Timothy Lea - Confessions from the Clink

I give him my man of the world nod.

‘You’d be amazed how many birds like coming here. They’re not getting enough outside and they reckon the thought of a gaol full of sex-starved men rearing to get at them. They feel they’re performing a public duty, too. They can justify everything if they can believe that they’re saving some poor bastard from going round the twist. They’ve got what every bird wants, an excuse for doing just as she bleeding well likes.’

‘So somebody wants to help me, do they?’ I say hopefully.

‘Any number, son. I’ve got a right little raver scratching the door of my room at the moment.’

‘Inside or outside –?’

‘Outside, of course. Don’t be funny, son. I’m doing you a favour. I’ll leave you alone with your friend if you’d rather.’

‘No, no,’ I say hurriedly. ‘She sounds fantastic, this bird. Great! Lead her to me.’

‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’

‘ Up to it ? I’ll be out the other side. Don’t you worry about me. Give me a couple of minutes, that’s all.’

I see Arthur on his way and wonder how best to present myself for the love match. Half a bottle of Aqua Velva down the front of my Y-fronts is a foregone conclusion but I reckon this occasion needs more than that. There is not room to swing a cat, so why not return to my bed and await developments? I have always fancied the drowsy, somebody-climbing-in-beside-you bit and here is a first class opportunity to give it a whirl. I shed my threads like they are white hot and kick them under the bed – one does not want to appear untidy, does one? Pausing only to marvel at my mouth-watering loveliness, I slide between the cold sheets and wonder whether you could actually rub down a piece of wood with them. They must make a sandpaper that is several grades finer.

I am looking forward to my encounter with Arthur’s friend for a number of reasons, not least being the opportunity it will give me to silence the knockers – I mean the tits with two legs as opposed to the other kind – who have been casting nasturtiums at my relationship with Fran. When this lady has staggered away to find a full fire bucket my reputation will be restored to its normal Everest proportions.

I turn my head away from the door and burrow into the sheets. I wonder what she will be like. One of the little ravers I saw tripping down the corridor with Legend looked decidedly my cup of Rosie. Wait a minute! The very mention of the name sends cold shivers down my spine. Rosie has no relations in the nick that I know of.

Is it not possible that even now she is padding swiftly towards my cell to do good works? My own sister! How disgusting. With my luck, I cannot afford to lie waiting for the door knob to turn. I leap to my feet and rummage under the bed for my pants. With a bit of luck I may be able to catch up with Legend before he sets the wheels in motion. I race down the corridor and collide with the great man as I dash round the first corner. He has been delayed in a conversation with one of the screws – ‘and make sure there is plenty of ice. I hate bleeding lukewarm champagne. Yes, what is it?’

‘I’ve decided I don’t fancy it after all,’ I blurt out.

‘Yerwhat!?’

‘I’ve got this pain. It comes suddenly. I never know when it’s going to strike.’

‘Psschaw!’ These letters try to capture the flavour of Legend’s mouthwash as it stings my cheek.

‘No, straight up –’

‘ “Straight up”? You couldn’t get up with a step ladder. You’re bent, mate. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt but you’ve made it very clear to me now.’

‘But –’

‘No “buts”. Hopit, before I give you the pleasure of my boot up your backside.’

I feel like blurting out the real reason for declining Arthur’s favour but deep down inside – so deep that many people never notice it – is a grain of family loyalty that occasionally comes between me and the fulfilment of my ambitions. I do not want to have to admit to Arthur, or anyone else, that Rosie is a ratbag with a one-track mind – and that a dirt track.

I slink back to my room and try to come to grips with Frank Clegg and his powerful novel, but it is no good. I cannot concentrate. I give it a few tries and then go back to bed again. Maybe I will be able to sleep. I usually can whenever I try to read anything. But this time I cannot. I lie in bed and watch the square of blue sky and wonder how I am going to stand living in this place for twelve months with everyone thinking I am bent. Maybe I will be bent by the time I get out. ‘Knock! Knock!’ This time it must be Warren; no doubt offering me a nibble of his Milky Bar. Well, he is not dribbling little pieces of chocolate all over the floor of my cell – I mean room – Oh, dear me, no! I’ll soon put a stop to his nonsense. I sit up in bed expectantly but it is not Warren. This is another thing I dislike about the bloke. He is so unreliable.

It is Daisy Deacon with a mouth you could post an ironing board in, tastefully picked out in dayglo paint that threatens to escape up her jumbo-size hooter. This feature trembles as if menaced by the potential avalanche of eye make-up poised above it. Nevertheless, despite a certain lack of subtlety, Daisy is still a sight for sore thighs.

‘Well, if it isn’t little Timmy Lea,’ she says breezily. ‘Do you remember me, love? I used to be a friend of your sister’s. I’m sorry to find you in here. Importuning males isn’t it?’

This is too much.

‘What do you mean!?’ I yelp. ‘I’m as straight as the next man.’

‘I hope not, dear,’ she says. ‘I’ve just seen him. His blond hair was falling out by its black roots and he walked as if he had just sat on a birthday cake and stolen all the candles.’

‘Not him! Not him!’ I whine. ‘Listen, Daisy, I’ll level with you –’

‘Ooh. Sure you’re capable?’

‘Don’t take the piss, Daisy. I’m not really bent. It’s just an unfortunate set of circumstances that have got me misunderstood.’

‘Your mum, wasn’t it? I always thought she was inclined to smother you. Know what I mean?’

‘No. It was dad who tried to smother me. But it was an accident really. He didn’t know mum had put me in the laundry basket. Anyway, Daisy. That’s got nothing to do with what I’m on about. I only turned down Arthur’s offer because I was scared of bumping into Rosie. I saw her out of the window, you see.’

‘But she’s only visiting.’

‘Well –’

‘Now come on. I know some of the girls are on the game but you don’t think your own sister – Timmy, I’m ashamed of you.’

‘Yes – well – er, she can act a bit funny sometimes and I just thought that – well, you know. I’d rather not –’

Daisy quivers with righteous indignation and a ripple goes through her knockers that would show up on a seismograph. ‘Your sister has been a good friend to Walt and me ever since we both got married,’ she bridles. ‘Isn’t it natural that she should visit him in his hour of need?’

‘Of course, of course,’ I bleat. ‘I want to believe you, Daisy.’ I really do, too. I would much rather accept her explanation even though I don’t believe it, than face up to the unpleasant truth. I am like that about lots of things.

‘Who are you to point the finger, anyway?’

‘Who indeed, Daisy?’

I gaze up at her and turn on my bruised, innocent look. I reckon that this could appeal to the huntress in her and I am not disappointed.

‘Talking about my friend like that,’ she says, looking at the shape of my body underneath the bedclothes. ‘And your own sister, too.’

‘Yes.’ My voice dies away to a whisper and I turn my head towards the wall. Is it my imagination or is a large tear beginning to form in one of my eyes? It is my imagination. There is a moment’s pause and then I feel the reassuring weight of Daisy descending on to the bed. Her hand reaches out and touches my shoulder. I flinch as if I am surprised to feel it.