A Prisoner of Birth

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Tell her if she makes it a hundred, I might just think about it.’

  ‘I think I can say on her behalf that she accepts your terms.’

  ‘So what’s the name of Aunt Maisie’s friend?’

  ‘Toby Mortimer.’

  ‘Always from the outside in,’ said Nick. ‘It’s a simple rule to follow.’

  Danny picked up the plastic spoon and began to scoop up the water that Nick had poured into his breakfast bowl.

  ‘No,’ said Nick. ‘You always tilt a soup bowl away from you, and push the spoon in the same direction.’ He demonstrated the movement. ‘And never slurp. I don’t want to hear a sound while you’re drinking your soup.’

  ‘Beth always complained about that,’ said Danny.

  ‘Me tae,’ said Big Al, not stirring from his bunk.

  ‘And Beth is right,’ said Nick. ‘In some countries it’s considered a compliment to slurp, but not in England.’ He removed the bowl and replaced it with a plastic plate on which he had put a thick slice of bread and a helping of baked beans. ‘Now, I want you to think of the bread as a lamb chop, and the baked beans as peas.’

  ‘Whit are ye using fur gravy?’ asked Big Al, not stirring from his bunk.

  ‘Cold Bovril,’ said Nick. Danny picked up his plastic knife and fork, holding them firmly, with the blade and the prongs pointing towards the ceiling. ‘Try to remember,’ said Nick, ‘that your knife and fork are not rockets on a launch pad waiting to blast off. And unlike rockets, they are going to need to refuel whenever they return to earth.’ Nick picked up the knife and fork on his side of the table and demonstrated how Danny should hold them.

  ‘It’s not natural,’ was Danny’s immediate response.

  ‘You’ll soon get used to it,’ said Nick. ‘And don’t forget that your forefinger should rest along the top. Don’t let the handle stick out between your thumb and forefinger – you’re holding a knife, not a pen.’ Danny adjusted the grip on his knife and fork in imitation of Nick, but still found the whole experience awkward. ‘Now I want you to eat the piece of bread as if it was a lamb chop.’

  ‘How wid ye like it, sir?’ grunted Big Al. ‘Medium or rare?’

  ‘You will only be asked that question,’ said Nick, ‘if you order a steak, never for a lamb chop.’

  Danny dug into his slice of bread. ‘No,’ said Nick. ‘Cut your meat, don’t tear it apart, and only a small piece at a time.’ Danny once again carried out his instructions, but then started to cut a second piece of bread while still chewing the first. ‘No,’ said Nick firmly. ‘While you’re eating, place your knife and fork on the plate, and don’t pick them up again until you’ve finished the mouthful.’ Once Danny had swallowed the piece of bread, he scooped up some beans on the end of his fork. ‘No, no, no,’ said Nick. ‘A fork isn’t a shovel. Just pierce a few peas at a time.’

  ‘But it will take for ever if I carry on this way,’ said Danny.

  ‘And don’t speak with your mouth full,’ replied Nick.

  Big Al grunted again, but Danny ignored him and cut himself another piece of bread, put it in his mouth, then placed his knife and fork back on the plate.

  ‘Good, but chew your meat for longer before you swallow it,’ said Nick. ‘Try to remember you’re a human being, not an animal’ – a comment that elicited a loud burp from Big Al. Once Danny had finished another piece of bread, he tried to pierce a couple of beans but they kept escaping. He gave up. ‘Don’t lick your knife,’ was all Nick had to say.

  ‘But if ye’d like tae, Danny boy,’ said Big Al, ‘you cin lick ma arse.’

  It was some time before Danny was able to finish his meagre meal and finally put his knife and fork down on an empty plate.

  ‘Once you’ve finished your meal,’ said Nick, ‘place your knife and fork together.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Because when you’re eating in a restaurant, the waiter will need to know that you’ve finished your meal.’

  ‘I don’t eat in restaurants that often,’ admitted Danny.

  ‘Then I shall have to be the first person to invite you and Beth out for a meal as soon as you’ve been released.’

  ‘And what about me?’ asked Big Al. ‘Don’t I get invited?’

  Nick ignored him. ‘Now it’s time to move on to dessert.’

