‘First, can you come to visit me?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Shona. ‘Yes, fine. I mean, of course I will, sure…’ She didn’t seem to know how to end the sentence, so Tabitha cut her off.
‘That’s brilliant. Could you bring some things for me?’
‘Yes, yes. I suppose there are rules.’
‘I need clothes.’
‘I thought people in prison had a prison uniform.’
‘No.’
‘Right. Oh, this is so weird. What clothes?’
‘Just comfy things. Another pair of trousers, a few long-sleeved tops and jerseys. It’s freezing in here.’
‘So you don’t mind which ones I bring?’
‘Not really. I’ll be out soon, so it’s just for the next few weeks. Underwear.’
‘Like knickers and things?’ Shona sounded almost embarrassed
‘Yes. And socks. Thick socks.’
‘Where do I find them?’
Tabitha pictured her bedroom. It was at the top of the house, under a sloping roof. She’d chosen it because one window gave on to the sea, and the other on to the cliffs. She still slept on a mattress on the floor, and there was only one chest of drawers in there. The rest of her things were in suitcases and boxes.
‘In my room upstairs,’ she said. ‘You’ll just have to rummage around.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Some pens. And pads of paper. And soap and shampoo. More toothpaste.’
‘I need to write this down.’
‘The pens and the paper are the most important. There are several pads of paper in the kitchen, on the table, I think, and pencils and pens in a big jar on the windowsill.’
‘Got it.’
‘And could you buy me writing paper and envelopes. Also, the village shop sells notebooks; they have black or brown covers and unlined paper. Could you get one for me?’
‘All right.’ But now she sounded grudging.
‘I’ll pay you.’
‘Sorry, it sounds awful but I’m completely skint. Is that it?’
Tabitha thought for a moment. ‘Books. There are a few next to my bed. Can you bring them?’
‘Sure. But how do I get in?’
‘There’s a key under a stone next to the front door. Oh, and stamps,’ Tabitha said.
‘How many?’
‘Ten. No. Twenty.’
‘First class or second class?’
‘First class, I guess. I haven’t got time to wait around.’
‘Are you doing all right?’ said Shona. ‘I mean, this is so awful. I can’t believe it’s happening.’
‘Me neither. I don’t know how I’m doing. I’m trying. How are things in the village?’
‘Yeah, well, obviously there’s only one subject people are talking about.’
Tabitha had a sudden thought. ‘Could you bring phone numbers of people in the village?’
‘Which people?’
‘Anyone. People who might be helpful. Landlines if people have them. Calls are really expensive here and I haven’t got much money.’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. Could you suggest some names?’
Tabitha started to speak and then a hand appeared from the side, disconnecting the call. She looked round. It was a male warder she hadn’t seen before. He was pale, slightly puffy and overweight, as if he had been overinflated.
‘Hey! What the fuck? It was important,’ said Tabitha.
‘Lunch,’ he said and turned away.
FOUR
She lay tightly curled up in her bed, dimly aware of Michaela moving around the small cell. She heard her use the lavatory. She heard taps running, soft footsteps. She kept her eyes shut and her blanket pulled over her so she was in her own sour cave; she didn’t want to move and she didn’t want to see the light of day. Her thoughts were thick and sluggish.
‘Get up.’ Michaela’s voice was matter of fact.
Tabitha didn’t reply.
‘Get up, Tabitha.’ The blanket was pulled from her face.
‘Can’t.’
‘You can. You have to.’
Tabitha opened her eyes. Her mouth felt furry.
‘Up,’ said Michaela.
* * *
‘How are you?’
Tabitha looked at the laminated plastic name tag that the psychiatrist was wearing round his neck. Dr David Hartson, with a photograph that showed him when he had more hair and different spectacles. The stringy warder with long, limp hair, who she had seen that first morning, had come to her cell and led her downstairs past the rows of other cells, unlocking and locking a series of doors, along a corridor and then into a room that didn’t feel like it was in the prison at all. It looked like a rather shabby doctor’s consulting room that you might find anywhere.
‘Can I ask a question first?’
‘Of course.’
‘Who is this for?’
Dr Hartson gave a slightly uneasy smile. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You’re a doctor. Are you here to help me or are you here to assess me?’
He nodded. ‘That’s a good question. I’m really acting for the court. But obviously if I see anything of concern, I’ll do what I can. So, how are you?’
‘I’m in prison. I’ve been accused of murder. I guess that means I’m not doing so well.’
‘Do you have any feelings about self-harm?’
Tabitha shook her head. ‘I’ve been here two nights. I still feel like I’m in the middle of a car crash and the crash is going on and on and on. But soon they’ll realise that all of this is crazy and let me go.’
Dr Hartson reached for a form and straightened it in front of him; took a pen from his pocket and clicked it. He took details of her schooling, of her parents, of her father’s death from a heart attack when she was thirteen and her mother’s death just two years ago. He asked if those deaths had been difficult and she said, yes, they had been difficult. He asked if she had been close to her parents and she had thought for a moment and answered that there had been ups and downs. He didn’t seem to show much engagement with anything she said; just frowned with concentration and wrote on the form. Tabitha couldn’t make out what he was writing.
‘Do you work?’ he asked.
‘I’m a freelance copy-editor of science textbooks.’
‘Any episodes of mental illness?’ he said.
‘What kind of mental illness?’
‘Anything that needed medical treatment?’
‘I’ve been a bit down sometimes.’
‘Are you currently on medication?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘Were you treated with medication in the past?’
Tabitha mentioned one or two names although she wasn’t sure if she had got them right. Dr Hartson wrote them down.
‘How did they make you feel?’
‘They were different.’
‘Did you have lapses of memory? Blackouts?’
‘I don’t remember.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t a joke. I didn’t like them.’