Blood Sisters(7)

How I know that feeling! That burning, urgent need to get away from the world. To create another where you can find peace, if only for a short time. And suddenly I want this job. I want it very much. Because not only will it help me make things right, it might also enable me to help others.

‘Thank you for your time, Miss Baker.’ The governor is shaking my hand on the way out. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

By the following Tuesday, I know I haven’t got it. Monday, they had said. That’s when they were making a final decision. I tell myself that it’s just as well. Prison? Crazy idea. But I stupidly crack a piece of blue glass while I am cutting it because I keep thinking about the man who was sketching his family – I just know those were his kids – and hoping he didn’t get into trouble for abusing a library book. An artist needs materials. It’s a basic need. Like breathing.

On Thursday morning, I am about to leave for my college watercolour class when I spot two brown envelopes on the wobbly table in the little communal hall. Both are addressed to me. One is my credit-card statement. And the other has HMP stamped on the front. The first will show I am over my limit. So I start with the second.

‘You’ve taken a job in a prison?’ shrills my mother when I make my usual evening phone call. She gets nervous when I don’t, just in case ‘something’s happened to you’. Loss does that. Makes you fear for your remaining loved ones. Of course, I want to reassure her. Her voice comforts me too. I love my mother so much that it hurts. But sometimes it’s hard to think of something new to say. Yet tonight is different.

‘How can you even consider it?’ she continues.

‘I need the money, Mum.’

‘Then I’ll lend it to you.’

I want to hug her. ‘That’s really kind, but you know you can’t afford it.’

She can’t argue with that.

‘But is it dangerous?’

‘No. It’s an open prison. You know. The type Jeffrey Archer was in. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Even so …’ My mother is shaking her head now. I can hear her. See her. She’ll be sitting in her wicker conservatory chair, overlooking the garden which dips down to the sea. Later, my mother might take a walk down to the beach, making her way over the shingle and pausing every now and then to pick up an unbroken shell. Then she’ll wander back and leave her offerings in the churchyard by a stone that no longer looks new. Always the same. Rhythm is what keeps some people going.

But right now, I’m going to smash mine into little pieces.





4


September 2016


Kitty


Kitty was still bruised and shaken from the events of the day before. At least, she thought it was the day before. Her mind could be so unreliable when it came to timing.

Not that the date was important. It was what had happened which mattered. Flabby Face’s visit. All Kitty knew was that he had done something bad. She’d had to get away. But just as she thought she’d escaped, her wheelchair had gone out of control. ‘Hang on,’ Straight Fringe had yelled but they’d gone smack bang into the wall. For a moment everything had gone fuzzy.

While Kitty was being checked by the doctor for ‘possible injuries’, she had listened to Bossy Supervisor in the corridor outside.

‘Barbara! What on earth’s going on?’ she demanded.

‘I was rescuing her,’ protested Straight Fringe. ‘That man in the office quite clearly scared her.’

‘How do you know? She can’t speak.’

She! Always ‘she’, or, just as bad, ‘her’. Does she take sugar? Does she want her bottom wiping? Didn’t they get it? Kitty wasn’t, she was sure, the only person in this place who knew more in their head than their brain would allow them to say.

‘It was obvious. And if you ask me, Kitty seems to understand more than we give her credit for. Otherwise, why would she have been so upset?’

There was a sigh from Bossy Supervisor. ‘The point is that you had no right to take off like that with Kitty. We operate a calm environment here, based on routine and pattern. It makes our service users feel secure. And above all, safety has to be paramount. If you really want to work in the care industry, you need to know that.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to be in touch with your sixth-form head.’

There’d been a groan. ‘Please give me one more chance. I need to do this for my university application.’

At that point the doctor wheeled Kitty back out into the corridor. Just in time. ‘Don’t send her away. I like her. Let her stay. She knows what I’m thinking and her hair is pretty.’ Kitty’s voice was loud and clear in her head. But the words were coming out differently: all jumbled-up and falling over each other in their confusion.

‘Not so loud now,’ said Bossy Supervisor sharply. She threw a ‘see what you’ve done’ glare at Barbara. ‘Normally, she’s as good as gold. But people like her can get quite violent at times, especially when they get upset. It’s part of their condition.’

‘Bollocks!’ yelled Kitty. ‘And it’s not her fault. It’s yours for not understanding.’

‘She was all right until she saw that man,’ pointed out Straight Fringe Barbara. ‘Who was he?’