The Sinner

by Martyn Waites

  There were other inmates in the exercise cage, some walking, others just standing, staring. All kept apart from each other by the officers. They ranged in looks from the damaged to the dangerous but all seemed to have one thing in common: something missing behind their eyes. Either as the result of their segregation or the reason for it, Tom didn’t know. But he avoided eye contact with all of them.

  He took his shower, alone, then it was time to go back to his cell. Another tray replaced the untouched one from the night before and he looked at the unappetising food in its compartments. Some cheap white sliced bread. Something which could have been porridge or wallpaper paste. Two overcooked, shrivelled sausages. At least he assumed they were sausages. A plastic cup of milk. He ate the bread, one of the sausages. Left the rest.

  And that became his routine. He thought he had been on the Seg Block for at least three days, judging by the number of times the lights had gone out and the number of times he had been allowed out to exercise in the cage. Other inmates came and went, making as much noise and trouble as possible: banging on cell doors, shouting threats, making promises. Like once powerful jungle animals having their agency forcibly removed, reacting the only way they knew how. Their bravado failing to disguise their fear.

  Tom had managed to keep his claustrophobia under control by congratulating himself on escaping Foley’s attentions. Hoping Sheridan would manage to get him released. But the silence dragged on, the loneliness crept up on him. And with it paranoia. Justified paranoia, he felt.

  He wasn’t safe here. The door could be opened at any time and anyone could enter and he had no way of stopping them. They could take him somewhere, even beat him up in the cell. Or worse. Alone, Tom imagined it all.

  It wasn’t just the fear that got to him. There was the enforced time spent with only his psyche for company. Time to re-examine every single event in his life that had led him to this point, every wrong or right move he had ever made. Not just re-examine, but relive. In as much detail as his memory could muster. And, with nothing else to expend its energy on, it could muster a lot. His emotions were in constant turmoil. All he relived were the wrong moves. The costly ones. And no matter what he did, he couldn’t get his mind off that track. He understood why so many people in solitary attempted suicide. His claustrophobia ramped up, made him want to throw himself at the walls, batter his way out, scream the place down. But he forced it down, kept it trapped inside him, as he was trapped in the cell. It made him shake constantly. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Lights out on the wing in a locked room was bad enough. But lights out inside him was a whole new level.

  Then the door had actually opened. And Dr Bradshaw had entered. At first Tom was relieved to see someone who wasn’t in a uniform, someone smiling. But that meant nothing. Someone could have sent her. And that whole hostage thing might have been to lull him into a false sense of security. Or was he just being paranoid? He gave himself the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘So,’ she said again, ‘how are you?’

  Tom shrugged, not wanting to give anything away to a stranger. Tried to keep his trembling under control.

  ‘Must be difficult for you in here,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a word with the officer outside, said you should at least have something to read to pass the time. Any requests?’

  ‘Sorry, but who are you and why are you here?’

  ‘My mistake. I thought you’d know. I’m the prison psychologist.’

  ‘And why have you come to see me?’

  She smiled once more but Tom sensed nervousness in that smile. Her eyes darted away from him, down to the right. She’s about to lie, Tom thought.

  ‘I do this with everyone who ends up on the CSC. It can be a harsh environment. It’s my job to see you’re coping. And if you’re not, suggest ways which might help.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So how are you coping?’

  Tom shrugged.

  She said nothing, she was working out another approach. ‘Noel Cunningham. You know him, right?’

  Tom nodded.

  ‘He’s been acting out since you’ve been in here.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He’s a . . .’ She thought. Seemed to be deciding how much she could say to Tom. Or how much she should say. Or maybe just pretending to do that to get Tom onside. ‘He’s an interesting person. I see a lot of him. When you were brought here he wanted to see me. Said it was urgent. Said it was about you.’

  Tom waited. Tried not to show any eagerness in what she had to say.

