Blood Sisters(24)

Of course, I hadn’t felt up to it. All I’d really wanted to do was drive home and hide under the covers. For the first time in ages I’d craved the sharp edge of glass piercing my skin. But I had to carry on. At least, that’s what I’d told myself. Not just to pay my bills. But because this was my penance.

I try to bring myself back to the potato prints. Such childish activities feel out of place now. But the men seem to be immersed in their pieces. Some of them will give them to their kids, some their nephews or nieces; some will give them to their mothers. Already I’ve learned that family outside assumes gigantic proportions for prisoners. Possibly more than they did when they were actually with them. (‘I’m really sorry about putting my mum through this,’ one young man told me the other day.) But even though two weeks have passed since the stabbing, they still want to talk about Barry. Speculation is reaching fever pitch.

‘It’s been ages, miss. How’s he getting on?’

‘Is he going to be blind, miss?’

‘Is he still in hospital, miss?’

I don’t know the answer to any of these questions because no one has told me. When I asked the governor’s secretary, she informed me with a stony look that I would be ‘informed if there were any developments’.

Angela, usually a fount of information, didn’t know anything either. So the only thing to do was to carry on with my routine. Today, the potatoes have already been carved into shape – I did this earlier myself to avoid any more accidents. So all the men have to do is cover their potato with black paint (approved by the governor) and press it on the page.

Primary-school stuff.

But I daren’t take my eyes off them and it’s a relief when class is over. Swiftly, I clear up; aware that it’s dark outside. Prison feels even weirder at night. More threatening.

As I’m about to lock the door and head towards the main office to sign out, a shadow approaches. I jump. Although my brain registers that it’s an officer standing in front of me, my heart continues beating with fear. ‘The governor wants to see you.’

At this time? Barry has died, I tell myself as I follow the woman with her crisp white shirt and black epaulettes. There’ll be a murder investigation. They’ll blame me for not watching everything. The papers will get hold of it. Some might say it’s what he deserved. Others will blame me for lack of supervision. What on earth did I think I was doing, coming here?

‘Alison.’ The governor beckons me in. His face is blank. It’s impossible to read it.

He sits down in front of me on the other side of the desk. Picks up a pen in his right hand. There’s a piece of paper in front of him. ‘The thing is, Alison, that there’s been a development.’

‘Is Barry all right?’ I burst out.

‘That depends on what you call “all right”. He’s going to survive but, despite a few operations, they’ve been unable to save the sight in one eye.’

Despite my relief, I find myself thinking that being partially blind is a small punishment for the lives of three children.

‘I’m afraid there’s something else. A member of staff has said they used the stationery cupboard shortly after you said you put the scissors back. They said it was open. There were drawing pins loose on the shelf. A real mess inside.’

‘I don’t know about that, but I do know I locked it. Honestly. It wasn’t my fault.’

Not my fault. My sister was always saying that. She was the younger one; I was meant to be responsible. To look after her.

‘Who said it was open?’ I now add. ‘And why didn’t they say so at the time?’

The pen is moving across the report sheet. ‘I’m not at liberty to tell you. The point is, Alison, that we are within our rights to suspend you.’

My mouth is dry. Is this it?

‘But in view of the lack of corroborating evidence, I’m giving you a warning.’ The pen has stopped. The glasses are off. A pair of steely grey eyes stare at me. ‘We offered you this job, Alison, because we were impressed by your abilities as an artist and the way you handled yourself at the interview. But if anything like this happens again, we will have to let you go.’

My heart is pounding as I leave. Is it fear? Or relief? I’m not sure I know any more.





14


December 2016


Kitty


Johnny didn’t come to Kitty’s room at the usual time.

She spent ages waiting for him.

‘Don’t … get … upset,’ said Margaret. ‘He’s … probably … gone off … you … That’s … what … my … boyfriend … did in the … other … home … before I … came … here.’

But Johnny wouldn’t do that. Would he? Perhaps it was because she’d messed up in the concert. More hot tears ran silently down Kitty’s cheeks. Maybe his mother had taken him home. He wouldn’t be missing her one bit.

‘Kitty? Are you still awake?’

Her heart leaped with relief at the sight of the square-faced man with the short thick neck, kneeling by her bed. ‘You’re here,’ she babbled.

‘Did you think I wasn’t coming?’

Johnny slid under the covers next to her. ‘I had to wait until Duncan had gone to sleep. I don’t trust him. Keeps asking me where I go at night.’