Day Seventeen
Next day I dragged myself bleary-eyed through slops. Back in the cell I would have gone back to sleep, but Rose asked me to check her, to see if she had shaved herself thoroughly.
"I think so," I said.
"Thinking isn't enough," said Rose. "You need to be sure."
"Well, there's a small patch here," I said.
"Please go over it for me Chloe: we can't afford to take any chances."
I did as Rose asked, stroking her with the razor until there was not the ghost of a hair to be seen.
"If you don't mind I'll give you the once over," said Rose. "It isn't easy trying to move someone when they're asleep."
"Sorry about that Rose," I said.
Rose, too, found an area she was not completely happy about, and spent a good few minutes working the razor between my legs again.
"There," she said. "No one's going to find fault with that."
No one did. Raymond and Bradley passed us without comment, and left us in peace.
"You were right about one thing Rose," I said: "the flannel really makes a difference. I wish I could get one."
"You're welcome to use it," said Rose. "Only remember to rinse it out thoroughly: we can't send it to laundry, we'd never set eyes on it again."
"Are you going to do some exercises?" Rose asked me, after breakfast.
"I can't face it today," I said. "I still feel low. What happened yesterday: Rose, it was horrible. I don't think I'll ever get over it." And as the memory came back to me I started to cry again.
"Come here Chloe," said Rose: "and this time I want you to talk to me."
I crossed over to Rose's bed, and lay in her arms. Between bouts of sobbing, I told her what Dawes had done.
"The worst thing was the hatred. She's brimful of poison and malice Rose, and she hates me: I've never known hate like that before. And yet -- Rose, there was something else: I can't describe it: at one point it was as though she was confiding in me -- when she told me how other children had hated her at school."
"It's no wonder they did," said Rose.
"But," I said: "even though I can't help hating her for what she is and what she's done, there was a moment when I almost felt sorry for her. Isn't that crazy? When I thought that if only someone had reached out to her, shown her some love or something, she might not have turned out this way. And I -- this is the craziest thing of all -- I almost felt I could do it -- somehow reach back and be the one to break the deadlock of mutual hatred, and reach out to her and befriend her."
"Chloe: everyone has experienced bad things as a child. Very few of us turn out like Dawes. She's chosen her path: whatever happened to her, it's no excuse."
"I know that Rose, rationally. But when somebody does those things to you -- there's a sort of intimacy -- it's like an evil twin of the connection you have when you love someone. And even though you hate the person, and she hates you -- there's a kind of bond. That's what's so horrible. That's why I hate Dawes more than Hardiman. Hardiman is cruel, but it's a mechanical kind of cruelty -- like being hated by a robot. I was able to put it behind me. But Dawes' hatred worms its way inside you. I can't shake myself free of it. I keep going over what she did. And she knows that Rose, she knows just what she's doing; and Rose, I can't bear it."
I started to cry again. Rose patted me on the head as though I was a small child: and I felt very small and hurt, as though I had fallen in the playground and was being comforted by a motherly teacher.
When I'd stopped snivelling Rose said:
"I don't know if it will help, but if you like I'll tell you something Dawes did to me. It might help you to take her hatred less personally."
"OK Rose -- if you don't mind."
"I don't usually like to talk about what's happened to me in the past," Rose said. "And on the whole I've been quite lucky. I've always tried not to cause trouble, and I've never been thrashed like that poor girl Cradock.
"Anyway, this is what happened. About four years ago there was a fire in the kitchen area. Nothing much, no-one was hurt: but there was a lot of mess. Some tables and chairs were burned, and there was smoke damage to the walls. Some of us were rounded up and told we had to clean the mess. We were given scrubbing brushes and buckets of water and ordered to scrub the walls. Dawes was in charge. The walls were coated in this black, tar-like stuff: horrible it was, and difficult to get off. We'd started straight after breakfast, and after a couple of hours of this I needed a pee. Dawes showed no signs of allowing a toilet break, so we carried on. It got worse: I really needed the loo: in the cells I would have been able to go long before. The other women were struggling, too: I could see by their expressions: every time I caught someone's eye they would wince.
"Finally I said, as politely as I could: 'Please Officer Dawes, may we have a toilet break?'
"You wouldn't think anyone could take objection to that. Well, I hadn't reckoned with Dawes. I mean, I knew she was a monster, but I thought, seeing as we'd been working so hard all morning.
"'I'll tell you when you can have a toilet break Mason,' she said, and I knew I'd made a serious mistake.
"Then lunch was brought out, and Dawes said: 'Everyone except Mason can have a toilet break.' The girls scuttled off as fast as they could: most of them had been crossing their legs for the last hour: but I had to sit and suffer. You can imagine how I felt. They were real lavatories too, not buckets: a treat at the best of times.
"After lunch we had to carry on. I could hardly move by then, especially as I'd just had to drink another cup of tea. I had to bend forward to ease the strain on my bladder. After an hour or so Dawes announced another toilet break -- for everybody except me.
"I knew she was going to make me keep on until I wet myself. There was no chance of getting through the afternoon, so I thought I might as well get it over with, spare myself any more pain.