Page 97 of The Dead Ex
Despite her clipped politeness, there is a reservation about her expression which suggests a problem. As if we don’t have enough.
‘I’m concerned about the jury’s reaction when the new witness tells them that she saw you coming outof Tanya’s house, holding something.’
‘It wasn’t a chain,’ I remind her.
‘But we can’t prove it. Even if they found the Welsh spoon, it wouldn’t be enough. What we need is a character witness who can vouch for your good behaviour in the past. How about this Patrick M—’
‘No.’ I stand up abruptly. My solicitor jumps. For the first time since we’ve met, I see fear on her face.
‘I’m sorry,’ Isay quickly, sitting down again. ‘But he’s the one person I can’t ask.’
It was December 2008 when I met Patrick Miles.
‘You’re going to another women’s prison,’ one of the deputy governors had told me. He paused as if about to say something else and then stopped. ‘There aren’t many in this country, as you know. This one needs someone like you to shake it up. There’ve been, let’s say, some issueswith management which the press have got wind of. If you do a good job, Vicki, you’ll be well on your way to the top.’
My heart thudded with excitement. Wasn’t that what I wanted? Maybe I might even make deputy governor one day or – the real cherry on top – governor itself? That would show Dad and the neighbours.
‘What kind of problems?’ I asked.
‘The usual. Overcrowding. Rebellions. Hungerstrikes. Racist attacks. Arson. You name it.’ His eyes searched mine. ‘Are you up to it, Vicki? I know you like a challenge.’
‘Is there a mother-and-baby unit?’
‘No.’
‘OK.’ I felt slightly more reassured.
‘But there should be. And that’s partly why we’ve picked you, Vicki. We want you to start one.’
My skin went cold. I could see all too clearly Sam Taylor’s body lying on that cell floor.
We’re the forgotten island.
‘Here’s the thing, Vicki.’ My boss took in my expression.‘The government’s been embarrassed by some of the inmate revolts. It’s prepared to spend some money – providing we can get the right person to turn it round.’
‘Is there a psychologist in the prison?’
‘Well, there’s the usual medical staff. Doctor on call. Resident nurses.’
‘I want one.’ I heard my voice comingout cool and clear. ‘Someone who specializes in family relationships.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘No.’ I could hardly believe I was speaking like this. ‘I will only go if I have a definite “yes”.’
He looked annoyed.
‘And if there isn’t one?’
‘Then I will have to consider my future in the prison service.’
It was a gamble. But it paid off.
The mother-and-baby unit was opened to fanfare inthe press.
One journalist wrote a profile of me in a national tabloid, describing me as the ‘driving force’. He declared that I ‘wasn’t afraid to do a fair job’ and mentioned how I’d suspended a prison officer in possession of a mobile phone, made sure that smokers weren’t housed with non-smokers and initiated regular drug tests, which had become infrequent because of staff shortages. It meantmore employees had to work overtime (including me), but it reduced the number of offences.
When an anonymous cartoon caricature of me arrived in the internal mail, I pinned it up on the staff noticeboard to pretend I didn’t care – even though the sender hadportrayed me as being at least three sizes larger than I was, with hairs sprouting out of my chin.
