The Waiting Time Read Online Free PDF

was admitted to the corridor of the cell block. Good material for the mill of gossip and more bloody tittering.
    He went into the cell. Christie was standing inside the open door, white in the face. A central light shone down, protected by a close-mesh wire. The walls, tiled to waist height and whitewashed above, were covered in graffiti scrawls and line drawings of genitalia that were quite disgusting. He had only ever been in the cells once before, to escort a civilian solicitor when one of his corporals, Russian-language translator, had confessed to selling off hire-purchase video-recorders. A foul smell, urine and vomit. There was a window above her, reinforced opaque glass set into concrete.
    ‘What’s she said?’
    ‘She hasn’t said anything. I haven’t asked her anything.’
    ‘Asked her anything, “Major”...’
    ‘I haven’t asked her anything, Major.’
    A thin mattress was on the bed. The bed was a slab block of concrete. A blanket of serge grey was folded on the mattress. He felt raw anger towards her. She had destroyed him.
    ‘Well, Barnes, what the hell is this about?’
    She sat on the mattress. Her arms were around her knees, which were pulled up against her chest.
    ‘Waiting, Barnes. Why, in God’s name, did you do that?’
    She was pale, except for the red welt at the side of her neck where the chop of the minder’s hand had caught her.
    ‘Don’t play the bloody madam. You’re in a pit of trouble. Bugger me about and you’ll be sorry. Why did you do it?’
    She gazed back at him. Just once she breathed deeply, grimaced, and he remembered the kick she had taken in the ribs. Her body shook, her shoulders and her knees, but her face was expressionless. No insolence, no defiance, no fear.
    ‘Assault, actual bodily harm, grievous bodily harm, could even be Official Secrets Act. Barnes, understand me, you’re for the jump, so don’t fuck with me.’
    Ben Christie glanced at him, contempt. ‘Tracy, you know us and we know you, you work with us and you trust us. Please, Tracy. .
    She said nothing. She gazed at them, through them. She seemed so small, hunched on the mattress, so vulnerable.
    ‘We’ll squeeze it out of you, damn sure we will. Last time, what was it about?’
    Ben Christie said gently, like he was talking with that damn dog, ‘All we want to do is help, Tracy, but we have to know why.’
    There was the shake in her shoulders and knees. It could have been the shock, but he’d have sworn that she was quite in control, so calm. The silence hung around them. The way she sat, the way she held her knees, he could see up her thighs. He turned away. The blood was in the veins of his cheeks.
    ‘Don’t damn well come back to me tomorrow, next week, with your story and expect sympathy from me. Made your own bed, Barnes, and you can bloody well lie on it.’
    Captain Christie reached out his hand to her, as if to touch her. ‘Please, Tracy, I meant it. I meant it absolutely when I said we wanted to help you...’
    She flinched away. She rejected him, said nothing. Johnson looked at his watch. The Colonel had given him two hours and he’d eaten into that time. He turned on his heel and the Captain, no bloody spine, followed him out into the corridor. He called the sergeant and told him to secure the cell, no access, no visitors, without his express permission. Out again into the night.. . Maybe he should have belted her . . . He led. No small-talk between them, Captain Christie stayed a pace behind.
    They were on a gravel path, and Walsh came past them. He was carrying the big cardboard box that held his leaving present, flanked by his chums from Irish postings. He’d heard they were going on to dinner in Ashford. The clique stepped off the gravel, made way for him and Christie, stood silent like an honour guard. They walked on and heard belly laughs behind them. Into G/3. Past the small rooms where the warrant officers and the sergeants worked, doors all closed and locked, no light