Chapter 7: Weird ways
The prison that Barry now was forced to call home was an inner-city Victorian-era
building appropriately named Weirdways. Looking extremely grim and foreboding
from the outside I would like to say the prison’s interior made up for it, but then if I
did I’d be lying.
The structure was predominately grey and instantly didn’t sit well with Barry,
it reminded him of his old high school, a place he had hated and spent much time on
the receiving end of bullying. Upon leaving school he felt ecstatic that he would never
have to go back there again, but now here he was, entering an altogether different and
far more frightening school. Not even remotely a hardcase, he knew it wouldn’t be
long before he became someone’s bitch on a leash.
The standard of living was ghastly inside Weirdways, although the rats and
the bacterial diseases seemed to like it. Barry felt he would have been better off
starving or freezing to death in the Hickeys because his new home was outrageously
overcrowded and dirty. He was shown to his cell, a tiny little room that contained a
mildew-stained sink, a rusty bucket and two bunks. On the bottom bunk there was a
very large black man. Barry’s chin hung on his chest as he walked into the cell with a
look on his face like a man going to the gallows.
‘Alright,’ said Barry’s new friend in a strong Jamaican accent once the guard
had left.
‘Hi,’ responded Barry, his bottom lip quivering.
‘I like to have the bottom bunk. I hope that okay with you.’
Barry wouldn’t even dream of it not being okay due to the frightening size of
this man who looked as if he could crush a person’s skull with a single hand.
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‘Yeah that’s okay. It’s a bit cramped in here isn’t it?’
‘That’s because the cell’s only designed for one person.’
‘Bloody brilliant,’ thought Barry. ‘This guy should count as two people he’s
so big.’
Overcrowding in British prisons had reached endemic proportions; Barry
should have considered himself lucky that he wasn’t serving his sentence in the prison
store cupboard.
Sitting on his bunk in silence for a few moments, not daring to even breathe,
Barry desperately tried to think of something to say. He was struggling to find a
combination of words that wouldn’t result in him getting killed or molested by the
scary-looking man lying down below him. He’d never had much experience at these
sorts of tasks. Thankfully his new companion spoke first.
‘You know my last cellmate hung himself—I woke up to find him dangling by
his shoe laces. And I heard the guards joking about it the next day. They said that at
least it will help with the overcrowding situation. They don’t give a shit about us.’
This bright divulgence of information, although a friendly attempt at small
talk, did little to cheer Barry’s dismal mood.
The conditions inside Weirdways were so bad they were tantamount to human
torture, but Barry’s cellmate was right, nobody really cared: the politicians weren’t
about to divert taxpayers money from the already impoverished NHS, particularly
when the prisoners themselves aren’t part of the voting public.
‘What’s your name?’ asked Barry.
‘I’m Tobias Robinson.’
‘I’m Barry Broomfield.’
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The initial dread Barry had felt upon seeing his new cohabitant dissolved within a
couple of days since he found Tobias was like a big cuddly bear who wouldn’t hurt a
fly, and just wanted to get his time over and done with as quickly as possible. Funnily
enough it turned out that Tobias, like Barry, was also a vicious armed robber,
although he’d been more successful than his new cellmate and managed not to get
caught on his first robbery. The big Jamaican broke into hysterics when told the story
of how his new pal ended up at Weirdways.
‘Crazy white boy. I wished I coulda seen you in dat shop.’
Tobias quickly became Barry’s best friend inside Weirdways, which was
fortunate because nobody was willing to mess with a man as large as Tobias, and so
in turn, nobody was willing to mess with his friends. Because of Tobias, Barry’s
transition into prison life was relatively smooth and he managed to settle into the
prison’s strict, regimented routine quickly. He’d always liked routines.
Since there were a massive number of prisoners crammed into the small oldfashioned penal establishment, Barry found that he spent almost all his time locked in
his cell, for twenty-three hours a day in fact. The prison was not suitably staffed to
allow the large number of inmates anymore time outside than this, so he and Tobias
played eye spy to pass the time. After a while it became boring.
It seemed that prisoner rehabilitation was not high on the agenda at
Weirdways, that it was more about keeping the animals caged and quiet until their
release, letting their fury slowly build during their incarceration and then standing
back to admire the mayhem they then unleashed onto the world upon their release.
