The Madam. Jaime Raven

of the prison continued uninterrupted. Raised voices. Stilted laughter. Doors slamming shut. Small groups of women engaged in furtive conversation.

      None of them knew about my loss yet. But they soon would. Holloway houses more than five hundred female prisoners, from murderers to petty thieves. When something like this happens the news spreads like wildfire.

      I knew I could expect a lot of kind words and sympathy from most of the inmates. But a good few wouldn’t give a toss. They were the druggies and bullies and psychopaths who cared only about themselves.

      And as sod’s law would have it a bunch of them were gathered in the corridor close to my cell. When they saw us approaching they fell silent. Then they stood aside to let us pass.

      I lowered my gaze so that I didn’t have to look at them, but not before catching the eye of Sofi Crane, the undisputed leader of the pack. She was a large woman with a hard face and a fierce reputation. I was one of the few inmates who weren’t intimidated by her and that had always got under her skin. It was why she hated my guts and took every opportunity to wind me up.

      She’d never seen me upset before, though, and I just knew that my obvious distress would delight her. But wisely she chose not to make any snide remarks as I was steered towards my cell.

      The door stood open, and as I stepped inside the screw let go of my arm, told me again how sorry she was, and then retreated. I had no doubt that she’d tell Sofi and her mates what had happened. But that didn’t matter. Nothing did any more.

      As soon as Scar saw me she leapt up from the bed and dropped the book she’d been reading on the floor.

      ‘Jesus, babe,’ she said. ‘What the bloody hell has happened?’

      I looked at my cellmate, my lover of two years, and I realised that even she wouldn’t be able to ease the pain of my loss.

      ‘It’s Leo,’ I said, my voice cracking. ‘He’s … dead.’

      Scar rushed over and wrapped her arms around me. She held me tight as the grief pulsed through me in waves.

      ‘I don’t see how I can go on,’ I said. ‘Not now that I’ve lost everything.’

      ‘You’ve still got me, Lizzie,’ she replied, and I felt her sweet, warm breath on my neck. ‘I’m here for you and always will be.’

      The tears returned with a vengeance and I cried into her shoulder, great wrenching sobs that shook me to the core. I wanted to die too at that moment. I wanted the ground to open up and suck me under. But I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky.

      Scar’s body stiffened suddenly and someone else’s voice came from behind.

      ‘Just heard about your son, Lizzie. What a bummer. Still, it’s not as if you’ve had anything to do with the poor little bugger these past few years.’

      I pushed Scar away and spun round. Sofi Crane was standing in the doorway, her lips curled back in a malicious grin. I choked back a sob and a smouldering rage ripped through me.

      ‘What did you say you bitch?’ I shrieked at her.

      ‘Oh sorry,’ she said. ‘Did I strike a nerve?’

      Scar grabbed my arm but I jerked it free. I felt something primal take hold of me. The grief turned to anger and I launched myself at Sofi Crane with a ferocious bellow.

      Before she had time to react I drove a fist into her face. The blow caused ribbons of blood to spurt from her nostrils. She let out a horrific grunt and stumbled backwards into the corridor.

      I lunged forward, grabbed the front of her sweatshirt, shoved her hard against the wall. She lost her balance and collapsed in an untidy heap on the floor.

      But I didn’t let up. Instead I aimed a kick at her stomach with everything I had. She gave an anguished cry and rolled on her side. I then kicked her in the small of her back and she curled up like a hedgehog to protect herself.

      I was still kicking and screaming when two screws pulled me away and dragged me back into my cell. And that was where I remained until the commotion died down and my anger subsided. But it took a while because I was in such a state. My lungs burned with every intake of breath and my thoughts swam in feverish circles.

      But I didn’t regret what I’d done. Sofi Crane had deserved it, and I was glad I’d hurt her. But her suffering was nothing compared to the pain I was going to inflict on the bastards who had wrecked my life and taken away my only son.

      I was now more determined than ever to track them down and make them pay. It would just have to wait until I was finally released from this rat-infested hell hole.

       1

      Present Day

      Three years and eleven months. That’s how long I spent behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit. Almost the entire sentence imposed by the judge. Some people said I should have got life and been banged up for a minimum of fifteen years. But they didn’t get their way, so in that respect I was lucky.

      Inside I met four lifers who claimed they were innocent, and two of them convinced me that they were telling the truth. They were dead inside. You could see it in their eyes. No hope. No future.

      Three years and eleven months had been just bearable. If I’d been a model prisoner I would have got out sooner on licence. But sheer anger and frustration caused me to make too many mistakes and too many enemies. That burning sense of injustice gave me a reason to live, though. Served as a constant reminder that one day in the not too distant future I’d get out and be free to find the bastard or bastards who had destroyed my life.

      Well that day had finally arrived.

      It was a warm, grey Thursday in late July. A light drizzle greeted me as I walked out of Holloway Women’s Prison just after midday. I was wearing faded jeans, a white Gap T-shirt and a denim jacket that was a size too big. I was carrying a canvas holdall containing all my worldly possessions.

      This first taste of freedom felt strangely hollow, like sucking on a joint that’s slow to take effect. Maybe that’s how it is for everyone. A bit of an anti-climax until it truly sinks in.

      The sky over North London was the colour of the walls in the cell I’d just vacated. It had been the same on the day I arrived. As grim and lifeless as a cancer ward.

      The farewells had been short and sweet. I’d embraced a few of the inmates I’d come to regard as friends. They all got a pack of Marlboro Lights as a parting gift. The governor gave me a little pep talk and said I had to get on with my life and forget about the past. She then wished me well and told me she didn’t want to see me back inside again.

      I raised two fingers to the large, red-brick building just for the hell of it. I felt I had to make some sort of gesture. As feeble as it was I felt better for it. Then I walked along the access road to where Scar was waiting.

      She’d parked the car with two wheels on the kerb and was standing with her back against the nearside wing. The sight of her sent my heart racing and I felt the sting of tears in my eyes.

      She’d had her hair dyed and cut short, and it made her look younger than her twenty-six years. It was black now, instead of auburn. She’d also splashed out on a new leather jacket that she wore over a red cotton blouse and tight beige trousers.

      As I closed the distance between us she gradually came into focus. Five foot five. Narrow face, high cheekbones. Body tight and toned. She was slender, but with not a hint of fragility. Her eyes were cerulean blue, same as the water colour that’s cool and opaque, and a tiny silver stud glinted in the left side of her nose.

      Her most striking feature was a two-inch-long scar that ran from just beneath the lobe of her left ear to the middle of her cheek.

      ‘Hi, beautiful,’