Blood Sisters(88)

Then someone calls out. ‘Alison? Is that you?’

I know that voice. It’s Angela.

When I first started at HMP Archville, Angela used to tell me that it was quite common for both prisoners and staff to bump into their past. ‘After all, there are only so many prisons. Inmates get moved around. Officers, too.’

It was true. I used to see newcomers greeted by old-timers with slaps on the back (‘Welcome, mate!’) Like grown-up classmates at a school reunion.

And now it’s happening to us. Even so, she seems as surprised as I am. Though in another way, I tell myself, nothing will ever surprise me again.

‘What are you doing here, love?’ she’s saying, her face white as though she’s seen a ghost.

Whenever I’ve thought of my old ‘friend’, it’s been with a mixture of anger and sadness. I’d once trusted this woman who’d allowed me to take the blame for the unlocked cupboard where she’d hidden those mobile phones and drugs. Yet now she was greeting me like a long-lost friend. And amidst all the strange faces I can’t bring myself to ignore the one that I recognize.

I give her a brief version.

‘Can hardly believe it! I had you down as a good girl. Still, you probably thought the same of me, didn’t you?’ She claps me on the shoulder. ‘Sorry I got you into trouble. But I was desperate, love. My Jeff and I couldn’t pay our debts. I had to do something. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble – but I hoped they’d let you off with a warning. And now look at me. Inside. With a husband that doesn’t want anything to do with me.’

Somehow, I’m surprised. I was constantly amazed by wives and girlfriends who had stuck by their men in HMP Archville. Even the rapists and murderers.

‘Got ten years, I did,’ she continues. ‘My lawyer said the courts take a dim view of prison staff that turn to the other side. What about you?’

‘Same.’

I say it lightly. Ten years doesn’t feel real. Will I be too old to have a baby by the time I get out? Perhaps. Too old to do a lot of things.

‘Ouch! Still, the trick is to not count the days.’ Angela is taking me by the arm and walking me down the corridor. ‘I’ll introduce you to the girls. The nice ones, that is. You have to watch some of the others.’

My knees begin to knock together without my permission.

She touches my arm in comfort. ‘We’ll be all right if we stick together.’

That’s when I notice the red, angry mark on her wrist. ‘A burn,’ she says quietly. ‘Got pushed against the hot water urn the other day. And all because I wouldn’t give my biscuit to that one over there.’

She indicates a large woman in overalls who is watching us, arms folded. ‘Just do what I say and you’ll be all right.’

Angela’s words remind me of when I first met her. She hadn’t looked after me then. Should I trust her now?

Yet maybe it would be better than trusting myself.





67


September 2017


Kitty


The Monster, which had been so huge when it was inside her, turned out to be a tiny little baby.

‘Did this really come out of me?’ marvelled Kitty as she stared down at the small and slithery wriggling thing they had placed on her stomach. All soft and wet and smelly.

‘Baby’s rooting,’ said the nurse. ‘Let me help you hold her to your breast.’

It wasn’t easy, even with her good hand. But Friday Mum was there to help.

‘Well done, Kitty. You’re a natural.’

Kitty felt a stab in her chest. A nice stab. Baby needed her!

How it sucked at her nipple! Vigorously. Enthusiastically. Its eyes fixed rigidly on Kitty as though aware that it owed her its life.

‘See,’ said the nurse. ‘She loves you!’

And Kitty’s heart was filled with such love and warmth that she pushed the I remember now memory to one side.

Besides, what was the point if she couldn’t speak? That flash of the car and the navy blue uniform rising into the air was far too complicated to explain on the picture board.

Even if she wanted to.





68


October 2017


Alison


During my time at HMP Archville, I’d often wondered what it would be like to be in a closed prison as opposed to an open one. And now I know.

It’s the absence of fresh air that gets to you. That stale smell in your nostrils as you wander up and down the long corridors on your way to class or the pod or your pad. The longing as you stare through the window of the community lounge and see a bird flying past.

What has life come to if I don’t have as much freedom as that sparrow out there?

There are no seagulls, even though we are not far from the east coast. Maybe they choose not to come here. I don’t blame them. In the far distance, I can see the gentle slope of hills. Perfect for running.

‘Don’t even think of trying to get out,’ says Angela as if she’s reading my thoughts. ‘A couple of girls have tried it. They’re in Cat As now.’

Anyway, there’s no point. I can’t see how anyone could get out of this place. The only time we can taste fresh air is during the half-hour walk around the block. We get two a week. Should be more often apparently but there are staff shortages.