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THE PRISON DOCTOR
DR AMANDA BROWN
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019
Copyright © Dr. Amanda Brown and Ruth Kelly 2019
Dr Amanda Brown and Ruth Kelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008311452
Version: 2020-02-11
‘The mind is its own place and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.’
– JOHN MILTON, Paradise Lost
Contents
Where It All Began (2004–2009)
Chapter Six
PART TWO
The Scrubs (2009–2016)
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
PART THREE
HMP Bronzefield (2016–present)
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Acknowledgements
About the Publisher
HMP Bronzefield
I arrived to shouting and screaming. Prison officers were sprinting across the corridor and up the metal stairs.
‘What’s happening?’ I shouted, thinking a fight must have broken out.
I’ve seen and heard a lot during my fifteen years as a prison doctor, but the reply shocked me.
‘Someone’s having a baby!’ one of the officers yelled, repeating the news into his radio. He called for back-up, an ambulance, nurses, for all medical staff to come to House Block One.
‘Oh bloody hell!’
I followed the stampede. We sounded like a small army trampling up the metal stairs.
The deep stench of overcooked vegetables from lunch lingered in the air, green and ripe, sweet and rotten, mixed with sweat and cheap soap.
The prisoners heard us coming, thumping their fists on their cell doors. Metal thunder, filling the air.
Half a dozen officers were already crowded outside the entrance to the tiny cell at the end.
‘Coming through!’ I said, squeezing past them.
A shaft of light poured through the small barred window. Hiding in the shadows of the corner was a tiny young woman, standing and shaking. Her nightie was soaked in blood from the waist down. The walls were splattered too; violent red sprays, like protest graffiti.
She looked completely shell-shocked. In that moment, she didn’t know where or who she was. Her wiry black hair was drenched in sweat and glued across her face.
But where was the baby?
I tried to appear calm, stepping closer, trying to reassure her.
‘Hi, sweetheart, you’re going to be okay.’
Who knew if that were true? I suspected the prisoner was a heroin addict currently on methadone. The majority of prisoners on House Block One had a history of substance misuse.
The banging of the doors grew louder. Shouting and swearing,