Dr Amanda Brown - The Prison Doctor

He stared at me, not saying a word.

I was shocked. I knew him well, as he had confided in me over the years about his problems, and I’d come to regard him more as a friend than a patient. My heart went out to him that he felt so desperate he wanted to kill himself.

His lips were white, his face drained of colour. His eyes were agitated, his whole body tense. But still he didn’t speak; he just kept the knife clamped to his throat.

I didn’t have any choice but to try to take it from him.

I started to gently walk towards him. My voice was soft as I said, ‘Please, please, Jonathan, give me the knife.’

He was frozen to the spot.

‘Let me have the knife, it’s going to be fine.’

Still no reply, as I softly, slowly moved forward. What was going through his mind? Was he about to cut his own throat? Was he about to turn the knife on me?

The sound of police radios and talking were coming from outside the window.

I couldn’t see any lacerations on his neck, but the tip of the knife was pressing hard against his skin. Any trigger could set him off.

‘Jonathan—’ I started, but didn’t finish my sentence. Suddenly, he lurched towards me, the knife in his right hand.

It all happened so quickly. I froze, suddenly certain that I’d made a terrible mistake, that I was going to die, there in that opulent living room. Blood spilling onto a carpet few could afford. I’d gone there to help but Jonathan was too far gone, too lost to see clearly. His arms stretching out towards me, the knife shining, looking sharp enough to cut a slit in the air itself.

Yes. I was about to die.

He flung his arms around my neck and flopped onto my shoulders, letting go of his grasp of the large carving knife. It made a small thunk as it dropped onto the living room floor behind me. Part of my brain heard it fall, recognised that the danger was past; the rest of me was occupied with the sobbing Jonathan. I stood there, holding him up, as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ I said, stroking his back as I would a child who desperately needed a hug and reassurance.

When his breathing had calmed a little I told him we needed to go outside, that Jenny was waiting for him.

His voice was thick with tears. ‘How can she ever forgive me?’

‘She loves you, we all care about you. Jenny would be distraught if anything happened to you,’ I said.

I led him out of the living room and towards the front door.

He was wobbling still, drunk and disorientated, and I propped him up as we walked into the sunshine together.

I was relieved to see the flashing lights of an ambulance.

‘I want you to go to the hospital for me,’ I said. ‘They’ll help. Can you do that for me?’

He nodded.

Jenny ran towards us, taking her sobbing husband into her arms. I was so thankful that he was safe. I looked at the two of them, unable to shake the thought that one – or both – of them could have died today if things had gone differently. Ultimately, while I may have helped to ground him, Jonathan had held on to enough strength – just enough – to stop himself from doing something that would have torn their lives apart.

I stood back as the paramedics helped him into the ambulance, to take him to the psychiatric ward of the local hospital. Jenny followed in her car. He was in need of expert help, more help than I could give him.

I watched as they disappeared from view and then got back into my car and drove slowly back to work. I had other patients to see.

Chapter Four

November 2004

HMP Huntercombe

I remembered those nerve-racking steps towards Jonathan and Jenny’s house, as I walked towards the entrance of HMP Huntercombe. My heart was pounding just as much, my palms moist with anticipation as to what was around the corner.

And then suddenly, just as it had all those years ago, courage kicked in.

I straightened my back and walked on with confidence and purpose.

It was daunting but exciting. I was reinventing myself.

My thoughts were broken by the noise of a large white van rolling up to the prison gates. It had the distinctive tiny blacked-out windows running along the sides, the ones the paparazzi try to reach their cameras up to when high-profile prisoners leave court. I wondered who was inside it.

As the huge metal gates opened, I was able to get a brief glimpse of what lay on the other side. A concrete yard, some more fencing, half a dozen prison officers … and then it all vanished from view as the gates slammed shut.

The intimidating façade of the prison wall, with its barbed wire twisting over the top, was a stark reminder of what life held in store for those being dropped off.

I arrived at the gatehouse, where a thick glass screen separated me from the officers who kept a close eye on the monitors to see who was coming and going.

It was like being at passport control at the airport, slowly being given the once-over.

‘What’s your name?’ asked a small stocky man with a thick Essex accent.

‘Doctor Amanda Brown,’ I replied, loudly, just in case he might not hear me through the thick glass screen.

‘Have you got your ID with you?’

I pulled out my passport and driver’s licence from my bag, and passed them through the hatch that he clicked open.

There was a long pause as he checked my ID, and then I heard the rumble of a big heavy metal door sliding open.

I stepped forward, taking another half-step to make sure the monstrous door didn’t clip me as it closed.

I was now on the other side, standing in a narrow corridor. An officer spoke through another glass screen, and told me that someone from Healthcare would come along soon to meet me. I moved along the corridor slightly, to a small room lined from floor to ceiling with lockers. This, presumably, would be where my belongings would be stored, the things I could take inside being limited for safety reasons. Straightaway, a reminder of what I was facing: a job where the contents of my pockets could get someone killed unless I was careful.

The head of Healthcare arrived, greeting me with a friendly smile and a handshake. I hadn’t seen Dawn Kendall since my interview, six months previously – the process of getting security clearance and having contracts drawn up for the job had taken that long.

She had a clipboard in one hand and a large set of keys in the other, which clinked as she rolled them between her fingers. She looked like she meant business, with her black trouser suit and white blouse.

I was given a locker in which to store my phone, bag and coat, then she unlocked another large solid metal door, and I followed her through. That was locked behind us, the sound heavy and horribly final. A large metal gate followed; again keys jangled, locks turned. Then – finally – we were in the prison grounds.

‘Once you have your key training you’ll be able to do this yourself.’

She turned around and grinned at me. ‘But for now, you’re stuck with me escorting you.’

I’d liked Dawn from the moment I met her. She was a large lady with a big personality to match. I got the sense she wanted to mother the boys because, somewhere, deep down, I’m sure she felt sorry for them.

I believed that most of the staff genuinely wanted to make a difference, and I hoped I was also going to be able to.

We walked across the courtyard, then through another metal door and another gate, and finally we were in the Healthcare department of the prison.

The walls were brightly coloured and there were a variety of drawings and paintings stuck on them. ‘All done by the boys,’ Dawn proudly announced.

She walked briskly ahead, filling me in on some facts that belied the innocent-looking appearance of the place.