How I’m going to get a job and keep it. At that thought electricity pulses through me. That would be a pinnacle for me. I got the job as a dinner lady, didn’t I? The prison governor gave me a leaflet about Nacro, an organisation that helps people coming out of prison sign up for benefits and advises on job applications. I’d been on benefits for so long, until I got the dinner lady job. A job is what I am going to strive for at last. I look down at my new svelte figure. Looking better will help.
And somehow I’m going to find a way to check on you, Faye. Just once, so I know that you are all right, after what I did to you. And then I’ll leave you alone. For ever.
I lie on my bunk trying to ignore the sound of Sylvia’s TV show. But she turns the volume up. A problem session, with a celebrity TV host. A woman is sitting on the couch with the celebrity, discussing the fact that her husband has cheated on her with her best friend. She wants to know whether she should forgive – him, or her, or both of them.
I wish I couldn’t hear it. Why can’t she sort it out for herself? When I think of all the problems I have had to cope with, completely by myself, I grit my teeth. Not long now. Soon I’ll be able to watch whatever I like. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. The Walking Dead. Game of Thrones. Anything I like.
I hear the electronic whirr of the cell door opening. Two male prison guards step inside; one skinny, one burly.
‘Stand still. Hands up. Random search,’ one of them shouts. I am so shocked I am not sure which.
My insides coagulate. My heart stops. My worst fear has been unleashed. Sylvia must have planted some drugs on me.
‘Keep your hands up. Both of you. Move across to the door,’ the officer whose stomach is so large he looks as if he is nine months pregnant instructs.
Sylvia and I stand in front of the cell door. He stands eyeballing us, feet apart, hand on his truncheon, while the other officer, the skinny one, searches our cell. He lifts our mattresses, pummels our pillows. Ransacks our drawers. He checks through every item and leaves them on the floor.
‘All clear,’ the slim one eventually announces, with a snarl, as if he has had a tip-off and is disappointed. ‘Tidy your cell please,’ he barks.
They leave. The electronic whirr of the door follows their exit, and Sylvia and I are locked in together, alone once more. Sylvia switches the TV off. The unusual silence jolts me. She stands in front of me and pushes her eyes into mine.
‘You got away with it that time. You won’t the next.’ Her eyes are like marble. ‘Your release might not happen you know. A lot can go wrong in two weeks. I’d watch out if I were you.’ There is a pause. ‘You took someone else’s child. You don’t deserve to get out before me.’
150
Faye
Walking through the hospital car park, feeling shaky after being interviewed by the police, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around.
Jonah.
Blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. Brown eyes shining into mine.
‘What do you want?’ I ask.
‘You. Come with me now, or I’ll press charges against Phillip,’ he says as he lunges at me, grabs my shoulders and pulls me towards him. ‘Stop resisting me, Faye. Let me have just one kiss.’
I struggle against him, anger emboldening me, making me bigger, braver. I lift my knee and pierce it straight into his groin. He yelps in pain. He is holding my shoulders, squeezing me against him in an attempt to stop me. But I have a good angle. I pull my knee back and kick him again. Higher. Harder. The tissue of his groin collapses against the bone of my knee. I pull my knee back and crush his groin again and again.
151
Erica
So far, so good.
I’m getting out. As long as Sylvia doesn’t set me up first. When I am settled in I am going to really look after my home in Weybridge, so that Mouse is happy to come and stay. My anger at having to leave Twickenham is diminishing. I am trying to think positively. Having a change of scene will help him to gain confidence, to be more flexible. I am still determined to get a job. I’ll do anything: cleaning, admin, standing outside giving out advertising leaflets that nobody reads.
So far, so good.
I walk along the corridor after an anaemic evening meal of coley fish, and new potatoes that tasted like plasticine.
So far, so good.
