learning at all, he’ll learn. My God, he will. But I don’t think the responses are genuinely new, I think they were there all along. Lying dormant. Because they weren’t needed.’
‘So the logic is, if you put this “particular individual” back into the old situation, with all the old pressures, he’ll revert to the old responses.’
‘The old situation might not still be there.’
‘But if it was? He’d revert?’
‘Not necessarily. There’s always the hope that some of the new tricks might carry over.’
‘But he might revert?’
‘Yes. There’s always that possibility.’
Danny crossed his arms and leant back in his chair. ‘You’re a cynical sod, really, aren’t you? Under all :hat compassion you don’t actually give a toss for inybody.’
‘Whereas you believe in redemption.’
Danny was so startled his nostrils flared. ‘Oooooh,’ he said, midway between a sigh and a groan. ‘I don’t know that I do. I’d like to.’ He paused. ‘Of course in your terms that would be a genuinely new response.’
‘Yes.’
A short silence. Danny said, ‘Sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Calling you a cynical sod.’
‘That’s all right, you don’t have to be polite.’
He didn’t. This was now definitely not a social call.
‘Tell me about going back to prison.’
‘Nothing much to tell. It was… impulse, really. I just thought, Sod it, I can’t make it work. And in a curious sort of way, I did make prison work, I’d got a job in the library, I was doing a degree.’ His expression hardened. ‘And I could work with people. If somebody wanted to talk, they talked. They knew bloody well I wasn’t going to pass it on.’
‘So you had a role?’
‘Yeah, which is more than I’ve bloody well got out here. So I went back. Hitched most of the way, walked the last ten miles. And then I bumped into one of the warders, one of the better ones, and he said, “Come and have a cup of tea.” And I told him what I was doing and he said, “Don’t be daft, Danny, they’re not going to let you back in.” And that was the first time anybody had called me Danny for months, so that didn’t discourage me. Anyway I banged on the door and I’ve no doubt he’d rung ahead and warned them I was coming. I was put in the visitors’ waiting room. There was this girl there with a baby, visiting somebody, she thought I was visiting too. And then Martha came and got me. Stupid.’
‘It was understandable.’
‘Gerraway, man. It was pathetic’
A sudden incursion of a Geordie accent. Why? ‘How long ago was that?’
‘Nine days.’
‘Is that what made you so depressed?’
‘No, I’d been feeling down for months. It’s always bad in the vacations when everybody else goes home.’
‘Can’t you go home?’
‘My mother’s dead.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’ Tom remembered her clearly, a woman with mousy fair hair, wearing a blue cardigan that matched the faded blue of her eyes. In the course of the trial, her eyes seemed to become paler, as if tears could dilute the colour. She’d wept, quietly, persistently, into an embroidered handkerchief, the sort almost nobody carried any more, and Tom had been conscious of mounting irritation as the furtive sniffling went on and on. You’d have thought she was the victim. Danny looked round at her continually, more worried about her, it seemed, than he was about himself. And even that had counted against him, making him seem mature beyond his years. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Two years ago. Of course I was still inside. They took me to see her in the hospital, only they wouldn’t rake the handcuffs off, so she had all the shame of other people, nurses, seeing me like that. And we couldn’t talk, with the warder there. And then she got a lot worse, and I asked if I could go to see her again, and the governor hummed and hawed and… finally said yes. And I stood to attention, and said, “Thank you, sir.” I should’ve ripped his fucking liver
‘So the logic is, if you put this “particular individual” back into the old situation, with all the old pressures, he’ll revert to the old responses.’
‘The old situation might not still be there.’
‘But if it was? He’d revert?’
‘Not necessarily. There’s always the hope that some of the new tricks might carry over.’
‘But he might revert?’
‘Yes. There’s always that possibility.’
Danny crossed his arms and leant back in his chair. ‘You’re a cynical sod, really, aren’t you? Under all :hat compassion you don’t actually give a toss for inybody.’
‘Whereas you believe in redemption.’
Danny was so startled his nostrils flared. ‘Oooooh,’ he said, midway between a sigh and a groan. ‘I don’t know that I do. I’d like to.’ He paused. ‘Of course in your terms that would be a genuinely new response.’
‘Yes.’
A short silence. Danny said, ‘Sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘Calling you a cynical sod.’
‘That’s all right, you don’t have to be polite.’
He didn’t. This was now definitely not a social call.
‘Tell me about going back to prison.’
‘Nothing much to tell. It was… impulse, really. I just thought, Sod it, I can’t make it work. And in a curious sort of way, I did make prison work, I’d got a job in the library, I was doing a degree.’ His expression hardened. ‘And I could work with people. If somebody wanted to talk, they talked. They knew bloody well I wasn’t going to pass it on.’
‘So you had a role?’
‘Yeah, which is more than I’ve bloody well got out here. So I went back. Hitched most of the way, walked the last ten miles. And then I bumped into one of the warders, one of the better ones, and he said, “Come and have a cup of tea.” And I told him what I was doing and he said, “Don’t be daft, Danny, they’re not going to let you back in.” And that was the first time anybody had called me Danny for months, so that didn’t discourage me. Anyway I banged on the door and I’ve no doubt he’d rung ahead and warned them I was coming. I was put in the visitors’ waiting room. There was this girl there with a baby, visiting somebody, she thought I was visiting too. And then Martha came and got me. Stupid.’
‘It was understandable.’
‘Gerraway, man. It was pathetic’
A sudden incursion of a Geordie accent. Why? ‘How long ago was that?’
‘Nine days.’
‘Is that what made you so depressed?’
‘No, I’d been feeling down for months. It’s always bad in the vacations when everybody else goes home.’
‘Can’t you go home?’
‘My mother’s dead.’
‘Oh, I am sorry.’ Tom remembered her clearly, a woman with mousy fair hair, wearing a blue cardigan that matched the faded blue of her eyes. In the course of the trial, her eyes seemed to become paler, as if tears could dilute the colour. She’d wept, quietly, persistently, into an embroidered handkerchief, the sort almost nobody carried any more, and Tom had been conscious of mounting irritation as the furtive sniffling went on and on. You’d have thought she was the victim. Danny looked round at her continually, more worried about her, it seemed, than he was about himself. And even that had counted against him, making him seem mature beyond his years. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Two years ago. Of course I was still inside. They took me to see her in the hospital, only they wouldn’t rake the handcuffs off, so she had all the shame of other people, nurses, seeing me like that. And we couldn’t talk, with the warder there. And then she got a lot worse, and I asked if I could go to see her again, and the governor hummed and hawed and… finally said yes. And I stood to attention, and said, “Thank you, sir.” I should’ve ripped his fucking liver
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