On Mon, 16 Dec 96, Elaine wrote: *** Start of forwarded message Well, here it is. Chapter 21 of the Round Robin. Sorry it's taken a while, but I've had problems getting online - this was finished on Friday. Went down to the Uni on Saturday, and they were closed because the term ended on Friday. I hope I have the right address...if not, I've sent a copy to you, Simon, just in case. Could you pass it on as appropriate, if necessary. Hope it was worth the wait... Elaine :-) ----------------- CHAPTER 21 ----------------- Tuesday 5.30pm, Dining Room Joan supervised the first sitting in the dining room. She glanced at her watch, and lifted her head up smartly, grinning with the knowledge that the prison was hers once again. Cynthia had been on day-shift, so she had finished at 5.15pm. Joan had longed for some support in Wentworth - for so long, the place had seemed to be full of do-gooders and stand-backers. But now that she had someone who shared her views and philosophies, she realised the situation wasn't as favourable as she had once thought it might be. For not only did Cynthia Leach share Joan's viewpoints, she also shared Joan's whole outlook on life - get to the top at any cost. And now they were both after the same thing...Ann Reynolds chair. Joan was going to have to change her direction somewhat; there was no way she was going to let Cynthia Leach stroll into Wentworth and steal the Governor's chair from under her nose. Suddenly, a crash of crockery brought Joan's attention back to the women she was meant to be supervising. Joan's head swivelled quickly to the direction of the trouble, like a eagle swooping in on its prey. Bobbie Mitchell had lifted her plate and threw it in the direction of Lurch, "Take that, you big twat!". "Mitchell!" Joan yelled. Bobbie turned round with the dawning of realisation. Pause. "She started it Miss Ferguson." Oh dear, thought Joan. Another evening in the Wentworth dining room. Joan made up her mind; she was not going to have to put up with these menial trivialities for much longer. She was going to find a new strategy, something she hadn't tried before, that would ultimately win her the Governorship of Wentworth...in the shortest time possible. Without the help of Leach. Only, she wasn't going to let her know that right away. *** Wednesday 16th November 1983 11.45am, Staff Room "Morning, Joan," Cynthia greeted Ferguson as she walked in before starting her shift. "You on day-shift?" asked Joan. "Yes. Not the ideal for taking care of insurance policies, but then again, can't be pushing the Governor after only a week in the job, now can I?" Cynthia sneered. Cynthia knew it was more difficult to prize information out of McFadden during the day. Working nine-thirty 'til five meant the only time she could see McFadden alone without arising suspicions would be to have McFadden on cleaning duties. She couldn't influence the work rosters all the time, but today, she'd managed to persuade Meg Morris that the solitude would be in the best interests of the new prisoner. There could only be verbal threats though - anything else could wait until she was on night shift. The recollection of the past incidents would be enough for the meantime to ensure co-operation. Oh how Cynthia longed for a night shift. "Have you made any move on Bryant yet?" asked Joan. "What, that lard tub. She might be *your* type, but I'm sure I can get better than her, Joan!" Cynthia joked. Cynthia laughed at her own joke; a whole body laugh. Joan didn't find it funny, feeling a little insulted. "No, Leach. I mean, about Pixie's Song..." "Oh. No, I haven't. I was waiting to see if you wanted to join in the party..." "Thank you for your consideration." "Not at all. I'm sure you enjoy seeing these animals squirm. Well, Bryant's about to get a taster..." Cynthia laughed again. Joan joined in this time, chuckling away to herself. *** 12.15pm, Governor's Office Ann looked at the files on her desk. Bundles upon bundles of reports and charge sheets. But she spotted something which looked promising. Pink papers - parole papers, they'd just arrived in the lunch time mail. Ann hurriedly opened them. She scanned the list quickly. There were four names. She sighed as she read the first three - much as she wished to the contrary, the women named had not rehabilitated themselves and she resigned herself to the fact that she could not recommend them an early release. But with the last name, her wearied expression melted away. She read over the note quickly, and then picked up the 'phone. "Officer Dunlop. Could you fetch Warren and bring her to my office..." *** 12.20pm, Laundry It had been quite an eventful morning in the laundry. Not only did the contractors arrive with two extra loads of washing, Myra Desmond had announced her intention to stand down as Top Dog. At first, the women had been muted and shell-shocked. Myra was so strong ; she'd led them through hell and high water, not least supporting them all through the trauma of Steiner and his guns recently. But therein lay the problem. Myra explained her reasoning that because of the massed pressures on her mind due to the murder of her two dear children, she felt she was in no fit state of mind to stand up for the prisoner's issues, giving them the full support they deserved. Judy Bryant, she had suggested, would be better equipped at that moment in time to represent their interests. The women had hesitated in backing Judy - everyone knew that, with her dodgy heart, she couldn't possibility stand up in a physical