  ‘Pudding?’ asked Danny.

  ‘No, not pudding, dessert,’ repeated Nick. ‘If you are in a restaurant, you only ever order the starter and the main course, and not until you have finished them do you ask to see the dessert menu.’

  ‘Two menus in one restaurant?’ said Danny.

  Nick smiled as he placed a thinner slice of bread on Danny’s plate. ‘That is an apricot tart,’ he said.

  ‘An I’m in bed wi’ Cameron Diaz,’ said Big Al.

  This time Danny and Nick did laugh.

  ‘For dessert,’ said Nick, ‘you use the small fork. However, if you order a crème brûlée or ice cream, you pick up the small spoon.’

  Big Al suddenly sat bolt upright on his bunk. ‘Whit’s the fucking point of aw this?’ he demanded. ‘This isnae a restaurant, it’s a prison. The only thing Danny boy’s gonnae be eating for the next twenty years is cold turkey.’

  ‘And tomorrow,’ said Nick, ignoring him, ‘I’ll show you how to taste wine after the waiter has poured a small amount into your glass . . .’

  ‘An the day efter that,’ said Big Al, accompanied by a long fart, ‘I shall allow you to sip a sample of ma piss, a rare vintage that wull remind ye yur in prison and no in the fuckin’ Ritz.’

  24

  THE HEAVY DOOR of his single cell swung open. ‘You’ve got a parcel, Leach. Follow me and look sharp about it.’

  Leach climbed slowly off his bed, strolled out on to the landing and joined the waiting officer. ‘Thanks for fixin’ the single cell,’ he grunted as they walked down the corridor.

  ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours,’ said Hagen. He didn’t speak again until they reached the stores, when he banged loudly on the double doors. The stores manager pulled them open and said, ‘Name?’

  ‘Brad Pitt.’

  ‘Don’t try it on with me, Leach, or I might have to put you on report.’

  ‘Leach, 6241.’

  ‘You’ve got a parcel.’ The stores manager turned round, took a box from the shelf behind him and placed it on the counter.

  ‘I see you’ve already opened it, Mr Webster.’

  ‘You know the regulations, Leach.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Leach. ‘You are required to open any parcel in my presence, so that I can be sure nothing has been removed or planted inside.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ said Webster.

  Leach removed the lid from the box to reveal the latest Adidas tracksuit. ‘Smart piece of gear, that,’ said Webster. ‘Must have set someone back a few quid.’ Leach didn’t comment as Webster began to unzip the pockets one by one to check for any drugs contraband or cash. He found nothing, not even the usual five-pound note. ‘You can take it away, Leach,’ he said reluctantly.

  Leach picked up the tracksuit and began to walk off. He’d only managed a couple of paces before the word ‘Leach’ was bellowed after him. He turned round.

  ‘And the box, muppet,’ Webster added.

  Leach returned to the counter, placed the tracksuit back in the box and tucked it under his arm.

  ‘That will be quite an improvement on your present gear,’ remarked Hagen as he accompanied Leach back to his cell. ‘Perhaps I ought to take a closer look, since you’ve never been seen in the gym. But on the other hand, perhaps I could turn a blind eye.’

  Leach smiled. ‘I’ll leave your cut in the usual place, Mr Hagen,’ he said as the cell door closed behind him.

  ‘I can’t go on living a lie,’ said Davenport theatrically. ‘Don’t you understand that we’ve been responsible for sending an innocent man to jail for the rest of his life?’

  Once Davenport had been written out of his soap
opera, Craig had assumed that it wouldn’t be too long before he felt the need for some dramatic gesture. After all, he had little else to think about while he was ‘resting’.

  ‘So what do you intend to do about it?’ asked Payne as he lit a cigarette, trying to appear unconcerned.

  ‘Tell the truth,’ said Davenport, sounding a little over-rehearsed. ‘I intend to give evidence at Cartwright’s appeal and tell them what really happened that night. They may not believe me, but at least my conscience will be clear.’

  ‘If you do that,’ said Craig, ‘all three of us could end up in prison.’ He paused. ‘For the rest of our lives. Are you sure that’s what you want?’

  ‘No, but it’s the lesser of two evils.’

