Cardiff
Terry Glasson entered the family meeting room and took a slow and grateful breath. In here the air did not smell of stale air and over-crowded and sweaty men. He had shaved carefully, after a shower that morning, and had dressed in his least worn and wrinkle free shirt and pants. Wearing a light blue shirt with thin piping, it contrasted nicely with his dark gray pants and with a white T-shirt showing at the shirt neck, plus with spit-shined shoes he felt very presentable; or as presentable as he could be in this place.
Across the room, he saw his daughter enter, along with stiff tosser she was married to; who was also the man who'd got her up the duff. He forced himself to relax as he slowly walked to his assigned meeting table. Number 13, a number he always considered lucky. Lor' how much money had he lost on a horse named for that number or the 13th one in a race? Enough of that, Terry, he thought as he smiled at his beautiful girl.
"My girl, how are you? Doing alright, with the?" He waved a hand at her belly. My God she was gettin' big, but she hadn't come for a visit since well before Christmas, months back. As she sat down her yellow print dress bulged where she would have had a lap, before. Guess she carries like her mum did, who got big as a house. Eleanor bitched and moaned the whole nine months, or least the last seven when it was clear she was preggers.
"Hi, Dad," Louisa replied happily, with a brilliant smile and flashing eyes. "I'm fine. That baby is fine. How are you?"
"Tolerable," he told her, then turned his attention to Martin Ellingham - the Doc. "Doc Martin," he said, then flexed his left biceps and rubbed the spot where his friend Jonathon had stabbed him in fear and confusion. "All healed up. You did a respectable job on the stitching."
Martin nodded at his incarcerated father-in-law. "Yes." When Jonathon, Terry's crazed companion had stabbed the man, the knife went straight to the bone through the biceps muscle. Fortunately, no major arteries were severed so only twenty stitches closed the wound. Martin sighed at the memory, for at the same time that Jonathon was threatening him, Louisa and Pauline. Louisa had stood by, holding her father's hand, as Martin attended to the wound. Her wounded eyes roved from him to her father and over to the attacker. It was tense moments, especially when Jonathon was roaming around the room, seeking further mischief meanwhile moaning how sorry he was about the stabbing.
Forcing aside those memories, he looked around the room, taking in the pale-yellow walls, with a floral and landscape prints on the wall. A pleasant enough room, if you ignored the three prison guards wandering around, keeping everyone under a very watchful surveillance.
Louisa seated herself and got comfortable. Terry nodded at Martin as he sat down, then Martin stiffly followed suit.
Looking down Martin noted that the table was bolted to the floor, the chairs (one for the inmate and two for visitors) were on rails, which allowed the seats to be moving forward or back, but were restrained from being lifted and being used a weapon. At least they had seat and back cushions.
The very industrial and secure check in, though, still rankled. Emptying every pocket, a pat down and walking through an X-ray machine was bad enough. Entering the secure area, they were stuffed inside a small room, after a massive metal door slowly clanked aside on a track. Inside their escort waved to an overhead TV camera then the door behind them closed. The thick metal door facing them then clacked aside driven by a motor. Being herded into an airlock type room left Martin slightly breathless. Horrid place he thought, feeling the oppressive mass of the entire structure, from the granite stone of the place to this interior lit only by fluorescent lamps encased in tamper-proof mesh.
Well, Terry Glasson was able to arrange to bring smuggled explosives into the country to force open an industrial facility. Perhaps he did belong here. Terry didn't look like much from the outside, but his intelligence was bent to nefarious operations. Martin forced that aside as he looked at his father-in-law with different eyes. Terry was Louisa's father, and Martin had come to support his wife, not for Terry's sake.
Terry smiled. "So, Martin and my girl, parenthood coming up," he winked at them. "It'll be a grand time."
"Postpartum soreness, sleepless nights and a crying colicky baby," observed Martin.
"Martin!" Louisa half-yelled, startling other visitors there; about eight in all. "Sorry," she addressed the room softly. "But yeah, babies… our baby and I was reading a book about newborns…"
Martin rolled his eyes. He'd read the book and it was full of fluff, but for that matter how did any new parent have a bloody clue about rearing babies?
Terry laughed. "Oh, Louisa, you cried and cried at first. And Eleanor would feed you, uhm, bottle feed you see. Yer mum wasn't so keen on the natural nursing thing, right? Said it would ruin her figure. Well, anyway… it's like this see? You feed, then we'd burp you, change you, swaddle, walk around in the night, jiggle… anything at all!" He chuckled. "And then about dawn, right before me and Ellie'd both be knackered, and me have to head off to get the bus to the quarry for a full day's hard and dusty work, you'd fall asleep, all beautiful and sweet, lying there in my arms like a little angel." Terry had to sigh and look away. "So anyway..."
Louisa shook her head, taking that in. "Thanks for that, Dad." She lifted up the magazine she'd brought, properly vetted by Security. "Here," she pushed them across the table, briefly touching her dad's hand, which was permitted, but frowned upon.
A guard against the wall frowned at her, but she gave him an apologetic smile, and the man, taken in by her beauty in the glow of pregnancy softened his reaction. The guard examined the grey-suited man seated next to her. Doctor, he'd read on the Visitor's Schedule that day. Doctor Ellingham, from down in Cornwall, married to the pregnant woman. The guard stared at the wife again.
