and they will probably never know what it’s like to walk in our shoes. I know that I can’t even make a cup of tea without crying when I’m feeling a bit lost, when I’m that worn down, let alone make a good choice. I guess what I’m saying is that life is not always straightforward or easy, but I don’t have to tell you lot that.’
There was a faint ripple of laughter, but generally there was a hush as each considered the bad choices that had led them to that strip-lit classroom in Marlham’s women’s prison.
The scrape of metal chair legs against the floor made everyone turn their heads. Janeece had been sitting at the back of the class, listening intently and making copious notes as she always did. Kate had thrown her an olive branch when she had first arrived and Janeece, who had never known support of any kind, had grasped it with both hands.
She stood slowly, tugging at the hem of her grey T-shirt, trying to cover her ample stomach. Then she addressed the class, an act which took all her courage.
‘I think sometimes leaving is the easy choice. It takes courage not to bugger off. It must be harder to stay in a situation that is scary or horrible than to go. My mum left as soon as anything got tough. She kept leaving until one day she just went for good. I was six. Things were quite shitty when she was there, but they got a whole lot more shitty when she’d gone. It would have taken balls to stay and sort the mess out. Ophelia says, “we know what we are, but know not what we may be”. I think this means that we can all make good choices if we try and that we can be whatever we want to. It’s up to us.’
Kate beamed. If she had given Janeece the confidence to stand up in public and quote Shakespeare then maybe her role wasn’t so self-indulgent after all.
She and Janeece had come a long way since their first encounter. At the time, Kate had been just a month into her sentence. She was happy that her first weeks had passed without event. She had managed to keep to a routine of sorts and was sleeping all right despite the night-time noise levels.
She was sitting at the large table in the communal area on the ground floor as she did most afternoons. Most of the women were either clustered around the television, playing pool or knitting, but as usual she had her nose in a book. That day it was Thomas Hardy’s Under the Greenwood Tree. Her hair was still neat in its immaculate bob; years of cutting it herself to keep it tidy and pretty would certainly pay off in here. She felt a prod in her back and swung round to face an enormous, acned teenager of mixed race.
‘Yes, can I help you?’
The girl’s response was swift and hostile.
‘You is in my seat!’ she snarled through gritted teeth.
‘Oh, right, and who might you be?’
Kate had years of practice at hiding fear and remaining calm; she knew it best not to rise to any provocation. Her heart beat loudly against her ribs nonetheless. Was this going to be her first sticky moment? She smiled at the girl as though she were engaging a lost six-year-old she had found wandering alone in the local supermarket.
‘Janeece.’
‘Well, Janeece, it is very nice to meet you. I’m Kate.’
She held out her hand.
The girl reluctantly unfurled her own fingers and extended her palm. Kate shook it and Janeece quickly pulled away, not used to physical contact.
‘Firstly, Janeece, I think that this seat belongs to anyone that wants it, and secondly, you say, “you are in my seat” and not “you is in my seat”; do you hear the difference?’
Struck dumb, Janeece appraised the middle-aged woman who looked like a teacher and spoke like Mary Poppins. She nodded.
Kate continued. ‘I’m just about to start Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy. Have you read it?’
Janeece shook her head.
‘Nah. I don’t do readin’.’
‘Well, that is a great shame, Janeece. You are missing out on a million different worlds that you could visit, which when your own world consists of these grim walls, might be a good thing to do. Why is it that you don’t “do” reading?’
The girl stared at her and, without responding, bit her bottom lip, angry, embarrassed and ashamed. Her likely response floated into Kate’s