All characters in this story are eighteen or over and above the age of consent, sex is entered into willingly and is consensual. English (UK) is the prevalent language, if the spellings arse, mum or colour offend you, this is not the story for you.
Happy reading.
*****
"1379281 Johnson P D."
Peter Johnson stood by the entrance to his cell, the door bolted back as per regulations. He held between his arms the bedding material from his bunk. An Officer approached and checked the ID number on his shirt.
"Okay Johnson, follow me, speak to no one, acknowledge no one, understand!"
"Yes Sir!" Peter said automatically, following in the wake of the man, eyes front, acknowledging no one.
"Nonce!"
"Pervert!"
"Kiddy Fiddler!"
"We'll get you you fucking tosser!"
"You're dead meat Johnson!"
A stream of abuse followed him. Whispered or shouted from the line of inmates watching his departure. A stream of spittle hit his back, he ignored it. An Officer stood between two sets of men, he watched but did nothing. Peter walked quickly six steps behind his man, the exit door to the block getting nearer. A huge thuggish form stepped forward, the Officer looked over his shoulder,
"Jenkins, back away, I've a new baton I'm itching to use, don't tempt me!"
The tone was neutral, matter of fact, a warning that the speaker really meant what he said. The shape moved away, muttering loudly.
They passed through the exit door, unlocked from the other side and re-locked as Peter stepped in to the next area, a three story vestibule with huge glassed windows high up. A long low corridor stood at ninety degrees to them, the Officer turned and walked quickly along the passage between the narrow tile lined walls. He stopped at a door, knocked perfunctorily and opened it.
Stepping aside he pushed Peter Johnson in. A long L shaped counter took up the the front third of the room, behind it racks of bedding and clothing stood. Some in plastic bags, others neatly folded in size order. The Officer behind the counter took the bedding from Peter and threw it into a large wheeled laundry basket.
"Number and name," he intoned bending to an old ledger worn and leather bound.
"1379281 Johnson P D." Peter repeated by rote.
The Officer checked the pages, found the entry and scrawled the date and turned the book round, Peter took the proffered pen and signed in the space indicated. The Officer walked to the racks, mouthing the number to himself. Selecting a plastic bag he returned to Peter,
"Change!" he barked.
Peter looked at him, he looked back at Peter quizzically.
"Change!" he repeated.
Peter pulled off his issue uniform and stood naked, the Officer pushed the bag towards him. Inside cleaned and pressed were the clothes he had worn on entry, his pants, trousers, socks, shirt, shoes and tie all there. He dressed quickly. The Officer ticking the ledger and closing it, nodded at him as he turned away.
"This way Mr Johnson," the first Officer said, stressing the first use of the word Mr in five years.
Peter turned and grinned. Outside they crossed to a door opposite. Inside a Doctor examined him perfunctorily, asked a few questions, ticked a form and signed it. He passed the clipboard to Peter, who signed in the box under his name and dated it.
The Officer, eased him out, a hand on his elbow, they approached a reception area. A final check of his ID, then the Admissions Officer opened a small sealed envelope and tipped out Peter's worldly possessions. His watch, wedding ring, wallet and Parker pen slithered out into the light. Peter collected them up and distributed them about his suit, winding his watch and slipping it on his right wrist, checking the time on the clock behind the Admissions Officer. As for the wedding ring, he tossed it a couple of times as if weighing up his options and then dropped it into his pocket.
The Officer then opened a safe and extracted a leather purse, he emptied that onto the counter, credit cards, out of date, sixty pounds in ten pound notes, four pounds eighty seven pence in loose change. Peter signed again. they moved to the exit.
The first Officer stepped back, pulling Peter with him and signaled to the door keeper, the wicket gate in the large double doors opened and Peter stepped out of prison. Peter took a deep breath of fresh air, or at least air not tainted by the smells of the prison. A horn honked and a man in a suit stepped out of a blue Vauxhall Insignia, waving at him. Peter trudged over to the man, as he recognised his solicitor he grinned. They shook hands and Peter moved to sit in the passenger side front seat.
"Alright Pete, how are you doing?"
"Harry, I'm a lot better for seeing you, thanks for everything, I owe you."
"Oh don't worry, my bill's on it's way! Only joking mate, she's gonna pay for this, trust me."
"Thanks Harry, can I go home? Or is she still there?"
"No, at this moment your ex-wife is in custody charged with perverting the course of justice, perjury and aggravated assault."
"Assault?"
"Man she went ballistic when the fuzz arrived and shattered a coppers jaw when they tried to take her, took eight of them to subdue her."
"Jesus!"
"You were lucky mate, the things she said she'd do to you, what a potty mouth, absolute filth."
"Uh,Huh! So what's the SP then where do we go from here?"
Harry, whilst driving, reached into his jacket and tossed keys into Peter's lap.
"House keys, go home, get some shut eye, see me tomorrow, about eleven thirty, I'll make sure the times free, no worries."
"Cheers, I'm looking forward to a beer and a chicken dinner, and walking around unguarded, going into any room I fancy being in. No screws, no nutters, no mentalers, fuck it's been a long while."
"Want me to drop you outside Sainsbury's, so you can do a shop?"
"Yes that would be good. Does this stuff still work," he grinned and held up the notes he'd been given.
"Well up to this morning when I bought breakfast, yes it still seems to be acceptable. Here," Harry passed a bundle of notes to Peter.
"Take that on account, I'll deduct it from your winnings."
"Cheers ears," Peter riffled the notes and looked at Harry, " fuck me, there's about six hundred quid here!"
"Might take a week or two for your bank to sort out your cards, so this is to tide you over, let me know if you need more of those beer vouchers, it's all going on her bill."
After Harry dropped him off Peter did some shopping and spent an hour in his bank sorting his credit and debit cards out, then caught a taxi home.
Inside the apartment, he saw the hasty signs of departure. After putting the shopping away Peter began to gather the last of his wife's possessions and place them haphazardly into plastic sacks. He swept her cosmetics cheerfully into the bin, then emptied it into a bag of clothing. He tied each bag off and left it by the front door. He popped the top off a bottle of bitter and took a deep draught.
"Ahhh! that hit the spot," he said, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.
He sat in a chair and looked at his old marital home. After five years inside it still looked bright and airy. Probably, he thought, due to the dingy ten by twelve he's spent the last five years in. The doorbell rang and he raised an eyebrow, who knew he was back? He ambled over to the entrance and swung the door open. His face dropped, he looked like he'd seen a ghost.
"Fucking hell! Laura, well well, I never thought I'd see you again, what the fuck do you want?"