  ‘I think he misses you. He seemed to function better when you shared a cell with him. Said you answered his questions, talked to him. Tried to help him with his night terrors. He seems to have taken a few steps backwards since you’ve been here.’

  ‘What d’you want me to do? I thought anything like that was frowned upon in prison?’

  She leaned forwards, sharply. ‘Anything like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. You said he misses me. That sounds like a red flag if you’re thinking of putting me back in with him, don’t you?’

  ‘Or it sounds like you were a positive influence on him. Someone who could help make his time inside more bearable.’

  Tom didn’t know what to say next. He didn’t know whether to trust this woman – his instinct said not to – but she seemed to be smoothing the way for him to return to the wing and resume his place in a cell with Cunningham. Let him complete his mission, get out. That mission, however, had now taken second place to survival. Stay alive by any means necessary.

  Before he could reply she spoke again. ‘His mother is very ill, you know.’

  ‘Cancer. I know.’

  ‘He wants to get out and see her.’

  Tom said nothing.

  ‘He’s made a kind of deal with the Governor. Has he mentioned it to you?’

  Tom was wary now. If she wants to know something, make her work for it. ‘Would he have?’

  Dr Bradshaw sat back, regarded him again. Seemed to be making up her mind. She leaned forwards again. ‘He’s agreed to give up the whereabouts of the graves of his final two victims on Blackmoor. If he does that and it checks out, he can visit his mother.’

  ‘Right. And you’re telling me this why?’

  ‘When you’re returned to the wing I can arrange for you to be his cellmate once more.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘As I said, you’re a positive influence on him.’

  ‘And you want me to get him to open up about these graves, is that it?’

  She smiled. Nodded.

  ‘What about me? What do I get?’

  She paused, seemed to study him. ‘You were in therapy for PTSD before you came in here. On anti-depressants. Yet you’ve not asked to see me or anyone else on the mental health team. Why is that?’

  Tom didn’t reply. Just felt his heart hammering.

  ‘I think I could help you.’

  ‘With what?’

  No smile now. Only seriousness. ‘I saw how you looked at me as I entered. I’ve observed how you’ve behaved while I’ve been in the room with you. I’ve seen those looks, those reactions before. Prison can be a harsh environment even for those who are used to it. There’s help here if you need it. And I think you’d benefit from it.’

  Tom said nothing.

  ‘Would you like me to recommend you return to the wing? Back with Cunningham? Inmates are usually only here for a few days when they’ve done what you’ve done.’

  ‘And I be your spy, is that it?’

  ‘It would certainly help in your parole.’

  Tom thought. The walls of the cell pushing in on him, suffocating.

  ‘OK,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’ She crossed to the door, knocked on it a couple of times. It was opened. She turned back to Tom.

  ‘Thank you for talking. I’ve enjoyed it. I hope you have too.’ She smiled. ‘And thank you for not taking me hostage.’

  The door slammed shut be
hind her.

  28

  Lila had finished her coursework and had no exams but still went into college. Not because she had to, just because she wanted to. She was beginning to enjoy the routine. Having had no structure in her life for so long, to willingly embrace it was quite exciting. Almost an act of rebellion. Pearl and she had settled into a routine of sorts at home too. Lila going to college, Pearl running the pub, both coming home, taking turns cooking, watching TV together. Pearl being the better cook by far but tolerating the meals Lila came up with. Becoming comfortable in each other’s company.

  However Lila had another reason for still coming into college. To meet the girl who had sat next to her and couldn’t make small talk.

  Anju had been on Lila’s mind a lot since they met a few days ago. The thin, Asian girl with the ready smile and the sparkling, I-know-something-you-don’t eyes, the dark, shining hair. The way she picked up her coffee cup, those long, sensuous fingers curling round it, bringing it to her lips, enjoying drinking in slow, languid mouthfuls. She’d barely stopped thinking about her? Couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  Lila had tried to explore and understand her feelings for Anju, so strong, so sudden, but wasn’t given to that degree of self-examination. She usually pushed everything as far inside as possible where it couldn’t hurt her. Tom was the only person she had come close to opening up with. And he wasn’t here to listen to her.

