FOR a disgraced former MP and PR wannabe, good connections and an ability to fake sincerity mean a spell in the slammer is no obstacle to success.

“I didn’t mean to do any harm at all,” I say. 

Sarah smiles. “That’s fantastic, that’s exactly where I wanted you to get to today, Tom. Congratulations. We can move on from here, I feel sure.”

“Splendid.”

“I know you’ve worked so hard to get to this point. Honestly, I’ve felt your pain, Tom, I really have.”

“Yes.” I give her the biggest, warmest smile I can muster. I just think of the first bottle of decent wine I’ll open when I’m out of here, and it’s easy to fake it. 

“All the time we’ve been talking about the accident, and what happened afterwards…”

“…when I was simply trying to make amends to the poor lad’s family,” I add in.

“Yes, Tom,” she says, “I know admitting to those parts of the offences has been difficult for you, but I had real faith that you would get to this point, and reach down into your authentic self, and find that contrition, that empathy, that humanity, that I knew was there.”

I glance at the clock, whilst making some non-verbal affirmations sounds. Five minutes of the session to go. I might not even be sitting here again next week if Sarah gets her large arse in gear and puts all this in her report to the governor. 

She’s still talking. “I’m so pleased for you. Really pleased. How does it make you feel now?”

“Fabulous, really fabulous.” I’m imagining the signing of the early release forms now, then the first bottle of champagne, maybe a couple of lines with it…

“Amazing, really amazing.”

I’ve noticed Sarah doing this verbal mirroring thing when she gets excited. Even though I’ve moved on from this sad little room and even sadder little woman, it’s important not to spoil the ambience that she thinks she’s created between us. 

“Sarah, I’m so pleased you’re pleased. You’re the reason I’ve got to this stage. I can’t thank you enough. This whole experience has made me a totally new person. I know it’s inappropriate, you’ve taught me that, but I could just give you an enormous hug for what you’ve done for me.” 

I think I can see her blushing, and I’m astonished that there are grown women that still do this.

“I’m going to make a point of telling the governor how amazing you’ve been, how much of a journey we’ve been on together.” I’m quite pleased with myself remembering to mirror back her own words here. “My dad was at university with the governor, you know.”

It’s true, I am a different person. I’m not “Old Tom” anymore.

Honestly, he was a bit of a prat after the accident, and he was starting to get bitter about losing his seat. But now there’s “New Tom” who is going to make a packet helping others avoid the pitfalls that Old Tom fell into. It’s amazing what prison can do for you.

Sarah is beaming at me. And then, thank Christ, the buzzer goes off and the session’s over.

*

Charlie is hanging round the cell we share, doing nothing. At first, I found it difficult to understand how Charlie could do bugger-all so much of the time. It has been a real education, this prison lark, I’ve learned not to overestimate the intelligence of the average voter. It’s a little sad that New Tom won’t be representing the likes of Charlie anymore, but it’s still useful to know a bit about the general public if you’re going into PR. I guess the clue is in the name!

“Alright, mate. Been with the sexy Sarah again, have you?” Charlie asks.

I smile and nod. Another thing New Tom has realised is that even though they look stupid, even your ordinary idiot can press the record button on some device that’s been smuggled in, all ready to try and make trouble for you later. This is the sort of advice I’ll be passing on to my new clients.

“I hope you’ve warmed her up for my session later,” Charlie says. “I wouldn’t say “no,” would you?”

“Not my type, really,” I mutter under my breath.

“I don’t mind a bit of flesh to get hold of, me,” Charlie is saying. I sense he’s about to dive deep into a monologue about his sexual preferences, and how that led to his convictions, and I think I’ll give it a miss.

“Think I’ll go and help in the garden, Charlie, and have a smoke as well. See you later,” I say, though I don’t think Charlie is listening.

*

About ten minutes into the visit, the conversation seems to be stalling. I’ve asked how Pru is, and how her parents are, established that the kids are well, and that plans for the new consultancy business are all under control. It’s Pru’s brother who’s going to front it up, bringing all his PR experience, and we’ve already got clients lined up from my club. 

Anyway, that’s covered the important stuff, so now, we’re a bit stuck for conversation, and Pru sips her water and looks bored. She’s immaculately dressed, as usual. 