My gosh that doc was one lucky fella. What a Cornish Beauty! He thought back to his teen hood surfing down that way on the coast. It was the summer after school, before he took a job with BAE, and all the bright promise of new skills learned and a decent wage, until the last aerospace business slump, and then the redundancy. Oh, well, he mused. At least this is steady work, his mum lived just down the street from him and his missus. He smiled again at the beauty over there and nodded. "It's all good," he messaged her with his eyes.
Louisa nodded the guard her thanks, knowing that she could sometimes use her feminine wiles to make amends. As a girl she'd never thought she was ever beautiful, not even pretty, for poverty and discrimination would push down anyone's spirits. But in Town at Uni, she discovered, despite the parochialism of her village, that London people, men, especially reacted positively to her.
She knew that their gonads were reacting; sexual attraction was all the free-for-all game at Uni, but they did eventually did come to respect her intellect. She was not just long glossy hair, clear eyes, tall body, long legs, pert baps and a tight bum. There was a smart mind inside her head. Intelligent and smart; for there was a difference. But, like any intelligent woman, she had to earn respect time and again, for she was just a girl and all that crap.
It was not just how men reacted to her, but women as well, for she found that she could lead a discussion group, gather excellent study partners with ease, and even, after a not wonderful first-year house sharing mixed-gender group (where bed hopping seemed to be the style of three of four women and definitely not her). The second year she carefully chose new housemates - five other women who had some self-respect, at least most days of the week. That was the time of a relationship with Danny Steel.
She looked at Martin, sitting stiffly next to her. They were so different. Danny would come up with grand plans and schemes and then change direction at the drop of a hat. But Martin was a stick of rock, usually. He was monolithic at times, but steady and reliable, and yes, the man had changed since the first village days; this trip to prison for instance. And my gosh how he had handled Mr. Strain!
Louisa pushed aside those thoughts of a few seconds then looked at her dad. "The magazines. I remembered how you liked to fish. So…" she opened the top magazine which was a guide to fishing expeditions. She smiled at him encouragingly.
Terry flipped thru it, delighted by the color vistas. He laughed. "A feast for the eyes." He stared at Martin. "You fish, Martin?"
"Uhm, no."
"Good beach fishing in Portwenn. Some of those coves?" he smacked his lips. "Lovely mackerel."
Martin nodded. "Ah."
"Fried in oil," Louisa recalled.
"With spuds," Terry chuckled.
Father and daughter smiled at one another lost in that memory.
Martin was no real fan of mackerel. "Sole. I like sole."
"In butter," Terry answered. "We had pasta and prawns last night for dinner. Lovely cream sauce. Some of the lads, they didn't like it." He smiled. "I had second helpings. Bread and butter, a green salad. Beans."
Louisa coughed. "Oh, sounds grand, dad."
"And ice cream for afters."
Martin didn't think that ice cream would have been his choice. Perhaps an apple and cheese. "The food is good," he said.
Terry replied, "Oh yes." He patted his rotund tummy. But not enough exercise." He opened and closed his gnarled hands. "Good work in the workshop though. One bloke took a hand off with the power saw last month so that that's locked down now. Only manual saws to cut out stock."
"Oh, my God!" Louisa lurched, almost losing her lunch.
"Ah, these things happen." Terry shook his head. "Last week one took a header down the stair – and all alone."
"Fatal?" Martin asked.
"No. But out of here. Hospital in town. They have a secure ward there I understand."
Louisa felt a little faint. "So not accidents."
Terry looked around the room, then lowered his voice. "Louisa my girl, there are no accidents in a place like this."
Louisa's face fell. "But you are okay? If not, tell me."
Terry stroked her hand for a second. "Never better." He tapped his temple. "It's the mental game. The long one. You don't, can't really, think about tomorrow or next week. Just today." He sighed. "Just today. Lights out at 8 and up at 5. Wash, breakfast, work, lunch, exercise, study, tea, a little telly. Then lights out."
Martin replied. "Like the service. My dad was a doctor in the Royal Navy."
"So then Martin, you heard a few tales."
Martin shrugged. "I suppose."
To break the moment, Louisa pushed the other publications to her dad. "I brought these for you." They were a slim birders publication about migratory birds and an adventure guide, packed with scenic vistas.
Terry flipped thru them rapidly. "Pretty pictures." He set them aside. "Like you, Louisa. My beautiful girl, and when that baby comes…" he had to stop.
"Oh, dad." Her heart was breaking.
Terry held up his hand. "No, no. It's all good. I'm where I ought to be." He folded his hands and then stared at them.
"What?" Louisa asked when Terry did say anything else.
Terry sighed. "Just thinking. Look, Louisa, yer mum and I dropped the ball, see? Let things – drinking, gambling, running around, and so forth, mess us both up. I might have been able to hold onto Ellie if that Javier fella hadn't come to the village. But he was new and exotic. A Spaniard. Tall and good looking." He laughed. "And I'm not that much to look at or come home to."
Martin started to say something, but was cut off by a guard's bellowed announcement.
"Two minutes, people. Make it count." The room froze at those words then hurried conversation picked up.
Terry touched his daughter's hand, then drew Martin's hand over to cover hers. "Don't let go. Not ever. Not for any reason. Got it?" He squinted at them in the overhead lighting. "If it's good make it better. If it's rubbish then fix it. But do not give up."
"Oh dad," Louisa moaned.
"And that baby will need you," Terry said with some finality. "Keep that in mind." Terry stood up, scooped up the magazines and tucked them under his arm. "I love you lovely girl; my sweet Louisa. And you as well, Martin, if I have to."
Louisa sobbed a little.
"Don't cry my dear," Terry told her. "Just be good, right?" Then he turned on his heel and left them sitting there.
