The White Amah (22 page)

‘Tough. You’re in prison.’

It was the smirk accompanying the words that infuriated Tuff, and she picked up the brimming chamber pot and threw its contents at the unprepared officer.

‘You …
animal!
I’ll have you up on a charge.’

‘I don’t give a damn,’ yelled Tuff. ‘What are you going to do about it? Put me in jail?’

‘Clean this place up.’

‘Make me.’ Tuff turned her back and gingerly picked her way over the flooded floor to her bunk. She sat down and stared at the officer defiantly.

‘Clean it up,’ the officer ordered Tuff’s cell mate, and with an angry glare at both prisoners she locked the door behind her. Fuming, she charged off to the shower, leaving the other prisoners’ meals to go cold on the trolley.

When Tuff woke next morning she itched all over. She lifted her T-shirt and looked at her torso. Her chest and stomach were covered in bright-red welts where she’d scratched in her sleep. Even her head itched. As soon as the cell doors were unlocked the prisoners headed for the dining room. Tuff hung back and sneaked off to the bathroom.

The prison was divided into four units, each with its own dining room and ablution blocks. There were only two showers and four baths provided for the thirty-plus women in each unit. To Tuff’s relief the block was clean, but she was still taking no chances. She’d only been in prison one day and she’d picked up fleas; she didn’t want to catch crabs as well. She carefully covered the toilet seat with layers of toilet paper, using up the remainder of the roll. Every chick for herself had always been her motto.

By order, showers were limited to five minutes. Tuff smirked
when she read the notice … as if, and she stepped out of her panties. The stream of hot water was bliss and Tuff closed her eyes. Luxury! She had half expected the water to be stone cold. She didn’t care about missing breakfast if it meant she could have a shower before all the hot water was used up. She groaned inwardly. How was she going to cope without her caffeine fix if she had to go without breakfast every day? She was used to being handed a double-shot soy latte when she woke, and heaven help the unfortunate minion who forgot the marshmallows. It wasn’t fair, being tortured like this. Wait until the authorities discovered their mistake. Heads would roll, she’d make sure of that.

Tuff was deep in thoughts of vengeance when her sixth sense told her something was wrong. She wiped the water from her eyes. Two women, obviously identical twins, stood staring at her, their eyes glazed and empty. The ‘agony aunts’ – the prisoners’ nickname for the sadistic sociopaths who terrorised the prison – had been named Jayne and Marilyn by their mother after two glamorous movie stars she’d hoped they’d grow up to be like. There could not have been two more unlikely Hollywood starlets. Everything about the twins was chilling and menacing. The heavily built women looked powerful. Denim overalls strained across shoulders as broad as grid-iron football forwards; size-ten feet were encased in prison issue boots, the type worn by football hooligans.

Tuff was terrified; wide-eyed, she looked at the two stonyfaced women.

‘Well, look who we’ve got here,’ said Marilyn. ‘The baby pedlar, alone and helpless …’

‘… like that poor kid she ditched,’ said Jayne, completing her twin’s sentence. ‘You’re gonna pay for what you done, bitch. Me and my sister are gonna beat the shit out of yer, and that’s just
for starters,’ She drew a sharpened spoon from her pocket, fierce piggy eyes shining with excitement.

Tuff looked from the homemade blade to the mean faces of the twins and back again. She screamed. Her voice was so strong she could entertain a packed audience without using a microphone, and she was confident that prison staff would hear and come running.

‘Scream as loud as you like, slag. Even the screws think you’ve got it coming,’ said Marilyn.

‘I’ve got a black belt in judo,’ Tuff yelled, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. No one had come to help her. She was about to find out if she’d wasted the thousands of dollars she’d spent on martial arts classes.

The twins looked at the naked woman cowering in the shower and laughed. ‘Me first,’ squealed Jayne and her sister grunted assent. ‘Right slag, come to Ma-ma,’ yelled Jayne, the sharpened spoon held high in her hand.

