‘Yes, of course I will,’ said Alex, surprised by his father’s question.
The old man frowned. ‘Then all I can say is good luck, because if Cartwright didn’t do it, who did?’
‘Spencer Craig,’ said Alex without hesitation.
18
AT FIVE O’CLOCK the heavy iron door was pulled open once again, accompanied by a raucous bellow of ‘ASSOCIATION’ from a man whose previous occupation could only have been as a Guards sergeant major.
For the next forty-five minutes all the prisoners were released from their cells. They were given two choices as to how they might spend their time. They could, as Big Al always did, go down to the spacious area on the ground floor. There he slumped in front of the television in a large leather chair that no other inmate would have considered occupying, while others played dominoes, with tobacco as the only stake. If, on the other hand, you were willing to brave the elements, you could venture out into the exercise yard.
Danny was thoroughly searched before he stepped out of the block into the yard. Belmarsh, like every other prison, was awash with drugs and dealers who would hurriedly ply their trade during the only time in the day that prisoners from all four blocks came into contact with each other. The system of payment was simple and accepted by all the addicts. If you wanted a fix – hash, cocaine, crack cocaine or heroin – you let the wing dealer know your requirements, and the name of the person on the outside who would settle up with his contact; once the money had changed hands, the goods would appear a day or two later. With a hundred remand prisoners being driven in and out of the jail to attend court every morning, there were a hundred different opportunities to bring the gear back in. Some were caught red-handed, which resulted in time being added to their sentence, but the financial rewards were so high that there were always enough donkeys who considered it a risk worth taking.
Danny had never shown any interest in drugs; he didn’t even smoke. His boxing coach had warned him that he would never be allowed in the ring again if he were caught taking drugs.
He began to stride around the perimeter of the yard, a patch of grass about the size of a football pitch. He kept up a fast pace, as he knew that this would be his only chance of getting any exercise, other than a twice-weekly visit to an overcrowded gym during the day. He glanced up at the thirty-foot wall that circled the exercise yard. Although it was topped with razor wire, that didn’t stop him thinking about escape. How else would he be able to seek revenge on the four bastards who were responsible for stealing his freedom?
He passed several other prisoners who were walking at a more leisurely pace. No one overtook him. He noticed a lone figure striding out in front of him who was keeping roughly the same speed. It was some time before he realized that it was Nick Moncrieff, his new cellmate, who was clearly as fit as he was. What could a guy like him have done to end up behind bars, Danny wondered. He recalled the old prison rule that you never ask another con what he’s in for; always wait for him to volunteer the information himself.
Danny glanced to his right to see a small group of black prisoners lying bare-chested on the grass, sunbathing as if they were on a package holiday in Spain. He and Beth had spent a fortnight last summer in Weston-super-Mare, where they made love for the first time. Bernie had come along too, and every evening he seemed to end up with a different girl, who had vanished by the light of day. Danny hadn’t looked at another woman since the day he had seen Beth at the garage.
When Beth had told him she was pregnant, Danny had been surprised and delighted at the news. He’d even thought about suggesting going straight to the nearest register office and taking out a marriage licence. But he knew Beth wouldn’t hear of it, and neither would her mother. After all, they were both Roman Catholics, and therefore they must be married in St Mary’s, just as both of their parents had been. Father Michael would have expected nothing less.
For the first time, Danny wondered if he should offer to break off the engagement. After all, no girl could be expected to wait for twenty-two years. He decided not to make a decision until after his appeal had been heard.
Beth hadn’t stopped crying since the foreman had delivered the jury’s verdict. They didn’t even allow her to kiss Danny goodbye before he was taken down to the cells by two officers. Her mother tried to comfort her on the way home, but her father said nothing.
‘This nightmare will finally be over once the appeal is heard,’ her mother said.
‘Don’t count on it,’ said Mr Wilson, as he swung the car into Bacon Road.
