The Good Life (17 page)

The only good thing to come out of it, and what she consoled herself with every night, was the fact that now her son would grow up outside the world of villainy. That at least gave her some comfort.

Molly had taken the turn of events very badly, as had Jenny’s own mother. Jenny, to all outward appearances, was stoic – at least in public anyway. Alone, she mourned for the man she loved more than her own life.

But it was Caroline who had hurt Cain the most. She had stood in evidence against him accusing him of threatening her, beating her, dumping his child and forcing her to take part in different nefarious activities. It was well-planned and complete bullshit. To cap it all, she had finally signed the divorce papers, claiming she had no desire to be tied to a ‘violent criminal’ and that she would do everything to shield her son from such a father. Caroline had her five minutes in the spotlight and was given the opportunity to pay her husband back for leaving her for the woman he loved more. Of course, that was the one thing Caroline could never rewrite – he had loved her more. It was still eating away at Caroline like a cancer and Jenny was well aware it always would. That was at least small consolation for her – it was what had kept her going through these times.

Jenny’s real fear was for Cain. He was looking at twenty-five years behind the door, and that was a long time. She was twenty-five now and she would be at least fifty by the time she could hold him once more in her arms. At least she was on the outside and could still have a life of sorts, but his would be a Grade-A, top-security existence. It would mean the police coming to her home after she had sent a photograph of herself in to prove that she was who she said she was. It would mean being searched and being treated like a criminal. It would mean twenty-five years of short visits and trying to keep some kind of life going for them even though they were so far apart. It would mean her son growing up knowing of his father’s incarceration, and only seeing him when the visiting orders allowed.

She felt the sting of tears and hastily wiped them away. Whatever happened she was determined to keep her family together, and she would stand by her man. She had experienced the Good Life. Now it was time to pay the price – the price she had always believed would one day be demanded from them. Cain had laughed at her when she used to worry about it, but it had been true. You couldn’t have too much, it was wrong – it flew in the face of God. At least, that’s what she believed. And she knew that her priest did too.

She had gone back to the church during the trial, and prayed to God for guidance. Molly had been pleased, she had always been a religious woman. Molly was so strong; she joked that Mary Magdalene had been a whore, so Jesus couldn’t be that against women of the horizontal persuasion. Against her better judgement, even Jenny had laughed at that one. Molly was such a firebrand, and she was glad she had her in her life. Jenny knew she was going to need her as the years wore on.

She finally climbed into her bed and, as always, she had laid one of Cain’s shirts on the pillow beside her. She could still smell his scent and it gave her a great feeling of peace. It would be so long before they could lie side by side once more. She often tormented herself remembering him making love to her and how wonderful it had all been. It was strange that even when they had accused Cain of torture, of murder, of every heinous crime they could think of, she had never once doubted her love for him, even though she had believed some of it.
That
Cain had been a different man to the one who came home to her at night. Her Cain had been a loving and gentle man who adored her and adored his son. That would be the Cain she remembered, the man she would educate her son about. The man she would wait for and who would always be the love of her life.

She pulled the shirt towards her and buried her nose in his smell. She felt the sting of hot tears at the waste of a life, and the waste of time before she could hold him again. Like Cain, she cried for what was, and what could have been. Like Cain, she wondered deep down if their love could survive all those years to come. It was a frightening thought, but she had to acknowledge it, even as she hated herself for a moment’s doubt. She was still a young woman, and that was something she couldn’t change, no matter how much she might want to.

He had more or less told her to go and make another life for herself, that he would understand, but she couldn’t leave him. The idea frightened her. She shook the bad thoughts away, sat up in her bed and lit herself a cigarette. She smoked it in the darkness, listening to the traffic outside her window, picturing the man she loved alone, thinking about her just as she was thinking about him. He had given her the Good Life. And now she had to wait twenty-five years before she could have that Good Life given back to her.

She cried once more.

It’s the good life to be free
And explore the unknown
Like the heartaches when you learn
You must face them alone

‘The Good Life’

Music by Sacha Distel and lyrics by Jack Reardon

Prison was a strange place in many respects. The men who ended up there had only two choices: either get your head down and get through it, or fight the system for all you were worth. Cain Moran had decided on the former and it was working for him. He had enough creds to make sure he was left alone, and the circumstances of his sentencing were so outrageous that ninety-nine per cent of the villains incarcerated with him felt he had been done down. He had a natural ability to make people like him, and that was invaluable when you were banged up. It was a harsh regime, but he was managing; he lived day to day as that was the only way to really serve a big lump. It was the thought of his Jenny and Cain Junior that kept him going at his darkest moments.

The sheer monotony was the worst, especially as it encouraged some of the men who were inclined towards creating excitement just for excitement’s sake. Slights were carefully nurtured and brooded on for weeks before a final violent showdown would be demanded. It was easy in prison to lose your life for something so trivial it was not even worthy of consideration. Imagined offences or a piece of dope going missing could become major battles between two people who normally got on like the proverbial house on fire.

Cain was still in Parkhurst and he was on one of the two wings that held category prisoners. M Wing was the smaller of the two and Cain found it almost liveable, as they were out of their cells for most of the day. He was in there with a mixture of terrorists, murderers and high-stakes bank robbers. They even had a five-a-side football team which caused all sorts of rivalries. They had their own kitchen too and Cain was now an expert cook; he had found to his utter amazement that he actually liked to create meals for himself and, more often than not, he was serving up to the other men confined with him.

Best of all he had his own cell; it was a luxury he didn’t take for granted − he had paid enough for it. He could read whenever he wanted, and the screw who was supposed to turn out the lights at 8 p.m. was well paid to keep them on until late in the evening. He had a good radio too and, like most lifers, he had become a devotee of Radio 4; it was educational as well as uplifting for the men inside.

