A Nice Quiet Life. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 “That’s like, amazing! Like, congratulations, Lady. Can I read it sometime?”
I’d invited old Paint Sample down to see what had arrived in the post that morning. Namely my book, Daydreamer by R. Grey.
“That copy’s for you. It’s a gift.”
“Wow. Like, that’s cool. Will you sign it for me?”
“I already have.” He picked it up and looked inside - and found the dedication page. There, neatly printed for everyone who read the book to see: To Ocean Blue, who encouraged me to find my dreams again. And underneath I’d signed it also. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him at a total loss for words before. It even wiped the grin off his face with sheer surprise.
“Man. Like, man, that’s heavy. I really did that for you?” “You did. How about I take you out for a meal one evening to celebrate? Plus, we can talk properly away from here.”
“I’m cool with that.” I woke up to a flood! Ocean came down while I was fixing the tap and started mopping up for me without being asked. Actually (as Teresa-from-the-Town-Hall would say) he’s pretty okay really.
“One of those cats has got fleas now,” he said as he mopped. “Like, soon we’ll all be hopping with them. The other cats will be, for sure.”
I shuddered at the thought.
“What can we do?” It wasn’t that I didn’t like Miss Gatti – she was quite sweet actually, even if she was just a bit dotty. But the cats were another thing altogether! “We need a flea bath for that fleabag,” Ocean said laconically.
We both only have showers. How was this going to be possible? He must have read my face.
“I do have, like, a plan.”
“Really? Can I be part of it too?” Anything that dealt with those cats was good by me.
“Sure. That’s cool by me. But you might want to put on something that, like, really doesn’t matter.”
“Will this do?” I’d bought the tee shirt on a Paris work trip – from the airport of course: I hadn’t got out of the office to do any shopping. And then I’d decided it was a bit sad if my only souvenir of Paris was an airport tee shirt – and relegated it to the clothes-that-don’t-matter outfit.
The only other time I’d managed to buy any clothes was when we’d been stuck in Greece, unable to get a flight out because of some volcano erupting in Iceland. And when I’d got back home and looked at its vivid colours, I’d wondered what I’d been thinking about. Sensible old me didn’t wear things like that. “You’ve brought me to the junkyard? You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” Once upon a time I would have been mad at him. Now I was just teasing and we both knew it.
“Yep,” he said unrepentantly. “Man, you’d be amazed at what you can find here!” And he flipped up the lid of the nearest bin to prove it. I was so not going to do that! But he might have a point nevertheless… And, hidden behind an enormous pile of junk, I found what we might have been looking for. Without getting dirty or smelly in the least! “Oh,” he said when he saw it. I kept a gap between us! And I stayed upwind. Then his familiar good humour reasserted itself.
“Hey, like I found some cool stuff anyway. I’ll go bargain for this. Meet you for lunch later on? My treat, this one.” “These cats are a menace.” Old Paint Sample was unusually grave.
“I know. I really like Miss Gatti – but her cats! They’re terrible. And she won’t do anything about them. Apart from let them do what they want. And breed…”
“Well, that bath will, like, deal with the fleas, with some help from us.”
“I’m not surprised her house was declared infested.” I shuddered at the thought. I like clean and tidy!
“Man, I just don’t know…” His voice trailed away. I wasn’t used to him not knowing what to do. He was usually Mr Endless-Optimism. Mr Lady-Why-Do-You-Worry-So-Much? “Right,” I said, as the waitress approached with our food. “We analyse the problem and we make a plan. A multi-pronged one – there’s a lot of sub-problems here.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like, one’s called Muffin, and one’s called Pickles, and one’s called…” “So, practical step one, cleaning up the cats,” I said.
“The bath’s going to, like, arrive tonight. Paolo said he’d drop it off for free on his way home if I’d play for free at his daughter’s birthday party. Antonia’s four this weekend. It’ll be, like, a fancy dress nursery rhyme party.”
“So what are you going to wear?” I asked mischievously, acting like I couldn’t wait to see his costume.
