The Sleeping and the Dead

It was the sort of incident that happened every day in the prison. There was no physical violence against her. No threat of it even. She’d handled worse in her time there. Much worse. But Hannah went to pieces. She started to shake and then to cry.

Dave the library officer emerged from her office, yawning, wanting to know what the noise was about. He was embarrassed, desperate to play the incident down so he’d not get into trouble. Hannah got rid of the other prisoners then sent him away.

Marty pulled the shelf upright and replaced the books, shaking out the compost, checking the spines so they were in order. Then he put on the kettle and made more tea.

‘You need a break,’ he said. ‘A holiday.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We have to stay in this place. You can escape whenever you like.’

‘Perhaps.’ She sipped the tea. He’d used powdered milk and the liquid was very hot. It burnt her mouth. ‘My husband left me three weeks ago. I’m not sure where I’d go on my own.’

She thought she shouldn’t have spoken to a prisoner like that. They’d been taught not to give personal details away.

‘What about a trip to the hills? You could look up your old friends.’

She was shocked. He must have read the card when he collected her mug. She wasn’t surprised that he’d read the invitation but that he’d commented on it. It wasn’t like him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, blushing slightly as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘None of my business.’

‘No.’ The temptation returned to run away. ‘No. It’s an idea.’

Arthur Lee was sitting in his office in the education block. His door was open. He saw Hannah walking down the corridor and waved her in.

‘Aren’t you busy?’ She had walked that way hoping to talk to him, but had to pretend she didn’t want to intrude.

‘Nah, it’s good to see a friendly face.’

Arthur was a Home Office imposition on the education department and they’d never liked him. He was too clever and reported straight to the Governor. A psychologist by training, he ran courses in anger management, victim awareness and special sessions for sex offenders. That was another reason for his unpopularity. Since Jonathan had left, Hannah had taken to dropping in on him more often, using him, she sometimes thought, as a personal therapist. He was in his early fifties, the age her father had been when he died. She’d have liked a father like Arthur, plump, comfortable, understanding. He’d been born in Liverpool and had never lost the accent. John Peel, she thought, without the beard.

‘I hear you’ve had a bit of bother.’

She should have known it would be impossible to keep the incident in the library quiet. She shrugged, explained what had happened. ‘Some lad kicking off. Marty thinks I should take a break.’

‘Marty?’

‘My orderly. Fox. D Wing. You haven’t had him on one of your courses?’

She was thinking anger management. Arthur shook his head. Perhaps he wouldn’t have told her anyway.

‘Sounds like good advice.’

‘There’s a school reunion. In Cranford. Up in the hills where I grew up. But I’m not sure…’

‘I’ll come with you if you like.’

Hannah was surprised. She knew he was on his own but they’d never met outside the prison. She hadn’t thought of him at all as the sort of person she’d take to a party and needed time to get used to the idea.

‘It’s too far to come back the same night. I thought I’d stay with my pal Sally. Make a weekend of it.’

‘That’s fine then.’ His tone was easy but she felt she’d been unkind. She didn’t want to offend him.

‘I’m taking my daughter out for a drink tonight. Why don’t you join us later?’

‘Yeah,’ he said. He seemed pleased but he never gave much away.

Hannah wondered what Rosie would make of him. At least, she thought, it would prove to Rosie that she did have a life outside the family. She did have friends of her own.

On her way home Hannah called in to her boss at the Central Library and told her she wanted to take a week’s holiday. It was short notice but something had come up. Marge, her boss, was so sympathetic that Hannah knew she’d heard about Jonathan and Eve. ‘Have as long as you like, pet.’

They lived in a small town. By now it would be common knowledge.

Chapter Seven

Her mother always made her feel so sodding guilty. Rosie replaced the receiver, glad the conversation was over. The house was quiet. Mel was still asleep and Mrs and Mr Gillespie had left hours before to go to work. Mel was Rosie’s best mate and had been since coming to the school three years before. She had spiky red hair and green eyes and she played the bass guitar. Rosie was starving but she could hardly pour herself a bowl of cornflakes in someone else’s house. Besides, she needed to go home to change or she’d be late for work. Mel, whose parents were seriously rich and seriously generous, hadn’t felt the need for employment between A levels and college. Rosie didn’t mind working. It was a distraction.