Chapter 2
Two
No more pale grey prison clothing. That should have made Newt at least a little happy, but he felt and looked…
wrong, and that wasn’t because the clothes were clearly the cheapest the prison service could provide.
Despite having asked him for his size, the jeans hung loose on his hips, the blue T-shirt was a couple of sizes too large, ditto with the underwear.
Jim Burton, his personal officer, had handed them to him this morning with a smirk on his face.
Not hard to guess he knew they’d be too big.
He just wanted a reaction and he wouldn’t get one.
The socks and grey trainers Newt had on were what he usually wore, so at least they fit. He could have purchased clothes to wear on discharge, but instead, he’d asked for them to be provided. He wouldn’t waste his money on items he didn’t intend to wear beyond today.
Burton collected Newt from his cell. Newt carried a navy sweatshirt and a grey jacket—both XL rather than the medium he’d requested—along with a paper bag holding the few things he wanted to keep after seven years’ incarceration.
Notebooks, pencils, paperwork, a few books, including one he couldn’t bear to part with about the Romans, and his toiletries.
Now he was waiting for Burton to complete the discharge process. Newt suspected he’d drag it out.
Burton opened the door of the office and pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
Newt took a seat at the table and Burton dropped down opposite.
For the last three years, Burton had been his main point of contact in HMP Sherbourne, the adult prison in Leeds that Newt had been transferred to when he was twenty-one.
Burton didn’t much like him. He didn’t much like Burton.
Then again, Newt made no effort to be liked or disliked.
He kept himself to himself, kept his head down and didn’t talk unless he absolutely had to.
But sometimes trouble found him. Even if you behaved yourself there was always some arsehole who wasn’t happy.
When you’re surrounded by Spice-addicted inmates, the mentally ill and the downright vicious, it didn’t take much for trouble to kick off.
Newt had managed to stay clear of most of it. Sometimes by the skin of his teeth.
“Are you listening, Walsh?” Burton snapped.
Newt nodded, twisting his fingers together under the table. It irritated him that he was still called Walsh, though not for much longer.
“Your driving licence, discharge grant and travel warrant.” Burton pushed them across the table.
“You can exchange the warrant for a ticket at the station.” He put cash and several forms in front of Newt.
“Your card and PIN for the bank account you set up. Once you activate the card, you can use the account. You requested part of your money in cash. Sign here to acknowledge you asked for it at your own risk.”
Newt signed. Then blinked at the amount it said was in his account. “It should be more than that.”
“Confiscated towards your debt.”
What the fuck? Hadn’t they found his supposed share of the robbery under his bed? But there was nothing he could do.
“Sign here to confirm you don’t want the clothes you came in with.”
A seventeen-year old’s tartan pyjamas and trainers that had followed him through the system? Hell no. Newt signed.
“Anything you leave will be incinerated. Read and sign the release papers.”
Newt signed, signed, signed and copies were handed to him.
He slipped them into his paper bag. He needed to change the address on his driver’s licence once he had somewhere permanent to live.
He’d already changed his name. He’d applied to the prison service for a legal name change and though he’d been told it wouldn’t happen, eventually they’d agreed.
From Newt Walsh to Newt Jones. Newt had picked one of the most common surnames in the UK, though he knew it wouldn’t keep him safe from discovery if his family wanted to find him. He hoped they didn’t.
“Can’t say it’s been a pleasure,” Burton said. “Even when you did as you were told, you always had that defiant look about you.”
Newt wasn’t defiant. He was resigned, pragmatic and cautious, a stay-under-the-radar guy.
“Go straight to your new accommodation and make sure you learn the rules. Remember you’re on licence until the end of your sentence.
You can be recalled to custody at any point during this period.
Don’t miss the appointment with your probation officer.
And learn how to fucking talk like a normal human being. What do you have to say?”
Newt forced out, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“We’re done. Now you can bugger off.” Burton pushed to his feet.
Newt put everything in his bag and followed him.
Part of him couldn’t believe this day had finally come.