He gave me A Look! You could see the fleas hopping off as the cat got bathed. I hoped they wouldn’t hop on to us. It seemed a bit mean not to give old Paint Sample a bit of moral support, but it took a lot of courage. He was right about the fleas spreading – two of the little monsters were now crawling with them. I’d lost my view again. I’d had to put the blinds back up – not to keep old Paint Sample at bay this time, but Miss Gatti. I was serious about my writing – and I did find here, at home, the best place to do it. The décor was both soothing and inspiring at once. But if Miss Gatti saw me “only playing on my computer”, she’d knock to come in for a chat. So the blinds were up again. Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t like I don’t talk to her at all. But Ocean had told me about how, when she arrived, she’d thought all three containers were her house. And how she’d thought my container was her kitchen and I was the maid cleaning up for her coming! And she still seemed confused about that sometimes. She was having real problems grasping the idea of paying rent!
I’ve had her round for tea and cakes – I do bake quite well, though I say so myself. And it’s quite nice to listen to her stories of when she was young, but not when I’m trying to write. I’ve not been in to her house though, and with all those cats, I don’t think I want to! The cats were all flea-free. And Ocean and I had been secretly trying to train them a bit. I mean, every morning, the newspaper’s shredded before I can even read it.
Tonight, I was taking Ocean out for that promised thank you meal. I’d reached into the wardrobe for my normal going out dress, only to look at it again. Grey. Grey with embroidery, and it was a very nice fabric, but still grey.
Old Paint Sample had opened my eyes in more ways than one. I pulled out the Athens dress. And the earrings. And fished out my seldom-used-now make-up. And did my hair differently. Who knew what he’d be wearing – I wasn’t going to stand out too much in his company! “Wow! Like, man, you look amazing!” I blushed. You couldn’t miss his sincerity.
“You look pretty good too.”
“I thought I’d like, smarten up. I wanted to do you credit. But, lady, you outshine me.” Then he pulled out his hand from behind his back… …and gave me flowers! Beautiful, glowing, velvety roses. “Well, lady,” he said, when I’d put those lovely flowers in some water. “Where are we going tonight?”

The Asylum Chapter 13

Once again, Ariadne sat as a prisoner before them. The seating was less formal, but the atmosphere was more so. Pete was gone – had left Wolvercote House, and was living in a rented flat, waiting for the others to join him.
But she wasn’t sitting with her friends, ready to talk and laugh with them. And this wasn’t Wolvercote House any more. It was Wolvercote Prison, and she was the prisoner. As usual, Amelie took the lead.
“We are the staff of Wolvercote Prison, and we all have things to tell you before you take up residence here. I think I’ll let the prison psychiatrist speak to you first.”
(“We can’t be Ariadne’s friends doing this to her. We have to have a different persona each. And we don’t use her name any more to her, as prison staff. She’s just going to be a number.”) Elise’s eyes were kind and understanding, and her tone was calm, but the message was still a hard one for Ariadne to hear.
“The Wolvercote family had to pay their debts to society, before more innocent people were hurt – in this case it would have been Pete Wainwright, and yourself. In sentencing you, as their heir, for their crimes, we have re-directed Pete’s mind away from thoughts of revenge and into thoughts of justice. When you leave prison, you will be an extremely rich young woman. You will have earned that wealth fairly, by preventing Pete from ending up in prison himself.” “But I didn’t do any of those things!” Ariadne’s little-girl-lost look tore at Elise’s heart, but they all had to go through with this.
“Pete saved all of our lives.” She looked round at the other three. “We’d probably have been dead from thirst before you arrived – but more than that, if he hadn’t insisted on us staying here, we’d none of us be alright. We won’t let his life be ruined – or yours be lost – for Dr Wolvercote has changed him as surely as he changed the rest of us.” Olaf spoke next. “I’m the duty officer, and I’ve planned your timetable for you. You will rise, eat, sleep, exercise at set times each day. The locks on every door are electronic, and programmed to open and close at certain times – the kitchen, for example, is only open at meal times. Your cell door will lock every night, and not open until the 6 am rising bell. You will listen to all announcements over the tannoy system, and comply with them immediately, or suffer loss of privileges.” “And I’m head of security. You are going to be microchipped. Every door you pass through it will be noted – time of entry, time of exit. These will be logged onto the main computer, and all deviations will be noted. There are webcams everywhere, and you will be watched, at any time, by any member of staff. We are looking for your compliance with prison rules, and also ensuring your safety. The prison chaplain would like a few words.” “This won’t be easy,” Jonas said. “And it’s not meant to be. But nor is it meant to be unbearable. You will have to learn how to adapt to your new circumstances, but you will find the strength and resilience in yourself to do that. I do know what I’m talking about.” He paused and then went on.
