Jeffrey Archer - Purgatory

I thank him and call Mary in Cambridge. She’s relieved that I’ve rung as she has no way of contacting me, and can’t come to see me until she’s been sent a visiting order. I promise to put one in tomorrow’s post, and then she may even be able to drive across next Tuesday or Wednesday. I remind her to bring some form of identification and that she mustn’t try to pass anything over to me, not even a letter.

Mary then tells me that she’s accepted an invitation to go on the Today programme with John Humphrys. She intends to ask Baroness Nicholson to withdraw her accusation that I stole money from the Kurds, so that I can be reinstated as a D-cat prisoner and quickly transferred to an open prison. I tell Mary that I consider this an unlikely scenario.

‘She’s not decent enough to consider such a Christian act,’ I warn my wife.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Mary replies, ‘but I will be able to refer to Lynda Chafer’s parliamentary reply on the subject and ask why Ms Nicholson wasn’t in the House that day if she cares so much about the Kurds, or why had she not at least read the report in Hansard the following morning.’ Mary adds that the BBC have told her that they accept I have no case to answer.

‘When are you going on?’

‘Next Wednesday or Thursday, so it’s important I see you before then.’

I quickly agree as my units are running out. I then ask Mary to warn James that I’ll phone him at the office at eleven tomorrow morning, and will call her again on Sunday evening. My units are now down to ten so I say a quick goodbye.

I continue my exploration of the wing and discover that the main Association room and the servery/hotplate double up. The room is about thirty paces by twenty and has a full-size snooker table which is so popular that you have to book a week in advance. There is also a pool table and a table-tennis table, but no TV, as it would be redundant when there’s one in every cell.

I’m walking back upstairs when I bump into the hotplate man. He introduces himself as Dale, and invites me to join him in his cell, telling me on the way that he’s serving eight years for wounding with intent to endanger life. He leads me down a flight of stone steps onto the lower-ground floor. This is an area I would never have come across, as it’s reserved for enhanced prisoners only – the chosen few who have proper jobs and are considered by the officers to be trustworthy. As you can’t be granted enhanced status for at least three months, I will never enjoy such luxury, as I am hoping to be moved to a D-cat fairly quickly.

Although Dale’s cell is exactly the same size as mine, there the similarity ends. His brick walls are in two tones of blue, and he has nine five-by-five-inch steel mirrors over his wash-basin shaped in a large triangle. In our cell, Jules and I have one mirror between us. Dale also has two pillows, both soft, and an extra blanket. On the wall are photos of his twin sons, but no sign of a wife – just the centrefold of a couple of Chinese girls, Blu-tacked above his bed. He pours me a Coca-Cola, my first since William and James visited me in Belmarsh, and asks if he can help in any way.

In every way, I suspect. ‘I would like a soft pillow, a fresh towel every day and my washing taken care of.’

‘No problem,’ he says, like a banker who can make an electronic transfer of a million dollars to New York by simply pressing a button – as long as you have a million dollars.

‘Anything else? Phonecards, food, drink?’

‘I could do with some more phonecards and several items from the canteen.’

‘I can also solve that problem,’ Dale says. ‘Just write out a list of what you want and I’ll have everything delivered to your cell.’

‘But how do I pay you?’

That’s the easy part. Send in a postal order and ask for the money to be placed against my account. Just make sure the name Archer isn’t involved, otherwise there’s bound to be an investigation. I won’t charge you double-bubble, just bubble and a half.’

Three or four other prisoners stroll into Dale’s cell, so he immediately changes the subject. Within minutes the atmosphere feels more like a club than a prison, as they all seem so relaxed in each other’s company. Jimmy, who’s serving a three-and-a-half year sentence for being an Ecstasy courier (carrying packages from one club to another), wants to know if I play cricket

The occasional charity match, about twice a year I admit.

‘Good, then you’ll be batting number three next week, against D wing.’

‘But I usually go in at number eleven’ I protest, ‘and have been known to bat as high as number ten.’

Then you’ll be first wicket down at Wayland,’ says Jimmy. ‘By the way, we haven’t won a match this year. Our two best batsmen got their D-cats at the beginning of the season and were transferred to Latchmere House in Richmond.’

After about an hour of their company, I become aware of the other big difference on the enhanced wing – the noise, or rather the lack of noise. You just don’t hear the incessant stereos attempting to out-blare each other.

At five to eight I make my way back to my cell and am met on the stairs by an officer who tells me that I cannot visit the enhanced area again as it’s off limits. ‘And if you do, Archer’ he adds, I’ll put you on report, which could mean a fortnight being added to your sentence.’

There’s always someone who feels he has to prove how powerful he is, especially if he can show off in front of other prisoners – ‘I put Archer in his place, didn’t I?’ In Belmarsh it was the young officer with his record bookings. I have a feeling I’ve just met Wayland’s.

Back in my cell, I find Jules is playing chess against a phantom opponent on his electronic board. I settle down to write an account of the day. There are no letters to read as no one has yet discovered I’m in Wayland.

8.15 pm

Dale arrives with a soft pillow and an extra blanket. He’s disappeared before I can thank him.

5.07 am

I’ve managed to sleep for six hours, thanks to Jules hanging a blanket from the top bunk, so that it keeps out the fluorescent arc lights that glare through the bars all night. At 5.40 I place my feet on the linoleum floor and wait. Jules doesn’t stir. So far no snoring or talking in his sleep. Last night Jules made an interesting observation about sleep: if s the only time when you’re not in jail, and it cuts your sentence by a third. Is this the reason why so many prisoners spend so much time in bed? Dale adds that some of them are ‘gouching out’ after chasing the dragon. This can cause them to sleep for twelve to fourteen hours, and helps kill the weekend, as well as themselves.

8.15 am

The cell door is unlocked just as I’m coming to the end of my first writing session. During that time I’ve managed a little over two thousand words.

I go downstairs to the hotplate hoping to pick up a carton of milk, only to be told by Dale that it’s not available at the weekend.

9.00 am

I’m first in the queue at the office, to pick up a VO for Mary. In a C-cat you’re allowed one visit every two weeks. A prisoner can invite up to three adults and two children under the age of sixteen. The majority of prisoners are between the ages of nineteen and thirty, so a wife or partner plus a couple of young children would be the norm. As my children are twenty-nine and twenty-seven, it will be only Mary and the boys who I’ll be seeing regularly.

10.00 am

I attend my first gym session. Each wing is allowed to send twenty inmates, so after my inability to get on the list at Belmarsh, I make sure that I’m at the starting gate on time.