Page 43 of Good Bad Girl

How could she have known that a trip to the supermarket would ruin their lives?

Patience

“Prison doesn’t have to ruin your life. Stick with me and you’ll be fine,” Liberty says.

I don’t believe her, but I am grateful for everything she has done for me. Liberty helped me to make my bed, offered me a can of Coke and some Doritos and spent the last couple of hours explaining everything about how the prison works. When Liberty’s dinner arrived, she insisted on sharing half of everything, spooning more than half onto a red plastic plate using plastic cutlery. I had no dinner of my own because I’m not “on the system” yet. And now we’re eating fish and chips and mushy peas, and things aren’t as terrible as I thought they would be.

“How has your family coped with you being sent here?” Liberty asks.

I shrug. “I’m not sure they know where I am.”

“You what? Didn’t you tell ’em?”

“I tried to tell my mum, but it all happened so fast.”

“That your family is it? Just you and your mum?” I try to hidemy discomfort and she’s intuitive enough to change the subject. “Well, in the future you should start getting your own meals delivered to the cell three times a day. You have to choose what you want for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on the computer. You can’t do it yet because you don’t have a prison number. Hopefully they’ll give you one first thing tomorrow. We eat in the cells because otherwise there are fights over food. It’s actually the thing people in here fight over the most. You wouldn’t Adam and Eve it.” I frown. “Adam and Eve it. Believe it. Whatever. Just so you know, the computer is also how you apply for activities, or accept visits, or arrange phone calls. Everything happens on the computer, but you need a password, and for that you need a prison number—”

“Which I can’t get until tomorrow,” I say.

“You got it! Everything in here takes donkey’s years. Do you want a lollipop?” Liberty asks, holding out a bag of sweets. She’s lying on the bed covered with the She-Ra duvet.

“No. Thank you. How come you have all thisstuff?”

“Like what?”

“The kids’ duvet, the toys, the sweets.”

“My personal things you mean? Like I said, prison in real life isn’t like it is in the movies. My mum brought these things in for me—she brings a cuddly toy almost every time she visits—and I’m allowed to keep them so long as I stick to the rules.” When she speaks about the rules it makes me think about the care home. Edith was right: it was a bit like a prison. “My mum still thinks I’m a little girl, I bet yours does too. Mums who don’t want their babies to grow up sometimes pretend that they haven’t. I’m sure yours will bring you some of your stuff to make this feel a bit more like home when she comes to visit.” My face gives me away again. “You sure I can’t interest you in a lolly?” she asks. I shake my head. “Suit yourself.” She peels the wrapper off a Chupa Chups then sticks it in her mouth. “So, here’s the big question everyone will want to know the answer to. What. Did. You. Do?” She leansforward and looks like a child waiting for their favorite bedtime story.

“I didn’tdoanything,” I tell her.

“Of course! None of us did!” Liberty crosses herself the way Catholics do, before pressing her hands into a prayer shape. “Everyone in here is a saint. Let me rephrase the question. What do theysayyou did? Allegedly and all that jazz?”

“It’s a long list.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you’re only here on remand. We call people like you tourists. Just here on holiday for a couple of weeks before you travel back to the real world. You have to tell me what you’re in for; if I’m sharing a cell with you then I’ve got a right to know whether it’s safe for me to close my eyes at night. Them’s the rules.”

“Fine. I’m accused of theft, fraud... and murder.”

Liberty takes out her lollipop and stares open mouthed. “Murder? You?”

The atmosphere changes instantly. “Like I said, I didn’t do it. I think I’ve been set up.”

She stares at me for a while. “I was taught never to judge a book by its cover, but it seems I mistook an Agatha Christie for a Jane Austen. I had you pegged as a shoplifter. I wouldn’t have guessedmurderin a month of Sundays.”

“I’mnota murderer.”

“Keep your knickers on, I believe you.”

“Then you might be the only person who does.” I try to compose myself. “Sorry, I’m just so tired and stressed, I feel like I’m losing my mind. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

“Kindness is free. Besides, now I’ve done you a little favor, I know you’ll do one for me when the time comes.”

The lights go out and we are plunged into darkness. I blink several times, trying to adjust to the dark, but everything is black.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“It’s okay, it’s just lights-out,” Liberty says, hearing the panic in my voice.

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