“You may supplement your diet with anything out of the prison gardens – you have three hours each day scheduled in the gardens, so there will be time for you to grow your own food. An automatic irrigation system has been installed for you.”
This was real. They were going to do this to her. She was crying again, and she felt as though something deep inside her had been frozen and died. Prison hair, prison clothes. They’d micro-chipped her, inserting it under the skin on her back. “Don’t worry,” Elise said, as she injected the local anaesthetic. “I did train as a nurse before I went into psychiatry.” And she had been deft and quick. Then Elise and Jonas had left, to join Pete in his flat.
“You can’t – obviously – spend any of your money while you’re in prison. But as soon as you’re allowed to receive mail, I’ll send you updates on how your investments in Olaf’s company are doing. And also the state of the contingency fund.” “Did we do the right thing?” Jonas asked Elise as they finally walked away from Wolvercote Prison. But they both knew the answer was yes. That building might be holding Ariadne’s body captive, but it also still held Pete’s soul. Prison hair, prison clothes. Olaf and Amelie were her prison guards, no sign of her former friends to be found. She’d been drilled in the rules and regulations until she knew them backwards.
06:00 Rising bell. Bed must be made.
07:00 Kitchen opens, and must be left clean and tidy.
09:00-12:00 Garden duty.
12:30 Kitchen opens.
There were webcams everywhere. Someone would be watching her – and at the start, they’d none of them have much else to do. Jonas had to acquire a new identity before he and Elise could get married. Amelie seemed to think that would be manageable. Prison hair, prison clothes. The timetable played on in her head.
14:30-16:30 Gym time. You will follow the training routine.
17:00-19:00 Library open – Wednesday and Saturday only initially. You will be allowed to borrow one book each time.
19:00 Kitchen opens.
21:00 Return to cell.
22:00 Lights out
. The library and gym are privileges and can be extended for good behaviour or rescinded for bad. They had come for her, were taking her out of here. And into what?
Pete would be watching this, Ariadne knew. This was what he’d wanted.
This was the event the others were hoping would swing his mind back to sanity, break the pattern of thinking that had taken him over after his exposure to Wolvercote’s machine. Prison hair, prison clothes. And that was what she walked into. It was Wolvercote Prison. Up the main stairs to the first floor, and all she could see was rows of cells, gates, bars, harsh strip-lighting. Actually, most of the changes had been cosmetic only – Wolvercote had been built like a prison in the first place. Prison hair, prison clothes. There was now a way through to those secret back stairs from the first floor, and that was where they were taking her. Back up into those attics. “This is your cell. Should your behaviour merit it, the review board might consider moving you to a larger one at a later date.”
All it contained was a bed and a hamper for her dirty clothes. She would be allowed to use the washing machine at the weekend. Prison hair, prison clothes.
“You are now prisoner number 126.”
Prison number.
“Normal routine will begin tomorrow. For today, you will be allowed out of your cell for mealtimes only.” Prison hair, prison clothes. Prison number, prison cell. The door was shut and locked on Ariadne. She heard them walking away, gates closing and locking behind them. Through the little window in the door, she could see the clock on the wall, ticking away the first hour of the next ten years. Prison sentence.

The Asylum Chapter 12

Chapter 12 “Ariadne, I’m sorry about this,” said Amelie, as she locked Ariadne in place. But her tone of voice said that, sorry or not, this was necessary, and was going to happen. “You, Ariadne Keswick-East, are on trial today for the crimes committed against us and against all the previous inmates of those attics and these rooms, since Wolvercote House was first built.” Pete’s voice was implacable.
“The list of names will now be read.”
