Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Frankie Warrs wants a meet, breakfast, Monday.’

Frankie Warrs was the baron of the main prison. He offered Alex the borstal section to run on his behalf. It was an offer Alex couldn’t refuse. Frankie Warrs was an old friend of Johnny Mask, and Johnny was making sure Alex was being taken care of, as a ‘thank you’ for not grassing on him.

The barons operated food, drink and cigarette rackets, and could get you anything you wanted provided you could pay the price. Alex was given careful instructions on how to proceed. The commonest weakness in prison was smoking. The men were given their cash on Friday and they shelled it straight out on tobacco. By the next day it would be gone. They would then have to buy from the barons, whether a single roll-up or a larger quantity. They had to pay three times the proper price, so they were always in the red. The barons’ paid runners took money to relatives to buy goods outside and smuggle them in. Prisoners often saved themselves a beating by getting their families to bring in the cash they owed, but the less fortunate would have to perform sexual favours. They even got cut up with knives that were smuggled in somehow. No one dared rat on their attackers for fear of further harassment.

As a baron, Alex even had two screws in his employ, who brought him whisky, for which he paid three times the market price. Tom, Joe and little Dick became his runners. Above all, Alex was a very popular boy, so that when his eighteenth birthday came round they threw a party for him in the recreation hall. Evelyne had been allowed to send him a gift, cakes and biscuits, and even the screws sang ‘Happy Birthday’. But the best gift Alex had was a short letter from Dora. He had written to her, not really expecting a reply, and was tickled pink when he got her funny, misspelt letter. She asked if he was okay, and said she was doing fine, but that Johnny Mask had been arrested shortly after Alex and was in Brixton Prison. She added a footnote that she would try to come and see him one visiting day. She didn’t say when, but Alex lived in hope. She had also sent him a photograph of herself, and Alex had pinned it on the cell wall. All the lads thought she was the best-looking ‘bird’ they had ever seen, and Alex gained even more glory through her. He seemed to have everything, and they stared hungrily at Dora’s smiling face as they drifted off into their wet dreams.

Alex was counting his weekly take from the tobacco sales when Tom hurtled into the cell. He could hardly speak, he was so excited, and he gasped out that Alex had a visitor. It wasn’t his ma, he’d seen her arrive and all the lads were trying to get a look at her. It was her, the girl in the picture.

She was looking wonderful, her lipstick red and glossy, her nails scarlet. She waved, and Alex felt his heart thudding as the screws made snide remarks about his girlfriend. He could hardly speak for nervousness, and Dora giggled, saying he looked even bigger than when she had last seen him. He had grown — he was now six feet two inches tall, and had filled out because of all the work-outs he did in the gym. He cracked his knuckles, showing off the muscles in his arms, and she giggled again. ‘I got a few things from your ma — she don’t know I know you, I never said — but remember me once sayin’ I thought we’d met? Well, you could ‘ave knocked me down with a feather when I realized who you was. Anyways, she told me to give you these. It’s just some fruit — things are hard to come by with the war an’ all... How do you do in ‘ere when the sirens go? Bet they can’t let you all out into a shelter, can they?’

Alex asked if Johnny knew about him and Dora, and she laughed. She didn’t really think there was anything to know. When Alex leaned forward he could smell her perfume. ‘You know how I feel about you, you know it... Open your blouse for me, go on, just a bit — lemme see them.’ Dora looked around, then slowly unbuttoned her blouse and let him peek at her lace bra, running her tongue round her red-painted lips. Alex rubbed at his erect penis and squashed his legs together until his balls burnt him. She was still talking away, telling him how bad her mother was and how her legs were swollen up like balloons. ‘I said to your mum that if she couldn’t come next visitin’ day I’d like to come again, would you like that?’

Alex was puzzled — what did Dora mean his mother couldn’t come? She looked at him in amazement. ‘Haven’t you been told?’ she asked. Then she looked at the screws and frowned. ‘Bastards never told you, she had to go in for an operation. They say she’s all right but she’s ever so weak, maybe she just didn’t want to bother you.’

The bell clanged and it was over. Alex was led back to his cell. On the way he asked the screws if they could check on his mother — that he had just heard she was ill.

He couldn’t sleep that night for worrying about Evelyne. The lads in their bunks could hear him tossing and turning, and presumed it was because of his lady love. In the morning he requested an interview with the Governor.

He had to wait a whole week before he was taken to the Governor’s office. ‘I want someone to check on me ma, she’s ill, and she’s got no one ter look after her.’

Predictably, he was told that perhaps he should have thought of that before he got himself into trouble. He was so angry that he slammed his fist on the desk and demanded that someone go to see his mother. The wheels were put in motion, and various letters were written to social workers to check up on Mrs Stubbs, but no one seemed particularly concerned.

Edward collected his mail from his pigeon-hole. He recognized his mother’s letter immediately, but was confused by the large manila envelope. He had no idea who it could be from.

He was going to be late for a lecture, so he stuffed the letters in with his books and crossed the quad.

It wasn’t until he got back to his rooms to study that he remembered the letters. He picked them up and sighed — he hated reading Evelyne’s letters, they depressed him so much. But he deftly slit the first cheap envelope with a paperknife. He gave the letter a cursory glance — the usual chatter about the neighbours. Mrs Harris’ daughter again — Edward sighed, and was just about to toss the letter in the waste-paper basket when he noticed there was a postscript. He put the kettle on the small stove to make his cocoa, helped himself to a biscuit and carried it back to his desk, munching while he continued to read. Evelyne wrote that the operation had been successful but she would be in for a few more days. She was feeling much better, but had been worrying about certain financial matters that Edward should be aware of.

Edward’s hand shook when he read that Alex was in Wormwood Scrubs — in the circumstances Evelyne had made a will, leaving everything to Edward. She had signed the letter, as usual, ‘Your Mother’; no love. It was a single sheet of cheap paper. He turned it over. Scrawled on the back was one sentence, underlined, ‘Whatever the outcome, you must take care of your brother, you have a debt you must never forget.’

Edward felt sick, his stomach churning. She had made no mention of why she had had an operation, or why Alex was in Wormwood Scrubs. He crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it across the room. ‘Stupid bitch, stupid bitch.’

A sob caught in his throat and he retrieved the letter, pressing out the creases. He ran from his room, down the stone stairs three at a time to the telephone booth by the main hall. As he hurried across the quad Walter waved and joined him. ‘I’m just going to see the new Carole Lombard flick at the local, there’s a double feature, Greta Garbo, you want to come? I’ll pay for your ticket.’

‘I’ve got to make a phone call.’