Heaven

DAY 104 TUESDAY 30 OCTOBER 2001

6.01 am

Write for two hours. I’ve now completed 250,000 words since being incarcerated. Perhaps Alan Coren is right.

8.15 am

Ten new prisoners arrived yesterday. They will be seeing the doctor straight after breakfast before coming to SMU to be given their induction pack, and then be interviewed by the labour board. One by one they make an appearance. Some are cocky, know it all, seen it all, nothing to learn, while others are nervous and anxious, and full of desperate questions.

And then there’s Michael Keane (lifer, fourteen years so far, aged thirty-nine).

Those of you who’ve been paying attention for the past 250,000 words will recall my twenty days at Belmarsh, where I met William Keane on the tea-bag chain gang. His brother Michael has the same Irish charm, wit and love of literature, but never forget that all seven Keane brothers have been in jail at the same time, costing the taxpayer a million pounds a year. Michael passes on William’s best wishes, and adds that he heard today that his sister has just been released from Holloway after serving nine months for a string of credit-card crimes. Michael is hoping for parole in March, and if Irish charm were enough, he’d make it, but unfortunately, the decision has to be ratified by the Home Office, who will only read his files, and never see him face to face. His fame among the Keanes is legendary, because when he was at Belmarsh – a high-security prison – he got as far as the first outer gate while emptying dustbins. The furthest anyone has manage while trying to escape from hell.

10.20 am

A scruffy, unshaven prisoner called Potts checks into SMU to confirm that he has a meeting with his solicitor this afternoon. I check my day sheet to see that his lawyer is booked in for three o’clock. Potts, who has just come off a three-hour shift in the kitchen, smiles.

‘See you at three, Jeff.’

11.40 am

All ten inductees have been seen by the labour board, and are fixed up with jobs on the farm, in the kitchen or at the officers’ mess. One, Kevin (six years for avoiding paying VAT), has opted for full-time education as he’s in his final year of a law degree.

12 noon

Over lunch, Doug asks me if I’ve put in my takeaway order for the weekend. I realize I’m being set up, but happily play along. He then tells me the story of two previous inmates, Bruce and Roy, who were partners in crime.

Bruce quickly discovered that it was not only easy to abscond from NSC, but equally straightforward to return unobserved. So one night, he walked the six miles to Boston, purchased some fish and chips, stole a bicycle, rode back, hid the bike on the farm and went to bed. Thus began a thriving enterprise known as ‘weekend orders’. His room-mate Roy would spend the week taking orders from the other prisoners for supper on Saturday night (the last meal every day is at five o’clock, so you can be a bit peckish by nine). Armed with the orders, Bruce would then cycle into Boston immediately after the eight-fifteen roll-call, visit the local fish and chip shop, McDonalds or KFC – not to mention the pub – and arrive back within the hour so he could drop off his orders and still be seen roaming round the corridors long before the 10 pm roll-call.

This dot-con service ran successfully for several months, in the best traditions of free enterprise. Unfortunately, there’s always some dissatisfied customer who will grass, and one night two officers caught Bruce about a mile away from the prison, laden with food and drink. He was transferred to a C-cat the following morning. His room-mate Roy, aware it would only be a matter of days before he was implicated, absconded with all the cash and hasn’t been seen since.

2.50 pm

Potts returns to SMU for the meeting with his solicitor. He has shaved, washed his hair and is wearing a clean, well-ironed shirt, and his shoes are shining. I have the unenviable task of telling him that his solicitor rang a few moments ago to cancel the appointment.

This is a message to all solicitors and barristers who deal with the incarcerated: your visit can be the most important event of the week, if not the month, so don’t cancel lightly. Potts walks dejectedly back down the path, head bowed.

4.00 pm

Mr Hocking drops into SMU. He tells me that the whole of spur four on the north block (nine rooms) has just been searched, because an officer thought he heard a mobile phone ringing. Possession of a mobile phone is an offence that will ensure you are sent back to a C-cat the same day.

4.30 pm

Write for two hours, feel exhausted, but at least I no longer have to report for the 10 pm roll-call…

7.00 pm

I join Doug and Clive at the hospital. Clive tells me that the officers found nothing during this morning’s search. Often ‘hearing a mobile phone’ is just an excuse to carry one out when they are actually trying to find something else. Doug chips in, ‘Truth is, they were looking for another camera which the press have recently smuggled in. They even know the name of the prisoner involved, and as he’s due to be released on Friday, they want to be sure he doesn’t leave with a role of photos that would embarrass them.’

11.40 pm

Potts is rushed to Boston Hospital, having taken an overdose.