Something Quite Beautiful (3 page)

Angelo licked his lips and leant closer to Henry. ‘Here’s one that isn’t made up. Of the three hundred and thirty inmates that have entered Glenculloch in the last four years, we’ve had no recorded deaths, and none have been released. And yet we are now down to two hundred and eighty-eight. Now I aint no Vorderman, but that don’t add up. So as I say, don’t get on the wrong side of the Principal. In here, she makes the law, she is the law. You could do a lot worse than listen to your friend.’ Angelo nodded his head in Keegan’s direction.

‘He is not my fucking friend!’ Keegan grimaced.

‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ Edwina Justice strolled into the theatre as if it were a boardroom, her heels clicking on the shiny floor. The four stared at her, in silence. She looked immaculate in a navy skirt that sat just below her knee. Warren noted her cropped greying hair, the pearls that sat on her earlobes, her smart white cotton shirt and navy blazer. She looked rich.

‘Morning, Angelo.’

‘Morning, Ma’am.’

Edwina stood with her hands on her slender hips and addressed them. ‘Gentlemen, do we need these handcuffs? Are any of you going to threaten violence? Or can we ask Angelo to remove the offending articles?’

The three looked at one another. What was the catch?

‘You,’ Edwina pointed at Warren, ‘are you able to control yourself if we remove your ironware?’

Warren nodded.

‘And you, Mr...?’

‘Lomax, Keegan Lomax.’

‘Thank you, Mr Lomax; can I trust you have enough self-control not to behave in an unruly fashion if released?’

Keegan nodded.

‘That’s excellent. Angelo, do the honours please.’

Angelo made his way along the desks; one by one he released the boys from their restraints. Each rubbed at the skin on their wrists and flexed their fingers to restore feeling. Angelo took his place at the back of the room.

‘My name is Edwina Justice and I am the Principal here at Glenculloch. I trust that your first night was comfortable. I can imagine that you are all feeling slightly unsettled by the journey, it’s a long way and not the most luxurious of transport.’ There was a pause while she surveyed each boy and they studied her in return. ‘The purpose of this meeting is to teach you the ground rules for your time here. I think it would be most unfair to expect you to operate within a system that you do not fully understand. This morning I will explain the house rules and you will be permitted to ask me a question each. Just one.’ She raised her index finger to emphasis the point. ‘It can be anything, on any topic, but I would advise you to ask wisely as the chance to ask a question again might not occur for a very long time, maybe years. Is that clear so far?’

‘Yep.’ Keegan answered.

‘Crystal.’ Henry responded as he drummed the desk with his fingers.

‘For the record, gentlemen, if ever I speak to you or ask you a question, you will respond in full sentences followed by Principal or Ma’am and without finger drumming or other distraction. So ‘crystal’ and ‘yep’ would not be acceptable. You weren’t to know, but now you do. Please sit up straight.’

Warren Binns was the only one not to have to readjust his posture. The Principal picked up a marker pen and approached the white board.

‘Glenculloch is run on sound principles. The system is straight forward, designed to punish those that deserve it and rehabilitate those that don’t. It’s quite simple really. There are six rules and only six rules. I expect you to learn and live by them. No more, no less. By following the rules, you will carve a path of discovery for yourself, break them and you will find that pathway blocked by a whole heap of trouble. Is that clear?’

She scanned the three and pointed at Warren. ‘Is that clear?’

Warren remembered the earlier instruction, ‘Yes, that’s clear, Ma’am.’

The Principal nodded, satisfied. She removed the lid from the marker pen and starting writing on the white board.

1. Always tell the truth.

2. Always display good manners.

3. Never swear.

4. Work hard.

5. Respect yourself.

6. Respect others.

She turned to the group and watched as the boys read each rule. ‘If anyone is unclear on what any of these rules mean, then please raise your hand now so that I may offer further explanation.’ No-one raised their hand. She waited for a further second, looking at each man in turn, before interpreting their silence as understanding.

‘Excellent. May I remind you that these are not optional, they are mandatory.’ She paused again, allowing this information to sink in as each one read and re-read the six rules by which they were expected to live. ‘I would now like to take your questions. You first, Mr Lomax.’

