Foley was escorted through the prison once more. Not just by an officer but also by Baz. It wasn’t that Foley didn’t feel safe inside at the moment, just that he felt it best to have protection from someone he could trust. And he didn’t trust the officers. They didn’t just hate him, they despised him. His money paid for his life inside as well as keeping them onside, but it also meant that a higher bidder could turn them away from him. And things had been very fucking strange recently. Since Clive had arrived inside, in fact. And Eccleston. And until he could get rid of this feeling of unease, Baz would accompany him everywhere he went.
Outside the main building, round the corner, ignoring the drizzle and mist, the dankness from the moors, the prematurely grey day. Walking the pitted tarmac footpath by the perimeter fence, the razor-wire creating a double obstacle before the outer wall could be reached. The space between the fence and wall was a graveyard of failed escape attempts and contraband that never reached its target. Foley had seen it so many times he ignored it. This was his everyday life. His home.
He stood outside Dr Lousia Bradshaw’s hut. Turned to face the wall, smiling, in a mockery of what the officer would have him do, waited for that same officer to knock on the door. It was opened.
‘Come in,’ said Louisa, seeing Foley standing there. Then she saw Baz, seemed confused.
‘He’s with me,’ said Foley.
‘I don’t think—’
‘He’s waiting outside. He’ll be no trouble.’ Foley turned to the officer. ‘You can go. Come back when I’m finished.’ Like dismissing a servant.
The officer, disgruntled but knowing where his money came from, left.
‘Right,’ said Foley, summoning up a smile, ‘let’s go.’
He stepped inside. Lousia followed. Baz took up his sentry position. Tried to ignore the cold and damp.
Inside Foley walked towards his usual armchair, sat down. He could smell the coffee but it didn’t have its usual siren call today. He had too much on his mind. A burden ready to be unloaded.
‘So,’ said Dr Bradshaw, settling down in the opposite chair with a notepad on her lap, coffee at her side. ‘How’ve you been, Dean?’
Foley opened his mouth to speak. He often started with wit, barbs or charm. Only when he couldn’t come straight out and say what he wanted to, had to work round it, circle slowly down. But not this time. Straight in.
‘Not going to lie, things have been difficult.’ He squirmed as if the chair was uncomfortable. ‘Since I last spoke to you.’
‘In what way?’ Pen poised.
‘I . . .’ He had planned what he would say as they walked across. Before that, even, the night before. Rehearsed his words and even her anticipated responses, planned what he hoped the eventual outcome would be. But sitting there, facing her, the words wouldn’t come. And he couldn’t think of anything to say to talk round it. ‘I . . . it’s been difficult.’
She waited, gave him time, space, to gather his thoughts. Find his voice.
‘It’s this . . . it’s what you said to me last time. Got me thinking.’
‘About?’
‘About . . .’ He sighed, leaned forwards, agitating his hands. ‘This ex-copper. This narc. I’ve thought about him for years. Wondered where he was, what he was doing, whether he was alive or not, was he fucking up someone else’s business, pardon my French, you know? And I thought . . . what I would do when I got hold of him. What I’d always threatened to do. Make him pay. All of that. And like I said he’s here now, right in front of me . . .’
‘And?’
Foley shook his head. Looked at his hands is if expecting to find the answer there. ‘I don’t know. Just don’t know.’
She waited.
‘I mean, last time we were talking about revenge.’
‘We were.’
‘And how good it felt when I took it into my own hands. Administered it myself.’ His voice relished the word administer.
She nodded slowly, keeping eye contact, encouraging him to continue.
‘Well . . . that’s it, isn’t it? Taking pleasure in punishment. Doing what’s right. Letting everyone know you’ve done the right thing. A warning to anyone else thinking of starting. Don’t mess. Don’t take the piss. And, you know, the satisfaction of a job well done.’
‘We talked about that. You said it was the way things had to be. What was expected of you.’
He nodded.
‘Now you’re saying you got satisfaction from it? From hurting surrogates of your father?’
Foley jumped at the mention of the name, like he had just been shocked. ‘Surrogates.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah.’ Another nod. ‘I suppose . . . I’ve said it so it must be. But it’s more than that, you know? You look at yourself and . . .’ He stared at her, fists raised before his eyes. ‘It’s for its own sake.’
‘Can you explain?’
He looked at his fists again. Rotated them before his gaze. Saw them in another time and place, glistening with blood and gore, knuckles sore and distended. Clenched so hard he couldn’t immediately unlock them. And his body pumping with adrenaline, sweat and blood on his skin, soaking his clothes from both sides, lungs burning hot as a steam engine’s furnace, arms just pistons, parts of a machine. But his mind content. At the nearest thing to peace he had ever known. Justice served. The natural order restored.
‘I see,’ said Dr Bradshaw.
