Jasmine Wing endures the protracted process of a prison visit.
The white concrete walls seem to go on for ever. Finally I arrive at the crammed and rowdy visitor centre.
I scurry over to my friend. We met here a few weeks back. She’s listed in my phone as ‘Mel Prison’. Doubt she’d welcome the description, but I am certainly glad to see her.
Underneath old-fashioned windows, perfectly positioned next to the toilets, we sit on school-type chairs and chat about the latest soap and celebrity.
I have to remind myself that this is not a Jeremy Kyle episode.
We run out of things to say to each other. I look up. Everyone’s clutching yellow forms as grubby as the room. Everyone’s focused on their phones in order to avoid eye contact.
2pm.Visiting time starts now. Except it doesn’t. A prison officer blithely announces there will be a delay. But no time will be added on at the end. Moans, groans and shouts from the assembled company.
2.17pm.‘Number 13!’
That’s me! I rush to the front and up the stairs. I put my stuff in a locker and join the queue. Passing a filled-in form through the gap in the glass window, I automatically place my finger on the sensor – I’ve already learned the routine.
Next phase: I raise my wrist and a purple, band is attached. It’s tacky to the touch. I can’t help feeling it’s me that’s been convicted. As if people outside have found me guilty just for coming here.
Back down the steps and over to another building. I wave my wrist band in the air and the guards lock two computer-controlled, glass doors behind me. Anxiety trickles down my back at this point – now that I, too, am locked in.
I am not carrying any drugs but my palms start to sweat anyway.
Fear and apprehension are offset by another queue, another painfully slow step in the routine.
‘NEXT!’
I place the form, my locker key and money onto the table. I can’t help but feel guilty as the female officer pads me down. ‘Open your mouth please….thank you. Can you take off both shoes, please?’
We’re into the next room, getting closer; but there’s no end to the tension. Now there are officers with sniffer dogs. I say the name and number of the prisoner I’m visiting. Finally, a flight of stairs with the visiting hall at the top.
The end in sight.
Not quite.
A jolly man opens the door when I knock. A rude woman snatches my paper. I place the same finger on yet another sensor and she grumbles my table number at me.
But I have already seen him.
A large grin on my face. A big hug enfolding me. A sense of ease coursing through my veins.
This is what I came for.