A klaxon proclaimed that the forty-five minutes set aside for Association was over. The prisoners were quickly herded back into their cells block by block.
Big Al was already slumbering on his bunk by the time Danny walked back into the cell. Nick followed a moment later, the door slamming behind him. It wouldn’t be opened again until tea – another four hours.
Danny climbed back on to the top bunk, while Nick returned to the plastic chair behind the formica table. He was just about to start writing again, when Danny asked, ‘What are you scribblin’?’
‘I keep a diary,’ replied Nick, ‘of everything that goes on while I’m in prison.’
‘Why would you want to be reminded of this dump?’
‘It whiles away the time. And as I want to be a teacher when I’m released, it’s important to keep my mind alert.’
‘Will they let you teach after you’ve done a stretch in ’ere?’ asked Danny.
‘You must have read about the teacher shortage?’ said Nick with a grin.
‘I don’t read a lot,’ admitted Danny.
‘Perhaps this is a good chance to start,’ said Nick, putting his pen down.
‘Can’t see the point,’ said Danny, ‘ ’specially if I’m going to be banged up in ’ere for the next twenty-two years.’
‘But at least you’d be able to read your solicitor’s letters, which would give you a better chance of preparing your defence when the case comes up for appeal.’
‘Ur yous ever gonnae stop talkin’?’ asked Big Al in a thick Glaswegian accent that Danny could barely translate.
‘Not much else to do,’ replied Nick with a laugh.
Big Al sat up and removed a pouch of tobacco from a pocket in his jeans. ‘So whit you in fur, Cartwright?’ he asked, breaking one of prison’s golden rules.
‘Murder,’ said Danny. He paused. ‘But I was stitched up.’
‘Aye, that’s whit they aw say.’ Big Al took out a packet of cigarette papers from his other pocket, extracted one and laid a pinch of tobacco on top of it.
‘Maybe,’ said Danny, ‘but I still didn’t do it.’ He didn’t notice that Nick was writing down his every word. ‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘Me, I’m a fuckin’ bank robber,’ said Big Al, licking the edge of the paper. ‘Sometimes I pull it aff and get rich, other times I dinnae. The judge gied me fourteen years this fuckin’ time.’
‘So how long have you been banged up in Belmarsh?’ asked Danny.
‘Two years. They transferred me tae an open prison for a while, but I decided tae abscond, so they’ll no be takin’ that risk again. Huv yous no got a light?’
‘I don’t smoke,’ said Danny.
‘And neither do I, as you well know,’ added Nick, continuing to write his journal.
‘What a pair of numpties,’ said Big Al. ‘Noo I’ll no be able to huv a drag till efter tea.’
‘So you’ll never be moved out of Belmarsh?’ asked Danny in disbelief.
‘Not until mah release date,’ said Big Al. ‘Wance ye’ve absconded fae a cat D, they send you back tae a high-security nick. Cannae say I blame the fuckers. If they transferred me I’d only try it again.’ He placed the cigarette in his mouth. ‘Still, I’ve only got three years tae go,’ he said as he lay back down and turned to face the wall.
‘What about you?’ Danny asked Nick. ‘How much longer have you got?’
‘Two years, four months and eleven days. And y
ou?’
‘Twenty-two years,’ said Danny. ‘Unless I win my appeal.’
‘Naeb’dy wins their appeal,’ said Big Al. ‘Wance they’ve got ye banged to rights, they’re no going tae let you oot, so ye’d better get used tae it.’ He removed the cigarette from his lips before adding, ‘Or top yersel.’
Beth was also lying on her bed staring up at the ceiling. She would wait for Danny however long it took. She had no doubt that he would win his appeal, and that her father would finally come round to realizing that both of them had been telling the truth.
