Purgatory Page 15
I cross the corridor to join Sergio in his cell, where we hold a board meeting. Overnight, Sergio has typed out sixteen questions which he needs answered before he speaks to his brother again. For example: do I want to pay the full insurance cost? - Yes. Do I want the gold necklace to be 9, 14 or 18 carat? - 18 carat. Will I have to pay import tax when the chain and emerald land in London? - Don’t know, but I’ll find out
Once Sergio has asked all his questions and written out the answers neatly in Spanish, we move onto item number two on the agenda.
I’ve received a letter from Chris Beetles, who has carried out considerable research into which South American artists have a worldwide market. He reports that Christie’s and Sotheby’s have two Latin American sales a year, both held in New York. With the exception of Botero, who has recently passed $2 million for an oil, only Lamand Tamayo regularly fetches $100,000 or more under the hammer. Sergio reads the letter slowly and places it in his file.
11.00 am
Exercise. It’s Darren’s turn to be sketched by Shaun, and he’s proving a bit of a prima donna. He’s a very private man who doesn’t keep any photographs of himself. He’s still grumbling about his participation as we walk out into the yard. We are greeted by Shaun, who is holding a large art pad in his right hand, and a couple of pencils in his left.
Darren reluctantly agrees to pose, but only on two conditions. That the drawing is carried out on the far side of the yard, where few inmates will see him during their perambulations. He also insists that if he doesn’t like the result, he will be left out of the final montage. I don’t have a lot of choice, so I agree. I can only hope that Shaun will make such a good job of the preliminary sketch that Darren will be converted to the whole idea.
Jimmy and I go off for a circuit while Shaun begins his task. While we stroll round the perimeter, the talk among the inmates is only of football. England are playing Germany tonight, and Wayland are playing Methwold tomorrow. Some of the prisoners tying on the grass against the fence wish Jimmy, our captain, good luck, while another suggests that he couldn’t score in a brothel.
By the end of the third circuit, a likeness is appearing on Shaun’s sketch pad, but I have no way of knowing how Darren will react. He can be so perverse at times.
By the time we’ve completed two more circuits, the officers in the yard are beginning to herd us back to our blocks. We stop to look at Shaun’s effort. Darren joins us to see the outline image for the first time. It’s good, and he knows it. He nods his grudging approval, but finally gives the game away when, as we stroll back into A block, he asks, If that’s only a sketch before Shaun does the final portrait, can I have it for my mother?’ (See (date section.)
12 noon
Standing in the lunch queue I discover from Dumsday (who, Jimmy told me a few days earlier, had adopted an injured crow) that his crow died early this morning, despite his sitting up all night trying to feed it a boiled egg. I return to my cell and eat lunch standing in the middle of the room with the smell of fresh paint all around me. I survey my PS3 investment. Locke has made a good start.
2.00 pm
The spur is getting worked up about the match this evening between England and Germany, which is a World Cup qualifying game. I am invited to pull the name of an England player out of a plastic cup, and should my selection score the first goal, I’ll win nine Mars bars. I draw Gerard who, Jimmy assures me, has a good chance of scoring. I read in this morning’s Times that England haven’t won a match on German soil since 1965. But I don’t pass on this information to a football-mad spur. I glance out of my window to see five rabbits eating the left-over food the prisoners have thrown out of their cell. As we are hemmed in behind a twenty-foot fine-meshed wire fence, I wonder how the rabbits get into the prison. I’ll make enquiries.
6.00 pm
On a Saturday, we’re banged up after supper but, as I’ve mentioned, the enhanced spur goes last so we can roam the corridors until six thirty - an extra thirty minutes. I check my TV listings in The Times to find that the football is on BBC 1, but clashes with Jane Austen’s Persuasion on BBC 2. I elect to watch Persuasion while the rest of the spur settles down to follow the match. I’m confident that, if England score, the whole prison will let me know.
Just as Miss Elliot meets Captain Wentworth for the first time, the spur erupts with cheering and shouting. I quickly switch channels and watch a replay of Michael Owen scoring for England, which means I’ve lost a Mars bar. I switch back and continue my vigil with Miss Elliot who, because of her father’s financial problems, has had to move from the family’s magnificent country home to a smaller residence in Bath. I become deeply engrossed in the drama of lost love when there is another eruption of cheering. I switch over to find England have scored a second goal on the stroke of half-time. I discover that the score is 2-1 in England’s favour, so I must have missed the German goal. It was obviously greeted by my fellow inmates in total silence.
I turn back to Persuasion to find that Captain Wentworth is flirting (the occasional glance) with our heroine, the one we want him to marry. There is another roar. I can’t believe it, and switch across to find our other hero, Michael Owen, has scored again, and England are now leading three goals to one. No sooner have I switched back than there is a further roar, so I return to watch a replay of Owen completing his hat-trick, giving England an unbelievable 4-1 lead.
I flick over to Jane Austen and discover that the handsome Captain Wentworth could be about to marry the wrong girl, but then - an explosion - can it be true? I return to BBC 1 to find Heskey has scored for England and we now lead five goals to one with ten minutes to go. Quickly back to Persuasion where our hero and long-suffering heroine have become engaged. No suggestion of sex, not even a kiss. Long live Jane Austen.