I step into our cell for lock-down. Sylvia is already here, sitting in her pyjamas, watching TV with the volume turned up full-blast. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I flop onto my bunk with a sigh. Tonight I am going to try and read. I roll onto my stomach and fumble beneath my pillow to find my book – Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. I borrowed it a few days ago from the library. I never expected to like poetry, but when I began to read it I loved the sound of the words in my head.
As I reach for my book I feel something hard and square, tucked inside my pillowcase. My fingers clasp around it. Cannabis wrapped in plastic. Must be.
My mind and body freeze. This is it. The set-up. I roll onto my side, back towards Sylvia. I pull the package out and look at it. A greeny brown cube, wrapped in plastic. The size of a sugar cube. I hide it in my right hand, hold my book with my other hand and pretend to read it.
I slip onto my back now. I do not look across at her. I do not dare. I sense the movement of her head. She keeps looking across at me. I am going to dump this shit down the drain tomorrow. In the shower block in the morning. No one will ever link it to me.
The electronic cell doors whirr. I sit bolt upright in bed. Two officers. Same as before. Quick as a flash I put my hand to my mouth and swallow the cube. It sticks in my throat. I swallow and swallow. As it lumbers down my gullet, I pray to the god I don’t believe in, that the plastic doesn’t burst.
‘Random inspection,’ the chubby officer shouts.
‘Stand up, by the door, arms above your heads,’ the skinny officer shouts. ‘Move quickly.’
We move quickly. The skinny officer stands in front of us, hand hovering over his truncheon.
‘Don’t move an inch,’ he instructs.
The chubby man searches our cell. He struggles for breath and his face turns red, as he lifts my mattress and pummels my pillow half-heartedly. He groans in exasperation as he stretches to the top bunk to inspect Sylvia’s bed. Panic simmers inside me as he rummages through our clothing drawers. Has Sylvia planted something else?
‘Nothing here,’ he announces.
My body almost collapses with relief, but I hold it together and remain standing up straight.
‘Swallow it did you?’ Sylvia hisses as soon as the officers leave, pinning me against the cell wall. She stabs her fist into my stomach so hard I cannot think, I cannot breathe. ‘Good luck to you. I hope that makes it burst.’
152
Jonah
I am limping as I walk to Anna’s house. My groin is swollen. A kaleidoscope of dark iridescent colour. Black and purple of all shades, a little green thrown in too. I have been beaten up by a woman. Not just any woman, but you, Faye. The woman I love. What is the matter with you? Have you spent too much time with my ex-best friend who socked me in the face to start a fight? He is such a bad influence on you; you need to get away from him as soon as possible.
A tinge of pain shoots down my leg as I walk, and makes me wince. All the hours spent nursing my groin with ice packs and all the ibuprofen I have swallowed haven’t helped. I push through the pain to walk up the path and ring the doorbell.
Anna answers the door.
‘Is she ready?’ I ask, as I step inside.
‘Yes,’ Anna replies without looking me in the eye.
I walk through the hallway. I knock on Sally’s door.
‘Come in,’ she invites.
I walk into her bedroom. It is warm, over-heated. The sweet smell of her cheap perfume chokes me. She is waiting for me, lying on her back, arms and legs splayed, hands and feet tied to the four corners of the bed. Naked except for the dark wig and blue contacts I bought her.
She smiles at
me. Nerves or pity? Do not pity me. Women do not dominate me.
‘Did Anna explain to you what I want?’
She nods her head.
‘Do not nod, speak,’ I snap.
‘Yes, she told me. I consent.’
I take a sip of Glenmorangie from the flask in my pocket. It burns the back of my throat. Another sip. Larger this time. More of a three-swallow gulp. I stand looking out of the window at Anna’s small, neat garden, all lawn and bushes, no colour. I’m still drinking, waiting for the liquor to hit. When I feel as if it has softened me, made the world a little easier, I turn around to face my victim.
‘Are you sorry for hurting me, Faye?’ I ask.
‘Yes, very sorry.’
