Cages by David Mark

Author:David Mark [Mark, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2021-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

TWENTY

Cox was the first to arrive. He’s already sitting in the classroom, arms clasped demurely in his lap, as the rest of the inmates troop in. Mr Windsor, who has lately developed an irritating habit of sniffing loudly then blowing out a kind of exasperated sigh, is standing by the small window at the back of the room. He’s irritated, and Cox is enjoying it. Windsor has been tasked with overseeing the class today. Miss Harris will not be coming in. A sudden sickness, apparently. Cox had looked forlorn, genuinely distressed, when Windsor broke the news. Whatever could have caused that, he’d wondered, as he fought the urge to congratulate himself.

‘You back, are you, dickhead.’

‘Thought you’d been moved on, nonce …’

‘Mr Windsor, he can’t be here … he missed yesterday, just take him back …’

‘Where’s Miss Harris, sir?’

Cox sits silently, enduring it all. He keeps the same unreadable expression on his face. Despite being the centre of attention, he finds that nobody ever really looks at him. Only Callan, the big armed robber with blood on his hands, takes the time and trouble to meet his eye and gives him a look that says, ‘I know what you are, and if opportunity arises, we both know what will happen’.

Karen bustles in behind the assorted inmates, reading out names. They drop into Cox’s memory bank like coins. He wants to know everything about the people he surrounds himself with. Not because he has any interest in them, but because when he escapes, they will each face unpleasantness: endless grillings conducted in the furnace glare of suspicion that they were somehow complicit. He will enjoy that thought, when what’s done is done. Will allow himself to picture their discomfort as he begins whatever life waits for him beyond these walls.

‘Sorry, sorry …’

The writer appears in the doorway, damp and breathless. Behind him, a tall officer, saddled with the unfortunate name of Crippen, throws him a thumbs-up and peers into the classroom through the door.

‘All right, sir!’

‘Crippen looking after you, sir?’

‘Where’s Miss Harris?’

‘Shut up, Mings, Karen just fucking told you …’

Cox stays silent. Knows what’s coming. Keeps himself completely inscrutable as Orton slips out of his rain-speckled jacket and scans the room. His eyes fall on Cox. Something ripples across his features: a cat momentarily showing teeth. Cox feels the deep, warm swell of excitement. Feels his body loosen, his insides become liquid. She knows, he thinks. She saw it. Read it. Devoured it. And it’s made her so fucking sick at herself that she can’t even bring herself to face him. Cox knows from experience that people are at their most vulnerable when they feel helpless. He is the kind of man willing to offer help to those in need, for the right price.

Orton drags his attention back to the rest of the class. ‘Sorry I’m running a bit behind. Nothing to worry about. Engrossed in your writing, that was the problem. Let time run away with me …’

Cox watches, delighted, as Orton tries to find the energy to sparkle the way he had yesterday.

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