  Then there had been the text last night:

  Coffee tomorrow? Anju X

  Yes, she had replied. Oh yes.

  She reached the café. There was Anju, sitting at the same table they had sat at last time, two coffees, two muffins in front of her. Her head propped on one hand as she read a book. She looked up as Lila approached, gave a wave and a smile.

  Oh God, thought Lila. Why is my heart racing?

  ‘Hi,’ said Anju, straightening up and closing her book.

  ‘Hi back,’ said Lila, returning her smile too. She felt suddenly awkward.

  ‘You going to sit down? I got you a coffee. And a muffin. Waited for you to get here before I started on mine.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lila put her bag on the table, sat down next to her. The move, bringing her into such close proximity to the other girl, felt exhilarating yet natural. She looked at her once more, aware she hadn’t stopped smiling since she saw her. Noticing Anju doing the same thing.

  Lila forced herself to look away. ‘What you reading? Something for the course?’

  ‘Nah,’ she replied, picking up the paperback and showing her the cover. ‘Something for me.’

  Lila took it, looked at it. ‘On The Road, Jack Kerouac. I’ve heard of it. Any good?’

  ‘Nah,’ Anju shook her head. ‘Supposed to be the kind of novel everyone has to read when they’re our age. Meant to open our horizons and make us rebel against our parents and take off looking for art and creativity the rest of our lives.’

  ‘And it doesn’t?’

  She laughed. ‘Fake as fuck. This guy admits he borrowed money off his mother and took off when his exams were done. Drove round a bit with his mate then wrote it down. It’s like what he did in his Easter holidays. And he hates women. Or at least is terrified of them.’

  ‘Well that’s off the list then.’ Lila put it down on the table.

  ‘Yeah. I’m not at the end yet, so maybe it all changes. But I doubt it. It’s like that other one you’re supposed to read and love. Catcher In The Rye.’ She shook her head. ‘World’s moved on, mate.’

  ‘Yeah. I read The Great Gatsby a couple of years ago,’ said Lila. ‘It’s really not.’

  They smiled at each other. Eyes held for that beat too long, neither wanting to be the first to break. But Lila did.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘You said.’ Anju picked up hers, took a sip. Lila watched those long, delicate fingers at work. Fascinated by them.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Anju.

  ‘Nothing.’ She took a sip of her own coffee. She wished she could have matched Anju in the finger stakes but with her bitten, unvarnished nails and her red, scarred hands, there was no way. Those scars told a story. One of desperation and escape. One she didn’t want to talk about.

  ‘So, what you been up to?’ asked Anju.

  ‘Oh, nothing much. The guy I live with . . .’ She stopped herself. ‘That’s wrong. The guy I share a house with is away at the moment. And his . . .’ She paused, unsure how to describe Pearl. ‘Well, friend, I suppose, she’s moved in.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Company, I guess.’

  ‘He’s not your dad or anything though, is he?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just a guy I share a house with.’ She looked at Anju once more. Differently this time. ‘You think it’s weird, or something? It’s not . . . you know, anything funny.’

  ‘Nah, I don’t think it’s weird. You’re in Cornwall, remember. Weirder things than that round here.’

  Lila definitely interested now. ‘Like what?’

  ‘My dad’s a child psychologist. Some of the things he’s seen out in the really remote villages . . .’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime.’

  Lila was surprised at how warm a feeling those words gave her. It meant she would be seeing more of Anju. And she really liked the sound of that.

  ‘What’s this guy you live with do, then?’ asked Anju.

  ‘He’s . . . well he sort of runs a bar in the village. St Petroc.’

  Anju looked immediately more interested. ‘St Petroc? Where there was all that trouble a few months ago?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s where we live. Just outside, anyway.’

