Lizzie woke early when it was still dark and lay still. She’d woken with a start in the middle of a dream: a prison officer screaming at her, his face so close to hers that she could only see his open mouth and yellow teeth, yelling at her that she’d never be let out. It took her a while to realize it had been a dream and she’d still be released that morning. The relief made her feel like laughing out loud, but she didn’t want to disturb the others. There were so few times in prison to feel alone.
She sensed the emptiness beyond her window. The space was like pressure on her skin, her eyes and ears. She imagined herself as a diver or someone in deep space. Of course in an open prison there was more freedom; it was possible to be outside, and her work on the farm gave her plenty of fresh air. But in a way that had just made her confinement more disturbing. It was as if she was constantly being told: You can go this far, but no further.
It started to get light. There was the bright song of a blackbird. Other noises. The day-shift screws’ cars arriving. A shouted greeting. This is the last time I’ll hear this. Not knowing whether she was terrified or exultant. Then she remembered the photos in the book she’d found in the library and decided that the hugeness of the world was a pool to dive into, not somewhere to drown. She loved the image, repeated the words in her head so she wouldn’t forget them, and wished she had time for one more meeting with the writers’ group so that she could share it. She knew the teacher would be impressed.
Rose worked in the kitchen and was already getting dressed. Lizzie lay in bed and watched. Not in a voyeuristic way. Rose always turned her back to the others and scrabbled into her underwear to maintain an illusion of privacy. Lizzie never bothered with that stuff. She didn’t mind the others seeing her body. She knew she was fit. She’d never had kids, didn’t have stretch-marks or flabby tits. Before she headed out to work, Rose bent and kissed Lizzie on the cheek. The gesture was so unexpected that Lizzie sat up, startled.
‘I won’t see you again before you leave.’ Rose was whispering. The cousins were still sleeping. Nothing woke them.
‘I’ll be at breakfast.’
‘But everyone’s there. It’s not the same.’
Lizzie climbed out of bed and they hugged. Lizzie wasn’t usually into casual physical contact, felt it like insects crawling over her skin, but Rose had looked after her inside. Taken care of her when the first few days had been a nightmare. Lizzie could see how she’d have been gentle with the old folk in the home, thought it was a shame Rose would never get to do that sort of work again.
In the canteen everyone wanted to come and say goodbye. Queuing at the counter for breakfast, Lizzie found herself almost in tears. Wondering what was making her so upset about leaving, she decided it was because people weren’t on her case all the time here. If you followed the rules they let you get on with things. There was none of that prodding and prying she’d got from her mother. The meddling with her head. The wringing of the hands. How are you, Lizzie? How can we help? What did we do wrong? Perhaps things would have been different if there’d been other kids for her mother to mither over. If her mother had been younger when Lizzie had been born. If her mother had been more careless in living her own life. More selfish. That would have been easier to handle.
When breakfast was over, one of the officers came to find her. There was a procedure for getting out of here. More rules. In her room she got into her own clothes and put her other few belongings into a black bag. Then she went to the governor’s office for the exit interview.
The governor was a very tall woman with a long neck that seemed to curve like a swan’s. She always wore blue. Today it was a blue mid-calf skirt in soft wool and a cashmere sweater that was almost grey. A string of pearls round her neck. She could have belonged to the place when it was a grand house.
‘So, Elizabeth, you’re on your way. I hope you’ve learned something from your stay here.’ She had a very deep voice with an accent that Lizzie had never been able to place. Scottish? Irish?
‘Yes, thank you.’ This was what the woman expected, but Lizzie thought it was true.
‘These days we do our best, you know.’ The woman stared out of the window. A cloud of rooks was blown by a sudden gusty breeze. ‘We hope all our women take something from the experience of being at Sittingwell.’ Then she was on her feet and holding out her hand for Lizzie to shake it. She might have been the headmistress of an exclusive private school. ‘Good luck.’
Lizzie picked up the bin bag and left the room. At the end of the corridor she saw that her mother was looking out for her.