Page 40 of Good Bad Girl

They both turn when they hear the van-load of new arrivals walking into reception; this is one of the only female prisons in the country and it’s about to get busy.

Frankie sighs. “Incoming.”

“God help me,” says her colleague. “I was just about to go for a smoke too. Go on through and good luck with the date!”

“Thank you,” Frankie replies. She knows that if she had been caught smuggling a phone into the prison she wouldn’t just have been fired, she would have been arrested. She gathers her things, checks her Mickey Mouse watch, and sees she needs to hurry. Frankie uses the biggest key attached to her belt to unlock the door, then crosses the courtyard, feeling watched. She uses another key to let herself inside block B. There are forty steps up to her floor, but she takes them two at a time today. Another key. Then twenty-two steps to the library. The last key and she is inside. The final fourteen steps take her to her desk, where she barely has time to sit down before someone knocks on the library door. It swings open before she can reach it.

“Oh, you’re here! I heard you might be off sick,” says Taylor. She is the most popular guard in the prison, well-liked by staff and inmates. Frankie doesn’t understand why that is, or why she dislikes Taylor so much. Maybe it’s her popularity, or the way her long ponytail swings when she walks, or how she isalwaysinexplicably cheerful. Frankie doesn’t trust people who are happy all of the time.

“Here I am!” Frankie says, trying to match the other woman’sdisturbingly cheerful tone. It sounds unnatural and her own smile tugs half-heartedly at the corners of her mouth.

“Great. Got four for you today.”

“Four means death in Chinese,” Frankie blurts out.

Taylor gives her an odd look. “Is that so?” Then she checks her watch as though she has somewhere more important to be, like the staff canteen. “Come on in, you lot. The books won’t bite and I don’t want to spend any longer with you losers than I have to.” Taylor smiles as she insults the prisoners, and what is most bizarre is thattheysmile back. Frankie wonders if she should try the same approach, but she’s never been good at insulting people. Or smiling at them.

Taylor hands over the list and Frankie takes it. There is a list for every activity in the prison, but luckily lists are something she is rather fond of. Inmates have to apply online for all activities, using a computer in their cell. When Frankie first started working here, she was surprised to learn that prisoners had computers, but they can only access the intranet. Supervisors for each session—like Frankie, who is in charge of all events and goings-on in the library—have to approve each application. Once approved, inmates get collected by a guard, then escorted to the activity, then signed off on a list just like the one Frankie is staring at now. Four people for an afternoon session is okay, about standard. Other activities are more popular—like hairdressing, and plumbing—but the best people choose books. That’s what Frankie thinks. She checks the four women entering the room, ticking off each one, before thanking Taylor and closing the library door.

“Is the author visit still happening tomorrow, Miss Fletcher?” asks Liberty, one of the youngest prisoners at HMP Crossroads. Her parents’ choice of name seems unfortunate given where the girl has ended up. Liberty is one of Frankie’s favorites—well-read, always on time, always offering to help. She has a head of blond curls and ambition, and one of those thick cockney accents thatsounds a smidgen put on to Frankie’s ears, as though she has just walked off the set ofMary Poppins. Frankie can’t remember what Liberty is in prison for, and there comes a point when it is rude to ask. Like when you’ve known someone for a long time but still don’t really understand what they do for a living.

“Everything hunky-dory, Miss Fletcher? You don’t seem like yourself,” Liberty says, interrupting her thoughts, and Frankie realizes she has been staring at the girl. Probably because she is roughly the same age as her daughter.

“I’m sorry, miles away. What were you asking me?”

Liberty frowns, looking too much like a child to be in a place like this. “The author visit tomorrow. Is it still happening?”

Frankie had completely forgotten about it. “Yes, of course.”

“Ace! She’s someone I’d bite my right arm off to meet!” the girl replies. Frankie knows that means she is happy about it, and isn’t actually going to bite off her own arm, or anyone else’s.

“I know how much you all look forward to the monthly author visits,” Frankie says, addressing the volunteers. “Which is why I thought we should spend our session this afternoon tidying the library, so that everything is spick and span for tomorrow.” They all groan. “Or, I can call the guard to take you back to your cells if you’d prefer?” The library is as silent as it should be. “Good. Why don’t you each take a corner, and start making sure the books are looking neat and tidy on the shelves. There are a pile of returns here that need processing and putting back too.”

When they’re all busy, or at least look like they’re doing something vaguely useful, Frankie heads to her office and checks the schedule pinned above her desk. Each month she books an author to visit the prison, something which has proved popular with both inmates and staff. The inmates have to apply to take part and, once approved, they are given a copy of the author’s latest book to read ahead of the event. The event normally consists of an author talk followed by an—often lively—Q&A. Frankie can’t rememberwho she booked for tomorrow; she didn’t think she’d still be here. But sees now it is a crime author—always popular in the prison.

Frankie checks to see that the volunteers are still busy, then retreats farther into her office before unbuttoning her shirt to retrieve the phone hidden inside her bra. There are no missed calls, no new messages, not even an alarm.

“Are you allowed to have a mobile phone in here, Miss Fletcher? I thought even staff had to leave them at reception and just use their walkie-talkies,” a voice whispers behind her.

Frankie freezes, then slowly turns to see Liberty.

“I had a personal emergency,” Frankie says. Half-truths are better than whole lies.

“That old chestnut. I’ve had a few of those too,” Liberty replies, smiling. “Don’t worry, Miss Fletcher. Your secret is safe with me.”

It isn’t a veiled threat, the look on the girl’s face is one of genuine concern. Liberty respects Frankie too much to cause her any trouble. The perspective of youth is rarely level. Young people either look up to or down on their elders rather than viewing someone older as an equal. Frankie was just the same when she was young. The girl is about to go back to sorting a pile of books when Frankie remembers why she is in prison.

“Liberty?”

“Yes, Miss Fletcher?”

“It was hacking, wasn’t it, the thing you are serving time for?”

“I don’t like the expression ‘serving time,’ miss. I like to think that my time is my own, I’m just paying back what I owe. But yes, hacking is... what they caught me for.”

“And, forgive my ignorance in these matters. But does that mean you might know a thing or two about tracing phones?”

Liberty shakes her head. “No it doesn’t, but I do. I know a thing or two about plenty of things I shouldn’t. You need some help, Miss Fletcher? Because if you do, I’m your girl.”

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