Blood Sisters(9)

I lock my door, double-checking it, like I always do. There’s only one other lodger in this house, a very quiet young accountant on the floor above, and our landlord, who keeps himself to himself. Just the way I like it.

Soon I’m out of London and the traffic is getting lighter. I’m passing through a small village. There are children waiting at the bus stop, wearing a brown-and-yellow school uniform. I slow down to twenty miles an hour, watching them carefully. I’m safely past. It’s another driver’s responsibility now. Yet I can’t help glancing in the back mirror to check they are all right. They’re pointing to my car. The 1972 Beetle – which my stepfather David gave me years ago, most likely out of guilt – often attracts attention. It occurs to me that it might do the same at the prison. What if one of the prisoners takes note of my registration and somehow tracks me down? It would make sense to go by public transport, especially as this month I need new tyres for my car. Yet the prison is miles from the nearest station or bus stop. A cold feeling crawls through my stomach. It begins to rain.

An insignificant road sign – HMP ARCHVILLE – directs me left.

I turn and the huts pop up before me. It all feels so different from when I came for my interview. That was an exploration. A testing of the waters. A possibility rather than a definite.

But now I am here. For good. Well, for three days a week over the next year (contract renewable for a further year if both sides agree). My throat tightens. I feel claustrophobic already and I’m not even inside.

I’m directed to the staff car park. Not the one for visitors. My throat starts to tighten again. What if I hate it? What if I can’t cope? Will they let me leave? My heart is pounding along with the rain, which is falling more forcefully. I take my umbrella out of the boot along with a box of paints, brushes and paper.

‘Can I help you carry that, miss?’

It’s a young man. Longish hair. Stained teeth.

‘Thanks.’ Not wanting to sound unfriendly, I add, ‘Have you worked here long?’

He grins. ‘I’m a prisoner.’

Only then do I notice the orange under the black anorak.

Students are always offering to help me carry stuff at college. But this is a criminal. What if he tries to hurt me? Mum was right. I should have turned down the job, after being daft enough to apply in the first place.

‘Actually, I can manage myself.’

‘Sure?’

I know I’ve offended him. But I can’t help it. I don’t know the rules. What if it’s an offence to let him carry my things? Struggling, I follow the RECEPTION sign. There’s a woman at the desk. Black uniform, like the one at the barrier. Suspicious eyes.

‘It’s my first day,’ I say, handing her my letter of appointment. ‘I was told to come here.’

She frowns. ‘You’re not on the list.’

I feel a sense of panic combined with relief. Maybe they’ll tell me to go home. ‘The guard at the gate knew about me.’

‘It’s not the same. Who told you to come here?’

‘The governor’s secretary.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Before she left, I presume.’

‘I don’t know.’

There’s a sigh. A mutter too. ‘They don’t stay long here.’

It strikes me even in my panic as a rather indiscreet thing to say.

‘I’ll have to make a phone call.’

She says this as though it’s my fault. While waiting, I glance through the window. It’s got bars across it but I can still see out. There appears to be a queue of men outside. One of them looks up and winks at me. He’s the one who offered to carry my equipment. I look away quickly.

‘You’re to go to Keys,’ says the woman, slamming down the phone. Then she looks at my boxes. ‘What’s in there?’

‘Paints.’ I remember the guidelines. ‘Nothing dangerous.’

She laughs. ‘Do you know what the men can do with that stuff? Squirt it in eyes. Blind you so they can escape.’

I’m confused. ‘But this is an open prison. I thought they didn’t do that sort of thing.’

‘Listen to me, love. They might call it an open prison. But it doesn’t mean we don’t have trouble here. Most of these men have been behind bars for years. Now they’re allowed more freedom, some of them go a bit wild.’

This isn’t exactly what the governor had told me.

‘You’ll have to leave your gear here in a locker,’ she continues. ‘Don’t worry. It will be safe.’

‘But I need them for my classes.’

‘Can’t help that, love. Rules is rules.’

As she speaks, another officer comes in. Another woman. She has large fleshy arms with a tattoo on her wrist. A bluebird with a heart. There’s a name too, but I can’t read it. It’s gone fuzzy round the edges. I try not to stare.

‘We need to search you before you go anywhere.’

I’m led into a small side room. ‘Arms out.’

Her hands are big. Swift. Deft.

‘OK.’ She glances at the blue and white umbrella by my side. ‘But you can’t take that in.’

‘Why not?’

‘Got a spike, hasn’t it. We’ll put it in a locker along with those paints of yours. This way.’