Mr Redmayne assured her that he would continue to represent Danny at the appeal and that she shouldn’t worry about the cost. Danny was right. Mr Redmayne was a real diamond. Beth had already spent all her savings and forgone her annual holiday so that she could attend every day of the trial. What was the point of a holiday if she couldn’t spend it with Danny? Her boss could not have been more understanding and told her not to report back until the trial was over. If Danny was found not guilty, Mr Thomas had told her she could take another fortnight off for the honeymoon.
But Beth would be back at her desk on Monday morning, and the honeymoon would have to be postponed for at least a year. Although she had spent her life savings on Danny’s defence, she still intended to send him some cash every month, as his prison wages would be only twelve pounds a week.
‘Do you want a cup of tea, luv?’ her mother shouted up from the kitchen.
‘Tea!’ hollered a voice as the door was unlocked for the second time that day. Danny picked up his plastic plate and mug and followed a stream of prisoners as they made their way downstairs to join the queue at the hotplate.
An officer was standing at the front of the queue, allowing six prisoners up to the hotplate at any one time.
‘More fights break out over food than anything else,’ explained Nick as they waited in line.
‘Other than in the gym,’ said Big Al.
Eventually Danny and Nick were told to join four others at the hotplate. Standing behind the counter were five prisoners dressed in white overalls and white hats, wearing thin latex gloves. ‘What’s the choice tonight?’ asked Nick, handing over his plate.
‘You can ’ave sausages with beans, beef with beans or spam fritters with beans. Take your choice, squire,’ said one of the inmates who was serving behind the counter.
‘I’ll have spam fritters without beans, thank you,’ said Nick.
‘I’ll ’ave the same, but with beans,’ said Danny.
‘And who are you?’ asked the server. ‘His fuckin’ brother?’
Danny and Nick both laughed. Although they were the same height, around the same age, and in prison uniform they didn’t look unalike, neither of them had noticed the similarity. After all, Nick was always clean-shaven with every hair neatly in place, while Danny only shaved once a week and his hair, in Big Al’s words, ‘looked like a bog brush’.
‘How do you get a job workin’ in the kitchen?’ asked Danny as they made their way slowly back up the spiral staircase to the first floor. Danny was quickly discovering that whenever you’re out of your cell, you walk slowly.
‘You have to be enhanced.’
‘And how do you get enhanced?’
‘Just make sure you’re never put on report,’ said Nick.
‘ ’ow do you manage that?’
‘Don’t swear at an officer, always turn up to work on time, and never get involved in a fight. If you can manage all three, in about a year’s time you’ll be enhanced, but you still won’t get a job in the kitchen.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because there ur a thousand other fuckin’ cons in this prison,’ said Big Al, following behind, ‘and nine hundred of thum want tae work in the kitchen. Yur oot of yer cell for most of the day, and ye get the best choice of grub. So ye can forget it, Danny boy.’
In the cell, Danny ate his meal in silence, and thought about how he could become enhanced more quickly. As soon as Big Al had forked the last piece of sausage into his mouth, he stood up, walked across the cell, pulled down his jeans and sat on the lavatory. Danny stopped eating and Nick looked away until Big Al had pulled the flush. Big Al then stood up, zipped his jeans, slumped back down on the end of his bunk and began rolling another cigarette.
Danny checked his watch: ten to six. He usually went round to Beth’s place around six. He looked down at the unfinished scraps on his plate. Beth’s mum made the best sausage and mash in Bow.
‘What other jobs are goin’?’ asked Danny.
‘Are yous still talking?’ demanded Big Al.
Nick laughed again as Big Al lit his cigarette.
‘You could get a job in the stores,’ said Nick, ‘or become a wing cleaner or a gardener, but most likely you’ll end up on the chain gang.’
‘The chain gang?’ asked Danny. ‘What’s that?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ replied Nick.
‘What about the gym?’ asked Danny.
‘Ye have tae be enhanced for that,’ said Big Al, inhaling.
‘So what job ’ave you got?’ asked Danny.
‘You ask too many questions,’ replied Big Al as he exhaled, filling the cell with smoke.
