One Little Lie. Sam Carrington

It’s time to stop the pretence. ‘So now that you’re here, what exactly do you want, Alice?’

       CHAPTER NINE

       Connie

      ‘Well, well. If it isn’t the infamous Connie Moore!’ The voice bellowed from behind the glass partition.

      ‘Hey, Barry.’ Connie kept her chin low, almost tucked into the collar of her blouse. She didn’t want him to see her discomfort at being back inside the prison. Barry had been an operational support grade for as long as she could remember, and clearly, even given the time she’d been away, her reputation still stood. She’d contemplated giving them her new surname, Summers, which she started using when she set up her own practice to avoid any connections with the Hargreaves case. But she decided it would be a bad idea in this instance. She preferred to keep her prison life in a separate box.

      ‘I saw you were on the list today. Says here I gotta give Verity a call and get her to come and fetch you, now you haven’t got your own keys and ID. Take a seat, love. Won’t be long.’

      Connie turned on her heel and sat heavily on the leather-look bench seat that ran alongside the window of HMP Baymead’s gatehouse and placed her coat beside her. She’d only ever sat here once before: the day she came for her interview, eight years ago. She pulled self-consciously at the cuffs of her sleeves. She even felt like she had all that time ago: nervous, uncertain – questioning whether her skills were up to the job. She kept her eyes down, not wanting to catch a glimpse of anyone else she knew from her previous life there. She didn’t want to face any awkward questions.

       Why did I agree to this? Stupid, stupid woman.

      Connie pushed her cuff up, checking her watch. It would take at least ten minutes for Verity to reach the gatehouse. Baymead was spread over a wide area, and the psychology block was on the far side of the grounds. She used to love the early morning walk to the office from the gatehouse, when the prisoners were yet to be unlocked. She could stroll along the tree-lined concrete paths, taking her time to let herself through the huge gates. The walk back after her day ended was never quite so pleasant. She’d often time it so her departure didn’t coincide with prisoners going back to the wings after their activities, or work. But even then, if she was on her own, she couldn’t help feeling vulnerable. And the times she’d happened to leave the office when the prisoners were on their way back to their living blocks were more stressful. She didn’t miss that at all.

      At least now, for the period she was going to spend here, she’d have someone accompanying her around the prison. She’d have to be let through each gate in the grounds, and have the living-block gates opened for her. She’d be collected from her interviews with the prisoners and taken back to the psychology block.

      Connie consciously unclasped her hands, placing them loosely on her lap. This could be all right. It wasn’t as though she was going to be spending enough time within the confines of the establishment to warrant anyone taking much notice of her. And it was almost two years since she’d last been here. Some staff were bound to know her, remember her, but it was unlikely many prisoners would. At least Aiden Flynn, the man responsible for the murder of Ricky Hargreaves last year, was not residing at Her Majesty’s pleasure in Baymead. That had been one of her biggest fears. He was the last person she’d want to come into contact with. Not only was he a cold-blooded murderer, but he also had a personal vendetta against Connie and had been determined to exact revenge on her because of something that her father had done twenty years previously. And he’d almost managed to accomplish his task: attacking Connie in her own home, beating her to the ground. If it wasn’t for Lindsay … Connie shook the memory away. No, the most that would happen is she’d get some attention from being a ‘new’ female about the place. Whistles, some remarks shouted at her – the common response from a proportion of the men – those she could handle.

      A whooshing noise alerted Connie to someone coming through the glass security doors. She jumped up as a young woman, who looked to be around twenty, walked towards her.

      ‘Connie?’

      ‘Yes.’ Connie grabbed her coat and offered her hand. The woman limply shook it.

      ‘I’m Verity, the new admin for the programmes department.’ She smiled broadly, her small, round face appearing to almost split in two. ‘I’ll be your key person.’ She laughed.

      ‘Great, thanks, Verity. I appreciate it. Sorry you’ll have to be dragged wherever I’m going though, not much fun for you.’

      ‘No problem. It’ll be a good excuse to get out of the office. It’s manic in there at the moment.’

      ‘Oh?’ They both entered the glass box of the security pod and stood still, waiting for the operational support grade to close one door before he opened the other. Connie had always disliked the pod. Sometimes, if she’d timed it badly, she’d been stuffed inside there along with some twenty-odd people: admin staff, officers, service providers – all squished in, waiting at the mercy of the OSG on duty in the gate room to be quick with the release button for the other door. It was claustrophobic. Today though, it was only her and Verity, and the OSG didn’t leave them too long before releasing the inner door.

      Connie’s tummy flipped as she left the pod and walked the familiar corridor that led to the outside. Which was really inside. She put on her coat as they stood by the heavy door, waiting for the noise that would inform them it was open.

      Click.

      For a moment, Connie wobbled. She was dizzy.

      Take deep breaths.

      A waft of air hit her face as Verity opened the door and stood aside to let Connie through.

      That sight. The grassed area, the large trees, the metal fences separating the living blocks beyond. She shivered, pulling the coat tighter around her. What was she doing? The old twinges of stress, worry – the unease – were suddenly back, swooping in at her from every angle.

       This is a mistake.

      ‘Are you okay?’ Verity’s concerned face turned towards Connie’s. ‘Jen said you might feel a bit, well … odd. Coming back.’

      Odd? That didn’t come close.

      ‘No. All good. I’m fine.’ Connie forced a smile, keeping her gaze forwards while quickening her pace. She was aware of Verity tripping along beside her, trying to keep up, chatting away as they walked. But she wasn’t listening. She’d feel better once she was less exposed, safely inside the psychology portacabin.

      They paused at each gate as Verity unlocked, then relocked them as they moved through – every clank of the locks sending a wave of familiarity through Connie’s mind. Then goosebumps. It was a sound she had assumed she’d never hear again.

      As they approached the psychology office, Connie’s muscles finally relaxed. She rubbed at the back of her neck, at the knot of muscle – she hadn’t realised she’d been hunching her shoulders. Verity ushered Connie in, then locked the door. The large whiteboard inside the entrance named everyone in the office: showed whether they were in or out, and if out, which block or room they’d gone to and an approximate time they were due back to the office.

      Jen was ticked in. Connie took a slow intake of breath, holding it as she pushed through the inner door.

      ‘Hey, mate! So pleased you decided to come and help us out.’ Jen jumped up from her seat upon Connie’s arrival, and arms outstretched, strode towards her, enveloping her in a hug that expelled her held breath.

      ‘Good to see you, Jen.’ Connie gently pulled back and gazed around the room. Very little had changed. A couple of people she didn’t recognise were sitting at the