Keegan coughed and shifted in his seat, he hadn’t wanted to go first; he felt embarrassed, awkward and didn’t want to be judged. This setting reminded him of school, an environment in which he had far from flourished. He tried to ask the question that was battering the inside of his lips as though he could care less about the answer. ‘I’m personally not fussed, but I’ve heard that we don’t get any visitors here, that no one gets any visitors, ever, and I was just wondering if that’s true, but as I say, I’m not really bothered about it, Ma’am?’

‘Thank you for that, Mr Lomax; it’s a source of great debate. The answer to your question is yes, that is true. There are no visitors to Glenculloch, we are an invisible site. I believe it’s for the best, no distractions and no disappointments. This is to allow a clear, focussed and uncomplicated rehabilitation programme that is open to all who reside here.’

Keegan shook his head and wiped invisible sweat from his forehead. He raised his top lip and eyebrow simultaneously, a look that said
whatever...
An image of he and Joanna crept into his mind, sat side by side on the sofa, their thighs touching, her hand sat inside his, her beautiful fingers interlaced with his own and the feel of her nails against his palm. He would have to think very carefully about exactly how that felt and catalogue every minute detail storing it away for recollection whenever he needed it.

Edwina Justice turned to Henry. ‘May I have your question please?’

The boy was agitated, edgy; his tone antagonistic. ‘Hi, I was just wondering, what would happen if we
did
kick off? I mean, you’ve taken off our restraints, which is really cool, but there’s three of us and only two of you. And not being sexist or anything, but I fancy my chances against you, even on a bad day.’ Henry pointed at her and then Angelo as if trying to fathom the maths; maybe he was the only one aware of the odds.

Henry laughed, and Edwina recalled the first line of Henry’s report:
Psychopathic tendencies—on the night in question, Mr McFarlane-Hunter blocked all exits and locked the doors before setting fire to the home of his ex-girlfriend, killing both of her parents, her grandmother and three siblings. Tests for narcotics and alcohol proved negative. Has shown no empathy or remorse.
She fixed him with a stare before speaking. ‘Angelo, would you be as kind as to show the gentlemen our deterrents?’

The guard stepped forward from the back of the room and stood next to the Principal. Facing them, he carefully lifted the hem of his shirt. Nestling against his hard, muscled stomach sat a snub nose revolver. Edwina continued as though Angelo had revealed something innocuous. ‘Every inch of this facility is under the watchful eye of cameras and in this case it is not merely an expression, I do mean every single inch. We carry state of the art integrated tracking and warning alarms, meaning that all staff are monitored by the main Ops room every second that they are on site. There is not one angle, one nook or one cranny, with the exception of my office, that is not monitored twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days of the year.’ She pointed to her own gun, hiding beneath her blazer and next to her tailored shirt; it sat snugly in a leather holster that ran across her back and under her arm. ‘This is the Smith and Wesson three five seven calibre Magnum. FBI studies show it to be fatal in ninety-eight-point-seven percent of cases if an adult male is hit in the head or torso. It is the weapon of choice for all guards and Glenculloch personnel who, incidentally, are all ex-military: expert snipers or Special Forces-trained, myself included. Everyone at Glenculloch may discharge their weapon as and when they see fit.’

Henry visibly shrunk; he didn’t fancy his chances after all. The Principal turned to Warren.

‘May I have your question please?’

Warren had several things he wanted to ask, but the words leapt from his mouth that had been swirling around his head since he had heard The Principle’s speech minutes earlier.

‘I... I would like to ask,’ he swallowed, trying to remove his tongue that had stuck to the dry roof of his mouth, ‘who is it that decides those that deserve to be punished and those that don’t?’

‘Me.’ Edwina wasted no other words on Warren’s enquiry.

Henry coughed. ‘Hi, Henry McFarlane-Hunter again,’ he waved with an elaborate hand gesture as though miming a rainbow. ‘It may just be me, but I am not sure that can be right, there
must
be some board or outside influence, I mean who is your boss? I’m not even
entirely
sure how long my sentence is. It wasn’t that clear with the whole, judge summing up, mother howling, keys jangling thing going on in the court, would you care to clarify?’