I walk towards the bed. I stand above her and give her a Chinese burn on her right arm. She yelps in pain. I twist my hands tighter.
‘Say it again.’
‘I’m sorry. So sorry, Jonah, I will never hurt you again.’
I straddle across her and smash my knee into her pubic bone as hard as I can manage.
‘Apologise again, you bitch.’
153
Erica
On heightened alert. Checking my bed and my pillow, my clothes, before I leave our cell in the morning, and as soon as I return at night. Checking the bathroom. Checking and praying, all the time. Hovering so that I always leave the cell after Sylvia, watching her every second.
The cannabis cube passed this morning. It didn’t even hurt. So Sylvia, shame on you, it didn’t burst. I shoved an excess of paper into the toilet to weigh it down, and flushed it away. Your unpleasant plot didn’t succeed.
And now I am walking along the corridor at free-flow, on my way to work.
An officer taps me on the shoulder.
‘The governor wants to see you immediately. Report to her office straight away, please.’
My stomach aches. I feel sick. What has Sylvia managed to do now? I walk towards the governor’s office, heart and legs like lead. After so much hope of freedom, how can I cope with staying here? I move along, shoulder to shoulder with other prisoners, until I eventually arrive.
I knock on her door with trembling hands. ‘Come in,’ she shouts.
I open the door and step inside. She smiles at me. A good or a bad sign? Her smile fades quickly leaving her face sad and serious. The sickness rising in my stomach pulses towards my mouth, and I swallow to hold it back.
‘Do sit down,’ she says.
Silence presses against me, ringing in my ears, as I wait for her to speak.
She adjusts her glasses and leans forward. ‘I wanted to ask you, whether after you have been out six months, you’d consider coming back to give a talk to the prisoners about how you are coping with life on the outside?’
I exhale in relief. ‘Yes of course.’ I beam.
154
Faye
Georgia and Tamsin are skipping along the hospital corridor in front of me, so excited about picking up Daddy. I am too. I can’t wait to have him home. Whenever he isn’t around, after so much difficulty, I feel panicked. As if my whole life is a time bomb waiting to explode, and that something is about to go wrong at any minute. We turn the corner into the ward and are stopped by a sign telling us we need to sterilise our hands.
‘Come on, girls,’ I shout. ‘Come and clean your hands.’
They skip towards me holding hands. I show them how to use the pump. They disentangle themselves from one another and rub antibacterial foam into their skin.
Phillip is waiting for us, fully dressed, in his bedside chair, mini-suitcase at his side. I bend down to kiss him. The girls scramble onto his knee, and hug him so hard that he can hardly breathe. He still looks pale. So pale and weak. The side of his face is a kaleidoscope of colours, faded now from the initial shades of dark purple and sage green, to pastel streaks of violet and khaki, interspersed with pale yellow. At least the swelling has gone down, his face is a normal shape again. A few days ago he looked like a boxing monster, with slits for eyes.
He lifts the girls up into the air as he stands up, and swings them to the ground. Giggling, they hover next to him, then cling to his legs like tendrils of ivy. I pull his torso towards me and hug him.
‘Faye,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘I’m coming home to really, really look after you now.’
155
Phillip
Back home, feeling mixed. Head still aching. Working from home. I do that most of the time now – I need to be here to protect my family. The doorbell rings. Jonah. I am expecting him. I open the door. He stands in front of me looking as overdressed as usual, in white chinos and a pale green shirt embroidered with miniature parrots – bright and unnerving.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I say with a smile.
‘What’s with all the sudden friendliness?’ he asks.
‘I invited you here to tell you I’ve decided not to press charges. And I hope you feel the same.’
‘Yes. I think we need to work together, not against one another.’
‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’ I pause. ‘So we could say it’s a truce then?’
He runs his fingers through his thick blond hair. ‘Yes.’
‘Do sit down,’ I say gesticulating to our living area, which just so happens to be tidy today.
