Despite all the psychiatrists and the full array of nursing care, they had not realized that Shell Dockley was at her most dangerous when she appeared to be at her most cooperative. Even when she was doped up by the pills they were giving her, some corner of her mind was able to work unobserved, at cross-purpose to her outward appearance. Those large blue eyes and guileless smile still carried that power of deception and none of those screws ever understood this.
It all started that day when that rare event happened in her life, a letter from the outside world was placed into her hands. In a second, the feel of it sparked a sense of familiarity. The envelope just had to be prison issue even if the writing was unfamiliar, small regular script, clearly female. Her eyes opened wide when she pulled a piece of paper out of the envelope. A broad smile split her face. The single folded sheet of prison issue paper was scrawled over by Denny's large uneven childlike script, which virtually filled the page and, at the right hand margin had to be cramped up as she was in danger of overrunning the edge.
"I thought you'd want to see this. Got this out of an old paper. Don't think I've forgotten you, babe. Love you loads. Denny." Instantly, another memory jumped into her mind of her last memory of an emotional and embarrassed Denny both edging away from her yet clearly wanting to stay where she was. "I'll write to you Shell and I'll keep my promise."
Shell remembered that Denny had said those words and, yeah, she later laughed cynically to herself, she really meant it right then. Back then, she had waited for weeks on end for the letter that had never come till she had given up on her like she had given up on ever getting out despite what Miss Betts had told her. Now she had received the letter from Denny, she felt confused. She didn't know what to think, what to feel.
She pulled the newspaper cutting from the Sun. Out jumped an image of Miss Betts, mid stride, outside the gates of Larkhall. Her face darkened for a second. It couldn't be real. That must be Wade and Miss Rossi just behind her. What sort of frigging joke was this? She couldn't get her head round that that so her peripheral vision faded out whatever she didn't want to see and focused in on Miss Betts instead. She felt dead sorry for her. Anyone could see the shock in her eyes as the flashbulb exploded in her face. Shell could see that this wasn't the normally majestically in control Miss Betts she had known. She looked just like any other woman in the wing. She had her usual suit on but it looked sort of disarranged. She wasn't herself, any idiot could tell that one a mile away.
Her staring eyes took in the story. 'Junkie Son of Prison Governor Takes Own Life.' Her eyes open wider and wider. This ain't real, a voice inside her head told her. She was vaguely aware that Miss Betts had a son but had supposed that he would be, sort of like her, dead straight, sort of hardworking. She didn't need to read what the paper said about him. It told her between the lines that he was like any other junkie she had known on the outside and on the inside. Her eyes were riveted to what Miss Betts said right at the end." I'll get by the same way as any single mum does."
You're lying, she knew instinctively as she shook her head in disbelief. That sounded hard and cruel, nothing like the Miss Betts she knew. Then again, papers always make up stuff. Look what happened to her when she first got put away. They had a field day with her just like that judge who called her 'evil personified.' That wasn't true. Shell Dockley was fair, like. Do the crime and you do your time. That was why she resented being stuck here instead of with Larkhall with her mates. Somehow, she couldn't make friends with this lot. They didn't think the way she thought, talk the way she talked and you couldn't have a few laughs with them.
What was it that Miss Betts said, 'single mum' ,'single mum, 'single mum.'That stray thought dropped out of thin air and the words went round and round in her head and made it hurt. That's what she was, wasn't she? She had forgotten all about that. She shouldn't have done. She put her hands to her forehead and tears trickled down her face. She had once held her little baby Ronan in her arms before he was snatched from her. In her mind, he was still the baby and he had been frozen in time or so she had thought. How long ago was it that Hedges and that bastard Fenner between them had got her shipped out of Larkhall. She started counting on her fingers, little finger first as she thought deep and hard. Her headache got worse but with a big effort of her will, she counted somewhere in the space between her third and fourth finger.
"Frigging hell." She exclaimed out loud.
