The Week 22Feb2020

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to comfort otherinmates whoare

suicidalorself-harming.Theirroomalso

serves asawhite-collar common room.

Theyinsist I’m welcomeanytime.

6August

Kitisfinallycoming tovisit. Ihaveno

idea whatimpactthepast fiveweeks

have hadon him. For thepreviousthree

years,he’dbeenlivingwithmehalfthe

week,and wouldusuallyinsiston

sleepingin mybed.Sincecominginside,

I’vehadnightmares abouthimnot

recognisingme,orrefusingto talk.

ButwhenIwalkintothe visitshall,he

sprintsup and hugsmetight.“Daddy!

Readmeastory!”He’sjust hadhis

fourthbirthday,andhetellsmeabout

hisnew toys.Wedon’ttalk aboutwhy

Daddy islivingin thisstrangebuilding.He’sclocked that I’m not

at home any more, but he’s unlikely to understandthereason.I

canbarely getmyheadrounditmyself. Ineckalot of coffee while

Kit mainlines chocolate. Despite the surroundings,it isextremely

upliftingtosit withmy familyforawhile.

28 August

I’m stillshort ofprison dutiesandworrythatI’m milesfromthe

EnhancedstatusthatIneed tosecure morefavourabletreatment.

Meanwhile, mynew cellmateMartynhasstarted runningthe

AlcoholicsAnonymousmeetings.Headmitshe’s notactuallyan

alcoholic,butthejobgetshimoutofthecellin theevening.He

returns fromhisfirst sessionmildlymiffed.“TheAA isfullof

Muslims,who areallteetotalanyway,”hesays. “They’rejust

doingit forthebloodyunlock.”

Hefailstonoticetheirony.

5September

Iembarkon myownnewcareer

aseducation orderly–astepup

fromdrylining(which,it

transpired,involvedputtingup internalwalls). Onmysecond

dayworkinginEWing,utter carnageunfolds onthelanding

outside.When thingskickoff,ascrew blowsawhistleand

officerscomerunning.I’minitiallyshockedbytheconstant

violence,butitquickly fades intothebackground.Thisnewjob

allowsmebrieflytomeetmost ofthenewarrivalsinWandsworth

and getafascinatinginsight intohoweveryoneelsehasf***edup

theirlives. Ayoungladslouches inboastingthatthisishis16th

convictionand hiseighthtimeinprison.Itake hisdateof birth

and realisehe’s only19.Anotherguyisshakingwithfearand

shock,andIassumehe’sreceived alifesentence.Hetearfully

explainsthathe’s got ten weeksforadrivingoffence.

15 September

I’m chattingwith Lance in hisoutsized pad when OfficerO’Reilly

runs in.“We’ve just foundanooseinsome idiot’s cell. Can you

come andtalk tohim?” In their roleas Listeners, Lance andScott

are on call 24/7 to dealwith prisonerswhoare suicidalor se lf-

harming.“It’s theonly worthwhilething I’vedone inside,” Scott

says. An epidemicofmentalillnessand endless bang-up is fuelling

arise inself-harm andsuic ideattempts.TheListenersare avital

safet ynet,and the Samaritans visitevery fewmonthstot rainnew

recruits. Scott encouragesme to si gn up. “It’ll change theway you

look attheworld.” He points athis palatialcell. “And you’llpick

up some serious perks.”Itellhim toput my name down.

25 November

I’ve developedasense of anticipation aboutwho willwalk

through thedoor of th eListener Suite.It’s likeapenal version

ofStars in Their Eyes:“Today, Matthew, wewill be talking to...

Mitz!Aman with dangerinhis eyesand blood on his arms.”

Mitz is pretty terrifying. Oneminute he’scalmand lucid ,the

nexthe’s screaming blue murder. He constantlyhears voices

instructinghim toself-harm,and usually

keeps theTVontodrown themout.

