Chloe in Prison Ch. 14

I was minded to refuse the chocolate: it seemed so trivial now: but in the end I kept quiet and took it.

"Does anybody ever eat chocolate?" I asked. "Or is it just used to trade with?"

"Prana eats it," said Micky. "I never have enough to eat any."

"Shall we eat some now?" I suggested. "I could do with a tonic."

"I'd rather save mine for next time," said Micky.

A gust of wind carried the sound of wailing across the Exercise Yard. We looked across to the girl on the Pony. It seemed indecent to look, but even more indecent to turn away, and carry on as though nothing untoward was happening. Some of the women, though, were throwing the ball with greater freedom, all round the pen, ignoring, if not indifferent to, Parker's suffering.

"It's like Icarus," I said.

"Icarus?" asked Micky.

"His father made him wings so he could fly, but he flew too close to the sun and the wax melted. There's a painting of him falling into the sea: but it happens in the background, whilst the peasants are just going about their business. However much someone is suffering, life elsewhere just goes on as normal."

"It's horrible," said Micky. "It reminds me of all the bullying I thought I'd left behind when I met Alice. Were you bullied at school Chloe?"

"Not really," I said. "Of course there were some girls who didn't like me, and I got pushed a few times and called names. Somebody pulled my hair once. But I suppose that's nothing really."

"Why are you here Chloe -- if you don't mind my asking?"

I told her about Mark, and the drug-dealing. "The worst was when the Police battered down the door at four in the morning," I said. "I was in bed, I didn't know what was happening. They had a dog with them. I was so terrified I wet myself. Mark wasn't there of course. The Police found rolls of money under the bed, and cocaine in sealed plastic bags wrapped up in newspaper. He'd told me he was only dealing in dope."

"That's awful Chloe. You shouldn't be in here."

"It's too late for that," I said. "I try not to think about it."

"It's horrible when you wet yourself," said Micky. "It happened to that girl Cradock when they beat her."

"Well, if it isn't the titless wonder," said a familiar voice, as Wilson barged straight between us, grabbing at Micky's chest as she did so. "I didn't know they let boys in this prison."

"Arsehole," I muttered, though not until Wilson had passed out of earshot. "Are you all right Micky?"

"Yes Chloe, I'm used to it."

"Were you bullied at school?" I asked.

"I was fine at Primary School," said Micky. "But as I got older it grew worse: I used to be called 'Ironing Board' because I was so flat-chested. But funnily enough it was after I had left school that really awful things happened. When I was eighteen I took a summer job in an office. It was a large office, with lots of other girls: I thought I would be all right, as these were all adults: but Chloe, you wouldn't believe how bitchy they were. They pretended they didn't believe I was really a girl, and kept groping me and asking to have a feel of my balls. Then one day two of them grabbed me as I was about to enter the toilet. 'This is the girls' toilet,' they said. 'Boys have their own toilet.' They were big, stupid, well-developed girls: I tried to pass it off with a laugh, but they twisted my arms and marched me off to the men's toilet. By this time a crowd of girls was following us. They marched me right up to the urinal and told me that was where I had to piss. Then they pulled my skirt and pants down and told me to get on with it. And some of the men were in there, laughing and jeering -- it was horrible.

"I did my best. I knew they wouldn't let me go until I had, and besides I did need the toilet. I pushed my hips forwards as far as I could, and tried to aim in the basin.

"It was a disaster. It went everywhere: down my legs, on the floor, up the wall, and all over my pants and skirt. Even my socks and shoes were soaked. And everyone was killing themselves laughing.

"After that they started calling me 'piss-pants'. There was a patch of waste land near the Office -- most of us had to walk past it to get home or to the bus stop. A group of them started to wait for me there and ambush me. 'We need to check if you've wet your pants today,' they used to say. Then two of them, the two girls who had dragged me into the men's toilets, would pin my arms behind my back whilst somebody else would pull down my skirt and knickers. To start with I struggled: then I just gave up and let them get on with it. I thought they would give up eventually. And they did seem to lose interest.

