Heartless (12 page)

Chapter Seventeen

The rain lashed down, causing Nessa’s knitted dress and long black coat to cling to her skin. She was drenched, but up until now had been completely oblivious to the pouring rain. The irony that ‘the heavens had opened’ on today of all days was not lost on her. She felt utterly numb after everything that had happened in the past week.

She held her breath, motionless as she watched her son’s coffin as it was lowered into the muddy grave.

Glancing behind her, she saw Albert dutifully holding an umbrella up just above Kaitlin’s head, shielding her from the rain as he huddled closely next to her beneath its cover. Albert had been a blessing to Nessa that week; she was so grateful to him for all he had done to help support her. She would have been lost without him keeping everything together like he had. Looking over to Kaitlin, Nessa saw that her daughter-in-law’s eyes were vacant in her gaunt face. Kaitlin had been in this trance-like state ever since she had first been informed of her husband’s murder and her daughter’s arrest. Nessa wondered if Kaitlin was even aware that she was attending her husband’s funeral.

“Earth to Earth, ashes to ashes...” Nessa heard the priest say as she turned back to the grave and shifted her concentration to the casket as it reached its final resting place deep down in the dark hole in the ground.

Jamesie hadn’t been a popular man, and Nessa was glad that the service was being held privately. The only other people that would have attended other than herself, Kaitlin and Albert, if they had the chance, would have been the local busybodies and the press, and they would have only been there to add fuel to the gossip.

Nessa didn’t have the time or the energy for any more questions. The press had hounded them like a pack of hungry wolves, greedy for any little titbit on offer regardless of whether it was true or false.

Since Jamesie’s murder, Nessa’s life had been turned completely upside down. She had tried her hardest to remain strong throughout all of it; God knows her daughter-in-law needed her more than ever right now, and having to be strong for someone certainly had helped her to stay focused. Poor Kaitlin was not coping. Jamesie’s death had been such a shock for all of them, but it had knocked the wind out of Kaitlin more than anyone. The woman was already hooked on pills, and Nessa wasn’t convinced that they weren’t doing her more harm than good. Kaitlin was popping them like there was no tomorrow and still she seemed to be unable to function coherently. Nessa was worried about the woman but she was willing to take one step at a time, they could deal with that issue later.

Nessa knew that before all that they had worse to come. Having buried her husband she knew from experience that the funeral was purely a milestone in the grieving process, and once they managed to get through today, they would have to then face tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that. Those were going to be the hardest days. They were the days when the reality of the situation would sink in. Christ only knew how they were going to get through it, Nessa thought sadly as she looked down at the wooden coffin.

“Shall I take Kaitlin back to the car?” Albert asked, as he placed his hand gently on Nessa’s shoulder when the service had finished.

Her eyes transfixed on the raindrops bouncing off the coffin’s lid, Nessa answered: “Yes, if you don’t mind, Albert. I’d just like a few more minutes.”

Albert nodded understandingly, before he carefully guided an unresponsive Kaitlin back to the shelter of the awaiting funeral car.

As the rain continued to pour, and puddles started to form on the ground around the gravestones, the priest made his way over to where Nessa stood.

“I just want to say how sorry I am for your loss, Mrs O’Hagan. I’m sure that today has been very difficult for both you and your family,” the priest said sadly as he touched her arm compassionately. He was acutely aware that a funeral was never an easy time, especially for grieving loved ones. But the funeral of someone who had been murdered, although thankfully rare, was even more difficult for people to cope with. “I hope that the strength that you possess deep within you will help you through your darker days.”

Nessa started to laugh then, all of the emotions that she had been suppressing suddenly surfacing as she let a loud cackle emanate from her mouth: she was aware that it probably made her sound almost deranged, but she didn’t care.

“Darker days? Oh, don’t you worry about me, Father. I’m only here because I wanted to make sure that the bastard was properly dead and buried.”

The shocked priest replaced his look of concern with one of disbelief.

“My son was evil right down to his bones. Today may be Jamesie’s funeral, Father, but my son has been dead to me for many years. He was a woman-beater, the shameful coward. My mother used to say that God pays back his debts without money, and Jamesie got exactly what was owed to him: I hope he rots in hell.”