confrontation situation with either the Freak or the Leach. But Myra convinced the inmates that it was brains and not brawn that was needed now. The main thing was they had to stick together. The women took a vote, and backed Myra's proposal of Judy as Top Dog. When the bell rang for lunch, the women, who had long before given up on their massed mountain work for the morning, lined up at the gate. Patrick Dunlop turned the corner into the laundry. "Okay ladies, move it along to the dining room. Miss Ferguson will meet you at the gate. Warren, you're to come with me" "But Mr Dunlop..." Rabbit whined. "What?" "I want m'lunch" "Can't you think of something aside from your stomach for once?" "Not really..." "Come on. By the looks of it, you could do with skipping a few meals." "Well, I don't care what *you* say. Matt loves me just the way I am..." "Come on!" Patrick ordered Rabbit, before looking towards the inmates, still straggling in the corridor, some listening in to what he had to say to Marlene, "Move it along ladies..." *** 12.30pm, Dining Room Cynthia and Joan waited for the women in the Dining Room. What better place that this for the debut performance of "Pixie's Song", they thought. The women straggled into the dining room in the usual unordered fashion. Bobbie walked backwards as she talked and laughed with Judy and Pixie. Judy cracked a joke, and Bobbie let out a big laugh. She didn't notice the figure of Joan Ferguson standing immediately in the doorway and the laugh propelled her straight into the body of the officer. Bobbie stumbled on Ferguson's foot and fell over onto the floor. She screamed out as she landed, banging her head against the gate to the dining room. "You fool, Mitchell. Get up. You're pushing your luck. One charge for throwing prison crockery yesterday, another for malarkey in the corridor and jumping at an officer. I can see a long stint in solitary for you this time..." Bobbie didn't move, "...This will look good if you ever get a chance at parole..." Cynthia looked across from the other side of the room, giving Joan an approving glance. Bobbie groaned, "Ughh...!" Joan, sensing something was wrong, crouched down. Bobbie was still halfway across Joan's body. Joan was careful not to move her suddenly. "Get up, girlie!" Cynthia shouted across to Bobbie. "Mitchell, you better not be play acting!" stressed Joan. Judy ran around the other side of Joan to see what was wrong. She knelt down on the floor, taking a look at Bobbie. "You keep out of this Bryant," hissed Cynthia. Judy looked at Bobbie, giving Cynthia a look of annoyance before turning to Joan. "I think you'd better get a nurse, Ferguson." "What...what's wrong?" asked Joan. "Don't move. She'd got a gash on her head from that gate, and I think she might have broken her arm. She's come down badly on it..." Joan gave the order, "Okay. Mason! Go and get Sister Hall." *** 12.30pm, Governor's Office "What's this about, Miss Reynolds. I'm supposed to be gettin' me lunch now," asked Rabbit of the Governor. "I'm sure once you hear my news, Warren, you'd rather get this than prison food any day. Sit down." Marlene sat down in the chair opposite Mrs Reynolds, slouching down in a semi-huff. She fidgeted in every sense possible to show her dissatisfaction. "Are you quite comfortable?" Ann half-laughed, quietly. "No. My stomach's about to get up and run to the dining room itself without me," Marlene moaned. Ann chuckled to herself, knowingly, at Marlene's manner. Ann found Marlene quite a funny character. A young woman who hadn't quite grown up, but who brought a lot of childish fun to a place which could do with the brightening up that the spirits of young people brought. "Okay then, I'll make this quick. You'll be eligible for parole at next week's meeting. I'll be putting forward a recommendation that you be released..." Marlene's ears perked up at this news. She bolted up in the chair, "Bloody bonzer!!!" she yelped. Patrick, watching from behind, couldn't help but smirk to himself at her reaction. "You see. I know I wouldn't keep you from your food for something unimportant. Didn't you have faith in me?" Ann smiled. "You're the best, Miss Reynolds!" *** 12.40pm, Dining Room Cynthia had seen to it that no time was wasted at the dinner sitting; with most of the inmates finishing off their meal. Unfortunately, because of all the action, Cynthia and Joan had forsaken the opportunity to boil Judy's blood with the revelations of "Pixie's Song". But all good things had to wait at one time or another, thought Cynthia. And none of the inmates were going anywhere in the immediate future, she would make sure of that.. Sister Hall had arrived, although she *had* taken some time. Pixie had found her attending to some of the babies in maternity and rushed her along to the dining room. She managed to move Bobbie away from Joan, minimising any sudden movement that may have affected any breaks. Bobbie's head had made contact with the gate on the way down. There was a sharp edge on the gate. The gash on her head was quiet deep and bleeding profusely. Sister took care of that first to stop the blood loss. Sister was aware Bobbie had broken something on impact with the ground. She suspected a fractured wrist from her initial observations. "She'll have to go to the General, Miss Ferguson." *** 8.30pm, Myra's Cell Myra and Reb sat together on Myra's bed. Despite their closeness in the past month or so, their lives with so many parallels, Reb was still a million miles away. Myra felt she had managed to penetrate