star!’
And Jude and Will took turns to say to Poppy, ‘Your dad was the best thing in it!’
‘You can tell him yourself,’ said Poppy, embarrassed by so much praise, even if it was for her dad. The performers were coming off the stage into the audience. Meanwhile, prisoners and screws were clearing away the chairs and setting up tables. Juices, a tea urn, sandwiches and biscuits were carried in from outside.
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