Giving the grave one last look, she satisfied herself that Jamesie was where he belonged: six feet under. Nessa then turned on her heel and made her way to the car, leaving the priest standing alone and speechless.

Chapter Eighteen

“Undress and put your belongings in here. Officer Johnson will log down what’s there and you’ll get it all back when you leave,” the female prison officer said in an bored tone as she passed Dolly a plastic grey box to put her possessions in, all the while looking Dolly up and down like she was something hot and steamy that she had stepped in.

Flashing the officer a bold grin, Dolly tugged down her miniskirt and thong, letting them drop to the floor, before lifting her tight black lace top over her head to reveal pert breasts. “Getting a good look, are you?” Dolly asked sarcastically, as she stood there confidently in all her naked glory, wearing nothing but her sweetest smile and her customary pair of thigh-high black leather boots. Dolly stared at Officer Johnson challengingly; nothing had changed since Dolly’s last visit here, the woman was still a prize bitch. Finally the officer blushed and looked away, leaving Dolly feeling triumphant: no one intimidated her.

At twenty-three, Dolly had the tight little body that this frumpy old officer could only dream about. Look all you like, love, she thought to herself smugly as she slipped out of her boots and into a pair of grey cotton knickers that reminded her of something her grandma would wear. She pulled on the familiar prison attire of navy-blue jogging bottoms and a drab grey T-shirt; the outfit swamped her body but she instantly felt warm and cosy. Glad to be out of the uncomfortable six-inch heels she spread her bare feet out on the floor, the coldness from the tiles soothing.

“Right then, Dalton, I’m going to take you to your cell, where you’ll wait until you’re called by your personal officer. Follow me.”

Following the plump officer through the wing, Dolly felt like she had come home. The officer jangled her keys, unlocking each gate as she went. Walking past one cell, the smell of excrement and bleach hit Dolly. Glancing in, she saw a team of cleaning specialists in protective clothing. Judging by the smell, and the streaks which had been smeared up the walls, one of the inmates had carried out a dirty protest. Scrunching her nose up in disgust, she tried not to heave. Dolly could never understand how the only way to get a point across was to wipe shit and piss all over yourself and your cell.

This place never changed, she thought, as she took in the doom and gloom on the prisoners’ faces. She was in and out of here so often they may as well give her a key. Luckily, it was only short stints that she served and never for anything more serious than soliciting or getting caught with a bit of gear on her. However, her criminal record was rapidly growing into a list longer than her legs.

“Alright, Doll,” shouted one of the women who were playing pool noisily in the main corridor. “Fancied a bit of Hotel Holloway again, did you?”

“Yeah, the all-inclusive option was just too tempting.” Dolly smiled at the woman.

She knew loads of the ladies in here. She was popular because she treated them just as she did her punters. Smile and be polite and keep your private thoughts to yourself that was her motto. Dolly observed the group. The women were all laughing and joking as if they were best of friends; it looked cosy. But Dolly knew just how fickle people could be in here. They would be your best mate one minute and stab you in the back the next for just looking at them the wrong way: fake as fuck, the lot of them. Even the goody two-shoes housewives who found themselves banged up in here were full of surprises, and in fact they were the worst culprits. Dolly had seen it a hundred times over: while hubby and kids were both out of sight and mind, they were the ones who happily obliged in being ‘gay for the stay’. There was more sex going on in this place than in most brothels. Generally, the women got into relationships with other inmates more for survival than anything, often latching onto the stronger and more intimidating inmates for reassurance, hoping that they would have the security of having someone to watch their backs for the duration of their stay.

Dolly may be a hooker, but she would never sleep with a woman. Not for any amount of cash or security. She guessed that a bit of muff-diving was a small price to pay for protection, but it certainly wasn’t something that she was into. Besides, she didn’t need to; she was more than capable of looking after herself. But she did understand why some of the girls did it: prison could send you out of your mind if you didn’t have something to occupy your dark and lonely thoughts. Be it a relationship or a training course, anything to focus your attention was better than just staring at the grey grimy walls, enclosed with the sort of lowlife individuals that on the outside you’d cross the road to avoid, she thought.

