Part Two
Karen's gaze was riveted to the little white card with the floral swirl in the corner. This had accompanied the bouquet of flowers that Yvonne had tenderly cared for, her reassurance of Ritchie's love for her which looked so innocent in its purity of form but she knew now was a baited trap. "Don't place your Bets till the rod's in K's bag. Love you mum. Ritchie."
Her lips twisted in contempt at it. She studied the script carefully and looking closer, she took in the smooth regularity of writing of the last few words. "Love you mum, Ritchie."
This must have been written by the woman at Interflora as she took down Ritchie's words as he dictated the order and at least the woman at Interflora was genuine, as genuine as anyone doing her job as a profession to the best of her ability, as genuine as she is as Wing Governor in a women's prison. Or then again, knowing herself what a lazy arse Ritchie is, he probably asked the woman to write something 'dead nice, as a present for a mother' and it was probably her words, not his. Yet, Snowball must have inserted extra words on the card to fit her twisted schemes . It must have been from how Jim Fenner described the scene. Irony upon irony, that she trusts a devious misogynist rapist bastard over an even more devious scheming murdering cow.
She looked at it and, she had to hand it to Snowball, it was a very clever, pretty accurate copy of the original words, written by a woman who had all the time in the world to scheme and connive. The script was formed in a likeness of an average caring human being but somehow lacking the master touch as Snowball does. Still, it was good enough to fool an average person in a hurry, even good enough to fool Jim Fenner, of all people. And, the perfect Snowball touch, it appeared to give a guarded message that Ritchie was planning with Yvonne Atkins to arrange a breakout, what more natural for a loving son to do for his mother, when all the while, it was just another deception, just another act. Karen's lips tightened in anger as she carefully took the card to hand it to the police who were waiting to interview her.
At another disconnected point in time, Karen strode into the PO's room, which had its familiar workaday atmosphere, untidy files in the corner and Sylvia's 'Charles and Di' mug in its rightful place. She was grinning to herself when she brought in a copy of the Sun with Larkhall's middle pages spread how the unselfish PO's of Larkhall apprehended a dangerous and notorious woman murderer while on a 'fishing trip' to Amsterdam. A badly composed 'police picture' of Shell Dockley was positioned left of centre in all of its sinister unreality and the spokesman, Jim Fenner, reassured the readership that they were not on a 'porn fest.' The 'cracking down on crime' story wrote itself in the minds of the Sun readers but she knew better. On any other day than today, she would have cheerfully pinned it on the notice board to see the bastard squirm but not today. The paper was discreetly hidden away amongst the bunch of files she was holding.
Jim Fenner spotted the paper and gave her a sideways scowl, wondering what she was going to do with the paper.
"Right, if Di hasn't told you already, the number one is back in the building today."
"Honeymoon over already." Di's mournful tones told their own story.
"I've just had the preliminary report of the police investigation into the bomb explosion in the library and I am happy to say," and here Karen felt the enormity of announcing the history to be written "that they consider that there is sufficient evidence for charges to be pressed. Snowball Merriman is to be charged with arson and manslaughter and Ritchie Atkins is to be charged as an accessory……. "
A round of cheers swept the room and cut short the speech Karen had carefully planned to hit the right note, not 'string up the bitch' and not going soft on her either. For the first time in her life, she saw Sylvia positively beaming at her and Fenner, for once, genuine in his praise for her and that the 'lads at the CPS weren't letting us down.' The glow of satisfaction Karen had felt when she first opened the report was relived in the very palpable feelings of solidarity amongst the PO's, between the unlikeliest of allies and Karen gave herself in to that feeling. After all, she was as steeped in its tradition as anyone even though she loathed the part of it that treated prisoners as animals
"Jim," Karen eventually said. "You can go down the block and tell Merriman that she can stay there for her own protection. You'll need to have some thoughts about the trial as both of us are bound to be called as witnesses, you as her personal officer and me as Wing Governor and the part we played in the fire and the run up to it. I'm sure I don't need to tell you but you'll need to be absolutely clear of everything in your mind."
"Right, Karen." Jim Fenner's face wore its usual impassive professional mask
Karen went on to announce that Buki Lester's burns are healing well but she was to be kept on the hospital wing for another week and announced the offer of listening therapy for those who survived the fire but Karen was aware that the news was only half heard. as the prison officers left the room, cheering.
Yvonne could remember that moment as she stood with Denny watching the packed PO's room and wondered as always what the screws were cooking up there. At that time Betts was 'one of them', she reflected in amusement now,
"What's the screws sounding so happy about, Denny?" Yvonne remembered asking.
"They're sending us to Alcatraz and they've won the lottery. Nothing else could make them so happy, man."