Cain Moran had made a life of sorts for himself despite the odds. He still had a lot of bird to do, but it was all about getting your head around the situation and making the best of it.

Some of the men on big lumps had cut ties with their wives or girlfriends, believing that they would do their time easier without the worry of who was now doing the dirty with the woman they loved. It was a sad but inevitable fact of life for a lot of the men. They understood it was tough on the outside too. They just didn’t want to be the ones to be dumped by a woman who loved them and had their kids, but needed human touch on a daily basis. They couldn’t get that from an hourly visit in a room watched over not just by other prisoners but by the screws as well. It was a hard life for a woman whose husband was banged up; they suffered even though they had done nothing wrong.

Jenny had been a star − she still loved him unconditionally. Cain wished that the British penal system was like the American one, where conjugal visits were encouraged to keep families together. He missed the feel of her and her touch more and more every day, and he knew she felt the same. At the back of Cain’s mind there was always the worry that she would be snapped up before he made it out. She was still a beautiful woman, and she was also a woman who needed loving, and needed that loving often. It was bittersweet to remember how much she had enjoyed their lovemaking, and how much he had enjoyed it too. The only thing he was glad of was the fact he had never once done the dirty on her. He had often quoted the old Paul Newman saying: ‘Why go out for a hamburger, when I can have a steak at home?’ He had really believed that and he still did. He wished he could have married her all those years ago when Cain Junior had been born. But Caroline had put paid to that. It had taken pulling a lot of strings, and a significant amount of time of ‘good behaviour’ but he finally had the green light to marry his Jenny and give her his name. That they would be married in the prison chapel wasn’t ideal, but it was something they both wanted more than anything. He pretended to the other inmates that it was all for her, but inside he was overjoyed he would have a legal claim on her finally.

While thoughts of Jenny and Cain Junior comforted him, his thoughts of Johnny Mac plagued him, broke into his dreams and upset his peace of mind. The fact that no one believed that he had been fitted up for his murder was what really rankled with Cain. Everyone knew that, as bad as he was, he could no more have harmed Johnny Mac than he could have harmed his own child. But there was nothing he could do to right that wrong − not banged up in here anyway − plus his priority now was to keep Jenny and Cain safe, and if that meant he had to keep his head down and do his time, he would do it for them.

He walked into the kitchen − or two cells that had been knocked into one and fitted out; it was a shithole but better than nothing. He opened the fridge and took out a large pack of minced beef. He was going to cook everyone on the wing spaghetti Bolognese − it was a favourite of the men − and he was going to make garlic bread and, for a few of the diehard Northerners, hand-cut chips to go with it.

Cain liked this time of day. It was late afternoon, and the knowledge that another day was nearly over was a good feeling for most. It was another twenty-four hours closer to getting out. Not that any of them talked about that, of course, but it was always on their minds. Even something as mundane as cooking was a pleasure when it utilised your time, and helped you get through another few hours.

Cain started to pull out the pots and pans needed when a PO came into the kitchen with a carrier bag. He opened it and took out a bottle of Scotch, three litre bottles of red wine and, with a flourish, a bottle of grappa.

Cain grinned and put the bottles under the sink. ‘Well done, my old son. Fucking grappa will go down well!’

The man grinned in agreement. He was a friendly screw − which meant he could be bought − and it was things like that which made this place easier to bear. He was paid on the outside so that no money changed hands on the actual premises. It was the only way they could get alcohol or drugs inside; even if they didn’t search family members visiting, they couldn’t bring in enough drugs for the whole prison system − and they certainly couldn’t bring in alcohol. The POs were seen as whiter than white no matter what, but who gave a flying fuck, as long as they got what they wanted from them?

This particular PO was called Tommy West and he was a decent bloke who genuinely thought that the men locked up like they were for the long haul should have at least some form of recreation. He wasn’t a PO who believed that the men needed a second sentence; after all, the judge had already given them one and it was a harsh lesson. Tommy West felt that losing your liberty was punishment enough. He was a well-liked and well-respected man who did what he could to lighten the load. And, of course, for a price which paid for his own little luxuries. He made a point of doing his damndest to make the men inhabiting M Wing feel like they were still part of the human race.

‘Listen, Cain, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but there’s a new guy on his way in and, from what I have heard, he has paid out a lot to get on this unit.’

Cain felt the familiar hand of fear creeping up the back of his neck. He knew the prison jargon and he understood what this man was trying to tell him. All the same, he just smiled amiably. Cain Moran knew exactly how to play the game. He was getting a heads-up, and if this man was laying it on the line for him out of friendship, then it was important.

‘Who is that, then?’

Tommy West liked Cain Moran a lot. He thought he had been given a fucking hard sentence considering he had not done all the crimes he was convicted of. Cain Moran’s circumstances were very well known in the justice system. The general consensus was, the bigger you were, the harder your fall would be, and he had fallen big time.

‘It’s Jimmy Boy Banks’s kid. He’s after retribution for his old man, or so I hear.’

Cain Moran closed his eyes for a few seconds. This was the last thing he needed − a young, up-and-coming bruiser looking to gain a reputation. It wasn’t as if Jimmy Boy Banks had even had a second for any of his kids − by numerous women he would add. He had been known as a slag. He fucked them, gave them kids, and moved on. But this boy was willing to defend his father. It was laughable, but not unexpected. There had been a few youngsters over the years who had confronted him, hoping to make their reputation by giving Cain Moran a hammering. Well, he had hammered them first and shown them that it took more than willing to put a man down − especially a man like him.

‘When is he due in?’

Tommy sighed. ‘Tomorrow, late afternoon. He is being shipped from Durham. He’s paid a good wedge for this wing, but I felt you had a right to know.’