10.00 pm
I finish the Robert Goddard book and then climb into my bed which is still in the middle of the room. I fall asleep to the smell of fresh paint and the sound of my fellow inmates reliving every one of those five England goals.
DAY 46 - SUNDAY 2 SEPTEMBER 2001
10.00 am
After writing for a couple of hours and having breakfast, I report to the gym in my new capacity as football correspondent for the Prison News.
The Wayland team meet in the changing room where they are handed their kit: a light blue shirt, dark blue shorts, blue socks, shin pads and a pair of football boots. As with the cricket match last week, the team are far better equipped than most amateur club sides, and once again all at the tax payers’ expense. All four blocks also have their own strip (A block’s is yellow and black). I assume this is normal practice for every prison across the country.
Once the team has changed, and very smart they look, we’re joined by our coach, Gary, who delivers an unusual team talk. Because the players have been selected from four different blocks and prisoners come and go every week, some of them haven’t even met before. The first thing the eleven men and three subs have to do is to announce their names and the positions they’ll be playing in. You may well consider that this is an insuperable barrier for any team, but not so, because the opposition also have several disadvantages to contend with. To start with, all of Wayland’s fixtures are played at home - think about it - and the rival team are not allowed to bring along any supporters, especially not girlfriends. And when it comes to gamesmanship, our team are in a class of their own, and the officers are just as bad.
The opposition side are met at the gates by sniffer dogs before being searched. The players are then escorted to the changing rooms, accompanied by the boos of prisoners from all four blocks. And if that isn’t enough to contend with, they then have to deal with our captain, Jimmy.
Now Jimmy is all charm and bonhomie as he accompanies the opposition side from the changing room onto the pitch. But he does consider it nothing less than his duty to inform the visitors that they should keep a wary eye on Preston, Wayland’s main striker.
‘Why?’ asks the opposing team captain innoc
ently.
‘He’s in for a double murder - chopped his parents’ heads off while they were asleep.’ Jimmy pauses. ‘Even we don’t like him. He’s already got a twenty-five-year sentence, and as he’s only done three, the occasional broken leg doesn’t seem to worry him too much, especially as he’s only likely to get a yellow card.’
The truth is that our main striker is in for breaking and entering (rather appropriate) but by the time Jimmy has reached the pitch, the Methwold team is convinced that if Hannibal Lecter were at Wayland he would be relegated to the subs bench.
The first half is a shambles; the ball goes up and down the pitch with little speed and even less purpose. Wayland are trying to get to know each other, while Methwold still aren’t sure if they dare risk the occasional tackle. It’s 0-0 when the whistle blows for half-time, and frankly no one deserved to score.
The second half is a complete contrast as I’m made aware of the other advantage Wayland has: fitness. All of our team spend at least an hour every day in the gym, rather than at the local pub, and it begins to show. The first goal is headed in by Carl (GBH), after an excellent cross by our ‘double-murderer1. The second is scored by Dan (armed robbery), another of our strikers, and the third is added by Hitch (arson). We end up winning 3-0, which augurs well for the rest of the season. Perhaps we could even win the league cup this year. But it’s back to disadvantages, because three of the team, including Jimmy, are due to be released before Christmas, and the side we will field at the end of the season will bear no resemblance to the one that lined up for the opening encounter.
Despite the team’s glorious victory, some of the officers are irritated by the fact that they’ve been made to hang around until we return for a late lunch. With the exception of Mr Nutbourne, who makes sure that the team is fed, they can’t wait to get us banged up and go off duty.
The relationship between officers and prisoners is always conducted on a tightrope which both sides walk every day. The officers on duty that Sunday morning unwisely miss an opportunity to make their own lives easier. A few words of praise and allowing an extra minute or two in the shower would have paid huge dividends in the long run. Instead, the victors return to their cells with shrivelled-up pieces of meat covered in cold gravy, unable to shower until we are unlocked again in two hours’ time. Of course I understand that the prison is not run for the convenience of the prisoners, but here was an opportunity for the officers to make their own life easier in the long term. They botched it, with the exception of Mr Nutbourne, who will get far more cooperation and respect from the inmates in the future.
2.00 pm
Board meeting. Sergio has talked to his brother in Bogota. The four emeralds that his brother initially selected have been shortlisted to two and, along with a member of the family who owns the mountain, Sergio’s brother will make the final selection tomorrow. He has also assured him that, whichever one they choose, the gem would retail at three times the price in a London shop. As for paintings, Sergio’s school friend has told him that, through Sergio’s mother, she has made an appointment with Botero’s mother, and will report back by the end of the week. My heart leaps at the thought of finally owning a Botero.
