The visit

I'd never been to prison before.

In fact, I couldn't recall ever even seeing one, except on tv of course, and as much as I had tried to convince myself it would be the case, I didn't think the Young Offenders Institute of HMP Norwich was going to be anything like Larkhall or the prison from Porridge.

I was really excited when the VO (that's visiting order to those of you not related to any convicts) first came, I remember rushing upstairs to wake mum and tell her. She wasn't too interested if I remember rightly, mind you, she probably had a heavy night, she has a lot of those nowadays.

"What makes you think I want to use the little money I have visiting that waste of space? He can suffer in there, like we are now, see how he likes it. You never know it might teach the little Git a lesson. He's never cared about." Of she went again, another of the anti-Jamie rants that followed even the mention of his name.

"Fine! I'll go by myself!" With that I think I stormed off, doing one of those dramatic teenage door slams to accentuate my point. Mind you, I guess the situation was a little more complex than a typical teenage drama. My brother, Jamie, had just been sent down for GBH. Nine months he got, while the arrogant bastard he gave a good kicking to (who, by the way, deserved every last punch and some more on top) got away with it. It wasn't assault; it was a fight. A pair of guys who took a disliking to each other, got into a scrap and suffered a few cuts and bruises, playground stuff. Not worth nine bloody months inside with the dregs of society that you'll find in Norwich. Excuse me if I sound a little bitter, but well, he's my brother and I'm bound to be a little biased.

I had spent the majority of the train journey thinking about what it would be like, and had now fully convinced myself that there would be barbed wire on the top of massive concrete walls, uniformed officers with dogs standing in front of an imposing wooden door, like the kind you get in old castles, and groups of shaven headed yobs walking along painted white lines linked by a chain.

I wasn't too far off either. My version might've been a tiny bit exaggerated, but the concrete walls and barbed wire were all there.

After walking up what seemed like the longest and most gradually steepening hill I'd ever climbed, I'd seen a sign with the words HMP(imp) Norwich, and an arrow pointing toward a small turn off shaded by a couple of big trees, not sure what type, the ones where you get conkers from. And there it was. You turn a corner and then, out of nowhere, pops up this massive building, surrounded by metal fences that guarded the concrete inner walls.

Up until now, I'd been fine. I was really excited about seeing Jamie and, as warped as it sounds, going into an actual prison, (I've always been a sucker for new experiences). I was walking along the little road leading up to a small building marked VISITORS CENTRE outside of the walls, and heard a what sounded like a car behind me. I moved to the side of the road, thinking it would be another visitor or something, but when I looked behind me as it came closer, I saw it was a white boxed van, the kind they transport prisoners in. As it drove past, doing no more than 5 or 10 miles an hour, I heard shouting and banging inside, whoever was in it was smacking against the windows, and that's when it sort of hit me. I was going into PRISON. I'd be surrounded by thugs, criminals, maybe even murderers and rapists and I'd have to be searched. It didn't sound quite so exciting now and I'll admit that I actually came close to turning back, like mum said, it's Jamie's problem, he got into this mess, why should I go through this just to make him feel better? It was probably my mum's voice that persuaded me not to, if I ever get to the stage where I think like that twisted cow does, then I pray to God someone shoots me. Besides, at least I'd be able to come out. Jamie was going to be stuck in there day in, day out for the next nine months of his life. I could have a baby while he was inside, it'd be Christmas by the time he gets out. All that stuff he's going to miss, all the West Ham matches he won't be able to go to, the birthdays he'll be inside for, his own birthday for heavens sake, it all just hit me. My brother was going to be stuck in a cell, eating crappy food and staring at the same four walls for the next nine months, and all because of one fight, I'd been in fights before, every has at least once. It didn't seem fair, and there was no way that I couldn't go in and see him now, he'd be sitting in his visiting booth or wherever they sit I didn't have a clue, waiting for the first friendly face he'd seen in just under a fortnight.

I stood outside the visitors centre for a couple of minutes while I got a grip on myself and tried to stop my hands shaking. I know it might sound all dramatic and over the top, but I was really nervous. It must be intimidating enough coming here for the first time, but to do it by yourself while your mother was sat at home with a can of Stella and a packet of fags watching tv, made it just that little bit worse. She knew how important this was for Jamie, and me, it was like she was doing it just to spite us. Jamie and mum had never really got on; he used to have a go at her about not bringing us up properly, never waking us with breakfast in the morning like 'normal' mothers do. I guess I kind of felt like that as well, but Jamie, being older and slightly protective of me, had always been far more outspoken than I was. They'd argue all the time, about her drinking, his gob (mouth almighty mum called him) the fact that she couldn't afford to send me on a school trip one term. I tried not to get involved, just got my head down and got on with it, it wasn't like I could do anything about it anyway. I've always been good at school, the brains of the family Jamie calls me, so I'd go upstairs and do my homework while they were downstairs yelling at each other, not the best working environment I guess, but it could've been worse, like it was now. I could barely bring myself to look at my mum after the way she treated Jamie, but I was so angry with Jamie for putting us into this situation in the first place as well. I felt like the only sane one out of the lot of us, trying to keep it all together and keep up with my school work to get myself into uni, that was my ticket out.