  ‘And it doesn’t concern you that you might end up in a shower being buggered by a couple of eighteen-stone lorry drivers?’ said Craig. Davenport didn’t respond.

  ‘Not to mention the disgrace it will bring on your family,’ added Payne. ‘You may be out of work now, but let me assure you, Larry, if you decide to make an appearance in court, it will be your final performance.’

  ‘I’ve had a lot of time to consider the consequences,’ Davenport replied haughtily, ‘and I’ve made up my mind.’

  ‘Have you thought about Sarah, and the effect this would have on her career?’ asked Craig.

  ‘Yes, I have, and when I next see her I intend to tell her exactly what happened that night, and I feel confident she will approve of my decision.’

  ‘Could you do me one small favour, Larry?’ asked Craig. ‘For old times’ sake?’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Davenport suspiciously.

  ‘Just give it a week before you tell your sister.’

  Davenport hesitated. ‘All right, a week. But not a day longer.’

  Leach waited until lights out at ten o’clock before he climbed off his bunk. He picked up a plastic fork from the table and walked across to the lavatory in the corner of the cell – the one place the screws can’t see you through the spyhole when they make their hourly rounds to check if you are safely tucked up in bed.

  He pulled off his new tracksuit bottoms and sat on the lavatory lid. He gripped the plastic fork firmly in his right hand and began to pick away at the stitching on the middle one of the three white stripes that ran down the length of the leg, a laborious process that took forty minutes. Finally, he was able to extract a long, wafer-thin cellophane packet. Inside was enough fine white powder to satisfy an addict for about a month. He smiled – a rare occurrence – at the thought that there were still another five stripes to unpick: they would guarantee his profit, as well as Hagen’s cut.

  ‘Mortimer has to be getting the gear from somewhere,’ said Big Al.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked Danny.

  ‘He used tae turn up at the hospital every morning without fail. Doc even got him started on a detox programme. Then one day he’s nowhere to be seen.’

  ‘Which can only mean he’s found another source,’ concurred Nick.

  ‘Not one of the regular suppliers, I can tell that,’ said Big Al. ‘I’ve asked around, and come up with nothing.’ Danny slumped back down on his bunk, succumbing to lifers’ syndrome. ‘Dinnae give up on me, Danny boy. He’ll be back. They always come back.’

  ‘Visits!’ hollered the familiar voice, and a moment later the door swung open to allow Danny to join those prisoners who had been looking forward to a visit all morning.

  He had hoped to tell Beth that he’d come up with the fresh evidence Mr Redmayne so desperately needed to win the appeal. Now all he had to hope for was Big Al’s belief that Mortimer would be back in the prison hospital before too long.

  In prison, a lifer clings on to hope as a drowning sailor clings on to a drifting log. Danny clenched his fist as he made his way towards the visits area, determined that Beth would not suspect even for a moment that anything might be wrong. Whenever he was with her, he never let his guard down; despite all he was going through, he always needed Beth to believe that there was still hope.

  He was surprised when he heard the key turning in the lock, because he never had a visitor. Three officers charged into the cell. Two of them grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him off the bed. As he fell, he grabbed at one of the officers’ ties. It came off in his hand; he’d forgotten that screws wear clip-on ties so they can’t be strangled. One of them thrust his arms behind his back while another kicked him sharply behind the knee, which allowed the third to cuff him. As he collapsed on to the stone floor, the first screw grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. In less than thirty seconds he was bound and trussed before being dragged out of his cell and on to the landing.

  ‘What are you fuckin’ bastards up to?’ he demanded once he’d caught his breath.

  ‘You’re on your way to segregation, Leach,’ said the first officer. ‘You won’t be seeing daylight for another thirty days,’ he added as they dragged him down the spiral staircase, his knees banging on every step.

  ‘What’s the charge?’

  ‘Supplying,’ said the second officer as they marched him, almost at a jog, along a purple corridor no prisoner ever wants to see.

  ‘I’ve never touched drugs, guv, and you know it,’ protested Leach.

  ‘That’s not what supplying means,’ said the third officer once they reached the basement, ‘and you know it.’

