The Boy with the Latch Key. Cathy Sharp
not a thief. I know she’s not …’ Archie shuffled his feet moodily. ‘I’m going to try and visit her in prison, but I might need an adult to go with me – if they’ll let me at all …’
‘I’ll go with you if they’ll give us a visiting order,’ Billy offered. ‘Just keep believin’ in her, mate. It doesn’t matter what the world says, as long as you know the truth …’
‘Thanks, Billy,’ Archie said. ‘I wish I could run as fast as you.’
‘I don’t run as much as I used to. I’m too busy working these days,’ Billy told him. ‘Look, do you want to earn a few bob?’
‘Yeah – what do I have to do?’
‘See that man at the fruit and veg stall?’ Archie nodded. ‘You tell him Billy Baggins sent you and he’ll give you a job trimming stuff and clearing up the rubbish. I used to work for him, but I’ve got other things to do these days. He’s a fair man is Ted Hastings; he’ll treat you right. I’ve got to go now. I’m takin’ a mate to help clear his house and move him into a new council place …’
Archie thanked him and watched as he strode off, looking for all the world as if he were king of all he surveyed. He thought he’d like to be like Billy one day, but he didn’t think he could win cups in running or football. He hesitated, and then approached the man on the stall Billy had pointed out. Archie hadn’t anything else to do with himself for a few hours, and a few extra shillings would come in useful if he did get to visit his mother …
It was the stuff of nightmares, but even in her worst dreams Sandra had never seen herself in prison; she wasn’t the sort who broke the law and one of the worst things of all was being labelled a thief in the eyes of the world, even though she knew she hadn’t touched that money. There was no doubt whatsoever in Sandra’s mind that Reg Prentice had set her up because she’d threatened to go to the boss with her complaints. How he must be laughing now and how she hated him for doing this to her; it was her anger against him and the others who had turned against her, people she’d thought her friends, that made it possible for her to bear the humiliation.
Sandra wasn’t sure which part of the nightmare had been the worst: her arrest and the look in the eyes of people who believed her guilty; the time she’d spent in the police cells, her trial or her arrival at the women’s prison. The sound of that metal door clanging shut behind her, the stench, and the knowledge that she was shut in this foul place for months on end would’ve broken her if she hadn’t been so angry. She’d always believed in British justice and until sentence was pronounced she’d believed she would be declared innocent and set free.
Sandra had still been in a state of shock when they took her down from the dock and put her in a van with other women – women who were hardened to crime and laughed, jeering at the guards and swearing in a way that made Sandra wince. She could hardly believe that it had really happened, and because of that she’d endured the strip search, the showers during which the women huddled together, watched over by a warden who looked as if she’d never smiled in her life. She’d seen her things taken away and put in a box for which she’d had to sign, and she’d been given a shapeless grey sack that, belted in the middle with a tie, might just look like a dress.
All of that was bearable because she was angry. It was only when they’d pushed her into a cell and locked the door on her that Sandra began to tremble and the useless anger became a nameless fear that made her want to scream and scream, shouting her innocence out loud, and yet she didn’t because some inner instinct told her that the only way to endure this was to keep her thoughts to herself – to live for the day when she was released. Shouting abuse as some of the others did wouldn’t help, nothing would alter what was happening to her and being abusive would only make things worse.
‘So what did you do then?’ the only other occupant of her cell asked. ‘I’m in ’ere fer sellin’ it on the streets – wot ’ave you done, ducks?’
Sandra had hardly noticed the woman, or girl as she now saw, because she couldn’t have been more than seventeen surely. She had bleached blonde hair, dark eyebrows and lashes and pale skin, which was blotched in a few places with red patches.
‘They say I stole money and cheques from work,’ Sandra said. ‘I was set up by a man who hates me because I told him to get lost.’
‘Yeah, I know that sort,’ the girl said and pulled a face. ‘It were one of them that got me started on the game. I ’ated him and got away from him when I found Dicky; he’s a pet and saw me right …’Ere, you ain’t got a fag, ’ave yer? I’m gaspin’ fer one and the buggers don’t give us enough ter last the week …’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t smoke …’
‘Don’t let the buggers know that,’ the girl said. ‘Or you won’t get yer ration. Fags are bloody gold dust in ’ere, love. If you don’t want ’em there’s plenty do, and you can trade ’em for privileges, see … There’s women in ’ere that can make yer life ’ell if they want, or if they take to yer, they can make it easier.’
Sandra nodded, warming to the girl despite her unkempt appearance. She probably looked much the same herself now, because she hadn’t been able to dry her hair properly after the shower, and she hadn’t brought anything in the way of cosmetics into the prison with her. Archie had brought her a comb and toothbrush to the police cells, but apart from those and a bar of prison-issue soap she had nothing of her own.
‘Is this your first time inside?’
‘Nah, third, but I’m only in fer six months this time – four if I keep me nose clean …’
‘I’m Sandra.’ She offered her hand and after a moment the girl took it and grinned. ‘I’m glad I’m sharing with you …’
‘Mo, they call me, but me name’s Maureen,’ the girl said and laughed. ‘Tell the truth, I don’t care what they call me. I do what I’m told and keep out of trouble. If I were you I’d do the same. It’s no use complaining, whether it’s the screws or the other lot. You just have to put up with it until they put you out of the front gate and tell you not to come back.’
‘I shan’t be back,’ Sandra said. She wanted to say that she would soon be released and that her friends would prove her innocence, but she didn’t know who her friends were any more or even if she had any …
‘I didn’t think to say last time so I thought I’d better come round and tell you,’ Sergeant Sallis said to Sister Beatrice later that day. ‘Archie Miller came to the station and asked to see his mother, brought her a bag of fudge – and I had to tell him that she’d been sent down for eighteen months. I’ve told him I’ll try to get a visiting order, but I doubt they will let him see her; he’ll have to be accompanied, even if they’ll allow it.’
‘That would be no problem, one of my carers could go,’ Beatrice said and frowned. ‘However, this means I shall have to move him and his sister to Halfpenny House, because I can’t keep them here for that length of time.’
‘Archie isn’t going to like that,’ Sergeant Sallis said. ‘I’d take the lad to visit myself and I’m prepared to vouch for him – but I can’t promise anything …’
‘Well, I’ll delay it for a week or two but if we get more children needing to be admitted, Archie will have to be moved, and his sister …’
‘Now that’s the other thing …’ Sergeant Sallis looked grave. ‘We’ve had a complaint about June Miller. Apparently, she and an older girl …’ he consulted his notebook, ‘Betty Goodge, currently residing next door, were seen stealing lipstick from Woolworth’s this morning …’
‘Are you certain it was June Miller?’ Beatrice frowned. ‘I know Betty Goodge is a convicted thief. If she was older she would be in prison – and that is probably where she belongs. I understand she is a bad influence on the other girls next door …’
‘Sometimes