Heaven's Door (25 page)

Mags turned on Tom. “So it's you again!” she shouted, and looked for a moment as if she would storm out of the room. Then her whole body sagged and she subsided back onto the sofa.

*

Tom drummed his fingers on the desk as he tried to come to terms with the news of Jack's early departure.

His office at Etherington Place had originally been a dressing room off the large bedroom in the west wing of the house where he had been sleeping for most of the past two years. He had converted the room some time ago into a good-sized office by incorporating a box room next to it. It had a large antique walnut desk, a luxurious tilt-and-swivel chair in burgundy leather, and book cases lining two of the walls. There was a door in each of the other wood-panelled walls, one into the bedroom and one onto the corridor. The period feel of the room was offset somewhat by the six spotlights set in the high ceiling.

He sat in silence for a long time, then picked up the desk phone.

“He's not available, I'm afraid,” said Shirley, as soon as his call was answered.

“Is he deliberately avoiding me?”

“I couldn't possibly comment on that, Home Secretary,” she answered, unmoved by his agitation. “I know he's very busy, and I'm sure he intends getting back to you. But your continuing absence has put an extra …”

Tom slammed down the receiver, regretting it immediately. He phoned again. Shirley picked up straight away but said nothing.

“Listen, Shirley, I'm sorry about that. And I'm sorry that I've not been around and everyone has had to work harder. But please cut me a bit of slack. You have no idea what …” His voice broke slightly, enough for Shirley to pick up on it.

“I'm sorry, too. Really I am. For Jack; for everything. But …” She paused. “Listen, Home Secretary, I'd get the sack if the PM found out I'd told you this. But he is a bit reluctant – well, let's say, hesitant – to speak to you, because he knows what it's about. And it's not that he isn't sorry about what's happened, it's just the bigger picture, you know, the wider implications.” She paused again. “He says it's impossible to do what you want right now and for the foreseeable future. So, yes, I guess he is avoiding speaking to …”

“It's not impossible! It's perfectly possible!” shouted Tom. “In fact, it's what people want! What have I done to make him so…?”

Shirley remained silent, not saying any more.

“Shirley,” he said, calmly, after a few moments, “thank you for telling me that. I do really appreciate it. It's the first bit of kindness I've been shown for what seems like a very long time. I won't forget it and, of course, the PM will never know you told me. Hopefully he'll tell me himself when he gets round to it.”

“He will, Home Secretary. I promise I'll get him to speak to you very soon. I hope we can save Jack.”

“Thank you, Shirley. Bye.”

Tom slumped in his a chair.

‘I hope we can save Jack.' Shirley's words echoed in his mind for a moment as he wondered how Andrew came to know what he wanted to speak to him about.

*

Week 10; Friday, 29 May…

They arrived at the visitors' reception in the holding centre just before 10.00 am. The room was large and airy, with several full planters colourfully decorating the area along with a small central fountain. The dozen or so armchairs around the walls looked comfortable and welcoming. The atmosphere of calm seemed at odds with the grim purpose of their visit.

Katey and Leila Midanda were already there. Katey flew into her mother's arms and then into Tom's, clinging and sobbing, close to hysteria.

“She's been wonderful, simply wonderful,” said Leila in a small voice. “I couldn't have managed without her. I don't know what I…”

Mags put her arms around her. Leila was a tall, handsome woman in her late thirties with a round face and bright eyes. She wore a pale yellow trouser suit which accentuated her smooth ebony skin.

“Listen,” said Tom. “We must get ourselves together for Jack and Jason's sake. God knows what they must be feeling, but we won't help them by falling apart. We must try to be strong for them.”

That was as much as he could bring himself to say, but it had a stabilising effect and they had all managed to compose themselves by the time two prison officers entered the room a few minutes later.

“Good Morning, I'm Emily Parker, Senior Prison Officer, and this is Prison Officer Jools Gorton.”