4.00 pm
While I do a circuit with Jimmy, Shaun continues to draw Darren, who surprisingly now proves, unlike Dale, to be a still and patient model. I’m delighted with the preliminary sketches and, more importantly, so is Darren. While Shaun is sketching, I ask Darren about the rabbits. The rabbits, it seems, are no fools. They know when the prisoners are fed, and burrow under the fence to gather up the food thrown out of the windows by the inmates after lockup. They are occasionally joined by a family of ducks. But, and there is always a but in prison, there is also a fox lurking around, who is even more cunning. He also enters under the fence after lock up, and catches the rabbits while they nibble the food dropped from the prisoners’ table. The fox has also worked out that there is no such thing as ‘The Wayland Hunt’.
I tell Shaun that I’ve spoken to Chris Beetles and hope that it will result in his being in receipt (I select the words carefully) of the highest quality drawing paper, chalks, watercolours and pencils, so that his final effort can’t be blamed on his tools. He’s delighted.
6.00 pm
Early lock up because of staff shortages. I will have to remain in my five paces by three cell for the next fourteen hours.
I start reading Jeeves. What a different world Bertie Wooster lived in. How would Bertie have coped with Wayland? I suppose Jeeves would have volunteered to take his place.
DAY 47 - MONDAY 3 SEPTEMBER 2001
5.43 am
I wake to the smell of fresh paint, so I feel I should bring you up to date on my redecoration programme. The white undercoat was finished yesterday, and while I was at pottery Locke (GBH, spur painter) added a coat of magnolia to the walls and beige to the door, window ledge and skirting board.
I have always liked brick as a medium, but I find the solid block of white a little unimaginative, so during pottery class this morning I’m going to suggest to Shaun that he might design a pattern for the walls, and then find out if Locke is willing to add ‘interior decorator’ to his portfolio. It may well cost me another couple of pounds, but I could then enter my cell for the Turner Prize.
9.00 am
During pottery class, Shaun begins to knock out a few ideas for a pattern on my walls, and very imaginative they are.
He then produces his sketch pad and shows me his latest ideas for the book cover. The first one is a cell door with eyes peeping through the little flap, while the second is a prisoner’s card as displayed outside every cell. I wonder if he could somehow combine the two.
12 noon
After lunch I make notes in preparation for a visit from William, James and David, my driver of fifteen years. Once I’ve done this I have to learn each of the headings by heart, as I’m not allowed to take anything into the visitors’ room. I count how many topics need to be covered - William eight, James nine, David five. After that I’ll have to rely on my memory.
1.30 pm
I shower and shave before putting on a new pair of jeans and a freshly ironed, blue-striped shirt. I have never been vain, but I am far too proud to allow the boys to see me looking unkempt - and wondering if prison has got the better of me.
2.00 pm
As I leave the cell to join my children, Locke strolls in. I haven’t yet summoned up the courage to tell him about my idea for further redecoration, and I suspect I’ll end up leaving the negotiations to my works manager, Darren.
When I arrive in the visitors’ area, I am searched for the first time in over a week, but compared to Belmarsh this exercise is fairly cursory. I don’t know if suspected drug addicts and dealers receive different treatment. I’m once again allocated table fourteen, where I take my place in the red chair, leaving the three blue chairs vacant. I look around the room that holds about seventy tables, but only five are occupied by prisoners. This is because of the breakdown of the prison computer, which has thrown the visiting schedule into chaos.
James is the first through the door, surprise, surprise, followed by William, then David. Once we have completed the hugs and greetings I explain that I wish to allocate the two hours judiciously. The first half hour I’ll spend with William, the second with James and the third with David, before having the final half hour with all three of them.
While the other two disappear. Will updates me on the KPMG report and my D-cat reinstatement. Mary has been in touch with Gillian Shephard, currently my local MP, who has promised to contact the governor of Wayland and make it clear that once the police have dropped their enquiry, I ought to be moved on to an open prison as quickly as possible. Mind you, the Prison Service’s idea of as quickly as possible…
Will also reports that he hopes to return to America in about three weeks as he has been offered several new commissions for documentaries. To his surprise, he’s also been approached about some work in London.
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While I try to recall my eight points, Will briefs me about his mother. Mary is holding up well in the circumstances, but he feels that she has probably been most affected by the whole experience.
I then ask if Will could do three things for me. First, give Chris Beetles PS200 in order that Shaun will be in receipt of the art materials he needs. Second, select a bowl and plate from the Bridgewater collection and send them to Darren at Wayland, a man whose kindness I will never be able to repay properly. Finally, I ask if he will somehow get hold of my special Staedtler liquid pens, because— Will points to the tray in front of me, where I see he has slipped two behind a can of Diet Coke. I smile, but wonder if I can get the treasure back to my cell without it being confiscated.
Once I’ve completed my list, he brings me up to date on his social life. Ten minutes later he leaves me and James takes his place.
I spend some considerable time briefing James on Sergio’s background, and explain how three weeks in prison, in such intense circumstances, is the equivalent of about three months on the outside. He nods, as he’s well aware that this is only background before I broach the real subject. Having established Sergio’s credentials, about which I tell him I have only my instinct to go on, we then discuss the subject of emeralds in great detail. I explain for an investment of $10,000, subject to valuation, we will acquire one emerald which will arrive in London later this week If Sergio turns out to have been honest about the emerald, it might then be worth getting him to search for a Botero.