Blood Sisters(47)

So that’s why Mum’s so distressed. She needs reassurance that it’s OK for my sister to move in with another family. ‘I think you should let her take this chance.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ And I mean it.

‘Thank you.’ Then she seems to remember me.

‘How is the job going?’

I know she finds it hard to say the word ‘prison’.

I think of the phone calls, which have thankfully stopped since I changed my number – a decision Clive had finally nudged me into. ‘Fine,’ I reply, crossing my fingers. ‘Better go now. Love you.’

The call unsettles me. A jog no longer seems appealing. My fingers are itching. I haven’t done this for a while but I can’t stop myself. The glass offcuts sit in the special drawer, gleaming at me. They are like rainbow icicles: some tall and thin; others short with diagonal corners; blues; reds; greens; yellows.

I select a sharp red.

The left arm. Midway between the wrist and elbow. A nick. Enough to cause pain but no serious damage.

Usually, one is enough. But tonight it does nothing for me. I make a second nick. And a third. Three spots of blood begin to trickle. Yet the satisfaction – it’s hard to describe it any other way – isn’t there.

I know why. The longer Kitty is as she is, the worse the pain is inside me. A mere nick will never be enough.

I need to find something bigger.

‘Be careful what you wish for.’ That had been one of David’s favourite phrases when I was growing up. I never quite understood what he meant until later.

But I was reminded of it when the governor called me in the next morning. The ‘something bigger’ had clearly found me.

He gets straight to the point. ‘We’ve decided to hold a charity fundraising event. How would you feel about spending a whole night in prison?’

Is he joking?

Clearly not. The glasses have come off. He is leaning towards me intently. I wonder what makes someone want to be a prison governor. Do they hope to make their mark on society? Do they honestly feel they can change the way a murderer thinks?

‘We had a writer in residence who did this a few years ago. He held an evening session for the men and then wrote about what it was like to be in a cell all night. We want you to do the same but with a series of sketches or paintings.’

I have to admit it. An excited – if scared – sensation is crawling through me. This could have real possibilities.

‘We’ve got a meeting of the trustees soon,’ continues the governor. ‘This would be a great opportunity to show them exactly what you are achieving here. You could include drawings from your students. Maybe hold an exhibition.’ His voice rises with excitement. He thumps the desk with his fist which makes me jump. ‘We could call it “Twenty-Four Hours in Archville”.’

I’m still getting my head round this. ‘Where will I stay?’

‘In one of the huts.’

‘Will it be safe?’

The governor waves his arm as if physically batting my fear away. ‘Do you honestly think I would suggest this if it wasn’t? Each room in the hut is locked at 9 p.m. sharp. Doors are then unlocked at 8 a.m. Many men share a room. But, of course, you’ll have your own.’

My mouth is dry. My heart is pounding. Spend the night in a prison full of men? I can’t even imagine what my mother would say if I told her. Which, of course, I won’t.

Then I hear the words coming out of my mouth as if someone else was speaking them.

‘When would you like me to do this?’





35


June 2001


Ali


I took my first exam as if I wasn’t there. I tried to tell myself the shivery scared ache inside was just that bug going around. It didn’t happen, that thing with Crispin. If I repeated that enough times, it might be true. Just concentrate on A levels; my passport out of this place.

‘How did it go?’ Mum would ask each time when I got back.

‘Fine,’ I’d answer breezily before going upstairs to ‘revise a bit more’.

‘Are you feeling any better?’ Mum would call up the stairs.

‘Still a bit fluey.’

‘I’ll come up with a hot drink, shall I?’

‘I’m OK, thanks.’ Then I’d shut the door and head for the sanctuary of my desk, closing the curtains so I couldn’t see the view into Crispin’s back garden.

For some reason, Kitty was being nice to me. Goodness knows why. She even offered to lend me her horseshoe charm ‘for luck’. ‘That’s really kind of you, darling,’ Mum said. ‘Isn’t it, Ali?’

Ironically, it was Robin who was being offish. ‘I’m sorry we lost each other at the party,’ I’d whispered in the library the day after.

He’d brushed away my excuse.

‘Actually, I was going to apologize to you. I got talking to some girl. Did you stay late?’

‘No.’

If only I could turn back the clock.

‘Shall we have a swim tomorrow?’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Too much swotting still to do.’

It was the day before my final exam. History. After dinner, I went up to my room to do some last-minute revision.