Page 80 of The Dead Ex

‘To what? The bleeding prison governor?’

He laughed hoarsely at his own joke and then took another swig from his third bottle of stout that evening. ‘I was so proud of you, lass. A first inHistory. I’ve told the whole bleeding street. Now what am I going to say?’

This wasn’t fair. ‘You’re the one who’s always telling me to stick up for myself. To not be scared of standing out in a crowd.’

Dad slammed the bottle down on the table so the foam ran over his thick, rough hands. ‘You’re not old enough to remember the strikes, lass. The police were bastards. And so were the screws tothe poor sods who got put away. Memories run deep. Including mine. I can’t stand by and see you becoming one of them. You’ll get lynched by folk round here, and so will I.’

After Dad’s outburst, I’d nearly decided not to do it. But a week later I’d found myself in the interview. For some reason, I’d assumed the ‘assessment’ would take place in a prison. In fact it was held in a large governmentbuilding in central London.Be prepared to engage in role play and to complete written papers in English and maths, the letter had warned.

‘Heard they bring in special actors,’ said one of the other interviewees, as we sat in the corridor waiting our turn. ‘I know someone who applied last year, and they freaked out when an actor pretended to assault him.’

‘At my old school,’ I couldn’t resistsaying, ‘you had to learn to fight back.’

They all stared at me.

‘It’s the written bit I’m dreading,’ said someone else. ‘I haven’t done maths since GCSE.’

‘You don’t even get to work as a prison officer to begin with. There’s six months’ training first. You have to …’

‘Vicki Smith.’

I leapt up as my name was called out by a woman with a clipboard and followed her into a room. There werethree men on one side of the table. The woman joined them.

Which one was the actor? Or did that come later in the day? And what about the written test?

One of the men leaned forward. ‘Tell us about yourself, Vicki.’

‘What would you like to know?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘What kind of person are you? How would you describe your personality?’

If in doubt, be honest. That’s what Dad always said.

‘Well, I’m not stupid.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I got a first in History.’

‘Do you think that’s a measure of intelligence?’

‘In some ways.’

‘Go on.’

‘I want to help others.’

Was it her imagination, or was there a brief roll of the eyes there?

‘I’ve been helping an immigrant woman to learn English and … and I went with her to a prison when her nephew was arrested.’

The woman on the panellooked interested. ‘Why?’

‘She needed someone.’

‘Did you help her?’

I thought of poor Mrs Prasad, who was inconsolable after the trial. ‘I don’t think so.’