Nine Foot Tall Read online

  Anyway, man, it was a normal day at The Camp and I’d just finished washing all the breakfast pots in the kitchens, getting all the black, ingrained shit off the pans and restoring them back to their original stainless steel colour, no mean feat I can tell you. I was fucking knackered, man, and in no mood for any cunt, least of all a mardy arse bastard young kid of a cunt of a screw.

  I had a thirty minute break before I had to get back to graft to help prepare lunch, so went outside the block for a smoke. I chatted bollocks with some of the lads and the kitchen screw, Miss Carter. She was alright, a good one. If you were nice, she was nice, if you were a bastard, she was a bastard. Like I say, a good one.

  After my fag, I needed to go for a piss, so off I toddled, down the corridor to the bogs. When I walked in there was Office Snellgrove checking his funny hair in the mirror, no-one else, just him. I didn’t say anything to him, just acknowledged him with a nod, and he said nothing either, just looked me up and down. Like a cunt.

  I got my big cock out, that I’m very proud of by the way, and proceeded to jet my piss against the porcelain. Aaaaah, the feeling was immense, I’d been saving it all morning, it lasted nearly a minute, man. Then, as I was tucking it back away, I heard from behind me:

  ‘You.’ It was Officer Cunt Face.

  ‘Me?’ I asked, knowing full well he meant me as there was no other fucker about.

  ‘Yeah, you. Clean that shit up.’ He pointed to a slob of human shit on the wall near the bottom of the urinal. How it got there I’ve no fucking clue, you never know with some of these dirty bastards in here.

  I turned my head to take a look, grimaced at it and said:

  ‘Boss, you want me to clean that human shit off the wall? I’m kitchen staff, boss, not cleaners.’

  He gave a cuntish little fuck face smile and replied:

  ‘I don’t give a toss what you are, inmate, you’ll do as you’re told. I give an order, you do it, now clean that shit up.’ Still smiling, the fucker.

  ‘But, boss, I’ve got my kitchen whites on, I’ve gotta go back in and help prepare the mutton stew. Can’t be cleaning human shit up in me whites, boss. Can I?’ He can fuck right off, I’m not doing it, I don’t give a monkey’s fuck, man.

  He stopped smiling and came square up in my face, about an inch from my nose.

  ‘Listen, you little thieving fucker, or whatever the fuck you’re in for, I’m the fucking boss and you’ll do as I fucking tell you, or you’ll go on governor’s report. Now fucking clean… it… up… now!’

  I stared into his crossed eye, as I had all those years ago with Mr Mc-Fuckin’-Big-Shoe-Fadden, thought about the governor’s report for a moment, and then:

  ‘Fuck that, you fuckin’ clean it up.’ And I marched out, quick time.

  I thought he was gonna follow me and give me a dig or summat, but no, not a sign of him, didn’t see him at all for the rest of that day. I’m glad too, coz he’s a cunt.

  I had a laugh with Shuffles and the lads that night in my pad, telling them all about my bog incident. The lads all said that I should have just done it, cleaned it up. Fuck that, it was the way he asked. Fuck him.

  The next morning was like every other morning, up with the sparrows, get to the kitchens and prepare breakfast for everyone. We, the kitchen staff, would serve all the other prisoners, then get ours and go out and join them.

  Whilst eating brekkie, there was a morning ritual that consisted of one of the officers shouting names over the tannoy. If your name was shouted out it meant you’d broke some rule or done some shit and you had to go to the governor’s office. It was a funny ritual. The screw would shout the name, the guilty party would stand up and everyone in the dining hall would clap and cheer or shout bollocks at them, then they’d trot over to the screw on the watch to be taken to Mr Bray’s office, the governor.

  This morning was no exception, apart from the fact that I was expecting my name to come up from the bog thing. You never know, I might be lucky.

  The first name came over the speaker, ‘Warburton, Andrew,’ and up he stood, poor Andy, everyone clapping and cheering.

  I thought my name was coming next, but:

  ‘Major, Tom.’ Well, this just resulted in everyone in the room singing in unison the words to Ashes to Ashes and being a Junkie. Even the screws were singing it, and poor Tom went bright red and scuttled off on report.

  Then silence over the tannoy, more silence, then everyone started back chattering to each other and talking shite about what they thought Andy and Tom had done and what punishment they’d get. I was just glad that my name hadn’t come out. I felt all warm and content inside, when…

  My fucking name got called bastard out.