‘Big Al is the hospital orderly,’ said Nick.
‘That sounds like a cushy number,’ said Danny.
‘I huv tae polish the floors, empty the midgies, prepare the morning rota and make tea fur every screw that visits matron. I niver stop moving,’ said Big Al. ‘I’m enhanced, aren’t I?’
‘Very responsible job, that,’ said Nick smiling. ‘You have to have an unblemished record when it comes to drugs, and Big Al doesn’t approve of junkies.’
‘Too fuckin’ right I don’t,’ said Big Al. ‘And I’ll thump anyone who tries tae steal any drugs fae the hospital.’
‘Is there any other job worth considerin’?’ asked Danny desperately.
‘Education,’ said Nick. ‘If you decided to join me, you could improve your reading and writing. And at the same time you get paid for it.’
‘True, but only eight quid a week,’ chipped in Big Al. ‘Ye get twelve fur every other job. No many of us like the squire here cin turn oor noses up at an extra four quid a week baccy money.’
Danny placed his head back on the rock-hard pillow and stared out of the tiny curtain-less window. He could hear rap blaring from a nearby cell, and wondered if he’d be able to get to sleep on the first night of his twenty-two-year sentence.
19
A KEY TURNED in the lock and the heavy iron door was pulled open.
‘Cartwright, you’re on the chain gang. Report to the duty officer immediately.’
‘But—’ began Danny.
‘No point arguing,’ said Nick as the officer disappeared. ‘Stick with me, and I’ll show you the drill.’
Nick and Danny joined a stream of silent prisoners who were all heading in the same direction. When they reached the end of the corridor, Nick said, ‘This is where you report at eight o’clock every morning and sign up for your work detail.’
‘What the hell is that?’ asked Danny, staring up at a large hexagonal glass cubicle that dominated the area.
‘That’s the bubble,’ said Nick. ‘The screws can always keep an eye on us, but we can’t see them.’
‘There’s screws in there?’ said Danny.
‘Sure are,’ replied Nick. ‘About forty, I’m told. They have a clear view of everything going on in all four blocks, so if a riot or any disturbance breaks out, they can move in and deal with the problem within minutes.’
‘Ever been involved in a riot?’ asked Danny.
‘Only once,’ replied Nick, ‘and it wasn’t a pretty sight. This is where we part company. I’m off to education, and the chain gang is in the opposite direction. If you carry on down the green corridor, you’ll end up in the right place.’
Danny nodded and followed a group of prisoners who clearly knew where they were going, although their sullen looks and the spe
ed at which they were moving suggested that they could think of better ways of spending a Saturday morning.
When Danny reached the end of the corridor, an officer carrying the inevitable clipboard ushered all the prisoners into a large rectangular room, about the size of a basketball court. Inside were six long formica tables, with about twenty plastic chairs lined up on each side of them. The chairs quickly filled up with inmates, until almost every one was taken.
‘Where do I sit?’ asked Danny.
‘Wherever you like,’ said an officer. ‘It won’t make any difference.’
Danny found a vacant seat and remained silent as he watched what was going on around him.
‘You’re new,’ said the man seated on his left.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I’ve been on the chain gang for the past eight years.’
Danny took a closer look at the short, wiry man, whose skin was as white as a sheet. He had watery blue eyes and cropped fair hair. ‘Liam,’ he announced.
‘Danny.’
‘You Irish?’ asked Liam.
‘No, I’m a cockney, born a few miles away from ’ere, but my grandfather was Irish.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Liam with a grin.
‘So what happens next?’ asked Danny.
‘You see those cons standing at the end of each table?’ said Liam. ‘They’re the suppliers. They’ll put a bucket in front of us. You see that stack of plastic bags at the other end of the table? They’ll be passed down the middle. We drop whatever’s in our bucket into each one and pass it on.’
A Prisoner of Birth Page 10