He’d not allowed himself to get excited because he knew how fast things could change inside.
Some unintended or fictitious slight could result in an item being planted on him, or an altercation set up around him just because some powerful inmate felt like messing with him just to show he could.
But now Newt could almost taste freedom and his pulse raced.
He’d already applied for Jobseekers Allowance and had a place to stay, temporarily at least. It had been made clear that help was limited because he had a conviction for a violent offence.
Discharging a handgun was a big deal. Newt wanting to move south was a problem.
Without a local connection, many organisations wouldn’t offer help.
It had taken a while to find a place that would.
As soon as he’d settled, he’d go to the local library.
They’d have computers he could use. He’d sign up for a training course.
Internet access was required for most jobs and Newt was sure his old email would have been deactivated long ago.
He followed Burton through several locked doors until they reached the final exit.
Then he put on the sweatshirt and jacket.
As he suspected, they swamped him. Newt’s heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d actually believe he was free until he stepped through the last gate and no hand reached out to drag him back.
The door opened and Newt could see the outside world.
A car park, a road, vehicles, a few bare trees and a leaden grey sky.
It was cold. He wished it would snow. Stupid!
He was hardly dressed for this weather, let alone worse.
He’d been told the bus stop to get him to the station was the other side of the car park, though he’d decided to walk, just because he could. Then he changed his mind. The bus would be quicker and warmer, and he wanted prison a long way behind him. The bus it was.
“See you soon, Walsh,” Burton said at his ear.
Newt tensed. Burton was a dickhead but most of the other officers were fine.
He heard the door close behind him and he took his first deep breath of freedom.
Tainted city air, not the country air he’d have liked, but even so…
Burton wouldn’t be seeing him soon. There was no way Newt would end up back inside. He wasn’t going to put a foot wrong.
This was the first day of his life. Maybe not the life he’d wanted but now it was up to him how it all worked out.
The quietness struck him the most. Not so far away it was a cacophony of sound: threats, yells, laughs, screams, howls, sobs, whines.
And it never stopped. He took another deep breath, then strode across the car park.
A snowflake drifted down in front of him and he gave a short laugh.
Was he going to get everything he wanted from now on?
He’d let go of his anger about the way his family had treated him because if he hadn’t, he’d have grown more and more bitter and there would have been no end to the spiral.
He’d had no contact with any of them for the whole of the time he’d been locked up.
His choice. Newt had turned down every request to visit him.
Phelan had written regularly, but Newt had scrawled return to sender across every envelope.
He’d written to no one, phoned no one, refused to accept any messages, though sometimes some inmate would have something to tell him, words from Phelan passed through the system.
Hard to do anything about that apart from not show a reaction.
“Newt! Newt!”
Oh fuck. Newt looked round and clenched his teeth. His father and Sean were a few steps behind him. Shit. Newt carried on walking, but Sean ran to cut him off.
“We’ve come to take you home,” Sean said.
Home? Are you fucking kidding me? He’d never had a home. Not what a home was supposed to be like. How did they even know he was getting released today? Newt tried to keep walking but his father grabbed the shoulder of his jacket and jerked him to a halt.
“Stop being such a fuckwit,” his father snapped.
“We want to make things right,” Sean said. “For Phelan’s sake.”
They couldn’t make things right. How could they give back the seven years he’d spent inside? How could they take away all the obstacles he was going to face? Whatever they had to say, Newt didn’t want to hear it.
“Mum wants to see you,” Sean said.
He doubted it. The snow came down more heavily. It was pretty and they were spoiling it.
“Stop messing around and get in the fucking car,” his father ordered.
Sean grabbed the paper bag from Newt’s arms and Newt lunged to get it back.
It ripped, but the moment he had it secure, he ran back towards the prison.
Although running fast didn’t come as easily as it once had.
There was no running behind bars. Running meant trouble either behind or ahead of you.
It drew attention. Sean caught hold of him and Newt found himself tumbling down onto the ground, his possessions scattering.
Sean pressed his face down, grinding his cheek in the wet tarmac.