Something Quite Beautiful (6 page)

Warren sat opposite his friend and pushed his spoon into a pile of meat and vegetables, bound by a thick, grey gravy full of little bubbles which, on closer inspection, turned out to be globules of grease.

Keegan toyed with the spoon and laughed, ‘You must have a cast-iron gut, mate, I don’t know how you can eat this crap.’

‘You eat it too!’ Warren countered.

‘Yes, but the difference is you seem to enjoy it.’

Warren ignored his friend and piled his spoon high. ‘You should tuck in; one thing I can tell you is that it is much better hot than cold.’

‘I know. I’m just not that hungry. Something weird happened today...’

‘What?’ Warren barely lifted his eyes from his next mouthful of stew.

‘About midmorning, couple of Angelo’s thugs emptied Bo’s room. And I mean emptied, took everything, loaded all his stuff into a big black bag, clothes, toothbrush and all, why would they do that?’

Warren shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s moved rooms?’

Keegan smacked his forehead in mock realisation. ‘Oh yeah, silly me! He’s probably gone into the east wing so he’s got a better view of the pool!’

‘Ha ha, you know what I mean, another room, maybe his needs a repair or something.’

‘What other room, Binns? All the accommodation is on this one floor. No, he’s gone.
Gone.
If you get my drift.’

‘He’ll probably turn up; you know what they say about bad pennies...’

‘Do you think he’s in solitary?’ Keegan didn’t look at Warren as he spoke; unlike his friend, he had never experienced it.

‘Possible, but doubtful. That’s not what happens, you don’t take nothing with you, well, I didn’t and when you get out, you go back to your room, so all your stuff is pretty much as you left it.’

Warren remembered waking in the middle of the second night, lying on the bare floor of that metal box in the pitch black. He held his hand up in front of his face, but couldn’t see anything. Then he placed his hand over his face, and it petrified him—he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that it was his own hand. He screamed and placed his arms by his side. His thoughts wandered. Was this his coffin? Was he dead? Of course not, because he was thinking and aware; he could feel the cold wall where it touched his bare skin, and the droplets of condensation that dripped onto his face from the shallow roof. Or maybe he was dead and this was hell. It certainly felt like hell. Maybe he was destined to pay forever for taking a life, and this was how he would spend eternity: trapped without light, without noise and punished by his own imaginings, a brain whirring with thoughts that he couldn’t switch off. Warren shivered and tried to rid his mind of the memory.

Keegan was still talking. ‘And I’ll tell you who else has gone AWOL, you know the sobbing Irish bloke?’

‘Who, Holy Joe? He’s a top man, in a couple of my classes.’

‘Yep, him, he used to go on and on didn’t he, crying over who was looking after his
poor motherless kids
’ —Keegan did his best Irish accent— ‘all that praying to God for one more glimpse of his daughter’s face, he used to drive me mad! Well, him, think about it, when’s the last time you saw him around?’

Warren thought. ‘I haven’t thought about him til you mentioned it, but it must be a couple of weeks since I saw him last.’

‘Exactly. I walked past his room earlier, and there’s a new kid in there, no trace of Holy Joe, nothing. There’s something up, Binns, and I don’t want to sound like Bo, but I don’t think either of them are coming back any time soon.’

‘Oh shut up, Keegan, if you start believing that crap, there’s no hope for any of us!’ Warren threw his spoon down onto his tray, his appetite gone.

Keegan looked his friend in the eye. ‘I’m just saying we need to be careful, that’s all.’

Henry was walking along the dinner bench as if to join them. He jumped down behind Warren with a thud. ‘Have you heard?’

‘About Bo?’ Warren asked without thinking.

‘Bo, no, why? What’s wrong with him?’

Warren shrugged, regretting having mentioned it. Henry continued unfazed. ‘Nope, about Marcus, the kid a couple of doors down from me.’

Keegan and Warren stared at Henry, waiting for the story but unsure whether, if it came from Henry’s lips, it should be discounted.

‘He’s only gone and topped himself.’

