‘I’ll call Dean and tell him not to wait up then.’
They walked back into the station for what would undoubtedly be a night of scintillating closed-circuit TV viewing. With any luck, they might be able to get a better angle on Gabriel and his friends, see if they could work out who he was with.
Gabriel couldn’t move his arms. They were pinned down by his sides, his broad shoulders each touching the side of the metal box he was in. He had anticipated a five-minute journey but an accident on Magdalen Street meant that they were stuck for a little while, at least until the cars were moved out of the way. He wanted to stand up, he wanted to go for a walk to stretch his legs. More than that, he wanted to scream.
The windows of the Serco prison transport van – or sweatbox as it was more affectionately known – were blacked out from the outside, but from the inside he could see the people on the streets going about their business. He saw a skater flipping off a hotel step and instantly wished he had his deck, just to feel that freedom. Freedom; something he had never fully appreciated until he was sat in this box. He was being put on remand until his hearing. He tried to focus on his breathing, unwilling to let his asthma get the better of him in here of all places. He didn’t even know if they would open the door if he had an attack. If they would even hear him? If they would even bother to help? Instead, he just counted inside his head to make the rising panic go away. He couldn’t think about what he had done to get into this situation; the fact was that he was here and he was guilty. Of arson. Of manslaughter.
He had never meant to kill anyone. The words went round and around his head. He was a killer; he had ended someone’s life. He couldn’t allow himself to cry. He couldn’t be seen to be entering the prison with tears in his eyes. He had a few friends who had done time in Exeter prison, and by all accounts it was grim. Understaffed and overpopulated, the Victorian building that was barely fit for purpose – not in this day and age – still housed well over five hundred prisoners both on remand and serving shorter sentences. And he was about to join them.
At least the police had seemed to believe that he hadn’t intended to start the fire; hopefully the judge would too. Every time he closed his eyes, Gabriel imagined what it must feel like to burn alive. Why hadn’t they checked the place was empty? Why had he allowed himself to be pushed into something so bloody stupid? He longed for the sound of his parents screaming at each other when they thought he was out of earshot. Anything but this.
The van started moving and Gabriel allowed himself to breathe. He looked outside, wondering if he would ever walk on a street again. He was afraid that he wouldn’t even last a week in jail; either the asthma or something worse would get to him. The invisible strap around his chest tightened. One, two, three, four, five. He soaked in as much of the city as the route would allow. The bus station, the pub he went into with Emma sometimes. As they pulled into the prison, Gabriel held his breath again. He had very little idea of what to expect, but he was going to keep his head down, speak when spoken to and keep himself to himself. He was grateful at least for his six foot two inches of height, hoping that might deter any unprovoked attacks.
The first thing that hit Gabriel was the smell. It was a musty kind of clean. The kind of clean that was masking a multitude of sins. Industrial cleaner that has an unpleasant bite. He tried not to think about it as he stood with the prison officer at the end of a long room that was more like a giant corridor. B-wing. Doors with cross-hatched, reinforced windows in them. A hatch and a big bolt on the outside. Breathe.
The wing itself was light and airy, empty at the moment apart from the two men with mops and buckets at either side of the long room. Instinctively he wondered what they did to get put inside when they looked so harmless. Most of the doors that lined the walls of the gallery were open. He wondered what was behind the doors that were closed. There was a vaulted ceiling with skylights, fenced off by a metal barrier, and they were on the second level, a gallery looking down onto a communal area with ping-pong tables and sofas. Above everything was a steel net, presumably to stop people from throwing themselves – or others – over the railings.
‘All right, son?’ The prison officer smiled and touched Gabriel on the shoulder to indicate that he should move forward. Gabriel noted the look of sympathy on the officer’s face and realised he must look terrified. He opened his mouth, stretching his jaw; it had been clenched for so long that it had started to hurt. He settled his face into a more stoic expression, feeling his jaw tightening all over again. He pouted his lips to at least make his anxiety seem like confidence, looking down his nose as he walked forward with a strong, assertive stride. He couldn’t let them see his fear, he couldn’t show any weakness. They were about two thirds of the way into the room when the officer stopped.
‘Your stuff’s already in there. When you hear roll call, make sure you come and stand here again and answer when they call your name. If in doubt, just copy everyone else.’
You’ll soon get the hang of it. Just stay calm.
Gabriel considered the room. It was very innocuous with its cream walls and bunk beds. There was a desk and a cupboard each for belongings, and two comfortable chairs against the far wall.
‘Thanks,’ Gabriel managed to squeeze out. Thanks for locking me up. Thanks for facilitating my incarceration. Thanks for saving me from myself.
‘Your pad-mate will be back off work duty soon.’ The prison officer put his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, giving him a gentle pat, or a nudge maybe. Maybe it meant something else altogether.
That was Gabriel’s cue to move from the doorway, to leave the long light corridor of the wing and enter the small space he would occupy for the foreseeable future. At least until he had to appear in court for sentencing – until they decided how much of a risk to society he was. The guard left without closing the door. The idea that anyone could walk in at any moment was not something Gabriel had considered. He had prepared himself to be locked in, but not for this.
He grabbed his bag from on top of the cupboard. He couldn’t tell which bunk was his and so he sat in one of the chairs and waited for his cellmate. He was nervous about conversation. Worried he might say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Upset someone without meaning to. Hopefully his cellmate wouldn’t ignore him. He had been counting the words that had come out of his mouth since he had been charged, aware that he had only spoken when he had to, when he was spoken to first. He wasn’t sure if it made him feel more or less lonely. He had said fifty-five so far, most of them answering the nurse or counsellor in the screening as they processed him to enter the prison.
Gabriel looked through the bag of clothing his mother had sent in to see that his favourite T-shirt was missing. The Slipknot tour T-shirt that Emma used to sleep in. He hadn’t even washed it – he wanted it to smell of her. The rest of his stuff seemed to be there.
‘I’m Jason Cole. Who are you?’ A man entered the room, bounding straight towards Gabriel with his hand held out. Gabriel stood up awkwardly.
‘I’m Gabriel.’
‘Well it’s good to meet you, Gabriel!’
‘Thanks.’
‘You been inside before? I’m guessing by the look on your face the answer is no.’ Jason sat down on the edge of the bed.
Gabriel stuffed his things back into his bag and put them in the empty cupboard. He could sort it all out later.
‘Roll call!’ A booming voice came from outside the cell.
Jason nodded Gabriel towards the door and they both stood up. Gabriel was a good few inches taller than