Everyone felt, even though this probably wasn’t the best way of dealing with
criminality, this tried and tested method certainly kept life interesting.
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One day, after another lengthy game of eye spy, Tobias pointed out to Barry that he
shouldn’t be imprisoned at all because of the mental illness he was experiencing at the
time of his crime. Barry explained that after getting hit on the head by a frozen leg of
lamb his brain had miraculously cured itself of disease, because of this there wouldn’t
have been much point in sending him to a mental institute.
‘And they weren’t about to let me off the hook completely,’ said Barry.
Tobias laughed and said: ‘It’s too bad you didn’t get hit on the head before
you committed your crime.’
‘Thanks for stating the obvious Tobias.’
Tobias then mused: I think cheeky Mr Barry Boy wants me to bite his nose off
for him.
The following day, while spending some precious time outside his tiny cell, Barry
became conscious of a curious individual he had never noticed before and asked
Tobias if he knew the man.
‘Who’s that over there you big crazy Jamaican who could crush my skull with
one hand?’
‘Dat’s old man Bogdan Petrov. He’s from Russia originally,’ replied Tobias.
The reason Barry had noticed this particular man was because he was playing
chess against himself on a very tatty, overused set. He looked extremely bored as he
stroked his thick moustache.
Bogdan, becoming aware he was being watched said: ‘Hey you, yeah you,
want to play some chess?’
‘I can’t play it,’ replied Barry timidly.
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There was a memory Barry cherished of how once, a long time ago, his old
Grandfather had tried to teach him the rules of chess.
Despite Barry only being a small boy, his Grandfather became so exasperated
by his grandson’s inability to pick up the rules he had thrown the board across the
room, saying to Maggie in the process: ‘My god, that boy is bloody stupid.’
The reason the memory was cherished was because it was the last insult
Barry’s grandfather hurled at him, he died soon after, much to Barry’s relief.
‘Don’t worry I’ll teach you.’
Barry still didn’t want to play: he didn’t want to be embarrassed over the
meagre abilities of his inept little brain.
Tobias though whispered warningly in his cellmate’s ear: ‘I’d do what he says:
he’s in for triple murder.’
Barry now noticed he was in a desperate situation: If he snubbed this man he
may find a knife in his back, people in prison could be surprisingly sensitive. On the
other hand, he may be mercilessly ridiculed for his lack of grey matter.
Ridicule seeming the more attractive of the two options, Barry walked over to
Petrov to begin his education.
Old man Bogdan spoke clear English, although it was through a heavy
Russian accent. ‘Now my friend, I’ll teach you how to play chess.’
Tobias sat down with them and listened in, attempting to also learn the rules.
Feeling extremely nervous, Barry had a thought. If his harmless grandfather
had reacted so aggressively when he had tried to teach him, how would a convicted
murderer react?
His active imagination saw a crazed Petrov holding a roaring chainsaw
intended for his legs.
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‘YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. WELL
MAYBE YOU’LL UNDERSTAND THIS!’
Exactly where Mr Petrov was going to acquire a chainsaw inside a prison
Barry’s imagination didn’t specify.
Strangely though, Barry picked up the rules very quickly, much faster than
Tobias, although he got them too eventually. He found he was a natural, playing his
cellmate and beating him with ease.
Petrov looked impressed. ‘I can see you are a very intelligent man Mr
Broomfield.’
Barry couldn’t remember anyone calling him intelligent in his life and
wondered whether Tobias was in actual fact even more stupid than he was, in spite of
his friend appearing to be a person of average intellect.
‘Now how about you give me a game? I’ll have you know I’m very good and
not one to let people win just because they’re a beginner.’
Tobias smirked and said to his cellmate: ‘You won’t be able to beat him.
Almost everyone in here has tried.’
Not in the least bit bothered if he lost, Barry was just glad he had actually
managed to learn something without getting terribly confused, and also that he’d
managed to outwit another fellow human by beating Tobias, a lifetime first. If Bob
could see me now, he thought, feeling proud of himself before remembering he was
incarcerated for armed robbery.
The game began. Tobias sat next to Barry so the two of them could doubleteam the Russian. The match flowed in the early stages at quite a fast pace with
Tobias expecting his friend to be checkmated at any second, but the inevitable was
taking longer than expected.
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Another inmate with a skinhead and tattoos came over to watch the game
unfold.