She stepped forward and shook hands with all four of them, addressing them individually as she did so. She was of average height with a sturdy figure and kind, friendly smile. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Jools followed her along the line, also shaking their hands. He was almost a head taller than Emily, very slim, with a pleasant, boyish face.

“Follow me, please,” said Emily, raising her arm to indicate the way. “We'll explain what the arrangements are in a few moments.”

She led them down a whitewashed corridor, with Jools bringing up the rear. At a T-junction, they stopped.

“Mr Midanda this way, please,” said Emily indicating to the right.

“Give Jack my love,” said Katey. “I'll go with Leila to see Jason, but tell him I'll see him soon.”

They followed Emily as Jools walked past Tom and Mags, leading them off to the left without speaking. Ahead of them, another female officer was waiting next to a long table near a heavy metal door with a combined handle and keypad, which faced them at the end of the short passageway. On the wall above the table was a large monitor screen. She stepped forward, extending her hand to greet them.

“Good morning, I'm Phoebe Barnes, Prison Officer.”

Phoebe was almost a carbon copy of her senior colleague; same height and build and with a ponytail, except that her hair was blonde.

“I'm sorry, sir, madam,” she said, “but we have to do this. Could you leave your bag on the table, madam, and both empty your pockets. Everything, please. That way we can raise the glass panel in the room, if you wish.”

They complied, showing no emotion. With some embarrassment Phoebe took a hand-held metal detector from a bracket on the wall and passed it over Mags as quickly and unobtrusively as possible before passing it to Jools who did the same with Tom.

“Jack is in there,” said Phoebe. “There is another prison officer with him at present and a glass panel which separates them from the part of the room you'll enter into. Once you are inside and seated, we will leave the room and the panel will be raised so you will be able to… get closer if you wish. However, we shall be monitoring the meeting, visually and aurally. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” said Mags. “I don't understand
why
!”

Phoebe looked at Tom for support. He nodded to her but said nothing. Mags was entitled to her anger, he thought; it was a relief to hear her express any feelings at all.

As Phoebe turned to open the door, Mags grabbed his hand, interlinking their fingers and squeezing tightly. Her nails dug into the flesh between his knuckles so that he momentarily winced with pain. They followed the officer into the room with eyes impatiently seeking the first sight of their son for nearly seventy-two hours. He was wearing blue jeans and a white hooded top over a black tee shirt and was seated on a basic wooden chair behind a glass screen, which reached from floor to ceiling and across the full width of the room.

The prison officer was standing in a formal ‘at-ease' position just behind him. Jack's face was without expression and only his eyes moved as they entered, turning to look at them without any hint of acknowledgement or recognition. Tom could feel the whole weight of Mags's body transferred through the grip on his hand as she fought to steady herself.

Phoebe indicated for them to sit down on two similar chairs, which faced their son through the screen. They sank, rather than sat, onto them and she nodded to her colleague on the other side of the glass. He removed a key from his pocket, inserting it into a small control box on the wall, and turning it through 90 degrees. Then he pressed and held in a mushroom shaped knob next to it and the glass panel slowly lifted through the ceiling of the room, finally disappearing altogether.

Both officials turned to leave, the one who had been with Jack through a second door on his side of the room. Phoebe turned back to them as she left.

“You have just over an hour,” she checked her watch, “until eleven-thirty. If you wish to terminate the meeting before that, just indicate to the camera up there.” She pointed to the wall above the door. “There will, of course, be other opportunities to visit Jack. You can all leave your seats, but please be aware that we shall be observing you throughout the session as I explained.”

She closed the door behind her.

For several seconds no one moved. Jack's eyes were still on them but continued to show no emotion, as if he was unsure what to expect. Then Mags flew out of her chair, throwing her arms around him.

“Oh, Jack, Jack, darling …” she cried, her tears soaking his shirt. Tom followed, wrapping his arms around them both. Jack succumbed, his head dropping into his mother's hair, and his own tears flowed.

