Purgatory

DAY 50 – THURSDAY 6 SEPTEMBER 2001

5.00 pm

I collect my supper from the hotplate, but Sergio avoids any eye contact.

As it’s Wednesday, you have to change your sheets, blankets and towels after supper, so I was too preoccupied to go in search of him. Darren popped in while I was making up my bed to attach nine small mirrors to the wall using prison toothpaste as an adhesive. Regulations allow you only one five-by-five-inch mirror, so heaven knows how Darren got his hands on the other eight.

6.00 pm

I go in search of Sergio, and spot him on the phone. I return to my cell thinking he’ll probably visit me once he’s finished his call… he doesn’t.

10.00 pm

I’m exhausted and fall asleep fully dressed with the TV still on. Only later do I learn that it is an offence to fall asleep fully dressed, for which you can be put on report.

6.57 am

The cell is at last finished and no longer smells of paint. Locke has run a day and a half over time, which is no more than one would expect from any self-respecting painter and decorator. Darren comes in to pick up my washing, sighs, and declares the new decor reminds him of a 1970s council house. He leaves with his nose in the air and several bundles of washing over his shoulder.

9.00 am

Pottery is cancelled as once a fortnight the prison officers carry out a session of in-house – training, which means we’re banged up for the rest of the morning. I attempt yesterday’s Times crossword, and manage to complete three clues – quid, Turgenev and courtier. I can only improve.

12 noon

Lunch. When I go to pick up my meal from the hotplate, Sergio welcomes me with a broad grin, so I assume that after all those phone calls he has some news. However, I won’t have a chance to meet up with him until after I’ve returned from the gym.

2.00 pm

Gym. It’s circuit day. I try to keep up with Minnie the traveler, and manage to do ten press-ups to his fifteen, and maintain the same ratio for sit-ups, bench presses, squats, pull ups and back raises, but let’s face it, he’s only forty-five and in the sixth year of an eleven-year sentence. He’s hoping for parole next year At the end of the session, Minnie nods. He’s a man of few words, and a nod is considered a remarkable gesture for someone he’s only known for a month.

5.00 pm

Board meeting. Sergio begins by apologizing for not reporting back last night, but he had to call Bogota six times and, in the process, went through nineteen phonecards (PS38). To fund this, he had to sell his radio, a cassette player and an Adidas tracksuit. I hope I looked suitably guilty.

He tells me that the paperwork for the emerald is now complete (insurance, registration, authentication certificate, export licence and tax) and it’s ready to be shipped. His brother, as you will recall, is a senior civil servant and therefore plays everything by the book. He has already told Sergio that he has no intention of losing his job over one small emerald. I feel even more guilty as I listen to the rest of Sergio’s Colombian report…

6.00 pm

Darren rushes into my cell. ‘A problem,’ he announces. Mr Meanwell has just witnessed him opening a registered parcel in reception. It turned out to be a plate and bowl sent in by my son Will. ‘Prisoners are not allowed to send in gifts for other inmates, as it might be construed as a bribe, in exchange for drugs or protection.’ Darren warns me that Mr Meanwell would be calling for me at some point, and perhaps it might be wiser if I were to go and ‘bell the cat’. I shake my head. Meanwell is a wise old bird, and he’ll work out that a plate and bowl doesn’t constitute a bribe, and in any case, everyone is well aware of my views on drugs. He will also realize that I made no attempt to hide the gift. Will’s name was printed all across the box, together with a compliment slip from my PA, which would allow Mr Meanwell to place the offending plate and bowl with the rest of my confiscated kit downstairs if he was at all suspicious. like Nelson, Meanwell knows when to turn a blind eye.

6.15 pm

Exercise. It’s the final evening outing. The nights are drawing in and we won’t be allowed out again after six. I perambulate around the yard with Steve (not librarian Steve) who, because he’s a D-cat prisoner, has spent the day out with his family. I ask him if he enjoyed the experience (9 am to 3 pm).

‘Very much,’ he replied, ‘but only thanks to some help from the police.’

The police?’ I repeat.

He explains. One of the activities Steve most misses while he’s in jail is a regular swim, so whenever he has a day release, he and the family go off to the local swimming pool. On this occasion they left their Ford in the municipal car park, and took the children to the pool. When they returned, his wife couldn’t find her car keys, until one of the children spotted them on the back seat. Steve ran all the way to the nearest police station explaining his dilemma, exacerbated by the fact that if he failed to return to Wayland by three o’clock, he would automatically lose his D-cat status. The police happily broke into his car, and even phoned Wayland to confirm what happened. Steve arrived back at the front gate with ten minutes to spare.