She turned her face to the wall so that nobody could see her thoughts, which were racing furiously out of control. She never realized she had been there so long. It frightened her that her life was ticking by, day after day after day. Ronan would be able to walk by now and he would be with another family. He would call some posh woman her mother, not her. Why should he know her, remember her? If she were walking down the street and called out his name, would he know her, run to her? Then again, his name might be changed for all she knew. There was so much that she ought to know about him. At least she remembered Dena and Kayley when they were little. Why should it happen to her every frigging time? Her thoughts only twisted the knife further into her heart. What would he know of her? Being born in a nick wasn't something he'd ever be told about, not even that brief time she was allowed to love him. Poor little mite, she whispered to herself. He hadn't lived with her, would know nothing about her, for what was worth knowing. Her lips twisted cynically in as much self harm as she was driven to. Why had she ever thought she was so big? What was she but an evil slut? The Julies told her that once. She could sense the sharp stare that shot at her from the couple of nurses nearby, especially from that tart with long fair curly hair and who swanned around in that nurses uniform, all stuck up and superior, looking down on all the other muppets in this muppet wing. She was different, of course. She had got something hidden away so deep that nobody else knew where it was, even herself in her off days.
She deliberately attached the suitable smile on her face, which was a masterpiece of counterfeit. All the time, she was shaking inside with bitter self-accusation and hurt. She had to get away somewhere she could think straight. It was frigging impossible in this huge ward, no room to herself, everything in the open for those who could see.
"It's OK, Miss," she called out. "I thought I saw a spider. Silly me. You know I'm dead scared of spiders."
"OK, Shell." Came the automatic reply. It reassured the nurse who always found that Shell Dockley was one of the easier patients to deal with, none of that schizoid paranoid reaction to her slightest words like some of the other patients she had to deal with.
Later on, Shell went to the toilet, about the only place she could get any privacy and she looked again at the letter and the press cutting. She lit a cigarette as an automatic gesture so she could think better. She reread everything and realized that she had got everything right first time around. Everything was slowly sinking into her brain like some kind of chill out drug. Somehow, she was starting to make sense of the mess she was in. It was obvious that she had to do something about her Ronan. It didn't matter what some posh bitch called him. In her mind, he was Ronan.
She was meditating vaguely when she looked at the back of the article that some handwriting caught her eye. Frigging hell, it was an address. The handwriting on the front of the envelope and on the back of the article was exactly the same. She couldn't think which dozy screw had written it on the back of the article and then posted it to her. Whose address could it be, she vaguely wondered, her mind temporarily fogged. It was a full minute later on that it came to her. Miss Betts address. It had to be. It couldn't be her writing but then again, she hadn't a clue what her writing looked like. All she knew was that if she got to see her again, maybe she would get her out and back with Ronan like she said she would. At least she said something like that. Nothing had happened and she was getting right down in the dumps. Very well then, it was up to her to get back with him and not wait for anyone to fix it for her. It was funny that it had not crossed her mind before. She might as well call in on Miss Betts herself. So she was in a secure hospital? She had escaped from Larkhall before. That was more like the old Shell talking, not some doped up bimbo who couldn't think her way out of a paper bag. That thought was a comforting one and a vague smile spread across her face.
A sudden rapping on the toilet door told her that some nutter wanted her toilet. Cigarette ash was hanging on precariously to the stub, which was held between her two fingers. She couldn't be bothered to argue with her so she dropped the cigarette in the loo, flushed it and got out. She went back onto the ward while a whole library of ideas and emotions floated in and out of her mind. It cheered her up that she was sure no one could see into her mind. They just weren't smart enough.
It wasn't until she was alone at night in the darkness of the ward when it all came to her That nurse looked just like her from a distance. Whether you were a nurse or a screw, you could walk through bolts and bars and no one would ask questions. All she had to do was to wait for the right opportunity.
The psychiatrist wrote steadily in the gradually thickening file while, outside his window, the darkness spread all around.
"Michelle Dockley has become settled at Ashmoor almost to the point of institutionalization. She is cooperative with all those in authority. It is as well that she were not suddenly precipitated into the outside world as she would find it difficult to summon up the necessary amount of individualistic self-reliance and enterprise.
At the same time, she has difficulties in forming relationships with the other patients and her interactions are of the most formal and distanced. It is as if she has withdrawn into her own world. When asked about her children, she makes a show of indifference as if all that is in the past. She is content to passively accept whatever is around her. Considering her disturbed past, she has made the best possible adjustment that she could make in the circumstances and she is one of the lesser of the security risks of all the patients.
I recommend periodic counseling to monitor her progress and keep it at a steady state."
He put down his pen and laid it to rest just as Shell Dockley laid her plans to rest for the first chance to properly realize them. This felt like it was her last chance to change her life.