What Have I Done

Ten years ago



During her trial, Kathryn felt as if she were living underwater. Day and night were indistinguishable; hours were bunched together and blurred, punctuated with catnaps and the occasional intake of flavourless food that tasted wooden in her mouth. Words were somehow distorted, colours muted and sound muffled. She felt something akin to weightlessness. Of the throng of people that peered in her direction, only Lydia and Dominic stood out, distinct and recognisable. Their faces pinched through grief, expressions blank, numbed by their ordeal.

As she listened to the droning voices dissecting and analysing the most minute aspects of her life, it felt as if they were talking about a stranger. She felt disconnected from the proceedings, unable to fully grasp the process. People she recognised sometimes stood in the dock; she was vaguely aware of Judith sneering at her as she placed her fat hand on a Bible.

To Kathryn, the facts were straightforward. Mark had hurt her for a long time and one day, under extreme provocation, she had enough and killed him. No more, no less. Whilst she wouldn’t go so far as to call what she did justified, she knew that extreme scrutiny and debate would not change the situation. It was what it was. The twelve men and women of the jury pronounced her condemned, just as she had known they would. The sentence however was fair. Eight years, of which she would serve five with good behaviour. Kate felt some justification, these strangers selected at random had conceded that his acts against her were monstrous and for that, at least, she was grateful.



Kate – not Kathryn any longer – lay on the hard prison bed and tried to familiarise herself with her new home. She was relieved that her sentence had finally begun. Like a marathon race, the sooner she started, the sooner she would finish.

Marlham Women’s Prison was centred around an atrium encircled by metal walkways with Plexiglas sides and decks with rows of cells on each floor. It was ugly and noisy: even the lightest touch to a railing sent up a loud clang, like a sneeze in a silent church. It had been built originally as a sanatorium but now sprawled under a mass of fiddly red-brick extensions.

The cells were far more homely than the communal areas suggested. Not chintz and soft lighting, admittedly, but nor was it all shiny magnolia bricks and metal bars, as Porridge had led Kate to expect. It was more like a youth hostel, functional and sparse.

A tiny rectangular window sat high on the outside wall. The safety glass was frosted and there was no mechanism for opening it, but it still had four metal bars across it for good measure. Kate tried not to imagine the world beyond the window; it was easier. In her mind, there was her old life and a new future life waiting for her. This was the period of transition in between – limbo-like and necessary.

She wished she could tell the kids that she was all right and that it wasn’t as horrendous as they might have imagined. She had a cell to herself and was quite comfortable and warm. It could have been a lot worse. Unlike most new inmates, Kate wasn’t longing for her mattress at home. Quite the opposite. She felt cosy and safe in her new environment, enjoying the solace of a single bed.

Her musings were interrupted by a burly guard who came to her cell and unlocked the door that had only minutes before been locked; Kate didn’t yet understand the protocol.

‘Up you jump!’ The instruction was delivered as a friendly request more than an order.

Kate slipped off the bed and popped her feet into the open-backed, rubber-soled slippers that she had been issued with.

The guard strode ahead of her, using a combination of key and swipe card to gain access from one corridor to another. They criss-crossed several walkways until she found herself in a grey, cold, clinical bathroom. There was a single dull light bulb contained in what looked like a small cage. The sink was cracked with rust-coloured water marks running towards the plug hole. The atmosphere was damp, fungal.

‘You can shower, Kate.’

Kate smiled at her. ‘Thank you, I’d like that. How long have I got?’

The warder’s tone was pleasant. ‘Take as long as you need, my love.’

‘Really?’

The woman nodded. ‘There’s not much going on tonight. You take your time.’

Kate replayed the guard’s words over and over. ‘Take as long as you need, my love.’

She couldn’t believe it; those eight words were like music.

Kate stepped into one of four identical cubicles, noting the peculiar dairy-like smell of changing rooms and communal bathing. As she let the water pour over her head and body she laughed into its cascade. This quickly turned to crying. Her tears, however, were of relief, not sadness. She had already vowed never to shed a tear for Mark or for what she’d done to him. Never. Leisurely, she soaped her skin and shampooed her hair – twice! She stood in the small square confines long after she had finished washing and let the water pummel her skin just for the sheer joy of being able to.