Rightnow,heisapoplecticashis TV

hasbeen confiscated,apparentlybya

vindictive screw. Mitzportrayshimselfas

the victimofofficer brutality. Iactually

witnessedthisaltercation. Mitzwas

blatantlyhustlingspiceon alanding,

andtheofficerpolitely asked himtoget

behind hisdoor.Mitz told the screwto

“suckyour f***ingd***,you f***ing

p****-hole”,and then everythingkicked

off.Ijustnod sagelywhileMitzvents–

butback inmy cell,Iturn intoagibbering

wreck.Istart stuffinghandfuls ofpeanuts

intomymouth.“Thatmanshouldbe

treatedinasecurementalhealthunit,”

Irant.“Notcounselledbyamateurs!”

9December

My ex-partnerLottie, mysonKitandmyparentsarecomingto

visit–but inthehall,Ifindmymumsittingon herown,looking

bewildered.Lottieand Kit arequeuingforcoffee,andIrealise

thatmy fatherisn’there.Apparentlyhis namewasn’t onthe list,

andhispathwasblocked byasec urityofficer. Thenthescanner

didn’trecognisemymother’sfingerprints,andanofficerasked for

herdateofbirth.My mum sometimesloseshermemory,which

gets wors ewith stress,and sheforgot herbirthdate.Thescrew

leapton this toclaiminitiallythatshewasn’treallymymother.

Quitewhya72-year-oldwomanwould enterthiss***hole for

anyother reas onthanvisitingher sonisbeyond me.Thescrews

oftentreat relativesasifthey’recriminalsaswell–asindeedthey

sometimes are. Kitrealises somethingiswrong andsitsquietly

holdingmy hand.Ionlygetthis

oneprecioushourwithhimall

week,butourtimeispoisoned

byhow mymother hasbeen

treated.Attheendofthe visit,

I’mpulled asideforastrip

search.As Iundress, apassing

officer recognisesmefromListenerwork.“Hey,don’t wasteyour

timewithhim,”hesays.Thevisitsofficerstandsfirm.“Ihave to

fillthequota.Itdoesn’tmatter whicha***holesIlookat.”

10 March

I’mworkingon EWingwhenawhistlegoes downstairs.As I

takeup positiontowatch theruckus below, severalscrewsrun

intoacelltowrestle withatroublesomeprisoner.Supervising the

melee isalarge officerwho Irealise isCustodyManagerChaplin

fromthe Offender ManagementUnit–mygateway toCatD

statusandthemagicticketto anopenprisonlike HMPFord.

Ibuttonholehim.“MrChaplin? IwonderedifIcouldaskyou

about myreca t[egorisation] appeal?”Blood-curdlingscreams

are emanating from thenearby cell.“PUT THAT DOWNOR

YOU’LL GETAWEEKINTHE BLOCK!”Chaplin calmlysips

his te a. “You’reAtkins, aren’tyou?”“ICAN’T BREATHE!”

“Weemailed thecourt.Theysaid your‘confi scation’[i.e. the

penalty appliedby court order todeprive adefendantof any

financialbenefit obtained from hisorher crime]wastwo

hundredgrand.”“IFYOU STOPSPITTING THENI’LLGET

OFF YOUR BACK.” “That’s not quite correct,”Isay, trying

not to sound likeasmartarse.“GO F*** YOURMOTHER,

YOUFAT C***!”“Ispoke to HMPFordand they’vesaid they’ll

haveyou at that figure,”replies Chaplin. “STAFF!WENEED

MORESTAFF!”“We still have to processyour appeal. It

shouldn’t takelong.” It’sreally time to quit whileI’m ahead. “I

don’tsuppose Ican get on tomorrow’s bus?”Ivent ure. Chaplin

laughs. Thenhe goestoassistinp ummellingeight cansofcrap

out of the guyint he cell.

Ext ractedfromABit of aStretchby Chris Atkins, published by

AtlanticBooks at £16.99.Tobuy f romThe Week bookshop

for £14.99, call 020-3176 3835.

The last word

22 February 2020 THE WEEK

Atkins:foundsolidarityintheWhiteCollarClub

“When my four-year-old comes to visit, he tells

me about his new toys. We don’t talk about

why Daddy is living in this strange building”

©T

HE TIMES MAGAZINE/NEWS LICENSING