An idea flashed through Tuff’s head. As the woman charged into the stall she turned the cold tap full on. A torrent of icy water poured down, soaking Jayne as thoroughly as if she’d been sprayed with a garden hose. Freezing and furious, it took several seconds for the drenched woman to stop cursing. While she was still spluttering, Tuff grabbed the bully’s beefy arm, got a good grip on the bib of her soaked overall and yanked hard, forcing her forward and onto her toes. Twisting to the left, Tuff slammed her hip into Jayne’s upper thigh and flung the dumbfounded bully over her right shoulder. It was a classic hip throw, executed flawlessly just like her trainer had taught her. Ninety kilos of flesh and bone hit the floor with a sickening thud. Jayne groaned once and passed out.

Marilyn looked down at her motionless sister in disbelief.

‘I warned you,’ yelled Tuff, assuming a judo stance and biting down on her bottom lip to stop it trembling. She knew she couldn’t play the same trick twice. It would take a tank to stop this crazy woman in her tracks.

‘You skanky ho! You’ll wish you were never born when I get through with you,’ Marilyn screeched and launched herself at Tuff like a wrecking ball.

This time Tuff went down under the onslaught but she dragged Marilyn down with her and they both ended up sprawled on top of Jayne in a tangled heap. Jayne opened her eyes and moaned weakly. Her leg was lying at an angle and bone was protruding through the skin below her knee.

‘Ger’off her,’ shrieked Marilyn, struggling to her feet, concern for her sister at war with the compulsion to kick Tuff’s brains in.

‘Stay back,’ ordered Tuff, fighting back the sob that was rising in her throat. She grabbed hold of Jayne’s broken leg with both hands and twisted it sharply. The injured woman screamed.

Stop it! Leave her alone,’ begged Marilyn, rendered impotent by her sister’s agonised shrieks.

‘Go and get a prison officer or she’ll never walk again,’ threatened Tuff, holding her breath, hoping sibling love was greater than the crazy’s desire for revenge.

Within moments the room was crowded and Tuff handed the razor-sharp spoon to a stunned officer. ‘Her leg’s broken. You’ll need a stretcher. What sort of a place are you running here? I could’ve been killed.’

Ellen Dodd stopped to chat at the bedside of all the patients in the prison hospital as she made her way to the screened-off
bed at the end of the ward. The guard stood up as the governor approached.

‘She’s shamming, ma’am,’ she said with a sniff of disapproval.

The governor didn’t rebuke the officer. Like the jeering crowds that lined the streets as the prisoner was driven to and from court to appeal the decision not to grant bail, she was revolted by Tuff’s hypocrisy, but she was more incensed by Tuff’s pretence of campaigning for orphaned children than by her alleged crime.

Tuff opened her eyes when she recognised the governor’s toffee accent. Her eye was bruised and her lip was cut, but her tongue was as sharp as ever. ‘Look what those bitches did to me. Wait till the media finds out what sort of place you’re running here.’

Privately, the governor thought the British public would be pleased that the prisoners had dealt out rough justice. Young and old, upstanding citizen or corrupt inmate, everyone despised the schemer who’d abandoned her own child and then shamelessly used a children’s charity to further her career.

‘Adjusting to life inside jail can be very difficult,’ Dodd told Tuff, ‘ but you must make an attempt to get on with the other inmates. Your attitude makes it very difficult for my officers to protect you.’

‘Protect
me? Get real! I’m lucky to be alive. Those two psychos tried to kill me and no one lifted a finger.’

‘If you’d been in the dining room with your fellow inmates this would never have happened. There are protocols in place that apply equally to all inmates. My officers are mindful of their duty of care. You are the one who put yourself at risk by flouting authority. While you’re under my jurisdiction you will obey instructions, is that understood?’

‘Hello. I’m the victim here. This is so not fair. Why don’t you pick on those two crazies?’

‘We will investigate the incident,’ replied the governor, with a sinking feeling, She hoped Tuff wouldn’t go public. A complaint from such a high-profile prisoner would be impossible to cover up. ‘And we will do our utmost to ensure that something like this never happens again. However, public feeling is so strong that I’ve decided to segregate you for your own protection.’

‘What does that mean? Where am I going?’