  Anju leaned forwards. ‘Did you see any of it happening? There were human sacrifices, weren’t there?’

  Yeah, thought Lila. It was meant to be me.

  ‘Oh, it’s all over now.’ She sighed. ‘I think the village’s trying to put it in the past. Good for the tourist trade, though. Apparently.’

  Anju sensed Lila didn’t want to talk about it. Sensed there might be something more to her reluctance, let it go. ‘So,’ she said instead, ‘he’s not running his bar now? He’s away.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Coming back for Christmas?’

  ‘Hope so.’

  Anju sensed the weight behind Lila’s words. Leaned in closer. ‘Something up?’

  Lila turned to her. She hadn’t known this girl long – barely knew her at all – but she felt there was some kind of connection between the two of them. A deep connection. She felt she could talk to her. But more than that. Tell her secrets that wouldn’t be used against her.

  ‘Can I tell you something?’

  Anju shrugged. ‘Yeah. Sure.’

  ‘I mean, really tell you something. It’s important. You can’t tell anyone else. And I mean that.’

  Anju began to look a little nervous. ‘What are you saying here, Lila?’

  ‘I just don’t want you to tell anyone else. No one. This is really secret. D’you understand?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not going to say that you can trust me because I’ve found that everyone who says that turns out to be an untrustworthy little shit. But go on, you can tell me. I don’t lie.’

  Lila thought. There was something about Anju that seemed trustworthy. Honest. She hoped she was right.

  ‘He’s in prison.’

  Anju nodded. ‘Right. I thought it might be something like that.’

  Lila jumped forwards, lowered her voice. ‘No, not like that. It’s . . . he’s working in there.’

  ‘A prison officer.’ Anju’s expression said she wondered what the fuss was about.

  ‘No, not like that either.’

  ‘What, then?’ She laughed. ‘Is he a spy or something? Working undercover?’

  Lila didn’t answer. Her expression did the talking for her.

  ‘Seriously? Really?’

  Lila shushed her. ‘Keep your voice down. Yes. He’s . . . he does job
s for the police and people. He’s doing one now.’

  Anju sat back. ‘Wow. Just . . . wow. I was only joking, you know.’

  ‘I know. But you’ve got to keep that a secret. Please.’

  ‘Yeah, course. Who’m I going to tell?’

  Lila believed her. She had wanted to tell Anju so much, share something important with her. And she had feared that if she did so she would regret it afterwards. Hate herself for it. But she didn’t. Telling Anju had felt like the most natural thing in the world. The right thing to do.

  ‘D’you go and see him?’ asked Anju after a silence.

  Lila shook her head. Took a sip of coffee.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I dunno, I . . .’ Another sip of coffee. ‘It’s selfish of me. I know it is.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I just don’t want to see him in there because I know it’ll depress me. Sitting in that room, behind bars . . . I don’t think I could take that.’

  ‘But doesn’t he want to see you?’

  ‘Yeah, probably. And that just makes it worse. Because then I feel even more guilty. And I feel like such a selfish cow. I hate myself for it.’

  ‘Couldn’t you go with someone? That friend of his who’s staying at yours?’

  ‘I think she feels the same. But she can’t go because she’s part of his cover story and doesn’t want to blow it.’ She sighed. ‘I just hope he gets his job done and comes home soon.’

  Another silence.

  ‘I’ll take you,’ said Anju suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got a car. I mean, I won’t come in with you, I’ll wait outside, but at least you’d get to see him. And you’d have someone to bring you home so you wouldn’t feel lonely.’

  Anju placed her hand over Lila’s. Lila’s heart skipped a beat. Neither moved.

  ‘OK, then,’ said Lila eventually. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You don’t have to thank me. We’re friends. It’s what we do. Now eat your muffin. Then let’s go do something.’

  Lila smiled. She wanted to eat her muffin. She wanted to drink her coffee.

  But she didn’t want to move her hand away from Anju’s. Ever.

  29