In the PO's room, Karen remained behind, her smile beginning to fade. Life's irony dictated that the man she most loathed and detested and who had raped her was destined to be in the same witness box as her, on the same side. Nailing Snowball and Ritchie wasn't going to be as easy as the PO's think.
Jim Fenner walked down the narrow stone steps to the bowels of the ancient building and strolled the few dark yards to the block. Wrenching the door open, he stared with loathing at Snowball.
"Good old British justice, eh. Get out of your strips. Looks like you'll be charged with setting off the bomb that's got your fingerprints written all over it, oh and murdering Shaz Wiley. The only appearance you'll make on stage is in the dock of the Old Bailey. Don't think there'll be any paparazzi after you though." At moments like these, Fenner got a kick out of laying it on with a trowel and seeing them squirm. PC conscious Betts and Stewart always disapproved but what's wrong with a little bit of private vengeance?
"You can sign an ap and you can stay on voluntary segregation till your trial date comes up." Fenner finished, deliberately playing his pauses before speaking to wind Snowball up.
"You mean, I have a choice of going back to the wing?" Snowball looked at Fenner with disbelieving eyes, trying to focus on his face in the gloom to figure out what game he was playing. He was like a so-called Hollywood agent, only with a British accent.
"Not if it was up to me." Fenner replied shortly.
Snowball studied the piece of paper. Never sign any contract blind, all the books about Hollywood told her. Then she casually ripped it up to Fenner's incredulous eyes. The cow really does want to die.
" The show must go on, Mr. Fenner." Snowball said with that sneer in her voice.
What is the silly cow after, Fenner thought. Atkins and Blood, for a kick off will tear her to pieces. Then he looked carefully in Snowball's defiant face and noticed the way that Snowball kept that lock of fair hair hanging down her cheekbone instead of pulled back to show off her face in all her vain self absorbed perfection. After all, that was what Hollywood actresses were like, she's read it in the magazines. Fenner leant forward and brushed that lock of hair back and saw the ugly marks left by Atkins' talons.
"What, phantom of the opera." He sneered to Snowball's discomfiture.
"I'm not scared once the girls have heard my side of the story."
"You must think that your tits are made of Teflon. Don't you know what they'll do to a murdering bitch who killed one of their own?" Fenner goaded her one last time before slamming the door shut on her.
Karen's gaze was riveted to the little white card with the floral swirl in the corner. This had accompanied the bouquet of flowers that Yvonne had tenderly cared for, her reassurance of Ritchie's love for her which looked so innocent in its purity of form but she knew now was a baited trap. "Don't place your Bets till the rod's in K's bag. Love you mum. Ritchie."
Her lips twisted in contempt at it. She studied the script carefully and looking closer, she took in the smooth regularity of writing of the last few words. "Love you mum, Ritchie."
This must have been written by the woman at Interflora as she took down Ritchie's words as he dictated the order and at least the woman at Interflora was genuine, as genuine as anyone doing her job as a profession to the best of her ability, as genuine as she is as Wing Governor in a women's prison. Or then again, knowing herself what a lazy arse Ritchie is, he probably asked the woman to write something 'dead nice, as a present for a mother' and it was probably her words, not his. Yet, Snowball must have inserted extra words on the card to fit her twisted schemes . It must have been from how Jim Fenner described the scene. Irony upon irony, that she trusts a devious misogynist rapist bastard over an even more devious scheming murdering cow.
She looked at it and, she had to hand it to Snowball, it was a very clever, pretty accurate copy of the original words, written by a woman who had all the time in the world to scheme and connive. The script was formed in a likeness of an average caring human being but somehow lacking the master touch as Snowball does. Still, it was good enough to fool an average person in a hurry, even good enough to fool Jim Fenner, of all people. And, the perfect Snowball touch, it appeared to give a guarded message that Ritchie was planning with Yvonne Atkins to arrange a breakout, what more natural for a loving son to do for his mother, when all the while, it was just another deception, just another act. Karen's lips tightened in anger as she carefully took the card to hand it to the police who were waiting to interview her.
At another disconnected point in time, Karen strode into the PO's room, which had its familiar workaday atmosphere, untidy files in the corner and Sylvia's 'Charles and Di' mug in its rightful place. She was grinning to herself when she brought in a copy of the Sun with Larkhall's middle pages spread how the unselfish PO's of Larkhall apprehended a dangerous and notorious woman murderer while on a 'fishing trip' to Amsterdam. A badly composed 'police picture' of Shell Dockley was positioned left of centre in all of its sinister unreality and the spokesman, Jim Fenner, reassured the readership that they were not on a 'porn fest.' The 'cracking down on crime' story wrote itself in the minds of the Sun readers but she knew better. On any other day than today, she would have cheerfully pinned it on the notice board to see the bastard squirm but not today. The paper was discreetly hidden away amongst the bunch of files she was holding.