‘To a one-person cell in the protective custody wing, which means you won’t be allowed to mix with other prisoners. I realise this may seem harsh but it’s the only way we can guarantee your safety.’

‘As if I’d want to associate with those freaks.’

‘You won’t have any choice if you’re convicted. This could be your home for a long time.’

‘Convicted! That’s impossible. I’m innocent. Why don’t the police look for the
real
killer?’

‘Calm down. There are genuinely sick people on the ward.’

‘Calm down? You’re asking me to calm down when I’ve been locked up for something I haven’t done, you incompetent bitch.’ Tuff picked up her tray and threw it at the governor.

‘Call the medical officer ASAP,’ Dodd said to the doctor beside her. ‘Explain that it might be necessary to put her on medication.’ Dodd glared at the hysterical prisoner and stalked off to the bathroom to wipe off the clinging, glutinous stew.

Dr Valerie Taylor presented herself in the governor’s office later that afternoon.

‘Do you think it’s necessary to put her on suicide watch?’ Dodd asked her. The governor’s appointment was recent and she knew how important it was to cover her back.

‘Frankly, Ellen, I’ve never met anyone less likely to end her life,’ replied the doctor.

‘Can you imagine what a nightmare it’s going to be having her here, Val? I could almost hope she gets off.’

‘No chance of that.’

‘Unless the judge calls off the trial.’

‘Why should he?’ asked the puzzled doctor.

‘He might decide to dismiss the charges because there’s no way she’ll get a fair hearing in this country. If I was her lawyer, that’s the angle I’d be pushing.’

‘I don’t know how he can live with himself,’ Taylor said, bristling indignantly as she helped herself to coffee.

‘It takes a certain type to defend the guilty. All the same she’s entitled to a fair trial. But how the hell can she get that with the hate the press has incited against her?’

‘My heart goes out to her daughter. You know they’re saying Sir Joshua Chadwick’s the father.’

‘Well, a DNA test will sort that out one way or another, but you see how difficult it’ll be for a jury to be objective, especially if they’re mothers.’

‘I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes,’ said Taylor with a wry smile.

‘Not even if they’re Jimmy Choos,’ agreed the governor and for the first time that afternoon she smiled.

‘Visitors,’ said the prison officer, unlocking the cell. Depressed, Tuff was lying on her bunk with her face to the wall. She couldn’t be bothered turning around. She knew it would just be old Bailey again. The daily meeting with her starchy solicitor was as predictable and uninspiring as the stodgy, lumpy porridge they served every morning for breakfast.

‘Jesus, we’ve got to get you out of here,’ said the burly stranger, frowning at the bare brick walls, the narrow bunk bed, the metal door with the observation window and the stainless steel toilet and washbasin in full view.

‘Who the hell are you?

‘I’m Benny Allan, senior partner with Bradford’s. No doubt you’ve heard of us. We’re the most successful PR company in Britain,’ replied the confident dynamo in faded blue jeans and a tight T-shirt covered by a postbox-red leather jacket.

She stared at him in astonishment. He looked like he worked on a building site. She couldn’t imagine him in a boardroom, but she could see him in cement-splattered shorts, his biceps bulging in a tight singlet, whistling at the smart, snazzy office chicks. ‘I’m not giving any interviews. You know that, Bailey.’

‘Mr Bailey here thought I could help you,’ said Benny with a Cockney accent that didn’t seem to go with his LA tan and designer-label threads. He placed a voice recorder on the table. ‘In case I need to remind myself of any crucial points later.’

‘Turn that thing off. You’ve got one minute to explain why you’re here or you’re out of here.’

‘Calm down, my dear,’ said her flustered solicitor.

‘It’s like this, Ducky.’ The experienced spin-doctor had taken Tuff’s measure and there was no way he’d let her get the better of him. Poor old Bailey could duck and dive trying to please her,
but Benny wasn’t going to allow her to treat him like a lackey. ‘At the moment you couldn’t find twelve people in the whole of England who don’t think you’re as guilty as sin. That’s why you need me. I’m the invisible man behind the news and I stop at nothing to rescue the reputation of my clients.’