Tubes came out. He could pee on his own. They started physio. He couldn’t walk but that didn’t stop them. He tried to copy what they showed him to do but he didn’t see that he’d made any progress. He hurt, he ached and he could say nothing that made sense to them, only to him. They tried to teach him to speak. How could it be so fucking hard? Babies learned! He couldn’t even manage yes and no.
Dila came once with Max. Played the girlfriend. Cried over him.Hmm.She signed autographs for the nurses and left. Barney came again. River didn’t want to see him. He’d fallen because Barney hadn’t climbed. He knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, but River needed to blame someone. No one else visited. He had friends! At least he thought he did. MaybeMax was stopping them coming. He wished he’d stop Barney.
Every day, he woke hoping for something that never happened. No miracle. No turning back the clock. Fear subsided into resignation. He didn’t feel…well, but he didn’t feel desperately ill. His broken bones were healing. If it hadn’t been that he couldn’t speak or understand anyone, he wouldn’t have felt that he needed to be in a hospital bed.
I want to go home.
Two
No more pale grey prison clothing. That should have made Newt at least a little happy, but he felt and looked…wrong, and that wasn’t because the clothes were clearly the cheapest the prison service could provide. Despite having asked him for his size, the jeans hung loose on his hips, the blue T-shirt was a couple of sizes too large, ditto with the underwear. Jim Burton, his personal officer, had handed them to him this morning with a smirk on his face. Not hard to guess he knew they’d be too big. He just wanted a reaction and he wouldn’t get one.
The socks and grey trainers Newt had on were what he usually wore, so at least they fit. He could have purchased clothes to wear on discharge, but instead, he’d asked for them to be provided. He wouldn’t waste his money on items he didn’t intend to wear beyond today.
Burton collected Newt from his cell. Newt carried a navy sweatshirt and a grey jacket—both XL rather than the medium he’d requested—along with a paper bag holding the few things he wanted to keep after seven years’ incarceration. Notebooks, pencils, paperwork, a few books, including one he couldn’t bear to part with about the Romans, and his toiletries. Now he was waiting for Burton to complete the discharge process. Newt suspected he’d drag it out.
Burton opened the door of the office and pointed to a chair. “Sit.”
Newt took a seat at the table and Burton dropped down opposite. For the last three years, Burton had been his main point of contact in HMP Sherbourne, the adult prison in Leeds that Newt had been transferred to when he was twenty-one. Burton didn’t much like him. He didn’t much like Burton. Then again, Newt made no effort to be liked or disliked. Hekept himself to himself, kept his head down and didn’t talk unless he absolutely had to. But sometimes trouble found him. Even if you behaved yourself there was always some arsehole who wasn’t happy. When you’re surrounded by Spice-addicted inmates, the mentally ill and the downright vicious, it didn’t take much for trouble to kick off. Newt had managed to stay clear of most of it. Sometimes by the skin of his teeth.
“Are you listening, Walsh?” Burton snapped.
Newt nodded, twisting his fingers together under the table. It irritated him that he was still called Walsh, though not for much longer.
“Your driving licence, discharge grant and travel warrant.” Burton pushed them across the table. “You can exchange the warrant for a ticket at the station.” He put cash and several forms in front of Newt. “Your card and PIN for the bank account you set up. Once you activate the card, you can use the account. You requested part of your money in cash. Sign here to acknowledge you asked for it at your own risk.”
Newt signed. Then blinked at the amount it said was in his account. “It should be more than that.”
“Confiscated towards your debt.”
What the fuck?Hadn’t they found his supposed share of the robbery under his bed? But there was nothing he could do.
“Sign here to confirm you don’t want the clothes you came in with.”
A seventeen-year old’s tartan pyjamas and trainers that had followed him through the system?Hell no.Newt signed.
“Anything you leave will be incinerated. Read and sign the release papers.”
Newt signed, signed, signed and copies were handed to him. He slipped them into his paper bag. He needed to changethe address on his driver’s licence once he had somewhere permanent to live. He’d already changed his name. He’d applied to the prison service for a legal name change and though he’d been told it wouldn’t happen, eventually they’d agreed. From Newt Walsh to Newt Jones. Newt had picked one of the most common surnames in the UK, though he knew it wouldn’t keep him safe from discovery if his family wanted to find him. He hoped they didn’t.
“Can’t say it’s been a pleasure,” Burton said. “Even when you did as you were told, you always had that defiant look about you.”
Newt wasn’t defiant. He was resigned, pragmatic and cautious, a stay-under-the-radar guy.
“Go straight to your new accommodation and make sure you learn the rules. Remember you’re on licence until the end of your sentence. You can be recalled to custody at any point during this period. Don’t miss the appointment with your probation officer. And learn how to fucking talk like a normal human being. What do you have to say?”
Newt forced out, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“We’re done. Now you can bugger off.” Burton pushed to his feet.
Newt put everything in his bag and followed him. Part of him couldn’t believe this day had finally come. He’d not allowed himself to get excited because he knew how fast things could change inside. Some unintended or fictitious slight could result in an item being planted on him, or an altercation set up around him just because some powerful inmate felt like messing with him just to show he could. But now Newt could almost taste freedom and his pulse raced.
He’d already applied for Jobseekers Allowance and had a place to stay, temporarily at least. It had been made clearthat help was limited because he had a conviction for a violent offence. Discharging a handgun was a big deal. Newt wanting to move south was a problem. Without a local connection, many organisations wouldn’t offer help. It had taken a while to find a place that would. As soon as he’d settled, he’d go to the local library. They’d have computers he could use. He’d sign up for a training course. Internet access was required for most jobs and Newt was sure his old email would have been deactivated long ago.
He followed Burton through several locked doors until they reached the final exit. Then he put on the sweatshirt and jacket. As he suspected, they swamped him. Newt’s heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d actually believe he was free until he stepped through the last gate and no hand reached out to drag him back. The door opened and Newt could see the outside world. A car park, a road, vehicles, a few bare trees and a leaden grey sky. It was cold. He wished it would snow.Stupid!He was hardly dressed for this weather, let alone worse.
He’d been told the bus stop to get him to the station was the other side of the car park, though he’d decided to walk, just because he could. Then he changed his mind. The bus would be quicker and warmer, and he wanted prison a long way behind him. The bus it was.
“See you soon, Walsh,” Burton said at his ear.
