1. Going Down

Day One

Monday 6th June 2022

I stood in the dock, looking from the judge to all the other officials in their special places, wearing their white wigs. I recalled reading that the wigs were originally introduced to symbolise the impartiality and anonymity of those who wore them. Most of the officials were slightly in front of me as I stood in the dock. The most important person was in the big, fancy chair overlooking everything. He’d listened intently to the prosecution and to the woman who’d been appointed to be my defence counsel, and then he glanced at me before nodding to himself and looking at the laptop on the large desk in front of him.

The seconds passed slowly as I waited to hear his verdict. Over the previous few weeks, while I’d waited for my trial date, I’d had good days and bad days. Sometimes I was worried sick, thinking how awful it would be if I were given a custodial sentence. On my good days, I recalled a conversation with my defence counsel and what she’d said to reassure me.

“Try not to worry, Steven. You’re in your early twenties, you’ve just graduated, and this is your first offence.”

“But, I haven’t done anything,” I’d said.

“Unfortunately, there was nobody else in the car when you were arrested, so we have to handle the situation with that in mind.”

The conversation haunted me constantly. Since then, I’d tried not to worry, but it didn’t fill me with confidence when she suggested a day later that I ought to plead guilty. I had to trust her judgment and go with her advice, of course. She was the person defending me in court, and this was her workplace. Her job was to convince a judge or a jury of her client’s innocence by explaining how I had been duped into my crime.

I stared straight ahead at the judge, trying to send a telepathic plea for mercy.

He looked at me again, glanced at his laptop, and then nodded before speaking to me.

“Steven Anderson, I believe that you committed the crimes for which you have been charged and are standing before me. From the evidence and the statements I’ve heard, I’m convinced that you thought if you were caught and prosecuted, you’d be given a derisory punishment.” He paused, but held my gaze. “You probably mistakenly thought that because it was a first offence, you’d avoid a custodial sentence. I’m not convinced that leniency would benefit society, and your punishment should send a message. For those reasons, I sentence you to three months’ detention at His Majesty’s Pleasure.”

My mouth went dry, and although my lips parted and closed, no sound came out.

The judge turned to the man who’d escorted me to the courtroom. “Take him down.”

When I felt the escort’s grip on my arm, my anxiety increased dramatically, and I looked from him to the judge and back again in disbelief.

“Come on, son,” the prison escort said in a firm, but not unfriendly tone. He’d obviously dealt with someone like me before and recognised my state of shock.

We went downstairs, and I was returned to one of the holding cells. As I sat on the hard bed block with the thin, inadequate mattress, it struck me that this might be luxury compared to where I could be sent. I had no idea about the passage of time, but it felt like I’d sat in the cell forever before the solid steel door was unlocked and swung open. My defence counsel stepped inside.

She said, “I’m sorry, Steven, I was assured that the judge would be lenient, but I’ve just found out that he and the victim of the robbery are friends. That’s the sort of thing we can only find out by accident.”

“Three months imprisonment,” I murmured. “How am I going to survive?”

“Did you pack a small bag with toiletries and a few essentials?”

“I didn’t think I’d need one, but Melanie, a friend of mine, gave me a bag this morning before I came here. I hope she’s packed pyjamas and more than one change of underwear for me. The bag was taken from me when I came in this morning, so I haven’t even looked at the contents.”

“I’m sure Melanie will have packed what would be appropriate, just in case this happened.”

“We don’t even live together, and we’ve only been friends for a couple of weeks. When will I have access to my bag?”

“They’ll give it to you when you arrive at the prison, and I’ve no idea yet where that might be.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You gave me her number as your only contact. I’ve got it in my notes. As soon as I know where you’ve been taken, I’ll let her know.”

“Thank you.”

“I have to go, I’m afraid, I have another case to attend.” She paused at the door. “All I can suggest is that you try to get along with your cellmate and deal with the situation.”

When she left, the door was closed again, and I sat for a long time thinking about her suggestion. The next time the door opened, it seemed like I’d been sitting alone for hours. It was a prison officer, and he nodded to me when he stepped into the cell.

“It’s time to go, and you’ll be cuffed to me until we reach the van.”

When I stood, he clipped the handcuffs to my wrist and his own, and we set off along the plain, pale-green corridor to a metal gate, down two flights of stairs, and came out in the basement parking area. He released himself from the handcuffs and fastened the second one to me before I was led into the big white van with the blacked-out windows. I was locked in one of the individual cubicles, and I heard others being locked up in the other cubicles. It wasn’t long before we set off, and I was able to see when we arrived at the exit to the main road on ground level.

