The silent midwinter, p.1
The Silent Midwinter, page 1
The Silent Miidwinter
Jamie-Lee Brooke
Copyright © 2023 Jamie-Lee Brooke
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any other means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copywrite law. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
For my mum and dad x
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
The End
Letter From The Author
Acknowledgements
Books By This Author
Chapter One
The first photo is easy. That one must be filed; there’s no question, doubt or maybe. It’s clearly explicit, with a close-up shot of Anna West performing a sex act with a vibrator. But for some reason, that photo isn’t stirring the same uncomfortable feeling that the second photo seems to. I find this photo more intimate. Full breasts cupped by a lacy bra with a delicate red ribbon at its centre. I’m not sure why I find this one more intimate. I think it’s because I know that he can have this one. It’s not explicit. It doesn’t need filing. He can have it; it’s the rules. I push the feeling aside, stuff the photo back into the envelope with its letter and go to file the explicit one and then I stop. I take the photo back out of the envelope and file them both. I’m keeping his photo.
‘Ooh, let’s take a squiz then,’ Mala bursts back into the post room. ‘I can smell a juicy picture a mile off.’
I hand her the pictures. ‘It’s Anna, Jason Sawyer’s girlfriend.’
‘And you were just gonna stuff these away and not share? Holy moly, this woman’s got it all on show. Cooee.’ Mala whistles, examining the more explicit photo from different angles. ‘You know he can keep this one, right?’ She hands the photo of the breasts back to me.
‘Just wasn’t sure. I was on the fence with it.’ I don’t think I’m lying. Mala just raises her eyebrows at me.
‘So, Phil said that tensions are high on B wing still. Nasty business that was, never known it so close to a riot. If Phil hadn’t… are you okay?’
Mala’s voice trails off. There he is, on the lower walkway, taking the bins out. Jason Sawyer. He stops momentarily and looks in this direction. My heart stops. I guess he can’t really see me, but I feel like he knows. He knows I was going to hide his photo from him. It’s ridiculous to feel this guilty. It wouldn’t have been that much of a crime. He would have received it on his release. Some years away yet, but he would have got it eventually. It’s not like stealing. Why do I feel bothered? I don’t have a crush on Jason. I can’t. I wouldn’t. Not with a dangerous criminal – a murderer. I refuse to believe that I’m feeling jealous over him receiving pictures from his girlfriend. Then why do I feel guilty? It’s a small thing. Does he ever feel guilty over what he did? Something on a whole different scale to hiding a stupid photo.
‘Yo, Kate.’ Mala’s words suddenly break through.
‘Sorry, I’m just not with it.’ Again, I don’t feel like I’m lying.
‘You having problems at home still?’
‘Yeah, it’s Felicity… and it’s Harper. It’s all just full-on with them.’ My eyes well up which takes me by surprise.
‘Looks like more than that to me.’ Mala gives me a stern look.
‘I think Jon is having an affair.’
‘Whoa, sister, you serious? Here, you don’t go getting upset in here.’ Mala hands me a tissue. ‘I tell you what. You, me, cocktails tonight at Red’s. You can tell me all then.’
‘I don’t know. I can’t; it’s Felicity. It’s not that simple.’
‘You need a break. Put your foot down, girl. C’mon, it’s Friday, Friday, Friday,’ she sings, swaying her hips.
I laugh. Mala always makes me laugh. She has that natural vibrant energy. ‘I’ll text you when I’m home. I need to check with Jon first.’
Mala carries on jigging away over to the other end of the post room. I look through the window again and Jason has gone. A small number of other prisoners pass by, helping with the bins. I turn back to my desk and continue processing Jason’s post. He will get his letter and his photo.
The next letter that I open has a sweet, sickly scent, noticeable instantly. I imagine the sender lightly spritzing the floral notepaper before sealing the envelope. Then I picture her spluttering from the taste as she licks the seal. Who said romance was dead? It’s a shame, though, that her efforts are wasted as I place the letter inside the photocopier. Inmates only receive a copy of the original. Perhaps it’s to redeem myself for almost hiding away one of Jason’s photos, but I take the perfume-soaked notepaper and rub it against the photocopy. Perhaps not the same but it gives me a small sense of goodwill.
Mala clocks what I’m doing and shakes her head. ‘You are way too good to these criminals, woman. And whoa, that perfume is nasty.’ She mocks a gag and carries on typing up her e-mails.
I carry on processing and logging the remaining few items of mail. I don’t think that I’m too good to the inmates. It’s the families and loved ones that I think more about. That I’m curious about. Day after day, I read the prisoners’ love letters from home. How they are yearned for, how they are missed. It doesn’t matter what some of these inmates have done; there is still someone out there that loves them regardless. I don’t get it. The photos, the passion. What sort of woman is Anna West? I’m back to thinking about her, then I catch sight of my reflection in the PC monitor, and I tuck a stray strand of hair back into my bobble. I’m lost for a moment as I think about how cold Jon was with me this morning – how cold he has been now for weeks. Where does the passion go?
