"Hold your head high. You're a Davidson."
The words reverberate in my head as I prepare to make the short trip from where I parked, to the front entrance of the facility. I can hear the deep timbre of my father's voice as if he was standing next to me.
They turn, hearing me approach and rush towards me. Once I naively thought they were my allies, now they are pushing microphones into my face, blinding me with camera flashes and camera lights. The questions come at me from different angles, different voices, but they are essentially the same. I provide an answer with one sentence.
"I'm resuming my role as Prisoner Advocate."
As no-one has spoken to me regarding the new arrangements, I presume that is what I will be doing. For all I know, I could be out the door. I know nothing more than what I saw on television last night. A late night media statement given by General Manager, Derek Channing. That's how I found out I was no longer Governor of Wentworth Correctional Centre. No telephone call alerting me before the announcement. No opportunity for me to argue why I should stay in the job.
But I don't tell the media horde in front of me of the blindside. I have said everything I want them to know and try to continue on, but they move in closer and a claustrophobic, trapped sensation washes over me. I am asked for my opinion on the appointment of Matthew Fletcher as the new Governor.
God help us, I think to myself. However I give them my best smile and tell them I wish him well in the role.
Ignoring their questions about the murder of Jacs Holt, I manage to break through the crowd and I'm allowed in the front security door. At least I still have a job.
Finally I am in the comforting confines of the Centre.
xxx
I did contemplate resigning, halfway through Channing's statement. But all thoughts of that immediately disappeared when he announced my replacement.
It would be similar to military rule under Matthew Fletcher. He has no compassion for the women. As far as he is concerned, because they are prisoners, they no longer have rights as human beings. I am determined to be a buffer between him and the women, protecting them in whatever way I can. I won't be silent if he steps over the boundaries.
I throw the last of my belongings into the cardboard box that had so thoughtfully been left on the desk for me. I take it to my new, or I should say old office and ready myself to go out into the yard.
xxx
It is the prisoners first day out of lock down since the murder of Jacs Holt two days earlier. The guards are alert, watchful for any sign of trouble. My eyes meet Will Jackson's and he gives me an expression that as always tells me nothing of what is going on inside his head. At least I get a nod of acknowledgement. I was never sure where I stood with him. He never questioned my decisions or argued against any request I made of the corrections staff. Yet I don't know if I can recall a time when he openly supported me either.
I walk out into the open space alone. No Vera escort anymore. Not that I am bothered by that. An annoying mouse-like woman, who always appeared out of nowhere at the most inconvenient times, with her mostly unfounded accusations against the prisoners. Not for the first time I wonder how she has survived so long in such a tough environment or how she gained the rank she has. That's why I will never underestimate her.
Scanning the yard, I see Franky with Kim, Boomer and two other women from another wing. Franky sits on top of one of the tables, her back to me, seemingly holding court. Boomer taps her on the shoulder and points in my direction. Franky jumps easily to the ground and walks confidently towards me.
The dull ache that has been in the base of my stomach since we kissed intensifies and my legs weaken beneath me. My memory has held on to that afternoon in my office. Franky's lips pressed hard against mine, her hand firmly on my neck, the other pressing against my thigh. Feeling the weight of her body against mine, pressing me up against the wall, taking control. Trying to take control of me. And she did.
And I want her to do it again.
Yet despite how much I want it, I can't and won't let it happen.
I deliberately turn away from her and head over to where Liz and Doreen are sitting with a larger group of women on the other side of the yard. Out of my peripheral vision, I see that Franky has stopped and stands alone in the middle of the compound. As I pass other inmates, I receive mixed reactions; some nod, others are indifferent, a few turn their backs to me. Their actions tell me more than their words ever would.
Liz and Doreen are somewhat more welcoming, seem genuinely relieved to find out that I am staying and in what capacity. They ask after Bea, but I can tell them nothing in that regard.
I can sense that Franky is standing on the same spot as she was when I last saw her. I feel her intense gaze on the back of my neck, willing me to turn around and look at her. But I maintain my resolve, remain strong and focus on the conversation with the two women in front of me. We talk for a few minutes more, both of them making comments about how badly I've been treated. I say little in response, telling them my main concern is for them, for the rest of the women.
My shoulders have become tight from the tension of being here and a headache is beginning to form behind my left temple. This walk around has been insightful. I will have to work hard to get the trust of the women back. I tell Liz and Doreen I have business I need to attend to and excuse myself.
As I make my way to the fenced walkway into the main building, Franky runs up to me, blocking my way. I am bestowed with that cocky, self-assured, smile of hers. She looks at me intensely, piercing me at my core.
She tells me she missed me and can't wait to pick up from where we left off. I tell her that nothing more will happen and move to walk around her. She again blocks me. She looks at me with that mock frown of hers, says she was referring to the mentoring programme and asks me what I thought she meant. My body betrays me as a blush rises on my cheeks.
She laughs, looks away and back at me again. "When's Red coming back?" She asks, her smile fading. The change of topic surprises me, but it shouldn't. It's Franky's way of showing me she's in control.
I give her the same answer as I gave Liz and Doreen, adding when Bea does come out, she'll need as much support as she can get from her friends.
"I'm sure they'll give it to her," she responds, nodding towards Liz and Doreen. The smile is back, but her eyes don't have the usual mischief in them. Her words dishearten and concern me.
"Don't start anything." I want the words to have the tone of authority, instead they come out sounding more as a plea. I almost say please.
Franky moves closer, stopping when only a few inches separate us. With her so near, I'm finding it hard to breathe and as much as I want to take a step back, I can't.
"It's already begun," she says quietly.
There's only one of three ways this can end.
"Doyle! Doyle step back!" I hear Will Jackson yelling from across the compound.
She raises her hands, a gesture of surrender and walks slowly backwards, her eyes never leaving mine.
Will Jackson is now by my side, asking me if I'm alright. I nod and he gently pushes a hand against my back; momentum to get me moving again. He ushers me to the metal fence separating the yard from the main building, waits while another guard unlocks the gate and lets me through. I say thanks and smile. He gives me a stony look in response, turns back to watch the prisoners.
As I walk towards the glass doors, Derek Channing and Matthew Fletcher are standing outside, waiting. The expressions on their faces tell me they saw everything that happened.
"We need to talk," Channing says.
I hear my father's words again and I'm ready.
xxx