‘Just ask me anything,’ said Tabitha, ‘and I’ll answer it.’
‘That’s not enough. You need to tell me the things I wouldn’t even think of asking about.’
‘I’ve told you everything, everything I can think of.’
Piozzi put her pen down.
‘Good,’ she said, very softly.
ELEVEN
‘There’s a visitor for you,’ said the warder.
Tabitha looked up from where she was lying on her bunk.
‘Who?’
‘How should I know?’
Tabitha got up and quickly walked past the warder and along the corridor. She would have liked time to prepare mentally for a visitor, collect her thoughts, think of questions. She would have liked time to prepare physically. She hadn’t looked in the mirror but she suspected that her hair was dishevelled and greasy. She probably didn’t smell too good either. She hadn’t showered today, just a quick wash under the arms. But it was too late. The important thing was to get there on time.
She was so used to the noises of the prison – the clanging of doors and footsteps, the shouting – that it took her a moment to notice a scuffle taking place across to one side. The old woman with the papers was being jostled by two young women. Some of the papers had fallen to the floor.
Tabitha continued walking. She remembered the advice she had been given. To get through this just keep your head down, don’t get involved, don’t make trouble. Besides, she was in a hurry, someone was waiting for her. Anything she did would only make things worse.
She stopped. She muttered to herself angrily. She felt a familiar sensation, as if something were tearing apart in her head. A wave of anger was curling and cresting inside her. Don’t, she told herself. Just don’t. She knew she would.
She turned back. The old woman was on her knees, trying to collect her papers, but more kept falling.
‘Excuse me,’ said Tabitha. ‘You never told me your name.’
The old woman looked up. ‘Vera,’ she said.
The two younger women looked round. One of them had tattooed tears down her left cheek. The other had hair that was shaved, leaving a ribbed pattern across her head.
‘Fuck off out of it,’ said the tattooed woman.
‘Leave her alone,’ said Tabitha.
The shaved woman pushed Tabitha’s shoulder.
‘What’s the point of that?’ said Tabitha. She was crackling with rage and it felt good. ‘Stop bullying her and fuck off,’ she added.
The woman pushed her harder. Tabitha pushed back, hard, and then she was immediately lost in a whirlwind of blows and punches. She pulled herself free and swung her right fist, her left fist. She didn’t know if she was making contact. There were shouts and screams and she felt herself held from behind and a blow against her face that felt like an explosion of white and orange and red. She kept trying to wriggle free and was forced down on to the linoleum, and even then, when she couldn’t use her arms she managed to flap her legs. Gradually it all subsided. She saw the boots of a warder beside her face. Her mouth felt full and she spat on the floor and saw that it was blood.
* * *
Standing in the prison governor’s room, Tabitha felt she wasn’t in a prison anymore. It was more like the headmistress’s office. There were paintings on the wall of a deer and one of a moonlit lake. There was an embroidered rug, a leather chair. On the desk was a nameplate: Deborah Cole MBE. Sitting at the desk was Deborah Cole herself, a woman in her late forties, her hair neatly styled with blond streaks. Tabitha could only see her top half: grey jacket, white shirt with a brooch at the throat. Her face was made up with surgical precision, as if she were about to appear on television.
Tabitha had been led into the office by two female warders, who stood on either side of her. Cole looked up from a file she was reading. Tabitha assumed it was hers.
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Tabitha. ‘It was a bit of a blur.’
Cole barely reacted. She just tightened her lips. ‘Orla Donnelly,’ she said. ‘Jasmine Cash. Were they the girls you were fighting with?’
Girls. Tabitha almost found the word funny, as if this had been a little bundle on the hockey field.
‘I’m new here. I don’t know people’s names.’
‘Could you identify them?’
Tabitha knew that she should just say no but she couldn’t stop herself.
‘Are you saying that I should inform on other prisoners, and then what? You’ll protect me? Keep me safe?’
‘We keep everyone safe.’
‘Yeah, right, OK. But as I say, it was a bit of a blur.’ She took a tissue from her pocket and wiped her mouth. It was red. ‘And now I’ve got to go. There’s a visitor here to see me.’
Cole shook her head. ‘You’ve been in a fight. No visitor.’
‘I’m not a prisoner. I’m on remand. I’ve got the right to be visited.’
Cole’s expression became almost contemptuous. ‘Visits are a privilege not a right. You can have visits when you deserve them.’
‘How the fuck can I prepare for the trial if I can’t have visits?’
‘You should have thought about that before.’ She looked down at the file. ‘Less than a fortnight and already causing trouble. We’ll need to keep an eye on you.’
‘You’ll regret this,’ said Tabitha.
Very slowly Cole closed the file. ‘Maybe things haven’t been explained to you properly, Miss Hardy. I run a zero-tolerance environment here. Zero tolerance for drugs. Zero tolerance for violence. And zero tolerance for disruptive behaviour. This is a house of correction.’ She looked at one of the warders. ‘Take her away. Full search.’
‘What do you mean, full search? Search for what?’
Cole was already looking down at her desk and Mary Guy and the stringy woman seized an arm each and pulled her out of the office. In the anteroom she saw the tattooed woman and the shaved woman, each with a warder, seated.
They dragged her along the corridor and into a room, completely empty, with grey walls, no pictures, a window high up. All Tabitha could see through it was the blankness of a grey sky. They let her go and she stood between them in the middle of the room.
‘You know this is crap, right?’ she said, panting with anger rather than the effort.
‘Wait,’ said Mary Guy.
‘For what?’
Neither of them answered. After a few awkward minutes, the door opened and two more female warders came in. They were dressed in the same uniform but were clearly younger, much younger. They were like schoolgirls. The two of them stood to one side, right by the wall. Mary Guy turned to them.
‘Watch,’ she said. ‘This is what we do.’ Then she turned to Tabitha. ‘Take everything off and put it in a pile.’
‘This is crap,’ said Tabitha. ‘I was just on my way from my cell. You’ve got no right to do this.’
‘We can make you do it. And I promise you won’t like that.’
‘I’m not a convicted prisoner. I’m just on remand. You can’t do this.’
‘It’s going to be done, one way or another. If necessary, I’ll send for more people and they won’t all be women.’