A bunch of reporters and photographers were running alongside the van, shouting things and holding camera lenses up against the blackened windows, hoping to get a picture of someone. I was certain they weren’t interested in me, so there had to be someone in the van who’d committed a crime worth media attention.

Once again, while on the journey, I had no idea how much time was passing, but from what I could make out, we’d left Glasgow. I didn’t think it would be necessary to use a motorway to reach one of the city’s prisons, but later we left it to take minor roads. As we travelled through a built-up area, I saw a castle high on a hill.

“Surely, we’re not in Edinburgh?” I murmured. “Melanie wouldn’t be able to visit me often.”

A prisoner in another cubicle shouted, “Edinburgh.” Two or three others cheered. “Waverley.”

I wondered why someone going to prison would have a preference for one over another.

When the van stopped, the cubicles were unlocked, and the five of us were led to a large room and told to wait. We were called forward individually and had the handcuffs removed.

In a much smaller room were two men in prison officer uniforms, one of whom wore plastic gloves.

“Name?” the taller man said.

“Steven Anderson,” I said.

“Date of Birth?”

“Fourth September, Two Thousand and Three.”

“Strip.”

I began undressing and glanced back to see the shorter man emptying my small overnight bag onto a counter. I stopped when I was in my boxer shorts and socks.

“Everything off,” the tall man said.

I took off my shorts and socks and glanced back to see the other man lifting my belongings one by one and repacking them into a large, clear plastic bag. He checked the pockets of a pair of jogging pants, dropped them on the counter, and then several T-shirts, pairs of socks, and boxer shorts. I was pleased to see what Melanie had selected to pack for me, and I’d have to pay her back on my release.

The prison officer paused, lifted a short black nightie with a lace trim and held it up.

I stared, wide-eyed. “What—” I had to think quickly. “My new girlfriend packed my bag—”

“Shut up and face your front,” the tall man said, smiling.

The other man said, “I think you might enjoy the next part of processing, Steven.”

I glanced back to see him holding up pairs of panties and what looked like tights or stockings, and my heart sank. What the hell had Melanie done to me, packing my bag with lingerie?

The short man said, “Move your feet apart, and bend over.”

I looked at the tall man, and he nodded.

The man behind me, who’d been dealing with my bag, said, “Have you concealed anything on your person?”

“On my person … no.” I felt a cold gel between my buttocks and then something penetrating my bum hole and twisting around. A cavity search? Fortunately, it only lasted a few seconds.

The tall man said,  “Tattoos or piercings?”

“Only my ears are pierced, and I have no tattoos.”

The short man grinned when he handed me the big transparent bag. “Your personal bag will go into storage with a label attached. Get dressed, and go next door.” He pointed to a door to my left, so I quickly dressed and took the transparent bag as I went through to the next room.

A man in a white overall and a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform were waiting. I was weighed, my height was measured, and I was asked questions about my health. The doctor noted that I didn’t have a drug habit, I didn’t smoke, only drank alcohol occasionally, and didn’t have any special dietary requirements.

He said, “Have you ever been treated for mental health issues?”

“No.”

“Is this your first time in prison?”

“Yes.”

“You would normally spend your first night in the sick bay before going on to the induction wing, but due to a few admin problems, you’ll be taken straight to a cell in C-Wing today.”

“Why would I normally spend the first night in the sick bay?”

The nurse said, “Most people find their first night in prison traumatic, and it’s on the first night that we have the most suicide attempts.”

I looked from one to the other. “What about the induction wing?”

The doctor said, “A prisoner started a fire in there yesterday, so it’s temporarily out of bounds.”

The nurse said, “Grab your belongings and come through here.”

I followed her into a room where a prison officer sat alone in a small office with filing cabinets, a computer and a phone.

“First timer,” the nurse said, and closed the door, leaving me in the office.

The prison officer looked me up and down. “Name?”

“Steven Anderson.”

He lifted the phone and had a brief conversation, which I couldn’t hear clearly.

An attractive, mature, blonde female prison officer arrived in the office. “Steven Anderson?”

“Yes,” I said, and wondered why a woman would want to do this job.

“I’m Officer Harris, the senior officer on C-Wing, which is where you’ll be housed. Come with me.” She had a bunch of keys on a long silver chain draped from her belt. She led the way through the corridors, unlocking and locking gates as we went. When we went into what looked like a large storeroom with racks of shelving, she stood back and left me to be assessed by the man behind the counter. He was tall and well-built, wearing a prison officer’s uniform similar to the others: a white shirt and black trousers. After a moment, he turned, went to some shelves, and returned with blankets, sheets, pillows, and pillow slips. He gave me another quick once over and fetched a grey sweatshirt and matching jogging bottoms. The tracksuit had HMP Waverley printed in large lettering on both the top and bottom.