‘Are you going easy on him Bogdan? You shouldn’t toy with him it’s cruel,
just finish him off.’
Tobias had planned on combining his and Barry’s two heads in the futile effort
of beating the chess master, but instead he felt obliged to simply stand back and let his
friend choose all the moves as he seemed to be doing pretty well by himself.
‘I think you might have him on the run,’ Tobias whispered in his friend’s ear.
Inside Barry’s skull his brain was creating lightening-quick connections,
planning many moves ahead of the play, but simultaneously also anticipating every
single response of his opponent and then the potential counters. It all seemed so clear.
Petrov was visibly shocked by this prodigal talent and a bead of sweat rolled
down his forehead. He had been playing chess since before he could remember and
now a man, who had only learnt the rules thirty minutes ago, was giving him the game
of his life.
Barry’s play was relentless, unforgiving, and almost machinelike. One mistake
and he’d make Petrov pay every time. Consequently, the Russian spent long periods
thoughtfully deliberating over his every move, not willing to rush himself into foolish
mistakes. Barry didn’t need time to consider his own moves because he had already
seen the ones Petrov would make ages before he actually made them. To place the
pressure back on his opponent, Barry took every one of his moves instantly, knowing
exactly what he had to do. Tobias simply stood back with his jaw agape behind Barry,
massaging his friend’s shoulders as if he was a boxer in a prize fight.
The whole of the prison, including the guards had gathered round to see World
War Three unfold, and fascinated by the spectacle they started to place bets.
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‘I bet a tenner on the new guy.’
‘I’ll take that.’
To Barry, Petrov’s play seemed almost infantile, he couldn’t believe that
everyone had thought him to be so good and wondered if it was just some kind of
deception: play badly and then at the last minute turn the tide with a sucker punch. Or
maybe he’s going to let me win this one, then want to play me again next time for
money where he’ll unleash his real game.
The opening appeared, Petrov’s defence gaped and his king simply begged to
be checkmated. He must see it, he must.
Petrov didn’t, he was oblivious, and instead took one of his opponent’s pawns.
Barry’s brow furrowed, for the first time in the game he paused doubting himself. It
wasn’t the loss of his pawn which was completely insignificant, but the fact that
Petrov couldn’t see what he could see.
‘Ooo look, I told you Petrov would get to him in the end. Looks like you’re
going to owe me a tenner Mike.’
Barry looked into the confused eyes across from him, puzzling for a moment
he stopped to think, was this some kind of trap?
He then took his Rook and said in a voice that wasn’t in the least bit sure of
itself: ‘Checkmate.’
Petrov surveyed the board, the confusion left his eyes and he started to laugh.
Everyone except the Russian wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. Barry had a
terrible feeling that he had just done something incredibly stupid and turned scarlet,
but for once he was wrong, he hadn’t done anything stupid at all.
‘Gentleman, it seems we have a new chess champion. Well done my friend.’
Petrov patted Barry on the shoulder and began to pack up his board.
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‘Oy give me that tenner Jim.’
Exchanging money over the theatre of conflict, the hardened criminals settled
their bets.
Petrov shouted back to his conqueror as he was led back to his cell: ‘Hey
genius, maybe you can use that big brain of yours to figure a way for us all to get out
of here.’
Still sitting at the table, Barry tried to understand what had just occurred: he
had never been good at anything vaguely intellectual in his life, so this triumph came
as a bit of a shock. Slowly, he got up and walked back to his cell, locked in a kind of
semi-trance.
‘That was absolutely incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it, nobody’s
been able to beat that guy, and just about everybody’s tried, the screws as well as the
cons. You’ve never played chess before, yeah right,’ said Tobias to his pal
disbelievingly once enclosed inside the privacy of their cell.
Barry snapped out of his trance. ‘No honestly I haven’t. I’ve never played a
game of it before today. My Grandfather did once try to teach me, but he become so
annoyed I couldn’t understand it he threw the board across the room! I’ve never been
good at anything in my life. I’ve never won anything before, well apart from that
raffle once. I dunno, I just can’t explain it, it’s like something inside me has
changed…’
The next day Barry played Petrov again. The result was the same. Then they played
every day after, but the outcome never changed and if anything, Barry began to gauge
his opponent’s moves even faster. Petrov’s favoured attacks and defence strategies
gradually became more and more predictable for him. The more time he spent playing
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