Blood Sisters(93)

‘I’m not sure what you’re saying, love,’ said Friday Mum. ‘But don’t you worry. I’m going to look after the two of you now that husband of yours has given up. As for those papers, Jeannie, I’ll have to run them past our solicitor.’

Call Me Jeannie had red, embarrassed patches on her neck. ‘Of course. I’m sorry it has to be like this. By the way, how is your other daughter doing? It must have been an awful shock to have finally found out what really happened.’

‘Actually –’

But then someone in a white coat came in. ‘Miss James?’ The newcomer was smiling and speaking right at Kitty as if she knew her. ‘I’m Dr White from the hospital’s neurology department. We have just received some good news!’





72


December 2017


Alison


The routine here is strangely soothing. I like being told what to do. It means I don’t have to make decisions for myself. In fact, I’ve become even more fanatical about my toilet duties. The staff say they’ve never seen them look so nice.

Last week, someone left faeces on the floor.

I suspect it was the woman who wanted to be more than friends with me. ‘I’m straight,’ I’d explained when she tried to get in the shower with me but she’d clearly been livid. Hence the poo.

So I carefully lifted the turd with a sheet of loo paper and gave it to Angela, who was on kitchen duties, and she put it on the woman’s plate for Christmas lunch. Angela got sent to Solitary for that but she didn’t split. Like she said, she owed me one for the stationery cupboard. And more.

Prison life works like that. You do something for someone, they do something for you. Even if it takes years. I’m learning the rules of the game.

After Lead Man’s visit, I earned a certain amount of kudos. Not because he’s undeniably good looking. But because I told him to leave.

The poo incident sealed this. Even though Angela hadn’t given me away, the woman with the gruff voice knew I was behind it. For once I’m learning to stand up for myself.

No, I tell myself, as I chuck the visiting request forms. I won’t see Robin. I won’t appeal.

I don’t even want to see Mum out of guilt. But her last letter had begged me to allow her to visit.

Eventually, I give in. It is Christmas, after all.

When I am led into the visiting room, I spot her immediately waiting at one of the tables. My first thought is that she is thinner. Mum stands up to give me a warm hug – under close scrutiny from one of the women guards nearby – but I force myself to turn away. How I want to breathe her in! Yet, at the same time, I know I don’t deserve it.

Instead, I sit down and appraise her. There is a certain jauntiness about her which is new.

‘Your sister liked the card you sent.’

Her voice is nervous after my rebuff.

I did that in our arts-and-crafts lesson. It’s run by a well-meaning woman who draws sticks for figures. Yet I don’t tell Mum that. If I say too much, I might break down.

My mother tries again. ‘Johnny’s filing for divorce. He wants to get married to someone else.’

My nails start to bite into the heel of my hand. My poor sister.

‘She’s living with me now. You’ll have gathered that from my letters. It’s lovely having a baby around.’

So that explains the jauntiness.

‘But your sister … well, she blows hot and cold with little Vanessa. I think she’s out of her depth. It’s hard enough for any new mum but Kitty – well, she just doesn’t know how to cope.’

What does she want me to say? It’s not like I can do anything to help while I’m in here.

‘There’s something else too.’

Mum is like that detective on TV. The one who seems to finish a conversation but then poses a killer question or statement just as he’s about to leave.

‘The neurologist at the hospital thinks Kitty might be suitable for a different assistive communication device from the States. It’s had success with patients who didn’t respond to the previous prototypes. Apparently, the person with brain damage looks at an image and the machine comes out with a sentence that describes his or her feelings about the picture. It sounds unbelievable but it’s getting great results.’

Mum’s voice is becoming even more excited. ‘There was this teenage girl who was knocked off her bike by a van and hasn’t been able to speak for years. But she looked at a picture of her parents on the screen and said that she loved them. Isn’t that amazing! There are loads of stories like that – or so I’m told. In fact –’

‘Who do you love best?’ I hear myself say.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Before … before the accident, you always told me that I was special because I was the eldest. But one night I heard you telling Kitty that she was special because she was the youngest.’

My mother’s eyes are moist. Guilty. ‘Darling, all mothers love their children in different ways. It’s true there is something special about the eldest. And the youngest too. But that doesn’t mean that I love either of you more than the other. One day, when you have children yourself, you’ll realize that.’

‘How am I ever going to have children?’ My voice rises with fury. ‘I’m in prison. When I get out, I’ll probably be too old – and anyway, no one will want me. Not with my history.’