  Everyone clapped, everyone cheered, I acted not bothered, which I was, but acted cool nonetheless and strutted over to the duty screw to be taken to the Big Boss Man. Cunts.

  Even though I got called last I was taken into Mr Bray’s office first whilst the others stood outside against the radiator.

  The duty screw took me in and, as I got inside, Mr Bray the governor was sat behind his giant walnut desk, looking down at some papers, tapping a fountain pen, and Officer SnellCunt was stood alongside him, smirking.

  I was placed about six foot away from his desk when he looked up over his specs and said:

  ‘Right, young man, you are here this morning on a charge of insubordination, refusing to carry out a direct order from an officer, namely Officer Snellgrove. What do you have to say for yourself?’

  I paused, and then stared directly at Mr Bray.

  ‘Sir, there’s nothing to say really. Officer Snellgrove was being unreasonable. He wanted me to clean up fresh, human faeces whilst I was wearing my kitchen whites, sir. Wouldn’t have been very healthy for the kitchen, sir, all sorts of germs, sir, E. coli and what not.’

  He kinda glared at Officer Cuntgrove and said:

  ‘Is this true, Officer Snellgrove?’

  Officer Cross-eyed Cunt looked like a naughty schoolboy and leaned into Mr Bray and whispered something in his lug. Mr Bray then whispered something into Snellie’s lug. They both nodded to each other and then turned to me.

  ‘Here’s how it is, young man…’ said Mr Bray sternly, like a schoolteacher, ‘if you apologise to Officer Snellgrove, then we shall say no more about the matter and you can go back to your duties. How does that sound? Is that fair?’

  I could tell by this that Mr Bray wasn’t happy with Cunty Face, that he knew he had been harsh, so:

  ‘Apologise for what, sir? He was being unreasonable, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’ I tried to get him more on my side than he already was.

  ‘That’s as maybe, young man, however Officer Snellgrove is an officer and you disobeyed a direct order, so make your apology and let me get back to doing what it is that I do, which is, I can assure you, something far more important than this.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything to apologise for, sir, so no, with respect, I won’t apologise, sir.’

  He had a little twitch in the corner of his right eye now, and Snells was looking mighty uncomfortable too. Well good, he shouldn’t be a bully.

  He gave me one last opportunity.

  ‘Listen to me, young man, you are not doing yourself any favours here. Right or wrong, you disobeyed an officer, so apologise, now, or I’ll have no alternative but to add extra time on to your sentence.’

  I was seething inside at this comment. Extra time? For not apologising to a fucking bully, well fuck that, I’m not saying sorry, not to that cunt. What’s the worst he can give me? Two days? Three days? Fuck it, I’ll take my chance.

  ‘Again, Mr Bray, sir, with respect, I’m not gonna apologise when I didn’t do owt wrong. Sir. And that’s that. Do what you want.’ I felt more than just a little smug saying this, especially as I could see CuntSnell squirming in his shoes.

  ‘Very
well, then.’ Mr Bray looked back down at his papers and began to write something, and without looking back up he said, ‘You have given me no choice. I, on the other hand, did give you a choice, which you decided to ignore. Life is all about choices, young man. You’ll learn. Twenty-eight days added onto your sentence, starting from now. Take him out.’

  Fucking cunt, man, an extra month? An extra fucking month? Well, fuck ’em, I’ll do my month, I’ll only have to do half anyway, still two weeks though, bit harsh, but hey! I stood my fucking ground, man. I won’t be bullied.

  I thought Officer Snellgrove was gonna be a right cunt after that, even more than he already was, but I was wrong. I wouldn’t say he was nice, no, no, no, not by any stretch of even the most vivid imagination, but he did leave me alone, didn’t try and fire down retribution or any other such bollocks, he just kept completely out of my way, as did I his.

  The cunt.

  Two Weeks Later – January 1999

  Christmas had been and gone. It wasn’t much, as you’d expect really, being in prison and all. Some of the lads had absconded, and then got caught again, sent to more secure nicks, the mad twats. I could half understand them, missing their wives and shit, but running off, man, nah. Me and Shuffles and the lads that hadn’t ran off made the best of it, got loads of alcohol, got fucked up, and mainly just chatted bollocks! Same old same old.

