The Woman Before Me (17 page)
The parole board met in just three weeks, and she had a report to write. She needed some answers.
Cate picked up the telephone and dialled Jason’s mobile number. No-one picked up and after several rings it went to the messaging service.
“Mr Clark? It’s Cate Austin. I’m sorry our interview ended as it did. I wonder if we could arrange another meeting? I could come at 10a.m. Monday, if that suits? If I don’t hear otherwise, I’ll see you then.”
She replaced the receiver, which had the print of her sweaty palm on it. Restless, she needed to move, and decided to head into the main part of the prison. She phoned D Wing.
A gruff voice answered after one ring. “Yes.”
“Cate Austin, probation. I’d like to pop up and read Rose’s unit file.”
There was a pause. “You mean Wilks’ file. No first names in here.”
Cate sighed, annoyed at being patronised. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
The line went dead abruptly.
Going into the heart of the prison required much key turning and slamming of doors, as the dark corridors led deeper into the main accommodation block. Dave Callahan had told her this was called the ‘landings’, the rows of cells stacked on top of each other around an open square used for ‘association’, which was the area where prisoners could come together to bully or bribe, gossip or goad. In the association area was a pool table a large TV set, switched on to This Morning, and blaring out so loudly it hurt her ears.
Surprised to see so many women glued to the screen, Cate looked at her watch; it had just gone midday. Education classes had finished for the morning and lunch would soon be served. A game of pool was in progress, a game she hadn’t played since college and had never liked. Two women were watching, one slouched in a chair and the other perched on her knee. The seated inmate took a luxuriant drag on a cigarette and placed her mouth over her companion’s, blowing second hand smoke into it in a long sensuous stream. Cate knew what a blowback was, but hadn’t seen two women do it before.
As she crossed the square a wiry peroxide blonde, poised over the green baize with a pool cue ready to hit the ball, leered up at her. “Fancy it, Miss?” The others giggled, egging her on. She held out the cue. “You look ready for a poke. Just try to get the ball in the hole.”
“Anymore talk like that and I’ll be making a note in your personal file,” Cate replied, nervous but determined not to show it.
As Cate continued walking, trying to keep her head high, a balled-up piece of paper fell to the floor just in front of her. Looking up, she saw a woman on the first landing, arms dangling over the railings, staring down, watching for her reaction. Beside her, she recognised Janie, the cleaning orderly, also watching closely. The woman with the pool cue, called tauntingly from the pool table, “your first love note, Miss. What’s it say? Someone want to suck your pink titties?”
Cate ignored the comment and saw Janie turn quickly away and disappear into a cell. She walked on to the unit office where Dave Callahan was seated at the desk reading
The Sun
. He had the same air of lazy arrogance she remembered from her first day.
He barely looked up. “Reynolds was just trying to wind you up, darlin’. She’s harmless.”
She decided to go on the offensive. “I called earlier. Whoever answered the phone was a jerk.”
“That’ll be Kevin. Don’t worry about him.” He pushed the cigarette packet towards her. “Want one?”
Tempted, she shook her head. “I’d just like Rose Wilks’ case file.”
“No problem.” He reached into the steel filing cabinet. “I’m her personal officer so any questions, I’m your man.”
“Can you remind me what a personal officer does?”
“Oh, you know, checking she’s okay. Reviewing her status – she’s enhanced, you know. A con can only get that if she’s reliable and no bother, so she’s won herself some privileges despite being a nonce. She’s Red Band – that means she’s got a trusted job, that we can rely on her.”
“What job?”
“Rosie works in the mess – best job going. They sneak the leftovers back onto the Unit, which is a good way to make friends. And she’s got plenty of those, if you know what I mean.” He added a lecherous wink.
Cate opened the slim file. The index sheet listed ‘personal officer interviews’, described in one or two words: induction; upgraded – wants to work in kitchen; low mood – chatted it over; worried about Jason.
She pointed to this entry. “What was that about?”
He took the file, sucking a pen as he thought. “The usual. She thought he was playing away.”
“Was he?”
