Purgatory Read online

  6. All managers have a duty to ensure that their areas remain free from the display of any potentially offensive material. This applies to all areas, including offices, rest rooms and other ‘staff only’ areas.

  After two weeks of walking round the perimeter of Wayland prison, I can now spot evil, fear, helplessness and sadness at thirty paces. But even I am puzzled by a crouching man who always sits alone in the same place every day, huddled up against the fence. He can’t be much more than thirty, perhaps thirty-five, and he rarely moves from his solitary position. I ask Darren about him.

  Tragic,’ he says. ‘Alistair is one of your lot - public school, followed by university, where he graduated as a heroin addict. If he doesn’t kick the habit, he’ll be in prison for the rest of his life.’

  ‘How can that be possible?’ I ask.

  ‘Simple. He regularly gets caught injecting himself, and always ends up with a few more months being added to his sentence. In fact, even on the day he was sent down, he was found with a needle in his arm. Somehow, and it must have been before the judge passed sentence or soon after he was taken down, he managed to stuff a needle covered in cellophane, a plunger and ten grams of heroin wrapped in a condom up his backside. He then took a laxative so that he could empty his bowels as soon as he arrived at Belmarsh, Once they’d banged him up that evening - and don’t forget there’s a lavatory in every cell - he injected himself with heroin and passed out. At the nine o’clock flap check the night officer found him lying on the floor with a needle stuck in his arm and several grams of heroin sprinkled on the floor beside him. He must be one of the few prisoners who has managed to have time added to his sentence before breakfast the following morning.’

  I look at the tragic, hunched-up figure and wonder if prison is the right answer.

  6.00 pm

  Supper. I can’t remember what I eat, but I do recall finding two extra cartons of milk on my window sill. Sergio is exercising his authority as the new No. 1 on the hotplate.

  DAY 38 - SATURDAY 25 AUGUST 2001

  ‘Bien, gracias,y to?’

  ‘No, tu, tu, tu.’

  ‘Tu, tu, tu:

  ‘Bueno. We must meet later today,’ Sergio adds, ‘for another lesson.’ At least ten prisoners standing in the queue, and three officers behind the hotplate, assume I am simply learning Spanish, as we have no wish for them to find out what we’re really up to. But more of that later.

  5.11 am

  I wake and think about how I would be spending the August bank holiday weekend if I were not in prison. I also begin to consider whether there are any advantages to being in jail. Certainly, incarceration is something to be added to one’s experiences, particularly as it has come at a period in life when I felt I was marking time. I’ve also had to stretch myself - unfortunate pun. But I’ve already reached a stage where I am gaining little from the experience. As I could be stuck here for a while longer, it might be wise to have an escape plan - escape of the mind.

  I’ve already completed Belmarsh: Hell, and have penned 44,000 words of Wayland: Purgatory. I can’t wait to get to heaven, whenever and wherever that might be.

  8.15 am

  ‘Buenos dias,’ I say to Sergio as he passes me a boiled egg and a slice of toast.

  ‘Buenos dias,’ he repeats. ‘Como estas tu?’

  I concentrate.’ Yo estoy bien, gracias.’

  ‘Bien, gracias, y tu?’

  10.00 am

  Gym. I complete a full programme for the first time since being convicted. I’ve lost over half a stone and feel a lot fitter.

  I’m about to take a shower when Mr King tells me that the governor wants a word. I’ve so far seen three people who claim the title of governor, and none of them has been Ms Cawley, the No. 1 governor. Am I about to meet her? No. On this occasion it’s a Mr Greenacre, whom I’ve also never come across before. He informs me, ‘You will be receiving a visit from a senior officer at Belmarsh’ - surely they can’t be sending me back there, is my first reaction - ‘as they are investigating the theft of a chapter of your book.’ You will recall that Trevor Kavanagh of the Sun, doyen of political editors, returned those stolen seven pages to Mary. He is well aware of the law of copyright.

  It is clear that the culprit must have been an officer as no prisoners at Belmarsh have access to a photocopier. No one else could have unlocked my cell door, removed the script, photocopied and returned it and then sent a copy on to the Sun.

  Of course, the deputy governor is only going through the motions. They have no way of finding out which officer was hoping to make a quick buck. The problem the Prison Service is facing is that Trevor will never reveal his source.

  Back to the visitor from Belmarsh. Mr Greenacre tells me to expect a senior security officer to interview me on Tuesday morning, which means that, with luck, I’ll miss pottery. I’ll brief you fully next Tuesday.

  11.00 am

  Exercise. My legs are still aching from the gym session, so I find it quite hard to maintain the pace of Jimmy (twenty-nine) and Darren (thirty-five) as they march round the perimeter of the jail, but I’m damned if I’m going to admit it. They are chatting away about an unusual use of mirrors. Every cell has a five-by-five-inch steel mirror screwed to the wall. Jimmy is telling us about two West Indian prisoners who between them raised enough money to purchase a ghetto blaster and a pair of loud speakers. He describes how they went about arranging to listen to the same music in two different cells.

  The first prisoner levered his thin steel mirror off the wall and inserted a coil of wire through one of the tiny holes in a corner. Every evening, after the nine o’clock flap check, he would slip the mirror under his door, then in one movement, slide it across the corridor until it reached the door opposite. After a few days, he could perform this skill as proficiently as any basketball player dunking a ball through a hoop.

  The second prisoner then took the wire and attached it to his speaker so that both men could listen to the same music emanating from one source. Ingenious but - I’m told by anyone who lived within a mile of the jail - unnecessary, because on a still evening you could have danced to the music in Freiston town hall.

  12 noon

  Lunch. England are 200 for 3 and putting up a spirited fight. During the lunch interval I visit Sergio in his cell. He wastes no words, immediately informing me that he has spoken to his brother in Bogota. He always sounds like a man who has only ten units left on his phonecard. Of course, he may turn out to be a con man who has no intention of trying to find a Botero.

  In any case nothing can be done until Sergio has completed his sentence. He is due to be deported on 27 September, a month from today, by which time we expect to have worked out a plan to purchase a Botero. Win or lose, I’ll keep you briefed.

  3.00 pm

  I have my hair cut by Matt (arson for insurance, failed to convince Cornhill or the jury, and was sentenced to three years). Matt has the reputation of being the best barber in the prison. In fact several prison officers also have their hair cut by him. In his last prison, while serving time for a previous offence, Matt enrolled on a hair-styling course, so now he’s a semi-professional. He has all the proper equipment, and within moments of sitting on a chair in the corridor outside his cell, I’m in no doubt about his skill. I need to look neat and tidy for Friday, when Mary and William hope to visit me again. I haven’t forgotten that Mary commented on the length of my hair when she last came to Wayland.

  When Matt’s finished the job he even produces a second mirror so I can see the back of my head. He’s not Daniel Hersheson, but for ten units of a phonecard he’s a pretty good imitation.

  6.00 pm

  At close of play England are 314 for 8 after a gritty 124 not out by Ramprakash assisted by Gough, who was clinging in there helping to avoid another follow on. The two of them enter the pavilion needing another 31 runs to make Australia bat again.

  A couple of years ago Darren Gough asked me to conduct the auction at his London testimonial di