"Are you coming in then love?" a short-haired woman in a prison warden outfit came out of the centre, hands in pocket and a tag around her neck. "I take it you've not been before." This was it then, I guessed as I followed her into the centre. She didn't look like the evil Hitler-esque figures I'd imagined whilst on the train which was reassuring, but she wasn't the friendly sympathetic person I'd hoped for either.

I wasn't at all prepared for the amount of forms I had to fill in, the disclaimers stating that the prison took no responsibility for injuries sustained at the hands of prisoners was a little worrying to say the least. The time waiting in the centre was probably the worst of all, I watched as various groups of people came in, signed the forms and sat down as if they'd done it all their lives. It was about 10 minutes before the deadline of 11.15 that a family of a single mum and her 5 kids piled in amongst a barrage of swearing and crying.

"For Christ's sake, behave will you? Do you want me to put you in one of those cells?" This polite statement to a 4 year old came accompanied with a slap across the back of his head and a burst of screaming that set the other three youngsters off.

"Kelly, get off that fucking phone and shut your brother up before I go fucking crazy. And pull up your top, we're at a prison not a fucking disco." That barrage of profanities was met with an equally impressive response from 'Kelly' a girl of no more than 15 who was wearing a white halter neck, knee high boots and a belt, although I'm sure she was under the impression that the little strip of material around her waist was a skirt.

"Do it yourself, I'm talking to Sparky, their your fucking kids, you should've left them at home like I did."

Now this was the kind of people you'd expect to have a son or brother in prison. As stereotypical as I know this sounds, a single mum with shed loads of kids and a daughter that had a kid of her own at 15 and not a hint of respect, was exactly the image I'd had of prisoners' families before all this. I felt a touch of sympathy towards them, Kelly in particular; we were in relatively the same situation after all, so I smiled empathetically at her, a sort of I-know-how-you-feel smile.

"What the fuck are lookin' at? Got a problem or summit?" Her heavily made up eyes glared back at me, and after stuttering some sort of response about having a twitch I was extremely relieved to be led away by the prison warden.

"You can go down now, just follow the officer outside." I smiled at her too, but was met with an entirely expressionless face. I'd never felt so intimidated in all my life.

I dutifully followed the warden, who was incidentally a man, older and more authoritative looking than the first one, so I avoided all conversation.

"Through those doors, press the red button to open them. Get your ID ready, we haven't got all day." Nice, a little courtesy couldn't hurt now could it? Not that I actually said that you understand, I was in no doubt at all that he'd happily throw me in a cell with the prisoners if I did.

By now the knots in my stomach were really beginning to twist and tighten, partly excitement, but mostly nerves. I hesitated before pressing the button, that momentary panic was setting in again, but the sound of the family from hell behind me made up my mind and after pushing it several times, I heard some electrical sounding noises and the door opened.

Inside was a small booth in which sat a far friendlier looking man of about 40, there's something about balding middle age men that makes me think they'll be kind grand-dad type people. I gave him my ID and stood smiling nervously as he checked through it. After confirming my name and date of birth, I said thank you and was actually met with a smile in return. It sounds silly but that one smile took away quite a few nerves, something I was extremely grateful for. I bet that man has children I thought as I waited for yet another door to open. And I bet he takes his son to the football and lets his daughter get away with murder if she flashes him puppy-dog eyes. I'd like a father like that.

Next stop was a small cabin-type building, like those temporary police incident rooms, I'd seen a few of those around East Bracknell where I'd lived for the past 8 months, (that was a record by the way, my mum wasn't the settling down type). Painted along the floor was a yellow strip that ran from the door, through the building and out onto the other side. I assumed I was meant to follow this so stepped carefully along it, as if I was being tested for drunkenness with my head down so I could concentrate properly. An image of playing on balancing beams at the park near my grandma's house flashed through my mind. As I recall, that was the day Jamie pushed me off and I broke my arm, I hated him that day, but I'd give anything for him to be able to do that now, even if it did mean another 3 months in a sling.

With my eyes fixed firmly to the floor and not paying attention to much else, I walked straight into another officer, a big guy; about 16stone. I stuttered an apology then caught his eye, hoping for a glimpse of sympathy, maybe even a smile, but no such luck. "Watch where you're going will you? Now, we are going to have to search you, you'll get a female officer, and may be asked to lift or remove items of clothing if we suspect that there is a possibility you are carrying prohibited objects. Understand?" leaving absolutely no chance for me to reply, "Good. Now are you carrying any illegal drugs or weapons?"

"Erm, no I'm not," excellent Emma, really good, you don't sound at all like a guilty person whose lying through their teeth. "Definitely not," I added, just for clarification.

"Okay, step through these gates. They test for metal objects so could you take of any jewellery please." As I lifted my arms to undo the silver necklace, which incidentally, I hadn't taken off in over 4 years, (it had a ring on it, the one and only gift I'd had sent from my dad. He didn't leave a card on it, but I knew it was from him. Mum went crazy and banned me from wearing it, which is why it's kept on a chain hidden under my clothes) the male officer fixed his eyes directly on my reasonably well developed curves. At least be subtle about, I thought, but you guessed it, didn't have the guts to say.

