Living with Shadows (23 page)

‘Doesn’t bother me. Anyway, you don’t have to come.’

‘No, of course I will. I’ll get the details from the office.’ Kate realised he saw her questioning as a reluctance to get involved so she changed the subject and they chatted about how things were in general, the food, the other inmates, or whether he’d watched anything interesting on television. The time flew by and soon it was time for her to go. She told him she would see him the following week, and assured him everything would be fine.

Only one thing worried her. She would probably not have given him her letter had she known about the Lifer’s Board. It was too late now. She just hoped and prayed he would understand why she’d had to say the things she had.

It was past midnight on Sunday evening when Helen returned from New York. The trip had been successful; she had taken enough orders to keep her busy for the foreseeable future. Despite thinking she might stay on for a couple more weeks before she had left home, once the business side of things had been finalised the idea no longer appealed to her and she caught the first available flight back. She had been restless. The sense of not belonging, the unfamiliar and hectic city life, having to pretend with people she didn’t really care for was something she shied away from these days. There was a time when she had been impressed by it all, thought it glamorous and exciting, but now it had lost its sheen and coming home, to
her
home, exceeded anything the fashion world had to offer. Helen was aware that it was she who had changed. The dramatic event that had caused this change and the choice she made at that time left her with little option but to go on doing the only thing she knew how. What would have been the point in giving up everything she had worked so hard for? It was the only thing that made her feel alive? But that was not quite true anymore and the naissance of a distant emotion had come as a surprise to her.

Helen carried her case upstairs to her bedroom. Though it had been a long day, she resisted the idea of going straight to bed and decided to take a shower instead. Feeling refreshed in a long silk robe and comfy slippers, her wet hair scrunched on top of her head, she went downstairs to pour herself a drink. She flicked on the light in the kitchen and took in the newness of it all, at once pleased by the overall effect it had on her. She opened cupboards and pulled out drawers that slid back into place with a touch of her fingers. As far as she could see, Jim had completed everything to perfection.

Taking a bottle of red wine from the wine rack, she unscrewed the cap and poured herself a large drink. A pile of mail lay on the table and she quickly flicked through the various sized envelopes before pushing them to one side. Already, she had closed her thoughts to New York and found herself thinking about Jim. She remembered the look on his face when she had told him she was going away for a few weeks and wondered whether he had any notion of what that had told her. As much as she tried to suppress it, she had begun to think of Jim as more than just a workman. She felt relaxed with him. He made her forget, if only for a short time, the tragedy in her life. She took another sip of wine and refilled her glass. A combination of tiredness and the effect of the wine washed over her and this time she took a large gulp from the glass and brought it down hard on the wooden table top so that a small amount spilled out over the rim. She stemmed the spillage with her finger and lifted it to her mouth. Her mood changed suddenly from feelings of warmth granted by the thought of connecting with another human being to the cold reality of her tormented life and she laughed hysterically at her stupidity in thinking anything could change the way she felt about the past. Draining her glass, she went and rinsed it under the tap and returned it to the cupboard. Wearily, she climbed the stairs, dropped her robe by the side of the bed, kicked off her slippers and with no attention to her wet hair, pulled back the duvet and flopped into bed.

Jim let himself in with the set of keys especially cut for his use whilst Helen was away. She had insisted on finding him a key ring to put them on, joking that he would waste precious working time if he were to lose them within the enormous bunch he carried around with him. She once asked him to name the purpose of each of the fourteen keys but he could only identify nine of them, proving her point that it’s easier to acquire things than dispose of them; a discussion that started about the surplus amount of clothes people have or how much junk they hide away in attics and garages. Their discussions were usually light-hearted—though he did not doubt they were both capable of conversing on a deeper level—and they were fun. He could sit down with Helen over a coffee and they would always find something different to talk about, laugh about.

Since Kate had taken a degree and changed career, she had grown far more serious. All she talked about these days were the injustices of prison, that prisoner . . . what was his name . . . Michael, or Ben. Mostly, he found her conversation tedious and hoped the novelty of working in a prison would soon wear off. Ben was another matter.

He turned the keys over in his hand and read again the message on the fob,
I’m
the
bitch
my
mother
always
wanted
to
be.
The words hardly seemed sophisticated enough for someone like Helen and he wondered how she had come by it. Setting his toolbox down on the kitchen floor, he took out a few tools. Now that he had finished the kitchen he needed to start upstairs. Hopefully, he would have ripped out the old fitted wardrobes before Helen returned. He wanted to cause as little inconvenience to her as possible.