  Anyway, now it’s January, it’s snowy, I’ll be out in about seven weeks, which is good, but what isn’t good is that my pal Shuffles is getting out tomorrow morning. It is good that he’s getting out, course it is, but I’ll miss him, man, it’s shit having to get a new pad mate. What if he’s a complete tool? What if he’s a screamer or a nutcase or, worse, a screaming sex case?! I wish my good friend Shuffles was staying, but hey ho.

  That night we were lying in our beds, chatting away. We only had the little lamp on as the moon was real bright, shining through the snow-speckled window, and the radio was on quietly in the corner, some saxophone jazz that they always seem to play at night-time.

  I’d never asked Shuffles about his funny legs, why he walked like he did, just never crossed my mind, up to now.

  ‘Shuffs man.’ I laid on my side and put my head on my hand, elbow on the bed.

  ‘Yeah, Gaz man, what’s up?’ He looked across from his bed, inquisitively.

  ‘You’ve never told me what happen to your pins, man. Were you in an accident or summat?’ He looked a little shy and apprehensive at me, so I said, ‘Aw mate, you don’t have to tell me, I was just trying to pass the time, pal, no worries, forget I ever said owt, Shuffs man. Sorry for asking, buddy.’

  I felt bad for asking, but then he gave a little sigh and decided to tell me his tale.

  ‘It’s okay, Gaz pal, I’ve just never told anyone before that’s all, but you’re the best friend I’ve ever had in my life, you look after me, you and Frosty and the boys, I’ll miss you all, you’re my family, Gaz man. I don’t even wanna get out tomorrow, I wanna stay here with you lot, my family. People laugh at me out there, fuck, you’d laugh at me out there. I love it here, I don’t wanna go home, man.’

  I listened intently as I saw his eyes well up with water and he continued his story:

  ‘You see, Gaz, I have no family on the outside, no-one. My dad was an alky who beat on my mam whenever he could, and he left her the day after I was born, saying he couldn’t handle having a kid. Never came back either. My mam always blamed me for him leaving, even though she was better off without him, but she’d shout at me and say horrible shit to me like she wished she’d had an abortion and all that crap. Bitch. I was disabled from birth, Gaz man, couldn’t walk, no use in my legs. I was never placed on the floor, ever, always in a pram, or a cot, or on a sofa or summat. Then, as I got older, a wheelchair. She kept me off school, taught me at home, fat lot of fuckin’ good that did, the thick bitch. I lived with her, just me and her and nobody from the outside world ever coming to see us or anything, just her wheeling me around the park or to the off licence for fucking cider. Then, Gaz man, one day when I was twenty-two, I’m thirty now by the way, she died. I found her, dead on the living room carpet. She’d drunk two bottles of vodka and taken a load of temazzies. Blue she was. It was awful. It was awful, but I was glad, can you believe that, Gaz man? I was glad she was dead. I called an ambulance, they came, they took her, and that was that, I was alone, just me, nobody else. I drank a bottle of Smirnoff and fucked off asleep. Didn’t even go to her funeral, man. You know why?’

  ‘No man, why?’ I had a tear in my eye at this point.

  ‘I’ll tell you why, Gaz man, coz the day after they took her away, a social worker came to see me, to sort me out with my disability care and shit, and guess what… I had tests at the hospital and shit, and it worked out that I wasn’t even disabled, man. I wasn’t even fucking disabled!’

  He was getting tetchy with himself now, angry and red in the face.

  ‘What do you mean, pal? You weren’t disabled? How do you mean, man?’

  He had a sad but mean looking scowl on his face as he continued.

  ‘She made me like this. I had fuck all wrong with me, Gaz, fuck all! From being a little baby she’d kept me from learning to walk, kept me in a pram, kept me on the sofa, kept me in bed, carried me, whatever, whatever she could to stop me from learning to walk. She made me think I couldn’t walk, she told me I was disabled, so I believed her, she was my mother, man, so I fuckin’ believed her. All those fucking years, man, I could’ve walked, could have had a normal life, man. The other kids calling me Spaz and Flid, and she kept me a gimp, all so she could get extra money for me, for the disabled kid. Extra fuckin’ money!’

  He was sobbing now. I sat up and went over to his bed and put my arm round him, tried to comfort him.

  ‘Shuffs man, fuckin’ hell, that’s some story, my poor pal, you’ve had it rough, bud. You’re okay now though, mate, aren’t you?’

  ‘S’pose so, Gaz man, I can kinda walk now at least. My legs are skinny and fucked, but fuck all that shit, Gaz, I just wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow, man. I’ll miss you all.’ And he put his arms round me and sobbed uncontrollably. ‘I’ve never even been to a nightclub, Gaz man, a disco, a dance, nowt, never.’