“Here you are,” the officer said as she showed Dolly the tiny cell that would be her new home for the next three weeks. “O’Hagan, you’ve got company.”

Looking up from her book, Sophia eyed her new roommate.

“Lily Dalton, this is Sophia O’Hagan. That’s where you’ll be sleeping, Dalton.” The officer indicated the bed opposite Sophia’s. “Someone will be along shortly to take you to see your personal officer. I’ll leave you girls to play nicely.”

Sophia smiled at Dolly. Having spent the past eight years sharing a cell with just about every type of convict there was Sophia thought that this one didn’t look too bad. And she certainly couldn’t be any worse than the last one. Jackie bleeding Princeton had been a complete fruit loop. She had been convinced that she could hear voices that no one else was able to; this made her pull out chunks of her hair and bang her head against the wall. And the daytime had been even worse. She had regular psychotic episodes, often locking herself in the cell once she was alone and self-harming until someone took notice of her. Sophia had been relieved when the officers had worked out that girl wasn’t just the average attention seeker that you got in here, and she was finally moved to the segregation unit. Sophia had enjoyed having the cell to herself. The solitude didn’t bother her as much as it did other people.

“Lily, is it?” Sophia asked, wondering how old the girl was. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were in an adult prison Sophia would have guessed that she was only fifteen.

“They call me Dolly. The kids at school started it; I guess it just stuck. They used to say that I looked like a little doll. Drove me nuts, it did, but I’ve got used to it now. It’s better than Lily, anyway. Lily sounds like something posh birds would name their fanny, doesn’t it?” Dolly said, smiling. She sat down on her bed heavily, forgetting how thin the foam mattresses were.

Sophia smiled back: Dolly may look dainty but her appearance was clearly deceiving.

“Only got three weeks this time,” Dolly said. “I don’t know why they bothered. Think the Old Bill was getting bored of seeing my face in the back of their cars each week so they slung me in here for a bit. Don’t know why they think this is a punishment though. I’m glad of the bleeding break to be honest.”

Dolly saw prison as a welcome release from her daily grind. She also got to lay her head down at night without anyone pawing at her. It wasn’t the Hilton, but it was true what they said, a change was as good as a rest: especially in her line of work.

She had been pleasuring men for money since she was fourteen years old. And ‘pleasuring’ was putting it nicely. Some of the things she had been made to do had shocked her to the core when she had first started out. Even at just twenty-three years old, Dolly could safely say that she had probably just about seen and done it all.

“What’s that you’re reading?” Dolly motioned to the chunky book that her roommate held in her hand, guessing that she must be intelligent. “I flick through the glossies sometimes, if I get the chance. I can’t get enough of celebrity gossip. Don’t really read books, though.”

“Oh, this is my course notes: I’ve been learning cookery. Dab hand at it now, I am,” Sophia said, suddenly realising that she sounded like a swot. “You’ve got to do something while you’re in here or you’ll end up going mad.”

Dolly nodded. She knew from her previous stays in jail that this was true. The smart inmates kept themselves occupied by signing up for training schemes and education courses, but Dolly had no desire to join them: there was no point. An NVQ food preparation course would be as useful to her when she got out as a chocolate teapot.

“Don’t blame you, love. It’s too late for me to think about a change of career, but if I had my chance again I would have done the same. Don’t think I’d have been much of a chef, though, to be fair; my staple diet when I’m not in here is curry-flavoured pot noodles, and cheese and Piccalilli sandwiches. Hardly gourmet, is it? I wouldn’t know where to start cooking a slap-up meal. But good on you, though,” Dolly said with conviction.