Jim turned the knob on the bedroom door and went inside. The curtains were open and streaks of sunlight were lancing down onto the cream carpet from the window opposite. On stepping further inside he caught his breath. The duvet had slid to one side and Helen lay fast asleep on top of the bed, her naked body turned towards him. A few strands of blonde hair had fallen across her face, the rest of it still tied up on top of her head. He felt a thrill run through him as he allowed his eyes to wander down the length of her white body until she began to move. Swiftly, he stepped back and pulled the door shut behind him hoping the soft click of the latch had not disturbed her. Downstairs in the kitchen, he wondered what to do. Should he make a start on one of the other rooms, have a coffee or just go and come back in a few hours? The decision was taken out of his hands when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Jim opened his toolbox and pretended to be looking for something when Helen came in wearing a red silk robe.

‘Hello, have you been here long?’

He looked up to find her searching his eyes and wondered if she’d heard him in her room. He was devoured by his momentary act of voyeurism and quickly turned back to his toolbox and sifted around amongst the various tools. ‘Just arrived. I didn’t realise you were back today.’

‘Oh, I’d had enough,’ she yawned, moving past him towards the kettle. He noted her well-worn slippers and smooth white legs. ‘Once I’d made sufficient sales, I just wanted to get back home. There was a time I would happily have stayed and socialised, but now it all seems too much of a muchness.’

‘I was going to make a start upstairs today—if that’s convenient.’ Although she had only been away for two weeks, it was as though the span had turned her into a stranger. Her brief assent to his suggestion and with no invitation to join her in a coffee, Jim picked up his tools and left the room feeling confused and slightly hurt.

All morning he worked hard tearing out the old wardrobes, stopping only once for a drink from his flask. All morning he neither saw nor heard anything of Helen—conspicuous by her absence. Several times he wondered whether he ought to find her, explain that he had no idea she was home, for he felt sure she must have heard him enter her bedroom and was annoyed with him for not owning up to his mistake. He tried to imagine what she must think of him, knowing he had watched her as she lay naked on her bed. The thrill of having seen her like that had turned to self-loathing. Since he’d been with Kate he had never thought of another woman in that way. He loved Kate but lately she had become so wrapped up in her work, and this business with Ben still grated.

Jim suddenly threw down his tools and went out of the room. He walked along the landing to the white door he knew to be Helen’s workplace and stood for a moment listening before tapping his knuckles lightly against the wood. Helen responded immediately and without hesitation he opened the door and found himself face to face with her. There was no need for any explanation. Her pale blue eyes told him she had passed the morning in the same state of uncertainty as he. Without a word, Jim put his arms around her and kissed her passionately.

Michael’s case conference had been scheduled for Thursday afternoon. Kate arrived early, smartly dressed in navy suit and carrying more than a modicum of apprehension. She was soon escorted to the meeting room in an area of prison she had never been to before. She expected to see Michael at any moment but as it got nearer the time and he still had not shown, an ominous feeling crept over her. When he didn’t turn up, she was consoled by the thought that the meeting would surely not be going ahead if anything had happened to him.

Once inside the room nobody seemed to take much notice of her. She knew none of the attendees, apart from the prison doctor with whom she remembered having had a few brief words on one of her visits to the hospital. Nobody bothered to introduce her to anybody. One of the men was a prison officer; she could tell from his uniform. But she hadn’t a clue as to who the other two men were. Everyone had paperwork with him and there was an officiousness about the proceedings. No wonder Michael felt intimidated. As the conversation got under way, the main reason for the case conference soon became apparent. Someone suggested having Michael transferred to another prison, but the idea was quickly quashed on the grounds that no prison would take a suicidal lifer off their hands.

So Michael had become a problem for the system. Obviously, suicides looked bad on prison records. Kate kept waiting for them to ask her how he was doing in class but she was completely overlooked and began to wonder why she was there. And then the prison officer told everyone that Michael had been storing up his medication. Kate flushed. Though it was obvious to everyone in that room why he was doing this, she was sure she was the only one he had told of his determination to kill himself. Since he’d been caught out before any harm was done, there appeared to be no sense of concern about it, as though it were just a side effect of some trifling ailment.

Throughout the proceedings, their main concern had nothing to do with his progress but centred on what they were to do with him. She thought about telling them some of the things that Michael had written about, but didn’t feel she ought to without his permission. Also, she got the impression that nobody would be the least bit interested.

The conference was soon drawn to a close, with nothing accomplished. The only recommendation was that Michael should be kept under close supervision. Kate left the room feeling she had let Michael down, yet her hands were tied because of her promise. Why on earth hadn’t he attended the meeting?