“What about that business with Anthony?” I ask her.

“Oh, the bullying, you mean?” she says. 

“Well, it’s not really bullying, is it? Just kids repeating what their parents read about me in the papers. Anthony’s getting older, he needs to be able to stand up for himself a bit. Perhaps you could tell him some more of the details, so he knows how I was misunderstood.”

“He’s ten, Tom, and that bullying has made him start wetting the bed. And do you really expect me to explain to him how you were in that car, driving, totally off your head, and then tried to get that researcher to say it wasn’t you who…”

Even New Tom has to interrupt her here. “Now come on, Pru, no need to go into all that again, is there? And keep your voice down, sweetheart. That’s all water under the bridge. And you know I was just trying to help the family. Christ, I offered them much more than they’ll get in compensation. They were crazy not to accept it. You’ve got to get Anthony to man up a bit, Pru, really. You can sort it all out, though, can’t you, you’re so wonderful with the kids?”

I think I hear her hissing the word “Tosser” into her plastic cup, and it makes me wonder if she’s getting bitter.

“Pru, love….” I reach my hand across the table as she withdraws hers. 

“Anyway,” she says, “it’s over now. I had a word with the headmaster, and the boys have been spoken to. Daddy knows the main one’s father, you know. His dad was a Lib Dem MP.”

“Oh Christ, well that explains it.” We both laugh, and as usual, that means we’re back on terms. Really, it’s not been a bad marriage. Pru seems content with managing the kids and looking decorative. She gets the house, the car, and she had the kudos of being the wife of a public figure. She was a bloody good egg about the accident, saying how tragic it was in that newspaper interview, the one they said we shouldn’t have done. She came over well, sounded as if she’d stick by me like a leech. I can easily stand a few more years with her, sweetened by her daddy’s money.

“Anyway, Pru, good news,” I lean in, and she lets me take her hand now, “I’ve done the contrition thing.”

She looks blank.

“The apology, Pru. You know, the one that’ll get me the early release.”
“Oh, that,” she says. “How long will it be, then? ‘Cos if it’s soon, we needn’t cancel going to the MacKay-Herberts for the summer. The children will be so pleased.”

“Don’t know the exact date yet, but my legal team is on it.”

“Okay. Look, Tom, if it’s alright with you, I thought I’d get off now and do some shopping in town.”

“No, don’t go before the end, Pru, you know that looks bad. There could be a journo waiting at the gate with a camera. Just hang on till the end, there’s a love.”

She sighs, and looks at the clock, murmurs, “Fuck.” Half an hour to go. But she will stay, I know. 

“That’s my girl.”

*

I sniff the fresh air of freedom. It doesn’t smell any different to that inside the gates, but I like the imagery. Time done, debt to society paid, let it all die down a bit, summer in the Canaries, then step into a new, lucrative business which will mostly involve dining out with old colleagues and giving them basic advice on how to look like they’re keeping their noses clean. It’ll be easy money without having to listen to whingeing constituents anymore, and it’ll give me plenty of time to get established on the after-dinner speaker circuit. 

The guy they said they’d send is coming over.

“Cigarette, mate?”

“Yeah, why not,” I say. “Are you new? I don’t recognise you.”

“Yeah. I just joined the paper last month. I used to be at The Gazette.”

“Oh, yeah. Dave’s mob. Went to school with him. How is he? Anyway, you’ve done well to get this exclusive interview.”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Hope you’ll be gentle with me. Not like that bugger that tried to catch me out. I take it he’s disappeared into the wilderness?”

“Yeah, he’ll not work in mainstream journalism again, Tom.”

“Good.” I put my arm on the lad’s shoulder and drop my voice to a whisper that would be inaudible even on a mobile phone speaker.

“Just so you’re clear, mate, if you’re ever tempted to rat on me, I’ll make sure your career is over, too. Anyway, now that’s understood, I hope you’ve booked a decent restaurant and a decent bottle of wine? Let’s get going. I’ve a lot to tell you about what a reformed character I am. But I do need to be back in the bosom of my family well before teatime.”

We both laugh.

Ali Rowland is a writer from Northumberland who is now old enough, and daft enough, to believe that politicians were once slightly more respectable people.