On the other side of the metal detecting gate was the female officer who would be searching me. She looked like the typical school mistress figure that you see in films, and, from the sour expression on her face, I expected her to be just as hard and cold as the rest of the officers, (except the nice granddad man, of course), so when her face relaxed into a smile I was extremely relieved.

"Arms up please, that's it, I'm just going to do an outer clothing search okay." She briskly ran her hands up the inside and outside of my legs and along my arms, before lifting my hair up to check I wasn't hiding anything under the long locks. "Excellent, that's fine, just open your mouth for me please..and lift your tongue..okay, you can put your arms down now," she smiled again, not just a polite smile, but one that seemed to be etched with actual empathy. "Just a piece of advice for next time dear, tie your hair back and don't wear any jewellery, it saves a bit of bother. Follow that line, push the red button by the door, see the one with the poster of a guard dog? The door will open in a minute or so, and just go inside. Sign in at the desk, then sit at the numbered table your shown to, okay. And don't worry so much, it's not too bad." She touched my shoulder lightly before turning back to attend to Kelly who had caught up and was now standing just behind me.

"Thanks," I called, without looking back, I really didn't want to catch Kelly's eye again.

There was no-one watching me this time, so I ran, albeit slowly, (never really been a sporty person) along the line to the door, and, no hesitations this time, pressed the button. The door slid open almost immediately and I stepped into the reception area, a small annex to a large clinical looking room that I couldn't quite see properly.

"Sign here, please, thanks, and can I see your ID and VO as well?" My hands were really shaking by now, and as I struggled to pull my passport out of my jeans pocket, I dropped the orange VO and was met with an impatient tut from the officer in front of me.

"Sorry, here you go." I avoided eye contact with him as well, something tells me he would have been frowning though.

"Okay, table 6 please, Middum'll arrive in a moment," it took me a couple of seconds to realise that by Middum he meant Jamie. "Do not hand him anything, you understand? If we feel you are acting in the least bit suspicious, you will be asked to leave and may be investigated okay?"

"Okay, thank you." I was getting quite irritated with having to be so polite to the officers, they must have a hard job I know but still, manners never hurt anyone.

I walked further into the room, and was genuinely shocked by how open it was. The large, white area had the feel of a waiting room but without the magazines, comfortable seats or slow background music. There was a tiled floor and about 20 tables of various sizes, all of which had one seat on one side, and two, three or four on the other side. The furniture consisted of blue, red and yellow plastic, reminiscent of kindergarten chairs and fixed to the ground. Under each table was an adjoining divider that separated the prisoner from their visitor. I can only guess that it was for preventing anybody passing goods under the table, out of sight.

This was it, I thought taking my seat at table number six, this is what it had all come to. My Jamie, the guy everyone liked, a cheeky, classroom clown sort of guy, was now a criminal serving time inside with the outcasts of society in a prison, and I was sitting here, with the outcasts' families, waiting to see him for no more than an hour under the watchful eyes of the prison guards. I hadn't for one moment, not even during the trail, thought that this was how it would all end, I don't suppose Jamie had either. He wasn't a bad person, he wasn't malicious or disrespectful, he was just someone that got in with the wrong crowd, fell out with the wrong people, he didn't deserve this, and neither did I. Mum didn't either, not really. She had tried, she had always tried, but she could never get it right. When it came to choices she always made the wrong ones. She chose my dad; he walked out on us before I'd reached my first birthday, (that was a great start to life, I know), she chose the drink over stability, although I guess that wasn't so much of a choice now, she couldn't stop herself anymore. She didn't chose this though, none of us had, and I couldn't help but think she wasn't going to be able to choose anything for my Jamie for a long time. He'd grown up, and he had started making his own choices. He chose to fight back when Damon hit him, he chose to carry on fighting when Damon was on the floor, and he chose to lie to the police, and us. It seems he's inherited mums bad choice gene and that's the one thing I'm determined not to do. I'd started well though, sitting there in the visiting room, oblivious to the screaming and shouting over on Kelly's table, I knew that coming to see Jamie was the right choice, I bet mum knew too, deep down. I doubt even the booze she'll be knocking back is going to stop her feeling as guilty as she does now, but well, maybe she'll change. Maybe Jamie'll change too; this might just be what the family needs to pull us back together, for my sake if nothing else I prayed that would be true.

"Number Six." An officer's voice interrupted my thoughts and I looked up. Jamie. Dressed in grey baggy jogging trousers and a blue sweatshirt, his hair unwashed, his face spotty and drawn, he didn't seem like my Jamie.

"Alright Jamie?" I asked.

He flashed his cheeky grin at me, pulled a models pose and replied, "Course I am, I'm looking damn good."

"Shut up, you like you haven't washed or eaten in days, you scrub."

"You try prison grub, it's worse that old McNills school crap which by the way, you look like you've eaten a lot of lately."

Seeing him laughing, albeit a nervous, awkward laugh changed my mind. Maybe he was still my Jamie after all.