Foley looked up, startled. Had he said all that aloud? From the look on the doctor’s face it seemed he had. He said nothing, suddenly embarrassed.
‘You’ve described a high that’s certainly attractive to you,’ she said. ‘And attainable. But I suspect that violent euphoria becomes harder to attain the longer it goes on. Am I correct?’
Foley thought back again to the punishment beatings. How, even before Mick Eccleston had betrayed him, the highs were getting harder to reach, more difficult to maintain. Like they were further away and he had to grasp for them, strain to catch them. And when he did he barely held on to them. And that in turn made him even angrier. But it had been a weary anger. An unpleasant one.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Bang on.’
‘And how d’you feel about that now?’
Foley didn’t answer immediately.
‘You said as soon as you heard this man had entered the prison you wanted to see him. And when you saw him you wanted revenge for everything he’d done to you. Is that correct?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘But you didn’t know if you would do it yourself or get someone to do it for you. And if you did, you feared it would sap the enjoyment from it. And now you don’t know if you even want to do it at all?’
He nodded, shifting around once more. ‘You see, I’ve been having . . . dreams.’
‘What kind of dreams?’
‘Bad ones. Ghosts, even. Like I’m being haunted. And I wake up . . . well. Not in a good state.’
‘Tell me about them.’
Foley was reluctant to delve any further but knew that he had to. This might be his only chance to make things right with himself. To find some kind of peace. To know which way was forwards. ‘There’s me and him. And we’re back in Manchester, the night it all went tits up. The night he betrayed me. And we’re there again and . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It gets weird then. Like the whole thing starts to melt away. And I’m shouting at him, You’ve done this! You’ve taken all this away from me! And there’s cars disappearing, and money . . . all of that. Until there’s just me and him left.’
‘And where is this?’
‘I dunno. Like . . . nowhere. And it’s like a western. Just me and him facing each other. And I’m armed, I’ve still got my gun, see. And he’s got nothing. He’s just standing there. And I try to raise my gun arm to take aim. I try to feel the anger inside me, let it do its job, let me shoot him, and I want to keep shooting him until there’s nothing left of him and I’m all out of bullets. And I’m shouting how much I hate him and he’s just standing there. And I try to bring my arm up . . .’ He mimes the action. ‘But I can’t. Can’t move. Can’t do anything.’ He sat back, panting.
Neither spoke.
Eventually Foley laughed. Unsteadily. ‘Just a dream, eh? Can’t go around reading too much into that bullshit, can you?’
‘That’s for you to decide, Dean. You’ve been talking about how you should take revenge against this person for what he’s done to you in the past. Yes, it may be emotionally satisfying for a while but in the long term it may well cause more upset than not.’
‘But it might not.’
‘That’s for you to interpret how you wish. Same with your dream. You tell me that you don’t think you can take revenge anymore. That you won’t get anything beneficial out of it, even though you’ve been thinking about him the whole time you’ve been in here and what you’d do to him if you saw him again. Does that sound about right?’
Foley nodded.
‘And how d’you feel about that?’
‘I dunno, honestly. I’ve got a reputation in here. Can I speak honestly?’
The question, asked abruptly, threw her off guard. ‘No point in being here otherwise.’
‘Right.’ He nodded, making his mind up about something. ‘My reputation. I know you know about it. And you maybe think of me differently because of it, I don’t know. But somewhere like this, a reputation’s all you’ve got. And if that goes you’ve got nothing. So I have to decide what to do. And it might not be the answer you want to hear. Or I want to hear. But I have to do something.’
‘You know I have to report you if you’re going to—’
‘Yeah, I know all that. But you don’t know who this bloke is. And I haven’t said anything about him to you so there’s no way you could tell anyone anything. It’s just . . .’ He sighed. Put his head in his hands. ‘I get tired of all this. So tired. But I don’t know what to do. What can I do?’
‘I’ve given you all the help and advice I can. The tools to cope. You’ve got to make that decision on your own.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I think that’s it for today, Dean. Sorry.’
He looked up at her like he had been cut adrift.
‘I think you’ve got plenty to be getting on with, though. A lot to think about before our next session, don’t you?’
Foley leaned forwards once more. Exasperation in his voice. ‘But I need to know what to do. I’m . . . I can’t just go on like this . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Dean, this is all I can do here. If you need someone to talk to on the wing then I’ll—’
Foley stood up. ‘You haven’t been listening, have you? I can’t do that. I can’t talk to anyone on the wing. Because they’d know then. They’d know. Everyone’s going to be expecting me to do this, and if I don’t, I’ll be weak. And I’ll have had it. So no. It’s here or nothing.’
Louisa sighed. ‘OK, Dean. Let me see what I can do. I’ll juggle some things around and see you again this week. That’s the best I can do, OK?’
Foley sighed. Looked round like the room was just another prison cell. ‘Suppose it’ll have to.’
‘Leave it with me.’
He left.