Dolly wouldn’t wish what she did for a living on anyone. Her line of work was dark: she had been in some really nasty situations. Luckily, she was so popular with her long list of regulars now that she didn’t have to tout herself out to too many strangers anymore. But it was still hard graft. Some of her regulars were the type of blokes that only their mothers could love, and the only way they were ever going to get their leg over was to pay the premium for it. She had a few punters that wouldn’t have known hygiene if it smacked them in the face with a wet flannel. Even some of her older clients were hard work. She had lost count of the amount of men that she had lain down with that had a fixation with her looking so young and childlike, which was the main reason why she was so popular in the first place. The men liked their girls younger and younger these days. Without her makeup, she looked like a school girl and wearing a tiny school uniform pleased many of the punters. Some of the old dirty gits even got her to call them daddy when she wore it for them, before they held her head down and made her suck them off or straddled her roughly from behind while spanking her and telling her what a naughty little girl she was. But though some of the blokes were weird, they could have been a lot worse. She had been lucky so far with her clients. She’d had the odd punter here and there over the years that had got a bit too rough with her, teaching her the hard way that some men liked to get their kicks by beating and forcing themselves onto women. It was all part of the job. If Dolly had seen one filthy old pervert she had seen them all and, as long as they didn’t hurt her too much, she just got on with what she was paid to do. Being on the game was all she had ever known and, once she’d done her time in here, she’d be straight back out there flashing her clout to the highest bidder before the prison gates had even closed behind her.

Trevor would make sure of that.

“So, how long have you got left?” Dolly asked, as she kicked her legs against the side of the bed and looked around the room, brushing thoughts of Trevor quickly to the back of her mind. Scanning the cell for a glimpse at Sophia’s belongings so she could gauge some clues about the girl’s personality, Dolly noticed that other than a pile of books stacked up neatly on top of her locker Sophia’s cell was bare. She didn’t even have any posters on the wall.

“I’m getting out in two weeks,” Sophia replied.

“Lucky you. Have you been in here long?”

“Eight years.”

“Woo. Eight years is a bloody long time to be somewhere like here.”

“I got ten originally, two of them I was in a young offenders’ institute. And, you know, what with good behaviour and all that...” Sophia trailed off. She felt uncomfortable with the conversation. She hated people prying. She often had her head inside a book for that very reason. Seemingly too preoccupied to talk to anyone, people soon got the hint and generally just left her alone. That was how she liked it. She preferred the isolation that she had created, and wanted nothing more than just to blend in to the background and become invisible. Bitter about being in prison, she made sure that she distanced herself from the other inmates. They weren’t the same as her. They were guilty.

Eight years may have been better than the initial ten, but no amount of time could soften the fact that she was in prison for something that she hadn’t done. Eight years of her life had been stolen from her, and not one person, apart from her nan had listened nor cared when she had begged and pleaded that there had been a mistake. Every single person in prison claimed that they weren’t guilty; they all sung the same song. It infuriated Sophia because, unlike all the real criminals, she really was innocent, but she had given up protesting about it long ago as her pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Ten years? Phew, girl, you must have done something really bad to get yourself that kind of a stretch,” Dolly said, realising that she was probably over-stepping the line snooping into the girl’s private business. She couldn’t help it, though; Sophia looked as though butter wouldn’t melt and it was unusual to find that type in here. Dolly knew that she was pretty but Sophia, with her long red bouncy curls tumbling over her shoulders and her piercing green eyes, was stunning. Just by looking at the girl Dolly couldn’t imagine that she was capable of committing any kind of a crime; she seemed far too soft. It just goes to show, she thought to herself; it’s true what they say, you can never judge a book by its cover.

“I’m in here for murder. They said I brutally stabbed my... somebody, to death.” Sophia hoped the shock factor would cut the conversation dead.

Dolly heard the bitter tone in Sophia’s voice. “They said? So you’re innocent?”

“Yeah, I am; along with every other inmate in here.” Sophia placed her book in front of her face to make it clear that their chat was over. She couldn’t be bothered with the bullshit conversations in here anymore. She had given up insisting on her innocence a long time ago, so telling Dolly all about it now wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. Her new room-mate seemed okay but with just a couple of weeks left of her sentence Sophia wasn’t interested in having a heart-to-heart with the girl.

Dolly lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. She regretted giving Sophia the Spanish Inquisition. She couldn’t blame the girl for not wanting to talk about her crime; she hadn’t known her for more than five seconds. It was one of the unspoken rules in prison that you didn’t poke your nose into other people’s business.