DISHONOUR. Jacqui Rose

waters of the River Coquet. The rescue team had stopped the search for her head, hoping it’d eventually be washed up on the mud flats further down the river.

       Nausea swept over Arnold and the overpowering smell made him think he was going to pass out. The remorse and the guilt; Arnold could almost taste it. As they stood alone in the room looking, his father spoke to him. ‘Your sister broke the rules Arnold; you see what happens when you break rules.’

       His father had told him not to, but he couldn’t stop the tears running down his face. The loud voice made him jump.

       ‘Stop those tears. Tears won’t bring her back Arnold. You made your choice. I gave you the opportunity to go and help your sister, but you decided to sit in the parlour and do nothing. In my books at best you’re a coward and at worst … at worst you killed your own sister. Now I want you to look at her Arnold. See for yourself what happens to people who break the rules.’

       Arnold span round to his father, who stared at him with a mocking sneer.

       ‘I can’t Papa. I can’t.’

       ‘Do it.’

       ‘Please Papa.’

       ‘Do it.’

       Trembling with fear, Arnold walked up to the sheet covered body whispering under his breath to himself. ‘6, 8, 10, 12 …’

       ‘Stop muttering boy.’

       Arnold’s fingers reaching for the sheet were almost rigid with fear. He felt the bile rise up in his mouth as he took hold of the starched cotton sheet. Pulling it back, Arnold froze, as his eyes rested on the headless torso of his sister. He screamed, then turned to run out of the morgue with the image and the echoing of his father’s laughter following him.

       Outside the mortuary the local priest came up to give his commiserations to Arnold’s father, turning to Arnie afterwards. ‘As for you young man; all you have to remember is it’s only the body of your sister that’s been taken. Her spirit is still with us. The body you saw in the morgue is no longer Isobel’s. She’s left that one now. She no longer needs it. As long as a person’s spirit lives on; so do they. Isobel is all around you. She’s here, and you’ll find once your grief eases, you’ll see and feel her everywhere.’

       ‘But where … where will she be?’

       The priest smiled at the peculiar little boy in front of him. ‘In all that is beautiful Arnold, you’ll find Izzy. In all that is perfect, she’s there. You just have to look.’

       Arnold nodded his head but his mind was elsewhere. Izzy was still here. She was still alive. She hadn’t left him after all. She loved him. And now all he had to do was find her.

      The horn being blown startled Arnold, stopping the flood of memories. He drove into the hospital car park and could see her standing by the entrance of accident and emergency.

      Opening the passenger seat door Arnold smiled, speaking warmly. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, it seems to be a thirty mile per hour zone everywhere; I didn’t want to get caught speeding.’

      Tasha smiled, looking at his handsome face. ‘It’s all right babe. I’m just grateful you came.’ She leaned over and gave Arnold a kiss on his cheek.

      He’d been right, she was perfect. Just perfect. His perfect little Izzy.

      10

      ‘Fuck.’ Freddie threw his unauthorised mobile phone at the door of his cell. He watched it break into pieces, making him angrier than he already was. Turning his rage on the leg of the metal bed, he kicked it until the viewing window of the cell door slid open.

      ‘What’s going on Thompson? You better not be wrecking your cell, otherwise it’ll be a stint in solitary.’

      Freddie stepped towards the open hatch and saw the bearded face of the deputy governor peering through. He sneered at him. ‘I think we both know how that ain’t going to happen. I ain’t going nowhere. But if you insist on playing at being superman, go ahead, be my guest. It just could end up getting a bit messy though. All I want is to let off some steam in me cell without a bleeding screw sticking their frigging neck in.’

      The deputy quickly looked around; hoping no one else had heard Thompson’s threat. It wouldn’t do to lose the authority and respect he’d worked so hard to establish within the prison. But it wouldn’t do either to pass off the threat as idle. He knew Thompson’s reputation. Knew it wouldn’t take more than a nod for Freddie to get his men to pay him a visit at home. He had a wife and daughter to think of. He’d been in the service thirty-odd years now and it didn’t get any easier. He’d spent more years behind the high grey prison walls than most lifers had. Retirement couldn’t come soon enough.

      Clearing his throat, he whispered through the hatch.

      ‘Okay Thompson, what’s up? What do you want? Just whatever it is, keep it down.’

      ‘I need to use the phone.’

      ‘You know the rules; no phone calls on lock down.’

      ‘Yeah and you and I both know I don’t give a shit about them.’

      Even through the hatch, Freddie could see how nervous the deputy governor looked. He could see the sweat coming through the wiry whiskers of his greying beard. ‘It’s more than my job, Thompson.’

      ‘Not my problem … governor.’

      The cell hatch door closed and a few moments later, Freddie could hear the rattle of keys.

      ‘Okay make it quick … and mind, I don’t want any trouble.’

      Freddie didn’t bother answering. He smirked as he was led into the main section of the prison wing. Even though the wing was on lock down due to a fight in the recreational area earlier, it was as noisy as ever. Shouts and bangs were heard coming from discontented prisoners behind the rows of slate grey steel doors.

      His reputation and influence made it possible for Freddie not to share a cell with anyone else. The other cells in the wing were overcrowded, four men to a two man cell; but he’d made sure the screws had been paid off nicely. Having the eight feet by ten feet cell was the only slight comfort he had in an otherwise relentlessly harsh regime. There was no way Freddie could serve time and share a cell with a stinking farting stranger.

      Freddie picked up the phone and dialled the familiar number. He’d been calling all day and there’d been no answer. Even in normal circumstances not being able to get in contact would’ve driven him crazy but being inside, it was a whole new level entirely. The call connected then cut into voicemail. ‘Shit … Tasha it’s me. I don’t know where you are or what the fuck you’re playing at but you need to answer … I’ll call back later and you better start picking up.’

      Freddie slammed the phone down back in the cradle. Breathing quickly and deeply he bit down on his knuckle, noticing his wedding band as he did so. What he really wanted to do was put his fist through the wall.

      ‘Missus playing away Thompson?’

      The smirk and the narrowing of Freddie’s eyes was enough to tell the deputy governor he’d said the wrong thing. The fist hitting his mouth confirmed it. Later the deputy governor would tell his wife it wasn’t the blow which had surprised him, it was how much it’d hurt.

      Supper time clanged out the usual sounds of metal trays and plastic plates. Mashed potatoes and meat stew slopped onto the blue dishes, with a lucky few coming away with apple pie and custard, the rest coming away with only overripe and undercooked fruit.

      Freddie sat in the corner of the large canteen, waiting for his meal to be brought to him