Page 66 of The Stranger in Room Six
Rather like how I talk to Mouse. I hope that Linda Wallcan talk to her friends too. I count my blessings: we may have lost our house, but at least I have the girls.
That’s when I realize: I need to do something good to show my gratitude.
The next day, I sign up to train as a Listener. Then I see the advert for computer classes and put my name down for those too. If I get access to the internet, I can track down Karen.
‘I’m coming for you,’ I whisper. ‘May you curse the day you were born.’
42
Computer class is full.
‘Course it is,’ sniffs Mouse. ‘Everyone wants to get in touch with their dealer or arrange for someone on the outside to take someone else out. We’re not meant to use the internet unless we’re supervised, but guards can be bribed like anyone else.’
‘Can I do that to skip the queue?’
‘You could but, Belinda, imagine if you’re caught? Your parole might get refused and you’ll be in for even longer. Is it worth the risk?’
Maybe not. Meanwhile winter is settling in. It’s freezing at night. The blankets are thin and scratchy. There’s ice on the windows and often we can’t shower because the pipes are frozen. When it’s really cold, Mouse and I have an unspoken agreement that she joins me in my bed and we put our arms around each other. It’s pure survival.
Sometimes I worry that I’m too heavily under her influence. But at the same time, she’s the only person here who seems to understand me.
‘This is against our bloody human rights,’ calls out the woman in the cell next to ours. Another set of voices takes it up further down the corridor and then another, until it becomes a chant with fists thumping on the wall.Hu-man rights! Hu-man rights!
Yet I can’t help thinking that each one of us is in here for a reason. We’ve all hurt someone in some way. Non-violent crimes don’t exist – the act always causes injury, whetherit’s physical or emotional. What about the victims’ human rights? This irony appears to be lost on my fellow prisoners. I think about Gerald all the time. Of course, he shouldn’t have had an affair. But he didn’t deserve to die.
Meanwhile, I’ve started my training to be a Listener. I can’t tell anyone because the whole point is that it’s meant to be confidential. ‘Gone all religious, have you?’ asks Mouse when I get permission to see the chaplain once a week.
‘Maybe,’ I say.
Mouse purses her lips. She knows me well enough to realize there’s more to it, but I won’t let on.
‘So how does the listening programme work?’ I ask the chaplain at our first session.
We’re sitting in his office, on comfortable chairs opposite each other. There’s a table between us, with coffee and plain digestive biscuits on it. If it weren’t for the bars on the windows and the alarm button on the wall, I could almost pretend I was somewhere else.
‘It’s what it sounds like,’ he says. ‘You listen. They talk. It’s all anonymous. There’s a screen between you and the person who comes in. I’ll be there as well in case you need me.’
‘So why don’t they just talk to you instead?’
‘Because you’re one of them, Belinda. That’s the whole point. They get feedback from someone who really understands what it’s like to be a prisoner.’
‘But what if they recognize my voice, and hate me?’ I venture.
‘It happens sometimes. They can then ask for another Listener, although we don’t have any other volunteers at the moment. It’s not for everyone. You’ll find yourself taking on others’ emotional baggage. Can you cope with that, Belinda?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully.
‘I appreciate your honesty. We’ve had Listeners in the pastwho are too sure of themselves. The truth is that you’ll only know if it’s for you once you’ve got going.’
There are six weeks of training and I’m on week four now. We’ve done a lot of role-play. The chaplain pretends to be a prisoner and I … well, I listen.
‘You’re not meant to be judgemental,’ he tells me. ‘Or too forceful in telling them what you would do if you were them. Often the person asking the question will come to some kind of resolution herself. It’s amazing how talking out loud can do that.’
I only wish that would work for me.
Prisoners who want to register are invited to sign up. Then, one afternoon when I’m on my laundry duty, one of the guards comes in to say that the chaplain would like to see me.
‘I have someone who needs to talk,’ he says when I arrive at his office.