"Then one of the bullying girls undid my blouse and held it open, whilst her friend put on a glove and broke off a stinging nettle. 'Let's see if we can make those pimples swell a bit,' she said. She dangled the nettle onto to my nipples and then -- Oh Chloe, it was awful: I was so scared I did just what they wanted: I wet myself."

"Micky," I said, putting my arm around her shoulders: "It's all right. You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to."

"I do want to Chloe," said Micky sniffing. "I've never been able to tell anybody before -- not even Alice. I've kept it all bottled up inside me."

"OK," I said: "if you're sure."

"I wet myself. There on the patch of waste ground. Down my legs, onto my skirt and pants, into my socks. And they loved it. The glee, Chloe, the delight in somebody else's suffering. I hated them Chloe: I hated the whole human race.

"Of course it was all round the Office next day. And in their eyes it justified everything they'd done. They'd checked to see if I'd wet my pants: and lo and behold I had wet my pants. Not only was I a freak, I was incontinent.

"The last straw came when one of the girls brought in a nappy. They got me on the waste ground, took off my pants and threw them into the nettles, and told me I had to start wearing a nappy. They put it on me, and told me if I didn't come to work wearing it in the morning there would be trouble.

"I never went back Chloe. I couldn't take any more. I told my mother some, but not all, of what had been happening. I got another summer job in a gift shop, which was fine. Then in the autumn I went to College. It was better there. There wasn't any real bullying. But I never fitted in, the other students knew I was different, and the boys weren't interested me because I was flat-chested. I didn't really find any happiness until I started going to the stables where I met Alice.

"And now I'm here, and all the bullying has started over again. I sometimes think it's not worth going on. That life is nothing but cruelty and suffering. And then I met you, Chloe."

"Oh Micky," I said, putting both arms around her, and stroking the back of her head, which was warm in the sunshine. I held her like that for while, listening to the shouts of the ball-players, trying to screen out the cries of pain from the far end of the Yard.

"You do like me, don't you Chloe?" said Micky at last, in my ear.

"I do like you Micky," I said. "I like you very much." Then I took a deep breath and said: "But I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry: the last thing I want to do is to hurt you: but I have to tell you I'm in love with Prana."

I felt Micky stiffen: her hands held me less tightly. Slowly she said:

"I think I knew that Chloe. The way you are together. But it doesn't matter - as long as you really like me."

"Micky, I like you more than ever for saying that," I told her.

"Please don't tell anyone what I've just told you," said Micky. "Not even Rose or Prana."

"I won't tell a soul," I promised her.

"I've got to go now," I said, for I had seen Prana on her own in the distance. I planted a kiss on Micky's forehead, then slipped my fingers into my sock, and handed her back her square of chocolate.

"Eat it Micky," I said. "Promise me."

"All right," she said, smiling wanly.

I sidestepped the football, caught up with Prana and hugged her without preliminaries.

"Chloe, what an afternoon," she said. "And now there is little time left. But I can't feel sexy today."

"Me neither Prana," I said. "But I don't half want to hold you."

We held each other close, nuzzling necks and ear-lobes, breathing in the warmth and scent of each other.

"The things they do in here," said Prana, as Parker's wailing rose and dipped again like the dying cry of some animal.

"She looked done in before they even put her on that thing," I said.

"I think she was punished enough in the men's prison," said Prana. "But this is partly for show: so we will all be good prisoners and not try to escape."

"I'd never though about trying before," I said. "Had you?"

"I've thought about it often," said Prana. "But I know there is no way unless a bomb hits the prison."

The whistle blew, loud and shrill across the Exercise Yard. To all the prisoners except one it signalled the end to their precious hour of fresh air, and a return to incarceration. To one prisoner it must have come as a blessed relief: an end to an hour of the most painful and sadistic punishment.