‘Thanks.’ He sinks into one of our sofas.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ I ask.
‘Yes please.’
I step away from him, into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I spoon Nescafé into two mugs; and put some powder from the vial in my pocket into Jonah’s. I know it tastes bitter so I add a bit of sugar as well. The kettle boils. I make our drinks, place them on a tray with a plate of shortbreads, and carry them through to the living room.
Jonah is sitting in the middle of the sofa, looking across at the photograph of you, Faye. The one he always stares at. Watching him looking at you I want to punch him all over again.
‘Here you are,’ I say, handing him his mug of coffee. ‘Would you like a shortbread?’
‘Yes, please.’
What a relief. The sugar in the shortbread will mask the taste of his coffee. He looks up and smiles slowly.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so friendly. It’s time you faced facts: your wife’s not in love with you. She’s in love with me.’
I keep calm and smile inside. Thank God the stupid bastard doesn’t realise that I only enticed him over to poison his coffee.
156
Erica
A final inspection before I leave prison. My heart is in my mouth as the prison officer appointed to release me frisks my room. A brisk young woman with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. It flicks across her shoulders as she inspects. As she lifts my mattress and Sylvia’s. As she pulls the pillowcases off and shakes them. As she pats the pillows. As she walks across them with stocking feet. She checks every item in the suitcase I have been given. Every item Sylvia is left with.
‘All clear.’
So nearly out of prison. I walk along the corridor with her. People know I am leaving. People are staring. I am careful to avoid physical contact. I do not want anyone planting anything on me at the last moment. We arrive at the holding area and are locked in. Almost out. So nearly there. The last hurdle. I sit on a scratchy sofa and a randomly allocated inmate fetches me a cup of tea. I smile at her.
‘Thanks.’
The perky ponytailed officer disappears and a timid prison officer with bucked teeth and frizzy hair hands me my possessions: my coat and handbag. Everything they took from me when I came in. My mobile phone. She sidles off and returns with a pile of paperwork. I sign a plethora of release papers. I am given even more forms to sign for life outside. Overwhelmed by forms, I decide to read them tomorrow. I am trembling now with the desire to get out; a final prison claustrophobia closing in on me.
Finally I am released. I step out of the prison and blink in the bright April sunshine. I haven’t felt the sun in such a long time. The yard we were allowed to w
alk around during association was always in the shade because of the prison blocks that surrounded it. My eyes will need to get used to the sun again. I inhale deeply. The air smells so fresh and clean, blowing away the scent of antiseptic and sweat that pervades the prison. I tighten the collar of my coat as a sharp wind is blowing, and march solidly along the footpath towards the car park where Mouse has promised to wait.
A horn honks loudly. I follow its direction to see Mouse at the driver’s seat of the bright red Mini Cooper his father bought him, waving frantically at me. My heart jumps. I smile and wave back, running towards the car. He leans across and opens the passenger door. I slip into the passenger seat.
‘Mouse.’
‘Erica.’
I lean across and hug him. He smells so sweet. I recognise his Hugo Boss Orange aftershave. He is wearing his favourite woollen jumper. It feels so comforting when he holds me against him. But he pulls away, frowning.
‘Where do you think you are going, Erica?’
‘To a B & B in Weybridge. Just for one night. Until I sort myself out.’
Mouse’s eyes light up with pleasure. He shakes his head. ‘No, no, no. Dad owns a cottage there. He is letting it to you, and you can have it free of charge for the first few weeks, just until you sort yourself out. I wanted you to have a wonderful surprise.’ There is a pause. ‘It’s because Dad has investments there that I suggested Weybridge in the first place.’
‘Your dad is wonderful, Mouse. The most wonderful dad in the world. And you are wonderful too.’
Mouse smiles a high-wattage smile. ‘Good to see you, Erica.’
‘Good to see you, Mouse.’
I lean across to the driver’s seat and hug him once again. After a while he pulls away from my embrace.
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