Dave shrugged. “How the fuck should I know? Probably. Can’t blame the guy. Four years without it… we’re all red-blood males, you know.” The calendar behind the desk, showing a topless model with her hand in her knickers. Suddenly Cate felt self-conscious.
“So, you married, love?” He swivelled his chair to face her, legs wide apart, and leant back. All she could see was his protruding stomach.
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
Cate hesitated, tempted to lie, but didn’t. “No. Not that it’s any of your business.”
He reached into the desk drawer and took out a mobile phone. “I’ll soon sort that out for you. What’s your number?”
To her horror she saw he was already typing something, probably her name, into the phone’s address book when a voice interrupted him. “I thought we weren’t allowed mobile phones in the prison, Dave?”
Officer Mark Burgess, pink in the face but trying to sound assertive, stood in the doorway. Caught red-handed, Dave Callahan threw the phone back in the drawer. “We’re not, son, so just you keep it under your hat, alright? I’m off for a slash.” He got up and left.
Mark came into the room. “Alright?”
“Not really. It’s just this place. Everyone behaves so… inappropriately. Sorry. I must sound uptight.”
“You sound fine to me,” he said, blushing.
Cate eyed his pimply face, and thought of the taunts she’d just endured. “Do you ever get any hassle from the prisoners?”
“Sure. But it’s only banter. I don’t take it seriously.”
Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong.
“Oh, no, here comes trouble,” said Mark. He was looking across at the association area. Cate went to join him in the doorway.
Rose Wilks had arrived and was in an argument with Reynolds. Rose looked angry and had her victim backed against the pool table. Reynolds seemed cowed, her head bowed submissively. Standing a little away from the action was Janie, and she was holding her arms out to make a barrier, to make sure no-one tried to intervene.
Mark, surveying the scene with no obvious intention of intervening, said, “Wilks is the top dog round here. Reynolds should know better than to mess with her.”
Rose was facing up to Reynolds, who held the cue in front of her as if for protection.
“I think Rose is having a go at Reynolds because of me. I’m going to do something.”
“Don’t be stupid, we’re on our own here. It’ll sort itself out.” His voice was high with anxiety.
Ignoring him, Cate walked up the stairs to the cell. But the confrontation was over and Reynolds was walking her way, dragging her feet. The other women watched her progress with interest. She came to a halt in front of Cate.
“Sorry if I was rude to you, Miss. You won’t get no more trouble from me.” She looked down at her feet, her voice barely audible.
“What’s your name?”
“Reynolds.”
“First name.”
“Natalie.”
“Okay, Natalie. Thank you.”
Natalie Reynolds scurried away up the stairs, where Rose and Janie stood waiting. Cate watched as Natalie disappeared into a cell. Rose was standing in the doorway, looking down at Cate. She gave her a brief nod before turning and following Natalie into the cell, banging the door behind her.
Lunchtime. Callahan had told her on her first day that the smooth running of the catering department was vital to the prison’s stability. The most privileged inmates, those who could be trusted with knives and boiling water, worked in the kitchen.
Cate and Paul Chatham stood behind the counter and surveyed the over-cooked options. She ordered a stodgy combination of cauliflower cheese and chips.
“On a diet, sweetheart?” he asked, when they’d found a table.
“Comfort food,” she admitted. “Aside from being knackered, I’ve had a tough morning. My visit to Rose’s partner ended in him crying on the floor and me legging it before he hit me.”
“Oh dear, not good.”
“No, not great. I’ve just arranged to see him again on Monday.”
“Want me to come with you, babe?”
“I think that would just aggravate him. I just hope he’s calmed down by then.”
“Well, at least you’ve got the weekend to recover. Have a fun time with your daughter doing whatever it is that yummy mummies do.”
“No chance of that. I’ve got a crap weekend ahead, as I’m on my lonesome. Amelia will be with her father. Tim likes to show his new girlfriend how good he is at happy families, even though he broke ours up to be with her.”
“Ouch.”
“You could say that.” She speared a chip into the cheese sauce in reply, eating without pleasure. “At least I don’t have the hassle of a man in my life.”