the sole of the mixed-up kid, somewhat, but she still came across as being a little non-trusting and distant. Perhaps intrinsically built into her character, thought Myra. She was trying to get organised about the escape. There was a lot of planning to take care of. It wasn't as easy nowadays just to jump over the wall, and be off with the wind. "They're are a couple of things we have to decide about this escape, Reb." "Like what?" "Well, for a start, do we care how we get out? Are we willing to hurt people to get out? How far are we going to go? I know, for one, that I really don't care now what kind of sentence they throw at me when I get caught..." "Hold on, Myra. Who says you'll get caught?" Myra paused to think for a minute, on the realisation that Reb was not just wanting to gain revenge and spend even more time inside. Indeed, Reb Keane had more *life* to run of any life sentence than Myra did. "So you're planning to make it a clean break?" "Oh yeah. I'm taking care of business, but I ain't coming back. That's a cert." *** Thursday 17th November 1996 The day had seemed to pass almost without incident. Bobbie was still in Wentworth General. She was nursing a triple fracture in her wrist, concussion and a nasty head wound. The doctors had decided the best policy would be to keep her in for at least two days to see how the head progressed. Joan Ferguson, needless to say, was not impressed at being one prisoner short for the work rota. She'd solved the laundry problem by moving one of the older prisoners from their domain in B Block. One who wouldn't give any trouble. Edna Pearson, however, was less than impressed at being moved from her cosy domain into the turbulence of Cell Block H. Luckily for Lynn McFadden, today was Leach's day off. She had time to breathe. But she would have to do her ground work. After all, when Leach returned, she would want immediate results. And Lynn could not stand another one of those body searches. After the initial meeting, Lynn was beginning to wonder if she would have the courage to confront Myra Desmond about the escape plan. How would she approach it? Should she go in with all guns blazing and confront her straight out with her threat of expose? Or should she try to get in with Desmond and pull on her heart strings until Myra let her come with her? She had to be careful. Myra must have been a very volatile character at this moment in time. Hell, Lynn would be contemplating suicide if her son had been murdered. When she thought about how Myra's kids had died, and thought about what she had done, for the first time, she began to think about the consequences of her actions. What if it were her son who had overdosed on spiked dope that she had sold on. For the first time also, a tinge of regret came to her - yes, she had felt regret, at being so stupid to get caught. But now, thinking deeply, she was regretting taking the liberty to play with the fortunes of other people's lives, just to improve her son's lot in life. Maybe if she'd thought about this before, she could have the clear conscience of knowing that some perhaps she had prevented the anguish of some other mother. Oh, how Lynn hated the position she was in. Why did Leach pick on her? If she hadn't, Lynn wouldn't be in this sort of awkward situation right now. She had made up her mind. She walked along the corridor from her single cell, towards Myra's. Lynn stood in the doorway. Myra was there, siting quietly on her bed, reading some old letters. "Myra," Myra looked up, pushing the letters under her pillow. "What do you want, pusher?" "Please, give me a chance?" "Why should I give *you* a chance? Did you give any of these poor addict kids a chance?" "Look, can we forget that for a minute. Please! I need your help." Myra thought for a minute. After the warning off Myra had given Lynn, Lynn was at her door for help. Myra's maternal instincts took over...she couldn't help it, she'd been Top Dog for so long. Lynn must have been in trouble to risk coming to Myra for help. "Okay, what gives?" "It's Leach. I need your help. She'd trying to use me to get information on you..." *** Friday 18th November 1996 10.15am, Governor's Office Ann sat at her desk, tearing through the usual pile of mail. She had a frustrated look on her face. A caught-in-two-minds look. There was a knock at the door. "Come in..." Meg Morris entered the Governor's Office. She smiled a friendly smile at her boss and friend and closed the door. Ann had summoned Meg as a friend for a private chat. "Meg. Good to see you. How are you?" "Well, thanks. Now what is it you wanted to talk about?" Ann held up a letter that she had been clasping. "This." "What is it?" "I'll tell you Meg. This one's really got me stuck. It's from the department..." "Oh, ye of blessed quantities," Meg laughed. Ann smiled, bemused, not knowing if what she had received was good or bad. "Meg, I've been offered a secondment to a Government Select Committee on prison reform. They want me to join them as soon as possible. It's an opportunity to see my thoughts on overall prison reform pushed through at Governmental level. But how can I go with both Cynthia Leech and Joan Ferguson vying for my chair...?" *** "He used to bring me roses..." *** *** End of forwarded message ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Prisoner Cell Block H Mailing List. He used to give me roses....... pcbh@chewy.demon.co.uk http://www.chewy.demon.co.uk/pcbh/ Team AMIGA --------------------------------------------------------------------------------