A Prison Diary Part 14

I have now been a resident of Wayland for a month, and Sergio will return to Colombia in a couple of weeks' time. So with a bit of luck h.e.l.l be deported around the same time as I'm being transferred to a D-cat. But will I also be in possession of an emerald?

9.00 am Gym. Friday is special needs group, and my four new friends Alex, Robbie, Les and Paul shake hands with me as they come through the gate. Again all four display different talents during the training session. Les can now complete 1,650 metres on the rowing machine in ten minutes, but can only manage one mile an hour on the treadmill, whereas Paul can do five miles an hour on the running machine, but can't catch a ball. Robbie can catch anything, but hates all the machines, so only does weight training.

The instructors rightly tell us to play to their strengths, which results in much clapping and laughter, along with a huge sense of achievement.

Jimmy handles them better than anyone. He remembers all their names (over twenty came this morning) and they feel he's a real friend. He'd make a great PE teacher, but I have a feeling that once he's released the lure of easy money may be more attractive. He says he'll never deal in drugs again, but I wonder.

6.00 pm Exercise. Cancelled because it's raining.

7.00 pm Sergio calls his brother in Bogota, but the line is engaged.

7.05 pm Sergio comes to my cell and continues his tutorial on the history of Colombia. The political system is not unlike thatof the United States with a president, vice-president, Senate and Congress. However, there are two big differences: the president and vice-president have to come from different parties, one conservative, one liberal - Colombia's idea of democracy - whereas in truth the president has all the power.

The other big difference is that even a senator requires four bodyguards. Sergio tells me that one presidential candidate had forty bodyguards when he delivered a speech in Bogota, and was still a.s.sa.s.sinated.

7.20 pm Sergio tries his brother again. Still engaged.

7.23 pm Sergio continues his lecture, explaining that the violence in his country makes it necessary for any presidential candidate to have an accommodation with the guerrillas or the Mafia or the army, or all three. We sometimes forget how fortunate we are in Britain. Our politicians only have to deal with the trade unions, the CBI - and Messrs Paxman and Humphreys.

735 pm Sergio tries his brother again. Still engaged.

7.40 pm According to Sergio, the civil service remains the only untainted profession. Although his brother is an adviser to several ministers, he doesn't need a bodyguard because it is accepted that he will never take a bribe from either the Mafia, the guerrillas or the army. The countryside, he a.s.sures me, is beautiful and the beaches that face both the Pacific and the Atlantic rival any that can be found in America or Europe. And as for the women...

DAY 52 SAt.u.r.dAY 8 SEPTEMBER 2001

6.01 am

Since the age of twenty-six, I've been lucky enough to organize my own life, so having to follow the same routine day in and day out, weekends included, is enough to make one go stark raving bonkers. If I weren't writing this diary, and Sergio didn't exist, they would have had to put me in a straitjacket long before now and cart me off to the nearest asylum.

9.00 am Gym. I put myself through a tough workout, and what makes it even tougher is that I'm surrounded by prisoners a third of my age. At the end of the session I climb onto the scales,to find I've put on a pound in the last week. I'll have to cut down on my chocolate intake. One of the many disadvantages of being locked up in a cell for hour upon hour is that sometimes you eat simply because there is nothing else to do (this is one of the reasons prisoners experiment with drugs, and addicts need a regular fix). In future I must show more self-control. If I don't buy it, I can't eat it.

Between each exercise, ten minutes on the treadmill, the rower and the bicycle, I walk a complete circuit of the gym to get my breath back. By now I know most of the prisoners and the workouts they do, and usually acknowledge or encourage them as I stroll by. As I pa.s.s Jimmy he flexes his muscles, and describes himself as a gay icon; I'm seen by the other inmates as the geriatric icon.

Today I spot a six-foot-three West Indian of about twenty stone who's lifting ma.s.sive weights on his own, so I stop to watch him.

'What are you f.u.c.kin' staring at?' he demands, once he's put the weights down.

Just watching,' I reply.

Then f.u.c.k off. I know you talk to everyone else, but you don't f.u.c.kin' talk to me.' I can't stop laughing, which doesn't seem to please him and has the officers on edge. 'Do you want your f.u.c.kin' head knocked off?' he asks.

'I don't think so, Ellis.' He looks surprised that I know his name. 'Not if you're hoping to be out of here in two weeks' time.' He looks even more surprised that I know when he's due to be released. He grunts, turns his back on me and lifts 210 kilos. In prison, what you know is every bit as important as who you know.

2.00 pm As I cross the corridor to join Darren in his cell for a game of backgammon, I spot Sergio on the phone. He's holding a stack of 2 phonecards in his left hand; by now he must have traded everything he owns. Lately, his cell looks as if the bailiffs have paid a visit.

After three games, I return to my cell in possession of another Mars bar. If I am going to lose weight, I'm going to have to start losing at backgammon. I glance to my left to see Sergio furiously beckoning me.

'I need another phonecard' he says desperately. I remove the one I always carry in the back pocket of my jeans andhand it over. He smiles. I return to my cell, sit at my desk and wait, sensing a board meeting is imminent.