Mala looks at me and mouths the word, ‘Cocktails.’
‘Yes, yes okay.’ I grin back at her, defeated. She looks back at her screen with a smug expression of victory.
A night out would be perfect. It really would. I’ve turned down Mala too many times lately. Jon would have to let me have a night out. He goes out whenever he likes, after all. I push away the sinking feeling in the depths of my stomach and gather up the final batch of mail.
‘Right, I’m just going to hand this lot over to Phil and I’ll be back shortly.’ I leave Mala singing to herself and push the mail trolley out of the office.
There is something about the sound of the trolley clattering along the lower walkway that I enjoy; it’s rhythmic and soothing. The inmates on this side of the wing are quiet at the moment so the rattling is magnified. As I pass through the doors onto the next walkway, my heart just about stops. I pass inmates all the time. They don’t bother me. When I first started here at Standington Prison, I did feel intimidated by them, but not so much now. I have little to do with the prisoners, only in passing and they take no notice of me. But the sight of Jason Sawyer in front of me halts my breath.
He is leaning against the wall with a mop and bucket in hand. The pungent smell of the disinfectant wafting from it. Even in his tracksuit and handling cleaning equipment, he still looks like he has just stepped off a Hawaiian beach with his tanned complexion, floppy black hair, stubble and rich chocolate brown eyes.
I’m now passing him, and he speaks. ‘Could you unlock the staff toilets, please? I need to clean them.’
The toilets sit adjacent to the prison guard’s office, which was just ahead and where I was taking the mail. It’s not unusual for an inmate to ask me to unlock that door but rarely do they say please. This murderer has manners. There is a presence about Jason Sawyer, something mysterious, dangerous. I want to see the appeal but he’s a murderer. He’s killed a person in cold blood. So what kind of woman is Anna West, to not care about that? I think about the photos and hope that I’m not blushing. I agree to unlock the toilets and as I speak, I can taste the fumes from the disinfectant. I feel a tickle in my nose and I suppress a sneeze.
Jason follows me to the door and watches as I select the key I need. I can feel my nose now filling with a cool fluid and I fear the worst. I quickly unlock the door and allow Jason to pass by inside. It’s no good, my nose drips red despite my attempts to suppress the blood. Of all the times to get another nosebleed.
‘Are you okay?’ Jason asks me.
I nod, brush past him into the toilets, and grab a handful of tissues, pressing the bundle against my nose.
‘Keep your head down,’ Jason advised. ‘I used to think it was hold your head up but it’s down.’
‘I know the drill, I get them I lot,’ I say, realising how I must sound whilst pinching my nostrils together.
Jason hands me more tissues. ‘Looks like a heavy one. Do you want me to call someone for you?’
I shake my head. It dawns on me that I’m alone in the toilets with one of the prisoners so I turn on my heels and head out. Not that I felt threatened at that moment. Far from it. For a dangerous murderer, he was kind and polite. I step over to the guard’s office and Phil is quick to take the mail from me and sit me down. I ask him to make sure that the toilets are locked up once Jason finishes.
Fortunately, the bleeding ceases quickly. I thank Phil and scoot off back up to the post room. I don’t know why I’m cringing to myself. It doesn’t matter what a killer must think of me. It doesn’t matter at all. I’m a frumpy mess who gets nosebleeds. I’m fine with that. Mala’s face is a picture when I re-enter the post room. She jumps up and inspects the collar of my shirt. There is blood splatter. Of course there is.
‘What on earth have you been up to, missy? You only had to deliver the mail.’ Mala laughs.
‘Another nosebleed,’ I smile. I could see she was trying to formulate a witty scenario of what could’ve happened.
‘Well, that ain’t gonna stop you drinkin’ some cocktails and busting some moves tonight, sister.’
I sit back at my desk and chuckle to myself watching Mala shimmy around her swivel chair. Any embarrassment is now forgotten. Yes, I need a night out. I have the urge to feel like the old me, the fun me. Surely Jon will allow me a bit of me time. It’s not too much to ask after all that I do. It’s not just him I have to convince though. It’s Felicity. Without me there, she won’t talk to her dad or her sister. She won’t talk to anyone. She only talks to me. My beautiful seven-year-old stepdaughter has me trapped.
Chapter Two
The town centre of Bracknell was already looking lively on my drive home. It would be though, wouldn’t it on a beautiful Friday evening in May. It was only five-thirty and there were groups of people glammed up gathering outside of the local pubs. With any luck, I’ll soon be one of them. In a couple of hours, that could be me, in a dress, hair in curls, laughing and drinking with Mala in Red’s beer garden. Pulling up on my driveway, I suddenly don’t fancy my chances.
