LITMIR.BIZ

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three meals a day, a bed, and not having to think for herself – what was there not to like? She loved to be a plastic gangster, talking tough and exaggerating her crimes.

      The truth was she lived with her elderly mother, fact; she was ugly and stupid, both incontrovertible facts; and she had nothing going for her. The only respect she got was from her ability to knock out grown men. Inside that hard-ass armoury, there was a sad, lonely woman longing to be loved by a man, to have a family, and to be cherished. Her father had run off when she was two and her mother was a shy, weak little woman who had no control over Colette at all. She was a victim of circumstances, and unfortunately, she knew it, which was why she was merciless inside the nick.

      Kara’s eyes were bloodshot again and it gave her an almost fiendish look. She continued to stare, as if not really knowing what to do. Colette slumped her shoulders and sat heavily on the bed. She slid her hand under the mattress and retrieved a Snickers bar, her favourite treat from the canteen. ‘’Ere, if ya are so fucking hungry, ’ave this.’

      Kara still didn’t move. She was intent on keeping her eye on Colette, in case she tried to bash her once again. She wiped her bloodied mouth for the third time and could feel the swelling of her bottom lip. It didn’t hurt at all. It was strange because she knew it probably looked bad. She ran her hand over her cheekbone to feel the lump protruding under her eye and again was astounded that the swelling was numb.

      Colette watched her checking her wounds and waited for the backlash, but there was none. Kara sat herself down and shook her head. ‘I don’t eat chocolate. But, thank you, anyway.’ Her response was typically articulated, her Oxford accent clearly pronouncing each and every word.

      Colette wasn’t sure if Kara was being sarcastic or that was just her normal way of speaking. ‘You don’t fucking accuse people of nicking ya gear ’cos you will get fucking hurt, right?’

      Kara replied in a flat tone, ‘But it isn’t right. I was extremely hungry. I haven’t eaten for days.’

      Colette wasn’t used to anyone speaking to her like that except for her schoolteachers, many years ago. Unbelievably, she felt like a child again.

      Standing up and closing the cell door, she replied, ‘Listen, Posh, I ain’t got any beef with ya, and I s’pose it’s easier if we gel, ’cos I’m gonna ’ave ta put up wiv ya. So ’ere are the rules. Change the way ya speak, or you are gonna get a fucking good hiding. The birds in ’ere don’t take too kindly to you looking down ya hooter at ’em, and ya best learn to be on high alert, watch ya back, keep outta people’s business and …’

      She paused and looked Kara over. ‘And, if ya do get in any trouble, you be sure ya come and find me. ’Cos, I have a reputation, see. Not many will fuck wiv me. I’m one ’ard bitch.’ She was showing off and wanted to be feared. For some reason, this waif of a woman was intimidating her. Perhaps it was her educated voice – Colette guessed she hadn’t gone to her local state school – or the woman’s weird expression when she was given a good thumping. Either way, she could be a force to be reckoned with, and Colette wasn’t taking any chances.

      Kara gave Colette a gentle smile. Her fat lip and the lump on her cheek made Colette unexpectedly feel a twinge of guilt. The girl was very pretty, and she’d just messed up her face, and for what? It had just been to prove a point, end of. It was wrong on every level, and she knew it.

      ‘Thank you, Cole. I’ll try to speak like you, if it helps.’

      Now, Colette felt even more guilty. Kara wasn’t like the others, that was for sure. She was sweet and innocent.

      The door swung open, and in stepped the inmate who Kara had seen earlier, before the screw pushed her away. ‘All right, Cole, so what’s happening?’

      The mystery woman looked Kara over, as if intrigued to know more about her. Earlier, Kara had felt a little uncomfortable to be alone with her.

      Colette shuffled along the bed so her buddy could join them.

      ‘Her name’s Posh. She’s all right, Dora.’

      Dora’s face changed and she gave a dirty grin. ‘Oh, yeah, it’s like that, is it?’ She winked at Kara, who, of course, had no idea what she meant.

      Colette gave Dora a hard nudge. ‘Fuck off, Dora, it ain’t like that – she ain’t my type. You, of all people, should know that.’

      Dora lowered her eyes and blushed.

      Kara’s mind was whirring. Was Colette a lesbian and Dora her girlfriend? The image of an inmate coming on to her was worse than being violently attacked. Or perhaps it was much the same thing. She shuddered. She watched Dora run her hands down Colette’s leg and wondered if long-term prisoners who weren’t gay turned to each other for comfort. Assuming they wanted some privacy, Kara jumped to her feet and asked, ‘Where’s the library?’

      Colette turned her head to the side. ‘What’s the matter wiv ya? Ain’t our company good enough for ya?’

      In normal circumstances, Kara would have chosen her words more carefully, but this situation was hardly normal. And she wasn’t sure what saying the right thing would do for her credibility. There was no room here for decorum or polite niceties. No, she was going to have to play their game, and where she could, she would stay away from conflict. ‘Cole, I’m going to leave you two to have some private time. I think if we are sharing a cell, it’s only right that I let you have your space. It’s obvious what you two intend to do.’ She looked down at Dora’s hand.

      Colette really laughed at that, and then she winked. ‘You can join in, if ya fancy a bit?’ She stood up and ran a finger along Kara’s uninjured cheek.

      With her stomach now in knots, Kara instantly grabbed Colette’s wrist. ‘You can hit me, Cole, but don’t touch me.’ Surprised that those words had left her mouth, she swallowed hard and winced, awaiting the backlash. However, Colette didn’t see the fear behind those words. All she saw was a flash of fury, which took her by surprise.

      ‘So, I ain’t ya type, then, Posh? Not good enough for ya, eh?’ Her voice was climbing several levels, and Kara felt drained by being on edge all the time. She had to think quickly; backing Colette into a corner would not be clever. ‘Look, Cole, it’s apparent that Dora’ – she pointed to the angry-looking woman still sitting on the bed – ‘is your type, and you have a thing going. I wouldn’t like someone to take what’s mine, and my neighbour did just that, so do you understand where I’m coming from?’

      Colette’s eyes flicked from left to right, trying to take in the message. It took a couple of seconds for her to process the intent behind Kara’s question before she dropped her guard and sat back down. Colette was not totally stupid, not by a long stretch. She realised that Kara had given her a way out, a face-saver. ‘I get ya, Posh, I get ya. You are the faithful type. So, did ya do the neighbour ’cos she was muscling in on ya ol’ man, then?’

      Kara wondered if she could adopt an alter ego. She realised she would have to continue with the lie just to give herself some creds, if she was to survive. Telling lies wasn’t her thing, and yet being in the slammer certainly wasn’t either. ‘Yes, Cole, I burned the house down and tried to kill the bitch.’ She tried to sound cold and hard, but in her mind, she knew she probably sounded pathetic. Truthfully, even saying those words made her feel ill. Mrs Langley was a sweet woman who never deserved what happened, and worse, Kara was using the incident to save her own skin by coming across as hard and uncaring. Who the hell was she turning into? This wasn’t who she was.

      However, Colette was uneasy because Kara wasn’t jumping about swearing and re-enacting the crime; there was a coldness to the woman’s tone and manner. Through long experience of prison and life, she wondered if Kara was really a nutter behind that angelic façade.

      ‘Was ya ol’ man a bit of a dish, then, was he?’ asked Dora, raising her eyebrows and licking her lips.

      Gritting her teeth, Kara wanted to cry again. Of course, he was a dish; he was everything she ever wanted in a man, but he’d abandoned her, ripped her

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