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Getting out: A lot of the letters spoke of this magical time, when past mistakes would be erased and fresh begi
Jean and Tam: Their life apart had become a sort of soap opera to De
De
He didn’t take every last piece of correspondence home, just those concerning relationships that interested him. He’d bought a fax machine that doubled as a copier-cheaper, the shop assistant had informed him, than buying an actual photocopier. He would take the letters from his leather satchel and feed them into the machine. Next morning, the originals went back into the office with him. He knew he was doing something he shouldn’t, knew the Governor would be angry with him, or at the very least dismayed. But De
One recent inmate was proving an intriguing specimen. He wrote a couple of times a day – obviously had plenty of money for stamps. His girlfriend was called Jemma, and she’d been pregnant but had lost the baby. Tommy was worried that he was to blame, that the shock of his conviction had caused her to abort. De
But he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t get involved.
Another inmate, first name of Morris, had interested De
“He ever get visitors?” De
“You’re joking, aren’t you?”
And De
And then the Governor had asked De
The warders had laughed about it afterward: “Reckoned if he sent out enough of them, he’d get lucky eventually,” one had explained. “Maybe he would have, too. Some women on the outside go for the hardened con…”
Ah, yes, the hardened con. Plenty of those in HMP Edinburgh. But De
Nevertheless, from the moment he’d walked in, he’d been the jail’s natural leader. The gangs and factions tiptoed around him, showing respect. Six years he was serving, having finally been nabbed on tax evasion, deception and fraud-probably out in a little over three, a couple of months already under his belt. He’d lost some weight since arriving, but looked the better for it, despite the gray tinge to his cheeks-same chalky look all cons ended up with, “prison tan,” they called it. When Blaine ’s wife came visiting, more warders than normal crowded into the hall, not because anything was going to happen, but because Blaine had married well.
“Achingly well,” one warder had whispered to De
Her name was Selina. At twenty-nine, she was ten years Blaine ’s junior. When the warders discussed her over break-time tea and sandwiches, De
He knew just about everything.
She lived at an address in Bearsden, on the posh outskirts of Glasgow, visited her husband every fortnight rather than weekly, even though she was only forty-odd miles away. But she did write. She wrote four or five letters to every one of his. And the things she said…
I miss your hard-ons! See, Paul, I’m totally, absolutely lovestruck. If you were here, I’d straddle you till morning…
Whole passages like this were intertwined with gossip and the everyday: I’m helping Elaine at Riddrie tomorrow. Perhaps ring our Bill, lift Elaine’s morale?
These snippets appealed to De
I tried satisfying myself in bed last night, but it wasn’t the same. How could it be? I had a photo of you on the pillow beside me, a far cry from the real thing. Hope the pics I’m sending are cheering you up. Not much else to report. Fred’s off up north. (Denise isn’t talking to him-and not keeping sober!)
At other times, she spoke of how difficult it was, making ends meet. She hadn’t found a job yet, but was looking. De
Last time she’d visited, De
“Isn’t she something?” the warder had gri
Even better than her photos, De