I’m in time to witness Harper storming out of the front door and slamming it behind her. She glares at me, arms folded as she strides past. Here we go again. I think about opening the car door and shouting after her, but I know it won’t do any good. As I go to though, the front door opens, and Jon appears. He shouts after Harper, but she carries on. If she’s not going to listen to him, then she sure as hell won’t listen to me.
Jon rubs his face as I approach him. ‘What’s happened?’ I ask.
‘Harper’s in trouble for fighting at school. Apparently, she punched another girl, Mrs Davis said. She’s been suspended for a couple of days next week.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I’ve tried to get to the bottom of it, but she yelled that I never listen anyway, and she’s stormed off.’
We head inside the house, and I have a sinking feeling I know what the real reason is, and I’m sure Jon knows it too. I try to approach the subject, but I’m interrupted by Felicity. She skips over to me and wraps her arms around my waist, burying her head into my stomach.
‘How was your day Fizzy?’ I ask her, flattening down her blonde curls.
‘Okay,’ she replies in her usual small voice.
Without looking up at either me or her dad, she lets me go and skips back out of the kitchen.
‘Don’t you think she’s getting too old to be called Fizzy now?’ Jon almost snaps as he fills the kettle.
‘No, I don’t think seven is too old. She likes it.’
‘Of course, you’re the only one that knows what she bloody well likes.’
His words sting. I’ve literally just walked through the door and all I can do is imagine a scenario whereby my husband greets me home from work with a hug and asks me how my day was. My reality now though, is a desperate need to get out of here. I need my best friend and I need to get drunk.
‘Mala has invited me to Red’s tonight. I was hoping it’d be okay as I haven’t had a night out in ages.’
Jon drags his hands down his face. ‘You have therapy with Felicity tomorrow morning.’
‘I know. I won’t have a lot to drink. I’ll be fine.’
‘It’s not good timing is it. Harper has created an atmosphere, Felicity will be anxious; she’s going to need you tonight.’
So, one minute, I’m being scolded for being the only one that Fizzy opens up to and the next I’m being begged to stay in with her as I’m the only one she opens up to.
‘She seems fine at the moment,’ I push it. ‘Work has been stressful and I’d really like a night out. It’d do me good.’
Jon doesn’t get a chance to respond as Harper bursts back into the house.
‘It’s her fault,’ Harper all but screams at me.
I knew it. I knew this would escalate and be about me.
‘You need to tell us what’s happened.’ Her dad’s voice remains calm.
Harper looks at me with hatred in her dark eyes. Her dyed black hair clinging around her sweaty, pale face.
‘Lexi Keggans started it. She kept calling me a “Snitch Bitch” because my stepmom is a screw. She was done for smoking by the tennis courts, but I didn’t tell. I didn’t. Everyone hates me because of her job.’
Harper stabs her finger towards me and bolts from the kitchen. I throw my hands up in defeat.
‘I’m not a prison officer. I just open the mail. We need to go into that school together and sort out this bullying. It’s getting worse, and look, she hates me.’
‘Her first GCSE exam is just a few weeks away, we can’t let all of this ruin her chances.’ Jon all but slams down two mugs from the cupboard. ‘You know, I’ve never been comfortable with you working at Standington. I think it’s time you reconsider finding something different.’
‘I like my job.’
‘You said it’s stressful.’
‘I’m not leaving my job. We’ll go into school first thing Monday and put a stop to it.’ I feel myself start to shake. It’s not so much that we are having this disagreement, but it’s the tone of Jon’s voice – that sarcastic tone. Lately, I feel like an idiot every time he talks to me with his snapping and sniping. I turn the oven on and busy myself rummaging in the freezer for something for dinner.
‘Shall we have these pizzas?’ I say holding up a box.
‘Just go to Red’s tonight with your mate. You and Harper need some space,’ Jon sighs and strides out of the kitchen.
My eyes sting, I guess what he actually means is ‘Just go out, but don’t you dare.’ It doesn’t matter; it’s not space from Harper I need. It’s from him, my husband. I take out all the pizzas and finish off making my own coffee. Taking my mobile from my bag, I text Mala. I’ll meet you outside of Red’s at 7.30x. I’m not going to let all this ruin my night. It’ll blow over. I’ll talk to Harper tomorrow when she’s calmed down. My thoughts turn to what I’m going to wear tonight, realising that it’s been so long since I’ve been out that I don’t think I have any nice going out clothes. My thoughts are broken as I feel arms wrap around my waist from behind almost making me jump. I hadn’t heard Fizzy sneak up behind me.