He looked at my training shoes. “Turn around and let me see the soles and heels.”

I turned and briefly lifted my feet, one at a time.

“He’s good,” the man said, and pushed the bedding, clothing and a plastic mug towards me.

Now carrying my issued bundle with my big transparent bag on top, I followed Officer Harris through a series of locked gates; each time, she rapidly unlocked and locked them. After a few minutes, she paused as we entered C-Wing, a long, wide area with metal doors lining both sides.

There were no people around apart from us, and I paused to take in my surroundings in silence. In the middle of the room were two pool tables, a table tennis table, three other square Formica tables with chairs around them, and a television mounted high on the wall. There were metal staircases at both ends of the long room, and above me was a net stretched to contain anything or anyone that fell, or was dropped from the floor above.

Officer Harris said, “It’s not usually this quiet, but the governor has imposed a lockdown because contraband was found in three cells earlier today, and that followed a fire in the Induction Wing.” She went to a cell door, unlocked it, and ushered me inside, where a man wearing a T-shirt and grey jogging pants lay on the bottom bunk.

He stood and stretched. He was tall, dark and muscular. “What have we got here, boss?”

“A new roomie for you, Mitchell. It’s his first time, so I’d like you to show him the ropes.”

“Anything for you, Stella.”

“Behave yourself.” She grinned. “Okay, Anderson, get settled as quickly as you can, and the governor will probably interview you tomorrow because there’s a lot happening today.” She paused. “I’ll have to take that plastic bag, so empty your belongings onto your bunk.”

My cellmate stood with his back to the narrow back wall under the barred window, leaning on the top bunk with his right arm as he watched my introduction to life in a cell.

I upturned the big plastic bag onto the top bunk alongside my folded bedding. As the items tumbled onto the mattress at eye level, I hoped that neither the female officer nor my cellmate would see the feminine items. When the bag was empty, I quickly folded it and handed it over.

She accepted the bag and paused in the doorway. “As I said, Mitchell will show you how things work in here, and you’d be well-advised to do as he suggests.” She stepped outside.

The sound of the heavy metal door slamming shut and then locking was frightening. I inhaled deeply and slowly turned to appraise my new living quarters, which I thought measured about four metres wide by five metres long.

Along the left wall, from the door, were sets of fitted shelving, some of which held neatly folded clothing. Footwear was placed on the floor underneath. The double bunk took up the remainder of the left wall.

High on the narrow end wall, opposite the cell door, was the barred window, which, like the door, was a reminder of where I’d ended up.

Where the narrow wall and the right-hand wall joined, there was the ominous sight of a stainless steel toilet bowl in the corner, with neither a seat nor a cover. There was a small partition, which I supposed was about as private as it would get in a two-man cell. The toilet held my attention for a moment before I turned to look properly at the right-hand wall. Next to the toilet partition, halfway down the wall, was a small stainless steel wash basin.

Next, there was a space before a table with a chair tucked underneath, and above it was a large cork noticeboard with a few photographs, girly pin-ups, and handwritten notes. To the right of the table was a small countertop on which were a kettle and a plastic mug, like the one I’d had issued. On a shelf above were a transistor radio and canisters labelled Tea, Coffee, Sugar, and Biscuits. 

I turned back to look at the man I’d be sharing with, and he stepped forward, which increased my fear to a level I didn’t know existed.

“Mitch,” he said, extending his right hand.

“Steven,” I said, placing my slender right hand in his massive paw, and feeling insignificant.

“One of the first things you have to learn to accept is the total lack of privacy.” He grinned. “When you put your clothes on the shelves, remember, we’ll occasionally have other inmates paying a visit, so don’t leave anything of value lying around.” He grinned. “Or anything you wouldn’t want another inmate to see.”

“Thank you … I’ll keep that in mind.” I hoped he hadn’t noticed the lingerie.

“I’ll sort us both a mug of tea while you’re arranging your clothes and making your bed.”

I grabbed the clothing, folded it quickly, and placed it on a shelf.

Without turning, Mitch said, “I’d try to conceal the lace items or anything delicate or with frills.”

“My new girlfriend packed my—”

He laughed briefly. “I’m sure she did, Steven,” he said, and turned to see me trying to hide the black nightie among T-shirts. “There isn’t a man in here who’ll give a shit about who packed your bag if they see those things, and they won’t care if it’s your new girlfriend or your old boyfriend.” He winked. “Those items can be our secret … for a price.”