look around the room that holds about seventy tables, but only five are occupied by prisoners. This is because of the breakdown of the prison computer, which has thrown the visiting schedule into chaos.
James is the first through the door, surprise, surprise, followed by William, then David. Once we have completed the hugs and greetings I explain that I wish to allocate the two hours judiciously. The first half hour I’ll spend with William, the second with James and the third with David, before having the final half hour with all three of them.
While the other two disappear. Will updates me on the KPMG report and my D-cat reinstatement. Mary has been in touch with Gillian Shephard, currently my local MP, who has promised to contact the governor of Wayland and make it clear that once the police have dropped their enquiry, I ought to be moved on to an open prison as quickly as possible. Mind you, the Prison Service’s idea of as quickly as possible…
Will also reports that he hopes to return to America in about three weeks as he has been offered several new commissions for documentaries. To his surprise, he’s also been approached about some work in London.
While I try to recall my eight points, Will briefs me about his mother. Mary is holding up well in the circumstances, but he feels that she has probably been most affected by the whole experience.
I then ask if Will could do three things for me. First, give Chris Beetles PS200 in order that Shaun will be in receipt of the art materials he needs. Second, select a bowl and plate from the Bridgewater collection and send them to Darren at Wayland, a man whose kindness I will never be able to repay properly. Finally, I ask if he will somehow get hold of my special Staedtler liquid pens, because- Will points to the tray in front of me, where I see he has slipped two behind a can of Diet Coke. I smile, but wonder if I can get the treasure back to my cell without it being confiscated.
Once I’ve completed my list, he brings me up to date on his social life. Ten minutes later he leaves me and James takes his place.
I spend some considerable time briefing James on Sergio’s background, and explain how three weeks in prison, in such intense circumstances, is the equivalent of about three months on the outside. He nods, as he’s well aware that this is only background before I broach the real subject. Having established Sergio’s credentials, about which I tell him I have only my instinct to go on, we then discuss the subject of emeralds in great detail. I explain for an investment of $10,000, subject to valuation, we will acquire one emerald which will arrive in London later this week If Sergio turns out to have been honest about the emerald, it might then be worth getting him to search for a Botero.
‘If he doesn’t manage to find any paintings,’ I add, ‘then the worse case scenario is that Mary will end up with a rather special Christmas present’
Because James has inherited his mother’s brains and my barrow-boy instincts, there’s no need to repeat anything. We agree to speak again by phone towards the end of the week. I smile across at David and he joins us.
After a few preliminaries about his wife, Sue, and whether they had a good holiday, I can see he’s nervous, which has always been David’s way of telling me something is worrying him. I try to make it as easy as possible for both of us.
‘Are you still thinking of emigrating to Australia?’ I ask.
‘No’ he replies, ‘much as I’d like to, it’s near impossible to get on the quota, unless you have a job to go to, or relatives already living there.’
‘I suppose I’ll have a better chance now I’ve been to prison,’ I suggest, before adding, ‘So what are you planning to do?’
‘Sue and I are thinking of settling in Turkey. We’ve spent our last few holidays there, and we like the people, the climate and most of all the cost of living.’
‘So when would you want to leave?’
In a couple of months, if that’s all right with you, boss?’
I smile and tell him that’s just fine. We shake hands like old friends, because that’s exactly what we are.
The four of us spend the last thirty minutes together swapping stories as if I wasn’t in jail. I think I’ve made this observation before, but if your friends could be in prison with you, it would be almost bearable.
I place the pens Will smuggled in into my shirt pocket and just hope. I’m sorry to see the boys leave, and it’s only their absence that reminds me just how much I love them. The officer who carries out the search checks my mouth, under my tongue, makes me take off my shoes, and then finishes with a Heathrow check. I escape – which means for the next week I’ll be able to write with the implement of my choice.
5.00 pm
After supper I convene a board meeting in Sergio’s cell. ‘The ball is now in your court,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve selected the emerald, so we’re about to discover if you’re a serious player or a mountebank.’ He has asked me to use one expression and one word every day that he won’t have heard before. He immediately looks up mountebank in his Spanish/English dictionary.
He then stands and formally shakes my hand. The ball is now in my court,’ he repeats, ‘and you’re about to find out that despite the circumstances in which we’ve met, I am not a mountebank.’ I want to believe him.
DAY 48 – TUESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER 2001
6.11 am
One of the interesting aspects of writing this diary during the day, and correcting the script of volume one in the evening, is being reminded just how horrendous an experience Belmarsh was.
9.00 am
Pottery. Paul gives us a lecture with slides on Rothko, Man Ray, Magritte and Andy Warhol. Several of the prisoners voice an opinion often heard about modern artists, only they put it more bluntly.
That’s fuckin’ crap, why would anyone pay good money for that shit? My seven-year-old daughter could knock you up one of those.’
Neither of our tutors, Paul nor Anne, comments; both are professional artists and know only too well that if they could ‘knock up one of those’, they wouldn’t be teaching in prison.
After the lecture Shaun presents me with a pattern for my cell wall – unquestionably influenced by Magritte. It’s fun, but I wonder if Locke is capable of reproducing it. I’ll have to discuss the problem with my chef de chantier, Darren. Will I really be allowed a sun and moon in my room?
2.00 pm
Education, Tuesday afternoon is a bit of a farce. I have to attend an education class to make up the statutory number of lessons required by a part-time worker – PS6.50 a week – so end up sitting at the back of the classroom working on this script.
I’ve asked Wendy Sergeant (Head of the Education Department) if I can teach one lesson a week of creative writing, as I did at Belmarsh. Her latest comment on the subject is that the prisoners don’t want another inmate teaching them. I find this unlikely because at least one inmate a day asks me to read and comment on something they’ve written, so I wonder what the truth really is. I won’t bother Wendy again as it’s obvious that someone else has made the decision, and she is simply carrying out instructions. In future I’ll just sit at the back of the classroom and continue working for myself.
5.00 pm
Board meeting. Sergio reports that he’s spoken to his brother again, and all the arrangements are in place. But he has an anxious look on his face.
‘What’s the problem?’ I ask.
‘I’m worried about my brother,’ he explains. ‘He’s a civil servant, an academic, not used to the way business is carried out in Colombia. It must have taken a great deal of courage for him to travel to the mountain where no one would give a second thought to killing you for a thousand dollars. Now we want him to hand over ten thousand in cash and then transport the emerald to the airport without any protection.’ Sergio pauses. ‘I fear for his life.’
My first thought is that Sergio is trying to get off the hook now that he’s leaving these shores in a few weeks’ time.
What are you suggesting?’ I venture.