He made an exaggerated move backwards. “Point taken. Well, sweetheart, I’ve got good news for you. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m having a little drinks party. Now why not come along and see if I can’t find you a nice man who
is
worth the hassle.”
Excusing herself, Cate went to the toilet. Washing her hands, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She needed a haircut. She needed new clothes. She looked tired. Since Tim left her, Cate hadn’t even been asked on a date. At first this was a relief; she was bruised by betrayal, and Amelia gave her all the love she needed.
But now she felt her heart healing, a scab raised across the sore. She sensed that soon she would emerge, as if from a cocoon, and want to be wanted. Of course, there were plenty of men working at the prison, but even the few weeks she had been there had shown her that they weren’t her type – too macho, too much ego. But then, what was her type? After 10 years with Tim she wasn’t sure anymore.
Paul, despite his handsome looks, did nothing for her. And anyway she was sure he was gay. This was something you’d obviously want to hide in a prison. His references to his ‘partner’ always made her assume it wasn’t a woman.
Cate felt withered inside. She hadn’t had sex in nearly four years and she missed it.
Black Book Entry
The first thing I was aware of was sound, soothing, and familiar. The low melodious hum of women’s voices, murmuring. The next, a dragging sensation across my abdomen. As though my brain had taken a few moments to wake, pain dawned slowly but soon scorched around my pelvis. The hurt wasn’t constant but constricted and tightened with each excruciating breath. Where the hell was I?
Without opening my eyes I tried to pull myself together, think about what had happened. Laid out and vulnerable, I was flat on my back with something heavy pinning me down. The surface supporting me was firm, and I was just about to try moving when a sharp pain stabbed my womb, and I groaned. I opened one eye, and then the other. There was no immediate difference, no revelation. I stared into a hole. My vision adjusted to the dark, and then made out a curtain on a steel frame, half closed. Through the gap shone the soft glow of an angle poise lamp, around which hummed the voices of two whispering women. Everything looked so familiar, but I couldn’t find the right words to describe the place.
When I woke again, my eyes opened almost instantly. The room was less dark. I tried to move, but the pain across my stomach stole my breath and I whimpered like a puppy. Turning my head slightly, I saw that there was just one woman now, writing something, her head bent as if in prayer. I now knew where I was: in hospital.
I felt something in my right hand. I couldn’t look down but coaxed my fingers across its smooth plastic surface with an indentation in the middle, which I pressed. The nurse’s head jolted up; it was an alarm then. She was on her feet, the sound of rubber on plastic, flip, flip, flip, and then her face came over me.
She touched my left arm, checking the dressing there, and I saw I was attached to a drip. She looked too young to be a nurse, with her rosy skin and purple glittery eyeliner. Staring briefly down, unspeaking, she took my wrist, looked at the silver fob pinned to her dress, seemed satisfied, and released my captive hand. Then she spoke, a low whisper confirming that it was night time.
“Thirsty?”
I hadn’t thought about it, but once I heard the word I realised my mouth felt like sandpaper. I nodded, teeth held against the possible pain of moving. She reached for the clear plastic jug on the bedside cabinet, poured water into a plastic beaker that she placed by my side. Then with practised skill she pulled me forward, adjusted the pillows behind my head, and released me back so I was half-sitting. She held the cup for me to sip tentatively at first and then, when I realised there was no pain, more deeply.
She took the beaker away before I’d finished, causing some water to dribble down my chin. “Don’t overdo it. Your body’s still in shock. You’ve had a major operation.”
And then it hit me like a lightning bolt. My baby. I grabbed her hand, spilling some water. “Please, where is my baby?”
She reached for a tissue. When she bent over me I thought it was to hug me but no, she just wiped my cheek, placed the used hanky in her pocket and a fresh one in my right hand. She hesitated, so I knew something was wrong. She didn’t know how to break bad news to me.
“The doctor will be coming to see you in the morning. She’ll be able to give you much more information.” Then she said in a rush, “your baby’s in intensive care.”
“My baby. How is he?”
She bit her lip. “The doctor will explain everything. Your son is in the best hands.”
My son. I do have a son. “Where is he?”
“We have a very good unit here. He couldn’t be in a better place.”