It was finding the list that had finally convinced the others that they really had no choice about this. Pete had been ready to tear the building apart, stone by stone to find out where they had hidden Ariadne. Every person who had ever been in those rooms, from the very beginning, named and numbered. Pete had been number 125. Ariadne listened, her face growing ever paler with worry, as name after name was read out, with the dates of their incarceration and, where they knew about this, brief details of their fate. She had thought that these people were her friends, but now they faced her as accusers. Jonas sat down as he finished his part, which had ended with their own names. Pete spoke again. “This court holds that in inheriting the Wolvercote fortunes and possessions, you also inherited the debts they owe. And you must pay them. The punishment has already been decided: all that remains is to set the length of the sentence.”
Amelie spoke. “Your sentence will be served here, in Wolvercote House. Which we are now re-naming Wolvercote Prison. This collar that I wear can be set to any length of time. Once it is on you, you will not be able to pass the main gates at all. Other gates and doors can be set to be opened or locked by it. The court will now debate the length of sentence.”
“Don’t I get to speak in my own defence?”
“You have no defence.” That was Pete again. “Ten years,” Pete said. “Ten years you owe – to each of us still living. Fifty years in total. You would be eligible for parole after you have served half of it.”
(“What if we put Ariadne on trial?” Amelie had said, to a Pete raging up and down the room.
He’d paused. “Properly? And all of us would abide by it, really make her serve her sentence?” They’d all agreed, thrashed out details, debated suitable punishments. “This isn’t the Middle Ages, Pete. No dungeons! No thumbscrews!” But he’d been quite accepting.
“No, of course not. A proper prison sentence in a proper prison.”) Ariadne was aghast. He couldn’t mean that! But Amelie was standing up and unfastening the collar she wore. And speaking.
“Wolvercote wanted to turn me into a soldier – and he’s succeeded. But he thought that to be a good soldier, I had to enjoy killing, had to want to kill. He set that interface to fill me with those desires: revenge, death. He didn’t know about my grandfather – a career soldier and a military historian, he’d taught me what being a soldier really was about, even though I’d never wanted to be one. I fought those desires, but I couldn’t deny them completely. Like Pete, I wanted revenge on the Wolvercote family, and when the rage swept over me, I wanted revenge on you.”
Amelie took a deep breath.
“I took that revenge. I was the one who locked you in the cellar, I was the one who put that mask on you. Olaf unlocked my door by accident, the night before he let Jonas out. I was the one who put those gauntlets on you.”
“I thought that was you!” Pete and Jonas said to each other simultaneously.
“You owe me nothing now. I do not want those ten years from you, and I do not ask for them.” Then Jonas stood up. “Because you spotted a margin note, and asked Olaf about it, you put him on the right lines. Without that, I would still have metal hands, feet and face. I do not ask for those ten years from you.” Olaf spoke next. “Jonas is right. I don’t want ten years of Ariadne’s life. She got me out of my cell and out of my visor. Her hands did it.” “Ariadne, if you hadn’t come here, we would all have died. Your garden has helped feed us, keep us healthy – and you are going to make a new life possible for Jonas. You have paid your debts to me – I do not want ten years from you.” The tears were running down Ariadne’s face, tears she couldn’t wipe away. They didn’t blame her! They were her friends! But what would Pete say? The other four were holding their breath, hoping that their testimonies would swing Pete far enough away from his dreams of revenge, move him back towards a more sane approach. And it nearly did: Elise could see the play of emotion in his face – and then his face hardened again.
“But I do want those ten years. You owe me a debt, and that will pay it.”
Amelie breathed out in relief. Failing Pete forgiving Ariadne for his perceived wrongs, this was what she and Elise had been hoping for – that Pete would name the debt due and the payment. That, they reckoned, would break the hold on his mind. And she’d done what she could to make the next ten years easier for Ariadne. Better ten years here than dead.
But Pete hadn’t finished. “And what about all those other names? Wolvercote House owes them too. A hundred and twenty names – I want another twenty years. Parole considered after half the sentence has been served.” And he took the collar to set the time.
Thirty years! Ariadne’s heart nearly stopped beating. Pete came towards her to lock the collar around her neck. Then Elise sprang up.
“No! What good will that do? How will that help those people long gone?” Pete held his hands out to ward her off, but she went on. “Do something that makes a difference for those people! How will keeping Ariadne in prison for thirty years do that?” “Then suggest something yourself,” Pete snapped back at her.
