Looking Up: I’ve changed my plea to guilty

The ups, downs, challenges and triumphs of a prison leaver’s journey

There was a dark cloud hanging over Overcourt Probation Hostel. Staff and residents alike wouldn’t go into the dining room, where Achmed had died. A hastily convened enquiry had found nobody was at fault, but Owens, the hostel’s ‘Governor’, had taken it to heart as a personal failure. Adding to his discomfort was the disappearance of Adam Lennon, the supposed friend of Achmed, who had blamed himself for the tragedy through his lack of interest in Achmed’s obviously worsening head injury. Adam’s absconding had even been on the local TV, with the police ‘…concerned for Mr. Lennon’s mental health,’ and calling for him to seek help.

Jason, Overcourt’s former resident-turned-groundskeeper, frowned as he trod over the hostel’s lawn to his shed, noticing a sullen Owens sitting in the secret garden at the back of the hostel’s annexe. Owens had been sitting alone there, day after day, neglecting his duties, still traumatised at witnessing Achmed’s death first hand.

As he approached his shed, Jason paused, noticing the door was ajar. A faint, unpleasant smell wafted out—a sickly aroma, like an old slop-out sink. He pulled the door open, startled by the figure of a man, slumped in a chair. Filthy clothes, unshaven, hollow eyes staring into space, not moving an inch.

‘What the bleeding hell…’ Jason growled, before he recognised the man. Adam Lennon, missing for nearly two weeks. Rumours were that the police were ready to start diving the local canal for his body.

‘Hello, pal,’ Jason said, softly. ‘You look like shite. No offence.’ Adam showed no response. Jason stepped inside, conscious that Adam was a wanted man, and Owens, forty feet away, could discover him any minute. ‘You er… look like you need a brew,’ Jason said, fishing out cups, feverishly thinking of what to do. Adam winced, lifting his hand to his face, Jason spotting a raw wound near his thumb, Adam scratching at it continually.

Jason spoke. ‘I’m sorry about your friend dying. Terrible accident, Adam…’

‘He wasn’t my friend.’

Jason paused. ‘I thought you helped him after a bike crash…’

‘He wasn’t my friend.’

Awkward. Jason frowned, stirring in sugars. ‘Listen, Adam, Owens is sat outside, so don’t go into the garden. I don’t know what you’re looking for here, but I won’t grass you up. I can bring you a sleeping bag, food, soap, whatever you need, but sooner or later someone’ll find you here…’

‘I’ve been out walking. Just walking, you know… had to think things over on my own.’

Jason sat, paranoid that Owens would suddenly pay a visit to the shed. ‘Tell me all about it, Adam, if you like.’

‘I walked miles. Came across a cemetery. Small one, out in the country. Loads of old graves and that, leaning over, grass everywhere, trees popping out of the stones, nobody been there for years. Names all crumbled away. Big piece of plastic in a corner, slept under it. Rained all night. Didn’t mind. Foxes. Birds. Loads of creepy crawlies. They all come out if you stay still. They don’t give a toss, walk all over you, in your hair, up your sleeves… spin a web on your shoes… like you don’t matter at all. Keep still, you’ll see them. People think they’re scary, but they’re fearless. They’d all eat you alive if you let them.’

A faint, unpleasant smell wafted out—a sickly aroma, like an old slop-out sink. 

Jason nodded. Adam’s eyes were glazed, like he was high, staring nowhere. He’d seen people lose their minds before—usually in hospital units, blocks, remand wings… it was never a pretty sight. Like watching someone slowly float away on a receding tide, unable to call them back. ‘Adam… Adam… listen, mate…’

‘I went to see Little Paul. Cowardly bastard wouldn’t even let me in his front door. All that s*** about brothers standing firm. He said he’d get the sack. The police already been to see him. I mean… all that shit about standing firm with your own kind.’

‘Adam… listen. I think you’ve just lost your way a bit, pal, that’s all. Nobody’s going to come down hard on you. Even Owens is worried sick, and he’s a proper arse.’

Adam kept scratching at his palm, blood seeping. ‘What kind of man leaves another person to die? Makes jokes at him, takes the piss while he dies in front of him? Eh?’

‘That’s not what you did…’

‘I deserve prison. It was all my fault. If I’d taken him to hospital, or called a nurse… anything. But I never did. Just laughed at him behind his back, and walked out. Wonder where he is now. Might be buried already. All them worms, creepy crawlies. They don’t give a toss, them things. All over you, the first opportunity. They all win in the end. I wonder why I bother.’

Jason, out of his depth, couldn’t think of a single word to say.

Adam sighed, sipped at his mug, blinked, then put his cup on the worktop. ‘Anyway … thanks for the tea.’ He rose, stiffly, creeping out into the garden, Jason watching him as he shuffled towards Owens, who rose to meet him, stunned. A few muffled words Jason could not make out drifted across the lawn, before Owens took Adam gently by the arm, and led him inside the hostel.