The Silent Midwinter

The Silent MiidwinterJamie-Lee Brooke Copyright © 2023 Jamie-Lee Brooke No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any other means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copywrite law. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. For my mum and dad x Contents Title PageCopyrightDedicationChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-SevenChapter Twenty-EightChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeChapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-FiveChapter Thirty-SixChapter Thirty-SevenChapter Thirty-EightChapter Thirty-NineChapter FortyChapter Forty-OneChapter Forty-TwoChapter Forty-ThreeChapter Forty-FourChapter Forty-FiveChapter Forty-SixChapter Forty-SevenChapter Forty-EightChapter Forty-NineChapter FiftyChapter Fifty-OneChapter Fifty-TwoChapter Fifty-ThreeChapter Fifty-FourChapter Fifty-FiveChapter Fifty-SixThe EndLetter From The AuthorAcknowledgementsBooks By This Author Chapter OneThe first photo is easy. That one must be filed; there’s no question, doubt or maybe. It’s clearly explicit, with a close-up shot of Anna West performing a sex act with a vibrator. But for some reason, that photo isn’t stirring the same uncomfortable feeling that the second photo seems to. I find this photo more intimate. Full breasts cupped by a lacy bra with a delicate red ribbon at its centre. I’m not sure why I find this one more intimate. I think it’s because I know that he can have this one. It’s not explicit. It doesn’t need filing. He can have it; it’s the rules. I push the feeling aside, stuff the photo back into the envelope with its letter and go to file the explicit one and then I stop. I take the photo back out of the envelope and file them both. I’m keeping his photo.‘Ooh, let’s take a squiz then,’ Mala bursts back into the post room. ‘I can smell a juicy picture a mile off.’I hand her the pictures. ‘It’s Anna, Jason Sawyer’s girlfriend.’‘And you were just gonna stuff these away and not share? Holy moly, this woman’s got it all on show. Cooee.’ Mala whistles, examining the more explicit photo from different angles. ‘You know he can keep this one, right?’ She hands the photo of the breasts back to me.‘Just wasn’t sure. I was on the fence with it.’ I don’t think I’m lying. Mala just raises her eyebrows at me.‘So, Phil said that tensions are high on B wing still. Nasty business that was, never known it so close to a riot. If Phil hadn’t… are you okay?’Mala’s voice trails off. There he is, on the lower walkway, taking the bins out. Jason Sawyer. He stops momentarily and looks in this direction. My heart stops. I guess he can’t really see me, but I feel like he knows. He knows I was going to hide his photo from him. It’s ridiculous to feel this guilty. It wouldn’t have been that much of a crime. He would have received it on his release. Some years away yet, but he would have got it eventually. It’s not like stealing. Why do I feel bothered? I don’t have a crush on Jason. I can’t. I wouldn’t. Not with a dangerous criminal – a murderer. I refuse to believe that I’m feeling jealous over him receiving pictures from his girlfriend. Then why do I feel guilty? It’s a small thing. Does he ever feel guilty over what he did? Something on a whole different scale to hiding a stupid photo.‘Yo, Kate.’ Mala’s words suddenly break through.‘Sorry, I’m just not with it.’ Again, I don’t feel like I’m lying.‘You having problems at home still?’‘Yeah, it’s Felicity… and it’s Harper. It’s all just full-on with them.’ My eyes well up which takes me by surprise.‘Looks like more than that to me.’ Mala gives me a stern look.‘I think Jon is having an affair.’‘Whoa, sister, you serious? Here, you don’t go getting upset in here.’ Mala hands me a tissue. ‘I tell you what. You, me, cocktails tonight at Red’s. You can tell me all then.’‘I don’t know. I can’t; it’s Felicity. It’s not that simple.’‘You need a break. Put your foot down, girl. C’mon, it’s Friday, Friday, Friday,’ she sings, swaying her hips.I laugh. Mala always makes me laugh. She has that natural vibrant energy. ‘I’ll text you when I’m home. I need to check with Jon first.’Mala carries on jigging away over to the other end of the post room. I look through the window again and Jason has gone. A small number of other prisoners pass by, helping with the bins. I turn back to my desk and continue processing Jason’s post. He will get his letter and his photo.The next letter that I open has a sweet, sickly scent, noticeable instantly. I imagine the sender lightly spritzing the floral notepaper before sealing the envelope. Then I picture her spluttering from the taste as she licks the seal. Who said romance was dead? It’s a shame, though, that her efforts are wasted as I place the letter inside the photocopier. Inmates only receive a copy of the original. Perhaps it’s to redeem myself for almost hiding away one of Jason’s photos, but I take the perfume-soaked notepaper and rub it against the photocopy. Perhaps not the same but it gives me a small sense of goodwill.Mala clocks what I’m doing and shakes her head. ‘You are way too good to these criminals, woman. And whoa, that perfume is nasty.’ She mocks a gag and carries on typing up her e-mails.I carry on processing and logging the remaining few items of mail. I don’t think that I’m too good to the inmates. It’s the families and loved ones that I think more about. That I’m curious about. Day after day, I read the prisoners’ love letters from home. How they are yearned for, how they are missed. It doesn’t