Edwina Justice paused and stared at Henry. ‘Certainly. All prisoners at Glenculloch are sent here for twenty years. They will all serve their full sentence, unless I deem that to be inadequate and duly increase their tariff, which is not uncommon. As I say to all newcomers, you should expect to be here for at least twenty years. Thank you for your question, although uninvited.’

‘Jesus Christ, twenty years? I think I might die before then of boredom and enforced politeness.’ Henry slouched back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face and raked his chin.

‘Angelo?’

‘Yes, Ma’am?’

‘Could you please restrain Mr McFarlane-Hunter and take him into solitary confinement. I want him placed on a strict calorie reduction liquid diet and in total isolation for forty eight hours.’

Henry scraped the chair backwards and tried to stand. ‘What the fuck? You can’t...’ Henry didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence; Angelo was on him in seconds. Warren and Keegan were both startled at the speed in which the enormous guard managed to cover the room. Both jumped as the sound of Henry’s head smashing against the top of the desk rang out. Neither envied the familiar snap of metal against his wrists, which were bent up behind his back. Two snakes of bright red blood ran from his nose and into his mouth, which was hanging open in shock.

Edwina wiped the board clean, seemingly oblivious to the scuffle behind her. She was glad of the diversion of the board. It was necessary to retain absolute control, but that didn’t mean she wanted to witness control being taken. She closed her eyes and delivered her words, concentrating on keeping the quaver from her voice.

‘Mr McFarlane-Hunter, you had already broken rules two and six and now apparently rule three also. Make it seventy-two hours, Angelo.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’

Henry was strangely silent as he was dragged from the room. Edwina turned to face the remaining two newcomers who sat in stunned silence. She noted Warren’s ashen complexion and trembling hands.

‘Thank you for your time today, gentlemen. I will send someone in to escort you back to your rooms presently.’ With that she swept from the room as if she had been addressing the WI.

2

Warren manoeuvred his plastic tray through the crowd and took an empty seat on the bench opposite Keegan. After six months in Glenculloch they had become firm friends.

‘Good afternoon, how goes it?’

Keegan lifted a spoonful of gravy-soaked potato and allowed it to slop back down onto the tray, causing a satisfying splat. The machine that issued their food at the press of a button had messed up again. He rubbed his head, scratching at the stubble. ‘Oh, just frigging perfect. I don’t know what’s worse, the lumpy, sauce-smothered shite which hides God knows what or the fact that I have twenty years to get used to eating it.’

Warren grimaced and nodded. ‘At least it’s better than being hungry—and I’ve had a bit of that in my time.’ He pictured his younger self, curled tightly on the bare mattress of his bed, wearing his school uniform for warmth and with a towel draped over his torso as he tried to ignore the gnawing pain in his stomach. He would imagine chips that dripped with salt and vinegar, steaming battered cod that would scald his fingers and smear his mouth with grease, plates of ketchup-doused sausages, fried eggs sprinkled with salt, hot buttery toast and heaps of apple crumble and custard. He remembered trudging to school in those same clothes that had kept him warm at night, trying to concentrate on what was being taught while ignoring the taunts of his class mates,
Rubbish Binns, Looney Binns, Stinky Binns
.

Keegan caught Warren’s eye momentarily; it was rare to offer this kind of insight in prison, it didn’t do to give too much of yourself away. The less people knew about you, the less chance there was of them exploiting any weakness.

‘Have you seen Hooray?’ Warren gave Henry his newly acquired nickname.

Keegan shook his head. ‘Not for a couple of days, I heard he wasn’t too well.’ He tapped the side of his head.

‘Oh.’ Warren didn’t know what to say, he hadn’t warmed to the bloke, but wasn’t about to enjoy his misfortune. ‘That’s not good.’

‘No,’ Keegan concurred, ‘that’s not good at all.’

As he spoke, he became aware of a burly West Indian man listening in on their conversation. Bo had a reputation as a gossip and a fear monger. Keegan and Warren generally tried to stay away from him. Now he squatted down at the end of their table and rested on his haunches, his wide thighs splayed under the regulation blue trousers. He looked like he was relishing what he was about to say.