  The four of them came to a halt outside a cell that had no number. One of the officers selected a rarely used key while the other two held firmly on to Leach’s arms. Once the door was open, he was hurled head first into a cell that made his upstairs accommodation seem like a motel. A thin, horse-hair mattress lay in the middle of the stone floor; there was a steel washbasin bolted to the wall, a steel lavatory without a flush, one sheet, one blanket, no pillow and no mirror.

  ‘By the time you get out, Leach, you’ll find your monthly income has dried up. No one on the top floor believes you’ve got an aunt Maisie.’

  The door slammed shut.

  ‘Congratulations,’ was Beth’s first word when Danny took her in his arms. He looked puzzled. ‘Your six GCSEs, silly,’ she added. ‘You passed them all with flying colours, just as Nick predicted.’ Danny smiled. That all seemed such a long time ago, although it couldn’t have been more than a month – an eternity in prison – and in any case, he’d already kept his promise to Beth and signed up for three A levels. ‘Which subjects did you settle on?’ she asked, as if she could read his mind.

  ‘English, maths and business studies,’ Danny replied. ‘But I’ve come up against a problem.’ Beth looked anxious. ‘I’m already better at maths than Nick, so they’ve had to bring in an outside teacher, but she can only see me once a week.’

  ‘She?’ said Beth suspiciously.

  Danny laughed. ‘Miss Lovett is over sixty and retired, but she knows her stuff. She says if I stick at it, she’ll recommend me for a place with the Open University. Mind you, if I win my appeal, I just won’t have time . . .’

  ‘When you win your appeal,’ said Beth, ‘you must continue with your A levels, otherwise Miss Lovett and Nick will have wasted their time.’

  ‘But I’ll be running the garage all day, and I’ve already come up with some ideas for making it more profitable.’ Beth went silent. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Beth hesitated. Her father had told her not to raise the subject. ‘The garage isn’t doing that well at the moment,’ she finally admitted. ‘In fact, it’s barely breaking even.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Without you and Bernie, we’ve started losing business to Monty Hughes across the road.’

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Danny. ‘All that will change once I’m out of here. In fact, I even have plans to take over Monty Hughes’s place – he must be sixty-five if he’s a day.’

  Beth smiled at Danny’s optimism. ‘Does that mean you’ve come up with the fresh evidence Mr Redmayne is looking for?’

  ‘Possibly, although I can
’t say too much at the moment,’ said Danny, glancing up at the CCTV cameras above their heads. ‘But one of Craig’s friends who was in the bar that night has turned up in here.’ He looked up at the officers on the balcony, who Big Al had warned him could lip-read. ‘I won’t mention his name.’

  ‘What’s he in for?’ asked Beth.

  ‘I can’t say. You’ll just have to trust me.’

  ‘Have you told Mr Redmayne?’

  ‘I wrote to him last week. I was guarded because the screws open your letters and read every word. Officers,’ he said correcting himself.

  ‘Officers?’ said Beth.

  ‘Nick says I mustn’t get into the habit of using prison slang if I’m going to start a new life once I’m out of here.’

  ‘So Nick obviously believes you’re innocent?’ said Beth.

  ‘Yes, he does. So does Big Al, and even some of the officers. We’re not alone any more, Beth,’ he said, taking her hand.

  ‘When’s Nick due to be released?’ asked Beth.

  ‘In five or six months’ time.’

  ‘Will you keep in touch with him?’

  ‘I’ll try to, but he’s off to Scotland to teach.’

  ‘I’d like to meet him,’ said Beth, placing her other hand on Danny’s cheek. ‘He’s turned out to be a real mate.’

  ‘Friend,’ Danny said. ‘And he’s already invited us out to dinner.’

  Christy tumbled to the ground after trying to take a step towards her father. She began crying, and Danny swept her up in his arms. ‘We’ve been ignoring you, haven’t we, little one?’ he said, but she didn’t stop crying.

  ‘Pass her over,’ Beth said. ‘We seem to have found something Nick hasn’t been able to teach you.’

  ‘No whit I’d call a coincidence,’ said Big Al, who was glad to have a private word with the captain while Danny was taking a shower.

  Nick stopped writing. ‘Not a coincidence?’

  ‘Leach ends up in segregation and the next morning Mortimer’s back, desperate tae see the doctor.’