2.34 pm Sergio walks in, pushes the door to (if anyone enters your cell, officer or inmate, it's against regulations to lock yourself in) and turns on the TV - a sign that means he doesn't want to be overheard. He takes his usual place on the end of the bed, as befits the managing director. He opens his A4 pad.

'The stone takes off,' he checks his watch, 'in a couple of hours.' He can't resist a huge grin as he keeps me waiting. I nod. If I were to speak, it would only hold up the inevitable repet.i.tion of the entire conversation he and his brother have just held. And who can blame him? However, I'll skip the next forty minutes and give you a precis of what has caused such a big grin.

Sergio's brother has in fact completed all the paperwork and booked the tiny package onto a Lufthansa flight that leaves Bogota for Heathrow via Frankfurt in two hours' time (10.30 am in Bogota, 4.30 pm at Wayland). He has faxed all the relevant details to my office in London, so they'll know when and where to pick up the gem. Sergio pauses at this point and waits for some well-earned praise. He goes on to confirm that the emerald has come from the Muzo mining district, famous for the quality of its stones. It's 3.3 carats, and cost $9,000 (mountain price). Now all we can do is wait until I find out what value is placed on the emerald by my gemmologist. Sergio looks up from his notes, and adds that his brother would like confirmation that the fax has arrived in my office.

'Right now,' I ask, 'or when you've completed your report?' because I can see that he's only about halfway through the pages that are covered in his neat Spanish hand.

He considers this for a moment, and then says, 'No, I'll finish first.

The second piece of news,' continues Sergio, turning another page, unable to suppress an even broader grin, 'is that Liana' -his former school friend - 'has tracked down four Boteros in private hands. In private hands,' he repeats with considerable emphasis. 'And they could be for sale. She will send the details to your office some time next week.' He checks his diary. That will give you twelve days to evaluate them. Evaluate,' he repeats. Is that the correct word?' I nod, impressed. 'By the time you have decided on a realisticprice, I will be back in Colombia and can take over negotiations.' He closes the A4 pad.

'I'd better call my son,' I say, aware the ball is back in my court. 'Any units left on my phonecard?' I ask, returning to the real world.

3.17 pm I call James on his mobile and ask where he is.

'In the car, Dad, but I'll be back at the flat in about fifteen minutes.' I put the phone down. Three units gone - mobiles gobble units. I return to my cell to tell Sergio I won't know if James has received the fax for another fifteen minutes. This gives Sergio enough time to repeat the highlights of his earlier triumph not unlike replays of Owen's hat-trick against Germany.

3.35 pm I call Jamie at the flat and ask him if he's received the fax.

'Yes' he replies, 'it arrived forty minutes ago.'

'And does it give you all the details you need?'

'Yes,' he replies.

I put the phone down. Sergio leaves me as he has to report for his job behind the hotplate. Although he too has to return to the real world, that grin just doesn't leave his face.

4.30 pm Exercise. Darren and I are joined by Jason (conspiracy to blackmail) on our afternoon power walk. We pa.s.s Shaun who is sketching Jules, with whom I shared a cell for the first two weeks. He's now finished Darren and Dale and once he's completed Jules, he'll only have Jimmy to do, so he should have a full house by the end of the week.

'Why do I have this feeling,' asks Darren, 'that you consider the Prison Service has only one purpose, and that is to cater for your every need?'

'That's neither accurate nor fair,' I protest. 'I've tried to organize my entire life around the schedule the Prison Service demands. It makes it twice as difficult to carry out my usual routines, but it has put another perspective on the unforgiving minute.'

'I wish I could work the system,' says Jason. 'They had me in for an MDT (mandatory drugs test) this afternoon, a la Ann Widdecombe.'

'Will it prove positive?' I ask.

'No chance, I'm in the clear. What a nerve,' he adds,'suggesting that it was "on the grounds of reasonable suspicion".'

'Knowing your past record,' says Darren - well aware that Jason occasionally dabbles in heroin - 'how can you be so confident you're in the clear?'

'Simple,' Jason replies. 'For the past three days I've been drinking more water than Jeffrey, I must have been up peeing at least seven times every night.'

5.40 pm We're banged up for fourteen hours. After I've checked over the day's script, I turn to my letters. I am particularly touched by a missive from Gillian Shephard. She describes herself as 'your temporary MP'. She offers her support and goes on to point out that, 'No one can suggest I'm after your vote. After all, members of the House of Lords, convicted prisoners and lunatics are not ent.i.tled to a vote.' She concludes, There's only one category left for you to fulfil, Jeffrey.'

10.00 pm I climb into bed and start to think about an aeroplane that's already halfway across the Atlantic on its way to Heathrow. In its ma.s.sive hold there is a tiny package, no larger than an Oxo cube, and inside a tiny emerald that will either be on its way back to Bogota in a few days' time, or hanging on my family's Christmas tree come December.

DAY 53

SUNDAY 9 SEPTEMBER 2001

5.39 am

The strangest thing happened last night, and I'm going to have to follow it up today. However, in order for you to be able to understand its significance, I'll first have to explain the layout of the enhanced spur on A block. The spur is L-shaped, with fourteen cells on each sprig. If I look out of the window to my left, I can see about five of the windows on the adjoining sprig.

