I shook away the frightening fantasies. I was checked through an electronic door, a bit like the ones at airports. The visitors’ lounge was awash with children and thick with smoke. There was a drinks machine in the corner. I was shown to a table and waited for them to take me through to see Luke Wallace.
Ten minutes later, suffering seriously from the effects of passive smoking, I was collected by a guard. He carefully unlocked the door through from the lounge and locked it behind us before using his keys on the next one. We walked down a narrow windowless corridor and then passed through another secured lobby leading into a longer corridor with a row of enclosed booths along one wall. I was shown to one of the cubicles. It had a small table and two chairs placed opposite each other. One wall was clear from waist height so we could be observed by the guards.
‘I’ll bring him through now, miss.’ The guard went, leaving the door shut but not locked.
A sign in large black capitals instructed all visitors not to pass any materials to prisoners, and warned that all materials including gifts e.g. cigarettes and food must be checked through the main office.
Although the place was only a few years old it already bore the marks of interminable time. The floor and walls and even the furniture were pocked with cigarette burns. The place stank of stale nicotine. There were names and dates scratched on the paintwork, and the see-through partition was a mass of scratches. I shifted in my seat trying to get comfortable, tried to edge my chair forward. I couldn’t. It was bolted to the floor.
Luke Wallace had the same stocky frame as his father though he was much slimmer, and the same round face. His thick hair was cut with a wedge in the back and fell to his eyes at the front in a heavy fringe.
He sat down and folded his hands on the table in front of him.
‘Just give us a nod when you’re finished,’ the guard said. He left the room, locking it behind him.
I introduced myself and explained what his father wanted me to do. As I spoke he kept looking away, studying his hands or staring over at the notice on the wall then casting sideways glances at me.
At first I mistook it for teenage disaffection, a show of boredom or restlessness then, as he glanced my way once more, I saw that he was scared witless. He couldn’t meet my eyes because he’d become cowed, disturbed by the nightmare he was living. He’d lost all confidence; he no longer knew who he could trust. In an effort to reassure him I repeated that his father had employed me.
‘Luke, I want you to tell me about Ahktar – anything, everything.’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘No, not about New Year’s Eve, before that. You were friends,’ I prompted.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you go to the same primary school?’
‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘secondary. We were in the same class, did the same subjects. We both stayed on…’ He broke off. The world of A levels and the sixth-form common room a million miles away.
‘Your dad said you were good friends.’
He nodded, chewed a corner of his lip, sat very still. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said quietly, and his nose grew red and his eyes shone. He swallowed, struggled hard for composure.
‘But you don’t remember,’ I said gently.
He took a breath. ‘I never…he was my best…’ His efforts failed and tears streamed down his cheeks. He put his hands up to cover his face. I glanced over at the window. Would they yank him away for so emotional a display? I reached across and put my hand on Luke’s shoulder. He cried almost silently, his head bobbing in his hands.
Indignation flared in me. This boy, barely a man, hadn’t been tried yet, might well be innocent – but he was in here alone and terrified almost senseless. I shouldn’t think he’d have had any access to counselling, or seen anyone to help him deal with the trauma he’d been through. If he fell apart they’d put him in the hospital, but until then…
After what seemed like ages he straightened up. I withdrew my hand; my arm had gone dead and I rubbed at it to stop the pins and needles while he wiped his face with the palms and backs of his hands. I passed him some tissues. Do not pass any materials to the prisoner. He blew his nose noisily.
The crying had calmed him. His eyes no longer swept here and there. He gazed steadily into the distance. ‘They wouldn’t let me go to the funeral. I should have been there.’ He looked directly at me, ‘I still can’t believe he’s dead. I dream about him and then I wake up and…’ He sighed. ‘When we were in Year Seven, that’s when my mum died, Ahktar, he was great. He didn’t mind if I got moody or anything, he just stuck with me. There was no one else. My dad was in a right state. Ahktar was…he didn’t talk about it or anything,’ he leant forward, trying to make me understand, ‘he just kept coming round. He wasn’t embarrassed, everybody…that’s the main thing, they’re embarrassed, they make you feel awkward.’ He paused. ‘We’ve still got his guitar in the cellar.’
‘You had a group? What instrument did you play?’
‘Drums, Ahktar on guitar and vocals, Simon on bass, Josh on keyboards. Ahktar made it though.’ He smiled at some memory; it made him look so young. ‘He had a brilliant voice and he wrote the songs as well. That night, New Year’s Eve, we were going to see this guy at the club. He had a recording studio, his brother was one of the DJs at the club. Ahktar had talked to the DJ and he said he’d introduce us.’
‘Did he?’
“Nah. It was crazy in there.’
‘So you do remember part of the evening?’
‘Yeah, we got the bus into town, we went straight there. Everyone knew it’d sell out. We were there by eight. We all got in.’
‘Who were you with?’
‘Simon, Josh and his girlfriend, Ahktar, Joey D, Zeb and Emma.’
I asked him about the people who hadn’t been mentioned before.
‘Joey D.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Joey D is sad. He’s at school with us. He has a hard time, his old man’s an alcoholic. Joey lives with his grandma. She’s loaded, rolling in it. Joey’s got more money than sense, so people use him. He gives them stuff, he thinks they’ll like him.’
‘What sort of stuff?’
He shrugged. ‘CDs, computer games, watches.’
‘Drugs?’
‘Maybe.’ Automatic caution.
I stared at Luke. ‘Listen, Luke…’
‘OK,’ he said. I didn’t need to finish my little speech about complete honesty. Luke recognised his mistake.
‘Yeah, he could get most things – dope, E, whizz.’
‘For you?’
‘Sometimes, for parties, not on a regular basis. Well, only dope as a regular thing.’
‘Did you all smoke dope?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And the rest? Whizz, E?’
‘Yeah, the weekend or parties like I said. Everyone does it, it’s not a problem.’
I nodded. ‘OK, so Joey D was there. Who else?’
‘Zeb, Ahktar’s cousin, and Emma.’
‘He’s at school with you?’
He smiled briefly. ‘No, he’s older, he works for his brother Janghir. They all call him Jay. Clothing business. They’ve a place up Cheetham Hill.’
‘And when you got inside, what did you do?’
He thought about it. ‘We went to the big room downstairs. We had a drink. We had a dance. It was livening up. Zeb had brought Ahktar this jacket he’d been after for ages. Canadian import, can’t get them here. Really nice jacket, silk and microfibre, black and yellow. Weighs nothing, really warm. They use them up in the Arctic. Anyway Zeb has one and Ahktar had paid him cash upfront back in the summer. It was getting hot but Ahktar, he won’t take this jacket off.’ He smiled. ‘Everyone-took a tab. Everyone was dancing.’
‘Who did you get it from?’
‘Joey. He’d gone off to sort it soon as we got in there.’
‘Go on.’
‘That’s it. There was lots of stuff going round – pills, some heavy dope. Everyone was trying it all.’