4

Keegan and Warren sat side by side on a narrow wooden bench in the communal atrium just as they had done twice a week for the last eighteen months. It was Free Time, which meant that they were free to wander the atrium, or free to sit in their rooms. It wasn’t much of a choice. To the right of them, a game of basketball was in full flow, scrutinised as always by the watchful eyes of the security guards, and the cameras that blinked in every corner and on every post. The pair watched the action in silence as the ball bounced back and forth between two teams of five men, swooping and ducking as their trainers squeaked on the shiny surface. Officially, anyone could participate, but the standard was so high that it deterred any but the most athletic from volunteering their services. Both men sporadically turned their faces towards the covered glass roof; it was the closest they would get to fresh air. It was a moment of calm before the storm.

Keegan spotted him first. ‘Oh God, here comes Hooray, where can we hide?’

Warren, as ever, had sympathy for the underdog. ‘He’d seek you out wherever you went. He’s alright though—not like us, granted, but not any harm. I feel a bit sorry for the bloke, I can’t imagine he fits in anywhere.’

‘You
are
turning into my Nan! And the reason he doesn’t fit in anywhere is because he is a complete and utter dickhead.’

‘Hey, Bros!’ Henry appeared with a book in one hand and the other raised in the high-five position. They both declined the offer of a slap on the palm, and Warren visibly cringed. Keegan laughed as if Henry had more than proved his point.

‘Still with us, Hooray?’ Keegan winked at Warren. How long it would take before Hooray finally lost his marbles was a regular topic of conversation.

‘Yep, all present and correct, just doing my thing, hanging out. Who’s a complete and utter dickhead?’

‘Oh, one of the guards.’ Keegan smirked, he hadn’t realised Henry was close enough to hear.

‘What are you reading?’ Warren used the question as a diversion tactic.

‘It’s
The Anglers Guide to River Fishing
.’ Henry held up the cover, on which a large salmon jumped in an elegant arc, diamond droplets of water glinting from his pearlescent scales.

Keegan laughed. ‘Well, that’ll be useful in here, did they not have one on bird watching?’

‘Ha! Funny man and talking of birds, I want a word with you, Binns!’

‘Oh, er, right. Fire away—although I should warn you I don’t know much about birds.’

‘No, that’s the one class you’re not taking right?’ Keegan grinned. ‘Wildlife studies? He’s taking everything else though, he’s a proper swot!’

Warren shook his head. It was pointless trying to convince Keegan to enrol on anything, he had given up trying over a year ago now.

‘Ah, but I do not, in fact, refer to the feathered variety.’ Henry clarified.

‘Well, in that case, you must want to talk to me, cos when it comes to the fairer sex, I am more of an expert than Binns.’ Keegan laughed.

‘Thank you for the offer, Keegan, but its Warren I need to speak to. The question I have for you is this: who’s Amy?’

Warren felt his pulse quicken.
How the hell…?
He shrugged, hoping his silence would be enough to shut Henry up. It wasn’t.

‘Come on man spill the beans—sharesy is fairsy. All we have in here is the joy of talking about it, so give!’

‘I dont know what you’re talking about.’ Warren turned his attention back to the game of basketball, motioning to Henry to move aside and stop blocking his view.

 Henry wasn’t done. ‘You are not getting out of it that easily. I walked past your room yesterday and peeked in, you were kipping like a baby and you started moaning, then… drum roll please... you called out
Amy
! Lucky, lucky Binns, I thought. I hope Amy is as good as he is making her sound. We could all do with a little slice of Amy around here, if you get my drift.’

The flash of crimson behind Warren’s eyes clouded his view and his judgement. Fists clenched, he leapt on Henry, who screamed as he hit the floor with a bone-shattering crack. The guards appeared immediately, and by the time anyone realised what was happening, Warren was flat on the floor, his arms and legs bound with plastic cable ties that bit into his flesh and Henry, groaning loudly and clutching at his shoulder, was being carted off to the sanatorium on a stretcher, his arm hanging limply at his side at an odd angle. His book lay abandoned on the floor. Warren’s breath came in shallow pants.
How dare he, how fucking dare he?
He was vaguely aware of Keegan’s voice telling anyone that would listen that he had been provoked.

‘Henry started it, I saw everything! Warren’s not a scrapper, he’s my mate! Henry’s been asking for it, really winding him up for a long time now, in fact since we arrived. Any man would have done the same I swear! Warren ain’§t that sort, please, just let him calm down here, we can sort this out, there’s no need to take it any further. He’s my mate, please...’