Around eight yesterday evening, just after I'd finished writing for the day, I rose from my desk to draw the curtains, when I noticed a woman officer of about twenty-five years of age (I'd better not describe her in detail) chatting to a prisoner through his window. I wouldn't have given it a second thought - if she hadn't still been there an hour later ... now I'm unable to tell you any more at the moment, because I was banged up at five forty last night, and willnot be let out until eight fifteen this morning. I shall then approach the oracle of all knowledge, Darren, and report back to you tomorrow. I have a feeling he'll know both the officer and the prisoner and - more importantly - be able to throw some light on their relationship.

Jimmy, Carl, Jules, Shane and I go across to the changing rooms for the football match against Lakenheath. After last Sunday's victory, and two good training sessions during the week, the team are buoyed up and ready for the encounter.

In my role as match reporter, I look around the benches and check to make sure I know the names of every team member.

The players are becoming quite nervous, and start jumping up and down on the spot as they wait for the arrival of our coach to deliver his pep talk. Kevin Lloyd appears a few moments later, a look of despondency on his face.

'I'm sorry, lads' he says, 'but the game's off.' A voluble groan goes round the changing room. Two of the opposition'

Kevin continues, 'failed to bring any form of ID with them, so we couldn't let them through the gates. I would have accepted credit cards, but they couldn't even supply those. I am sorry,' Kevin repeats, and there's no doubt he's as disappointed as we are.

While the others go off for a further training session, I have to return to my cell.

11.00 am I call Mary, who brings me up to date on the reinstatement of my D-cat. 'KPMG's report is progressing slowly,' she tells me, 'and the police haven't even decided if they want to interview you.' Although the whole exercise is taking longer than she had antic.i.p.ated, Mary says there is no reason to believe that they will find Ms Nicholson's accusations anything other than spurious.

I suggest that she goes ahead with the Christmas parties that we always hold in December and let Will and James act as co-hosts. I tell her to invite everyone who has stood firm and ignore the fair-weather friends (who have in fact turned out to be very small in number). I add that if I'm in a D-cat open prison by Christmas, I'll call up in the middle of the party and deliver a festive message over the intercom.

430 pm I'm just about to leave for exercise when the spur officer tells me I'm required urgently in the SO's office. The word 'urgently" surprises me, as I haven't heard it used for thepast seven weeks.

I join Mr King in his office, and am introduced to a female officer I've never seen before. Am I at last to meet the governor? No. The officer's name is Sue Maiden and she explains that she's part of the prison's security team. She then tells me that it has been reported to her that Ellis, who resides on B block, was abusive to me in the gym yesterday. I repeat exactly what took place. She then asks me if I want special protection.

'Certainly not,' I reply. 'That's the last thing I need.'

She looks relieved.

'I had to ask,' she explains.

That's all I need,' I repeat. 'You only have to read the story in the Sunday Mirror this morning about phonecards to see what the press would make of that.'

'Understood, but we'll still have to speak to Ellis.'

'Fine, but not at my request' I make clear. She seems to accept this proviso, and I depart to find the barred gate that leads out on to the exercise yard has already been bolted, leaving me locked inside and unable to take my daily walk around the yard.

5.00 pm I spend the forty minutes with Sergio in his cell. He tells me that there is only one recognized carrier willing to fly in and out of Bogota, and then only on a Thursday, Sat.u.r.day and Sunday. Sergio mentions that it's not easy to attract holidaymakers to a country where there are forty murders a day in the capital alone. He uses the rest of exercise time to give me a geography lesson. I am shown in Darren's Times atlas (he's playing backgammon) where the emerald mountains are situated, as well as the extensive oil fields in the valleys to the east. I also discover that both the Andes and the Amazon make entrances and exits through Colombia.

6.00 pm I drop into Darren's cell to have a blackcurrant cordial and watch him play a game of backgammon with Jimmy. He tells me that my meeting with the security officer was timed so that I wouldn't be able to go out into the exercise yard, as they felt it might be wise for me to cool it a little. Darren seems to know everything that's going on, and I take the opportunity to tell him about my nocturnal sightings.

Darren laughs. 'You're a peeping Tom,' he says. 'That has to be Malcolm. Macho Malcolm.''He's even more irresistible than me,' chips in Jimmy.

'Do I sense a good story for the diary?' I ask tentatively.

"Half a dozen,' says Darren, 'but not tonight because we're just about to be banged up.' He can't hide his pleasure at the thought of keeping me waiting for another few hours.

8.00 pm Once I'm banged up, I start making extensive notes for my phone call to Alison, who returns from New Zealand tomorrow.

I then turn to Hamlet. I am resolved to read, or reread, the entire works of Shakespeare - thirty-seven plays - by the time they transfer me to an open prison. If I succeed, I'll move on to the Sonnets.

After a couple of acts, I switch on the TV to watch the unforgettable John Le Mesurier in Dad's Army. What a distinguished career he had, making a virtue of letting other people take centre stage. Not something I've ever been good at.

DAY 54 MONDAY 10 SEPTEMBER 2001

5.51am