  Still with my arms around him I tried to give some words of comfort, ‘Shuffs man, when I get out I’ll come meet you, pal. We’ll go dancing. We’ll set the town on fire. It’ll be like Saturday Night Fever, mate.’

  ‘Ha…!’ He pulled away and looked at me with a frown. ‘You won’t, Gaz man, you’ll forget about me when you get out. Everyone does. It’s alright for you, bud, you’re cool and good-looking. I’m not, I’m a freak, man. I won’t fit in properly in them places. You won’t meet me. I wouldn’t want to meet me either if I was you. So do me a favour, don’t say you will. Be a pal and don’t lie.’ At that he took a breath, a deep sad sigh and climbed into his bed.

  He was right though, as bad as it makes me feel, I probably wouldn’t have met him, and yeah, he wouldn’t fit in. The fuckers I knew would have laughed at him. And at me for bringing him.

  The next morning, he was gone before I woke up. The screws had come really early to take him for release. I thought about his sad story the night before and another tear came to my eye. Poor Shuffles, I hope he’s gonna be okay.

  He wasn’t.

  I learned two days later from Miss Carter, the kitchen screw, that Shuffles, real name Christopher Neville, had got back to his shitty flat on the night he was released, put on some nice clothes, did his hair, put on some nightclub music, drank two bottles of shit vodka, then ate a packet of temazepam.

  And he died.

  When they found him, lying on his sofa, he had his arms crossed on his chest.

  In one of his hands was a tiny photograph.

  It was his mother.

  Chapter Twelve

  -

  Party Over?

&nb
sp; Being Boring–

  The Pet Shop Boys (Chris Lowe, Neil Tennant)

  March 5th 1999 – Aged 32

  I came around from a deep slumber not knowing where on God’s green earth I was, I rubbed my yoks and shifted upwards in my seat. I’d fallen asleep on the train, man. I’d been asleep for over an hour. Not surprising really. I’d been up since sparrow fart this morning and hardly slept a snozz last night, knowing, with the utmost glee, that I was getting out today. I’d waved goodbye and blown a kiss to Mucky Mindy on my cell wall, torn from page eleven of Snazzle twat mag. I gave Mindy a little thought and then smiled as I looked around and out of the window. We were about two miles from Leeds. Yes, man, nearly home sweet home.

  It was a Friday, but I’d told Katie that I wasn’t getting released until Monday, give her a nice surprise. She’d be chuffed to smithereens to see me saunter through the door.

  The train pulled into Leeds station and it took me what seemed like six eternities to get from my platform to the outside concourse. I grabbed half a dozen red roses from a woman with a flower barrow, and I dived into a black and white taxi, more expensive than private hire but fuck them, man, it’d be a dog’s age before one of those cunts came.

  I had a see-through prison-issue plastic bag with my belongings in. They’re cunts like that, the nick, they give you a bastard transparent bag, with giant blue letters saying HMP, just to show you up, the fuckers. I squeezed it really small and hid the logo so that the taxi driver couldn’t see it. I didn’t want him to know I’d just got out of the shovel, man, he might not have taken me home.

  Anyway, he took me, no problem, drove as slow as a motherfucker, didn’t matter though, I knew I’d be home soon, to my Katie. He didn’t say a word for the three miles to my house. It seemed as though he couldn’t speak a stroke of English except “where to” and “six quids” in some sort of Iranian or summat. I wasn’t bothered. I took the time to gaze upon the mean streets that I’d missed so much. Everywhere looked new, ha, can you believe that? I hadn’t been gone that long and everything seemed to have changed. On the drive home I thought about poor Shuffles and nobody turning up to his funeral, I thought about poor Steve not getting out for Jesus knows how long, and I thought about getting back to DJing and partying and, of course, I thought about my Katie. Will she have missed me? Course she would. Would she throw me around the living room like a love-starved sex kitten? Course she would. Then, like a hammer to the back of my skull, I had the maddest thought, the kind that only blokes just getting out of jail get. The kind of thought where she hasn’t missed me at all, no sir, the exact opposite of missed me. The kind of thought where Katie had said, ‘Fuck him, he’s inside. I’m not gonna suffer.’ The kind of thought where she’s been getting pounded out like yesterday’s beef by every man and his big black brother.