Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Time spent in prison: three months
Anthony hadn’t adjusted to prison life. He couldn’t get past the incessant noise.
There was chattering, laughing, shouting, and it all echoed around the wide-open spaces of the communal areas.
Even at night, when everyone was locked in, the sounds continued; the opening and slamming of doors, the shouts from cell to cell.
He couldn’t sleep. He needed silence and darkness, and he couldn’t get used to hearing someone breathing and snoring in the same room as him.
Nigel Hogan was his cellmate, though calling him a mate was an overstatement: they had barely spoken two words to each other in the three months they’d been sharing a cell.
It was difficult to guess how old Nigel was, and Anthony hadn’t liked to ask him.
He was bald, thin, muscular, had tattoos on his neck and knuckles, and he never smiled.
He had a permanent scowl on his face and he never, ever, looked at Anthony.
A few times, Anthony had tried to talk to him. He always said good morning when they woke up and wished him a goodnight at lights out, but he didn’t get anything back in return. He was glad they spent their days apart as Nigel frightened him.
Anthony had asked if he could work in the prison library as he’d worked in a library on the outside, but the library was classed as a privileged job.
You had to earn the right to work in there.
For now, Anthony was on kitchen cleaning duties, and he spent his days washing the dishes after meals.
He didn’t enjoy it. The job was fine. He could stand at the sink, and he didn’t have to talk to anyone, but occasionally someone would bring him more dishes and cutlery, and they would purposely stab him in the back with a fork or hit him on the back of his hand with a spoon.
It hurt, but he’d learned the hard way not to say anything to the prison officers.
He kept his head down, he bit his lip, and he swallowed his tears.
Today was a day like any other. He ate his breakfast, had a very quick shower in which he tried to hide in the corner, away from the other men, but his size always gave him away, then he went to the kitchens where he was given the largest share of the breakfast pots of six hundred men to wash and dry.
By the time he was finished, it was almost lunchtime.
After his meals, he started again washing the plates, cups and knives and forks of six hundred men and a hundred staff.
At three o’clock, he was allowed a break. He went into the prison yard for half an hour for some exercise. Some of the men took the opportunity to do push-ups, jog, or kick a football around. Anthony hid himself in the corner, away from the others and took in the fresh air.
It was a warm day for mid-September. The sun was shining and there were just a few fluffy clouds in the sky.
He tried to think of what he would be doing today if he wasn’t in prison.
He quickly stopped thinking about life on the outside, as it made him sad, and he didn’t want to hear any more names and taunts about his crying.
He hadn’t received any post today. He had been expecting some, but none had come, unless it had gone missing again. That had happened a few times when his mum visited and asked if he’d received a package she’d sent.
For tea, he ate lukewarm sausages and lumpy mash with watered-down baked beans. Surprisingly, he enjoyed it. He then had to wash up for everyone and wipe down the tables ready for breakfast in the morning.
For the final hour before lock-up, he went into the recreation room.
He tried to watch TV, but there was too much noise in the background of people chatting, playing cards or pool.
He sat on the floor in the corner and watched the small screen.
It was never anything he would have chosen to watch had he been at home, but it helped to pass an hour.
Then it was time for lock-up. It was still light outside. It was strange to have to go to bed so early, but everyone walked back to their cell without comment.
Anthony went to the toilet and brushed his teeth. He asked Nigel if he’d had a good day and all he received in reply was a grunt.
Anthony climbed into bed. He pulled the thin blanket up beneath his chin. He turned over onto his side and put his fist into his mouth. He bit down hard. He didn’t want Nigel to hear him cry.
Today had been Anthony’s twenty-ninth birthday. It was the first of many he would spend away from home, away from his mum and Leo. He had received no cards, no presents, no visitors and he hadn’t been able to make any phone calls as his phone cards had been stolen from him.
This was his life now. He was alone. Completely alone.
He closed his eyes, but he didn’t go to sleep.
The loneliness weighed heavy inside him.
It was crippling, debilitating, and he didn’t want to go through it again tomorrow.
If he’d been given a birthday cake and asked to make a wish as he blew out the candle, he would wish he wouldn’t wake up in the morning.