Warren bucked and twisted, trying to loosen the ties at his wrists and ankles but the more he pulled the deeper they cut. He listened to the tone of Keegan’s voice and couldn’t place the emotion. It was only later, as he lay, still bound, on his bed and replayed the scene in his head, that he realised his friend had sounded frightened.

Warren was woken by the sound of his door being slid open. His eyelids were heavy, his head pounded and he felt exhausted. He had lost all sense of time; he might have been confined to his cell for minutes or hours.

Angelo stood in the doorway. ‘Let’s get you up, Binns. Someone wants a word with you.’ He snipped the plastic ties and Warren lay for a minute, allowing the blood to flow back into his limbs. His whole body shook at the thought of going back into solitary. He didn’t know if he could hack it. He closed his eyes, fighting the desire to beg, knowing it made little difference, not now it had been escalated. What was it Bo said
, I’ve been here since the beginning and I’m telling you my friend, that for all her cool politeness and fancy shirts, Justice is a cold, cold bitch...

‘Should I bring anything with me?’ For some reason, an image of Bo’s belongings in a black bin liner flashed into his mind.

‘You won’t be needing anything.’

Warren felt his bowel spasm and fought hard to control the desire to relieve himself. It was his turn to be frightened. Suddenly the idea of solitary did not seem so bad; he guessed that there were things at Glenculloch that were far, far worse.

He pulled on his bright blue tracksuit bottoms and matching jacket. He looked in the small rectangular mirror over his sink and raked his hair with his fingertips. The purple bruises on his knuckles stood out, marking him as an aggressor, he could only think what this might mean. His heart beat loudly in his ears.

Clad in the usual restraints for arms and legs, Warren followed Angelo’s slow progression to the Principal’s office in something like a trance, his teeth chattering and his legs swaying as if with a will of their own. The adrenalin of the encounter with Henry had subsided, leaving him weakened, reflective and strangely tearful.

Angelo knocked on the door and entered. The Principal sat behind her desk with a silver pen in her hand.

‘Thank you, Angelo; you may remove Mr Binns’ ironwear.’

Angelo sat him in a chair and unlocked his handcuffs and leg-irons, before leaving him alone with the Principal. Warren didn’t want him to go, figuring that at least with a witness, she was unlikely to harm him. Her words from his induction day nearly two years earlier floated into his mind:
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.
This is where they would do it. Warren gulped.

It felt like an age before she placed the pen on the desk and spoke. ‘Are you afraid of me, Mr Binns?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I am... Ma... Mrs... Principal.’ His teeth shook in his gums. Warren did not want to die.

She leant back in her chair and studied him. ‘It’s good that you are afraid, to know fear is what allows us to know peace. The fear of the fear can keep it at bay.’

He had no idea what this meant, but nodded nonetheless.

‘How is your hand? It looks rather nasty.’

Warren looked at the grape-like lumps on his knuckles; he flexed his swollen fingers, which throbbed.

‘It’s okay. Thank you, it looks worse than it is.’

She breathed deeply. ‘Is there anything you would like to say to me, Mr Binns?’

Warren looked at his feet and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry about what happened in the atrium. I’m really sorry. It all happened so quickly. He went too far, he did, but I know what he’s like; I should have walked away, cooled off or something. I’ve known him since day one and I shouldn’t have resorted to violence, I know that’s not the answer. I should have just walked away. Is Henry alright, did I hurt him? His shoulder looked pretty messed up.’

Edwina Justice did not respond to his question, it was as if Warren hadn’t asked. ‘You are right; you should not have resorted to violence.’

Warren stared at his feet.

The Principal sat upright in her chair as though this required her full attention. ‘I would like you to tell me about the murder you committed and I would like you to give me a bit of background as to why. Can you do that?’

He nodded.

She gestured towards him with her palm, inviting him to begin.

Warren took a deep breath. He didn’t know where to start. It wasn’t easy to talk about this stuff, and he had tried to bury certain details, many of which had resurfaced earlier with Henry’s words.

‘It’s hard to know how to start really, Ma’am.’

‘I’m sure it is, but please do try.’ Her voice was clipped and matter-of-fact, as if she was asking for his address rather than forcing him to pick open the stitches on a painful wound and relive the agony of that day, that moment.