Jim Fenner spotted the paper and gave her a sideways scowl, wondering what she was going to do with the paper.
"Right, if Di hasn't told you already, the number one is back in the building today."
"Honeymoon over already." Di's mournful tones told their own story.
"I've just had the preliminary report of the police investigation into the bomb explosion in the library and I am happy to say," and here Karen felt the enormity of announcing the history to be written "that they consider that there is sufficient evidence for charges to be pressed. Snowball Merriman is to be charged with arson and manslaughter and Ritchie Atkins is to be charged as an accessory……. "
A round of cheers swept the room and cut short the speech Karen had carefully planned to hit the right note, not 'string up the bitch' and not going soft on her either. For the first time in her life, she saw Sylvia positively beaming at her and Fenner, for once, genuine in his praise for her and that the 'lads at the CPS weren't letting us down.' The glow of satisfaction Karen had felt when she first opened the report was relived in the very palpable feelings of solidarity amongst the PO's, between the unlikeliest of allies and Karen gave herself in to that feeling. After all, she was as steeped in its tradition as anyone even though she loathed the part of it that treated prisoners as animals
"Jim," Karen eventually said. "You can go down the block and tell Merriman that she can stay there for her own protection. You'll need to have some thoughts about the trial as both of us are bound to be called as witnesses, you as her personal officer and me as Wing Governor and the part we played in the fire and the run up to it. I'm sure I don't need to tell you but you'll need to be absolutely clear of everything in your mind."
"Right, Karen." Jim Fenner's face wore its usual impassive professional mask
Karen went on to announce that Buki Lester's burns are healing well but she was to be kept on the hospital wing for another week and announced the offer of listening therapy for those who survived the fire but Karen was aware that the news was only half heard. as the prison officers left the room, cheering.
Yvonne could remember that moment as she stood with Denny watching the packed PO's room and wondered as always what the screws were cooking up there. At that time Betts was 'one of them', she reflected in amusement now,
"What's the screws sounding so happy about, Denny?" Yvonne remembered asking.
"They're sending us to Alcatraz and they've won the lottery. Nothing else could make them so happy, man."
In the PO's room, Karen remained behind, her smile beginning to fade. Life's irony dictated that the man she most loathed and detested and who had raped her was destined to be in the same witness box as her, on the same side. Nailing Snowball and Ritchie wasn't going to be as easy as the PO's think.
Jim Fenner walked down the narrow stone steps to the bowels of the ancient building and strolled the few dark yards to the block. Wrenching the door open, he stared with loathing at Snowball.
"Good old British justice, eh. Get out of your strips. Looks like you'll be charged with setting off the bomb that's got your fingerprints written all over it, oh and murdering Shaz Wiley. The only appearance you'll make on stage is in the dock of the Old Bailey. Don't think there'll be any paparazzi after you though." At moments like these, Fenner got a kick out of laying it on with a trowel and seeing them squirm. PC conscious Betts and Stewart always disapproved but what's wrong with a little bit of private vengeance?
"You can sign an ap and you can stay on voluntary segregation till your trial date comes up." Fenner finished, deliberately playing his pauses before speaking to wind Snowball up.
"You mean, I have a choice of going back to the wing?" Snowball looked at Fenner with disbelieving eyes, trying to focus on his face in the gloom to figure out what game he was playing. He was like a so-called Hollywood agent, only with a British accent.
"Not if it was up to me." Fenner replied shortly.
Snowball studied the piece of paper. Never sign any contract blind, all the books about Hollywood told her. Then she casually ripped it up to Fenner's incredulous eyes. The cow really does want to die.
" The show must go on, Mr. Fenner." Snowball said with that sneer in her voice.
What is the silly cow after, Fenner thought. Atkins and Blood, for a kick off will tear her to pieces. Then he looked carefully in Snowball's defiant face and noticed the way that Snowball kept that lock of fair hair hanging down her cheekbone instead of pulled back to show off her face in all her vain self absorbed perfection. After all, that was what Hollywood actresses were like, she's read it in the magazines. Fenner leant forward and brushed that lock of hair back and saw the ugly marks left by Atkins' talons.
"What, phantom of the opera." He sneered to Snowball's discomfiture.
"I'm not scared once the girls have heard my side of the story."
"You must think that your tits are made of Teflon. Don't you know what they'll do to a murdering bitch who killed one of their own?" Fenner goaded her one last time before slamming the door shut on her.