“Tell their stories,” Elise said softly. “Tell about the wrongs done to them. Clear their names. You’re the journalist, you’re the writer. Let the light in on the past.” She was right. Pete could see that. But he still thought Ariadne should pay them back somehow…The idea came to him complete.
“You’re right,” he said to Elise. “I can at least tell their stories. I’ve got ten years’ worth of articles here, on a person a month. Never mind the follow-up stories. Some people lost everything being sent here.” They both thought of little Peregrine Norwich.
“But Ariadne has to help. Has to find the notes, do the research, academic and practical. I’ll come here once a month to write the next article, and she has to have all the notes ready.” “You’re not to…to hurt Ariadne. In fact, she doesn’t have to see you if she doesn’t want to.”
“Fair enough. But she will be my research assistant. If she agrees to this, then I’ll set this collar to ten years only. But with no parole.”
Ariadne listened, helpless, as the others debated her future, thrashed out the details with Pete.
No face-to-face contact unless Ariadne consented to it. At least she wouldn’t have to see Pete.
A certain number of hours a week from her. Yes, but none in the first three months – and Pete wasn’t to touch the stories for that length of time either. He needed a breathing space.
What about pay if the articles sold? Ariadne could nominate a charity, and Pete would give something to that. In the end, Amelie came over to Ariadne.
“You can choose. Ten years, but you help Pete, or the thirty year sentence, with a possibility of parole – we’d set the collar to fifteen years, and then review your case when those years were nearly up.” “Prisoner at the bar, what do you say?” When Pete locked the collar around her neck, Ariadne knew that it wouldn’t open again for the next ten years. “Right, I have to show you what I’ve done.” Amelie pulled Ariadne into the front hall.
Ariadne was still moving like a sleep-walker, unable to believe what had just happened to her.
But as she followed Amelie out into the grey spring morning, even Ariadne came back to life a little. The place had been transformed. “You can do a lot very quickly, if you’ve got enough money to spend on it,” Amelie said. “And you’ve got a lot of money.” She took Ariadne round the back and showed her the pond, the orchard with the hen-house, the as-yet-unplanted garden. “Let me know what seeds you want, and I’ll get them for you.” Talking to Pete, Olaf could already feel the difference, now that Ariadne was tried and sentenced. That thirst for personal revenge was gone, and with it the dangerous edge to Pete that had been developing. Now they needed to get Wolvercote House turned into Wolvercote Prison. “Right, you’ve transferred all the money we should need, and a buffer as well. I’ll keep full and detailed accounts, and send them to you quarterly. Now you need to change all your passwords, because I know them. We’ve set up an account for your food and other necessities, and a yearly payment into that. Once a month, there will be a food delivery – they’ll leave it outside the front door, and you’ll have a brief window to collect it in, once the van’s gone.” She paused.
“We all hoped Pete would soften – but we knew there was a strong chance he wouldn’t. We want both of you safe and well. This is the only way to do it.” She left Ariadne in private, and Ariadne stared numbly at the screen and wondered how she was going to cope. And yet she believed Amelie: had seen Pete’s attitude to herself worsen over the months they’d all spent here, and watched him change after they’d all sentenced her. Was it only four hours ago? It seemed like forever. After Amelie had spoken to Ariadne, she was locked up again downstairs, No question of it being for her protection this time.
Upstairs, the five of them began to debate the fine detail – how her days should be arranged, what she should have to eat – and the big changes – how to turn Wolvercote House into Wolvercote Prison. The four of them watched Pete nervously, but all his suggestions were fair and reasonable, in the context of a prison environment. The builders arrived two days later – Amelie told them they were converting the house to rent out for use as a television location. “The four of us will be the prison staff,” Amelie said. “Not you, Pete. And we will make sure that she is all right while she’s in prison – we can monitor everything she does. We’ll do a yearly board – and one after the first six months as well, I think. You’re not going to be given any webcam access for the first six months – you need a break, Elise says. You can see her arrival, but that’s all.”
Pete could see the sense in that – and he’d a great respect for Elise’s opinion.
The building work was done, the security systems were all in place, the electronic locks had been tested. Ariadne could begin her sentence in a proper environment soon. Pete went and looked at Ariadne in the basement room and felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. This was what should happen: Ariadne should be paying those debts. He didn’t want to hurt her any more, just to make sure that she paid properly and fairly.