They stayed in that position for a full minute, gently rocking back and forth as finally their shaking shoulders came to rest. Jack stiffened and pulled away from them, his face a blank mask again. He looked from one to the other and then relaxed a little.

Tom and Mags backed away to their own chairs. They each tried to pull them closer to Jack, but found they were fixed to the floor. Jack remained still, only his eyes moving, now flicking round the room looking everywhere but at his parents.

“Darling, are you alright?” Mags asked.

Jack's eyes fixed on her, widening. Then he began to shake. It was a few moments before they realised he was laughing, silently and maniacally, until he seemed almost out of control. He broke the silence with a great guffaw.

“
Alright! Alright!
… Never been better, seeing as you're asking. Three meals a day; don't have to tidy my room – well there's nothing in it to tidy, come to think of it – daytime television, which features me and Jay most of the time, by the way and, guess what, in a couple of weeks I'm going on holiday – for ever!
Of course I'm not fucking alright
!”

He crumpled forwards and doubled over, his chest almost falling onto his knees. They both went to him. He straightened up and clung to Mags.

“Mum I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“It's alright, darling …darling Jack,” she said. “It was a stupid question. I didn't know what to say.”

“It's okay, Mum. I understand.”

He pushed Mags slowly away, still holding her gently by the shoulders at arms length.

“I'll tell you what you can say,” he said, looking from one to the other again. “You can say you believe I'm innocent.”

“Jack, we
know
you're innocent.” Mags spoke almost before the words were out of his mouth. “We never, for one minute, doubted it.”

Jack's expression hardened again.

“I want
him
to say it!” he snapped, turning to his father.

The coldness in Jack's voice and eyes was enough to stay any immediate response from Tom.

“
Well?
” Jack's voice was fiercely demanding of an answer.

“I have great difficulty believing you had anything to do with this, Jack. I feel …”

Mags turned to stare at him in disbelief.

“
Great difficulty believing
?” said Jack, his voice shaking with fury. “Well, you're a man who's used to overcoming
great difficulty
, aren't you? So, let's hear it, Father. Let's hear the conclusion you've had
great difficulty
reaching!”

Mags looked at her husband as he again struggled with his reply.

“It's of no consequence, Jack,” he said. “We love you – so much. That's all that matters to us; whatever you have or haven't done is not important.”

“It's fucking important to me! I just want to know what you think. Can't you stop being a politician for a minute and just be my father. There'll be plenty of time in the future to be a politician; you've only got a few days left to be my father!”

The tears welled in Tom's eyes.

“Jack, I …”

“Too late, Dad; I wouldn't believe you now anyway. You had your chance. You
have
to think I'm guilty, don't you? Otherwise your whole new super-duper fucking justice system's a crock of shit! Right?”

He leaned forward again into Mags's arms.

“I'd like to be alone with you, please, Mum. I want him to leave.”

Mags turned to Tom. She nodded to him with an expression that said, “Go, it will be alright.” He rose from the chair and shuffled towards the door, which was opened by Phoebe as he reached it.

Tom stepped outside the room. The two officers were seated at the long table facing the screen showing the scene inside. Phoebe glanced at him with a look of disgust, which contrasted starkly with her unspoken sympathy of just a few minutes ago. Jools ignored him completely. As his mind reeled, he was suddenly aware of familiar voices. Mags and Jack were talking and – of course – as well as observing, they were hearing every word.

“Can I listen … and watch?” he asked.

Phoebe nodded.

“If you're sure you want to,” said Jools.

He stood behind them facing the screen.

“You must understand, Jack, your father loves you so very much,” Mags said, her voice tiny through the speaker. The monitor showed her moving in her chair.

“Maybe he does,” Jack said, “but what I need more than that is for him to
believe
me. I'm finished, Mum, finished. How long do you think I'll last on one of those off-shore things? A day? A week? The one source of any comfort I had to look forward to half-an-hour ago was my parents stating, loudly and clearly, that they knew I hadn't done it. That would have given me something positive to take away with me. Knowing that you knew I hadn't let you down.”