Then she closed her eyes and catalogued this brand-new sensation. This was what it felt like to take a shower without a hammering heart, without setting a mental timer, without listing the chores to be done inside her head while her shaking hand fumbled for shampoo or soap under a too hot current.

She giggled. For the first time in over eighteen years, with a warder standing on the other side of the door and about to retire to a cell where she would be locked in for the night, she knew that she had been liberated from her own private hell.

‘Better?’ the guard asked as Kate stepped from the bathroom.

‘Oh yes, much.’



The tears came an hour later. The sobs from Kate’s cell could be heard along the corridor. There were several shouts of ‘Shut the f*ck up!’ and a couple of more empathetic responses.

The guard on duty lingered at the end of the walkway. It wasn’t unusual for this to happen once the drama of the trial had faded and the realisation dawned on new prisoners that this was it for the next few years. She waited. Kate’s distress was evident. The warder was a good judge of character and after just a few hours in her company could tell that Kate was not here to make trouble.

‘Lights out, ladies!’ The warder flicked the switches on the outside walls. ‘And let’s try and keep the noise down please!’

She heard the unmistakable sound of a pillow rustling and guessed that Kate was trying to muffle her sobs.

An hour later she did the rounds to check all lights were out and everyone was where she’d left them. She found Kate sitting on the edge of her bed. Her hair hung forward over her face.

‘How you doing?’ the guard whispered.

‘Okay, thank you.’

Kate smiled at the shadowy figure. Her voice stuttered between dry sobs; her breathing had lost its natural rhythm. She sounded like a toddler that couldn’t speak after a tantrum.

‘Actually…’

‘Yes, Kate?’

It was not unusual at this time of night for the inmates to initiate conversation or make a request.

‘I was wondering if you could help me with something.’

‘What’s that?’

The guard’s tone was suddenly stern, prepared for a verbal assault or a ridiculous demand. Both were the norm on night rounds.

Kate raised her left hand and held it up to the small grille at the top of the door.

‘I need to take off my wedding ring. My solicitor said I should keep it on during my trial, but that’s over now. I hate wearing it, I really do, but I can’t seem to get it off. I’ve been sitting here trying and I can’t get the bloody thing off. I don’t want to spend another night with it on my finger, not one more night.’

Kate was desperate to remove the symbol of her misery. When the band of gold had been placed on her finger, she had been young, hopeful and full of passion for life. The middle-aged woman who now pulled and pushed at the third knuckle of her left hand had joints and fingers that were swollen through hard work and abuse. She felt as if a time-thief had come along in the dead of night and erased decades from her life. It was a cruel trick, the cruellest.

Her tears fell thick and fast.

‘I really don’t want this on my finger any more. Please….’

It was the first and last time that the warder would see such a display from Kate, and she felt moved to help her. A few minutes later she returned with a bowl of warm water and a bar of soap. Unlocking the door, she handed them over to the mild-mannered lady who was in such distress.

‘Thank you so much. I’m very grateful.’ Kate smiled through her tears.

She vigorously soaped and wiggled and pulled until her finger bled. This only made her more determined; she reapplied the soap and tried again. On the third attempt, and ignoring the agonising swelling that made the job that much harder, Kate succeeded. She plopped the ring into the bowl of water along with the soap and studied the groove that still marked her finger.

‘How long do you think it will take for this to disappear?’ she asked when the guard made her next round.

‘I don’t know. I’d guess a few months.’

Kate nodded; she could wait a few months.

‘What would you like me to do with this?’ The guard had fished out the shiny gold ring and held it between her thumb and forefinger.

Kate flapped her hand in the direction of the window. ‘Oh, I don’t care. Anything! Throw it away please.’

She nodded before returning her attention to her finger, flexing it and admiring her naked hand. She might have been referring to the soap, so nonchalant was she about its disposal.

Kate slipped between the stiff, starched sheets and knew that she was finally free. That was her final thought as she drifted off into a deep, sound sleep. It was a whole new quality of sleep and one that she had forgotten was possible.

When she woke in the morning with the sun filtering through the prison bars and streaking her grey blanket, she had a smile on her face and peace in her heart. She had done it: she had escaped and was at peace. Kate grinned. It felt utterly wonderful.