The Writers' Circle

An unusual friendship

                                    
Bruno climbed onto the old rickety chair, his frail legs shaking slightly with the exertion. Steadying himself, he opened the window and stuck his shaving mirror through the prison bars at right angles, bracing himself against the icy cold north wind as it whistled in through the open window penetrating anything in its path with a numbing chill.
 Scanning the exercise yard, he saw his mate Sam, the collar turned up around his neck, hands thrust deep into his overcoat pockets in his usual spot on Pneumonia Corner. Cupping a hand around his mouth, he shouted at the top of his voice. 'Sam. Oi, Sam, fancy a cuppa, mate?' He saw Sam giving a thumb up sign. Gingerly he stepped off the chair wheezing with the exertion chuntering to himself. 'Silly old bugger, going on exercise when it's minus one out there.'	

Five minutes later Sam walked into Bruno's cell, with an aura of bitter coldness clinging to him. 'Gawd, its freezing out there this morning, me old mate, real brass monkey weather.'
 'Here get this down ya neck.' Bruno held out the blue plastic prison mug carefully not to let any tea slop over. 'You look like death warmed up.'
Sam, curling his ice-cold hands around the steaming hot mug sipped the piping hot liquid, instantly feeling a warming of his insides. 'I'm getting too old for this game, Bruno, me bones are seizing up,'  
'Stop moaning you, old misery,' Bruno scoffed. 'It's your own fault for hanging around pneumonia corner. After thirty years in this place, you of all people should know better.'  
Sam blew hard into his cupped hands trying to get some feeling back into his fingers. Bruno was right of course. He didn't have to stand on pneumonia corner, aptly named because of the north cold wind that blew winter and summer off the granite-strewn contours of the Tor that over shadowed the prison exercise yard. He did it for some quiet time. To get away from the oppressive miasma of human fear and misery that seemed to pervade every nook and cranny of life inside the Jail. 
'That's rich coming from someone who before he was excused exercise by the prison quack on medical grounds, spent all his time hanging around pneumonia corner.'
	Bruno smiled with smug satisfaction slowly tapping the side of his nose. 'Yeah, but I did it for a reason, didn't I.  The screws never caught me smoking, me wacky baccy or drinking me home made hooch, did they.' 
Sam smiled at that. For as long as he could remember he had been coming to Bruno's  cell twice a day  for one of his  famous prison brew's, it was when they both put the prison and the world to rights. This day though Sam had something to tell his friend that he knew would upset him. He had done his time and was getting out.  
Although theirs had been, an odd relationship forged through environment rather than mutual affability Bruno had grown on him. Throughout the thirty years, they had been friends and had been inside together they had had their ups and downs. Bruno in his younger days had constantly been in trouble with the prison authorities locked up a lot of his time on punishment in segregation. Being born in Holloway prison seventy years to a teenage prostitute hadn't helped. Then the double whammy. In council care pushed around not wanted or cared about until being fostered by a family of villains. It was no wonder he ended up doing time and Sam had really felt sorry for him. Over the years, he had tried many times to help and befriend him but it was as if Bruno had had a self-destruct button that he kept on pushing. In the end, it had been age and time that had mellowed him. 
 For Sam it had been different. He had been well educated and could have steered clear of prison if he had wanted. Often, he regretted been inside but at least he had only himself to blame. Now both in their twilight years, their friendship had grown into one of mutual respect and appreciation of their individual situations. 
Sam wanted to give his friend his good news but sensed that there was something wrong with him and it was showing on his face. Bruno had always been a hard looking man with a face as though it had been used to hew granite. Now it looked more like an old well-used boxing glove, fissured and discoloured. The laughter lines now long gone hung gauntly on wan hollow cheeks. The long years of segregation and liquid cosh had taken its toll.  
 	Sam put his arm around Bruno's shoulders. 'What is it, Bruno, what's on your mind?'
 Bruno shrugged, scratching irritably at the stubble on his chin. Reaching inside his shirt pocket, he took out an official looking letter and gave it to Sam. 
He knew what it was before reading it. It was that time of year. He scanned through the official jargon to the bottom two paragraphs. The parole board had turned Bruno down again
 Sam tried to look enthusiastic. 'That's the best result you've had so far, Bruno. Look they have even suggested a more favourable review in 12 months.'
Bruno's eyebrow's rose and fell as if to say, it's good, but not good enough. He puffed out his cheeks blowing a sigh. 'It don't matter, anyway, I wouldn't have known what to do with me self. He glanced about his sparsely furnished cell giving a symbolic melancholy wave of his hand. 'This is me home; it's where I was born. It's the only place I know and anyway, I'm too old to start afresh.'  
His down cast expression didn't last long and his face softened as he outstretched a hand to Sam. 'Oh, by the way, I've heard on the prison grape vine you've had some good news yourself. I hope you weren't going to leave without telling me?'  
 'I was going to tell you, Pete. honest I was.' Sam stumbled for words. 
 It was the first time Bruno had seen his friend look anything other than completely composed and he laughed at the serious expression now spreading across his friends face. 'You, daft old sod. I know you better than you know yourself. After everything you've done for me, the least I can do is wish you good luck. Anyway, next year when I do finally get out I'll come and see you if that's alright?'
	
That following morning Sam awoke after restless night thinking about Bruno and he had decided to say goodbye with a promise that he would write and visit if he wanted him to.
'What's going on'? Sam edged his way through the sombre crowd of inmates gathering outside Bruno's cell feeling anticipation tightening in his stomach like a knot. 
  Someone in the crowd murmured. 'Pete's topped himself.' 
  Sam's shoulders visibly sank as he peered into the tiny cell and saw Pete hanging by the neck limply like a rag doll from the cell window bars. 
The prison doctor shook his head. 'I just don't understand it, he was so positive yesterday. I offered him some counselling, but he said he needed to talk it through with a friend before deciding what to do.'  
Sam blinked back tears. 'What. What do you mean, doctor, was there something wrong with Bruno?' 
'Yes..Two days ago I gave him the news that he had inoperable cancer.'
Sam suddenly felt nauseous, his feelings of loss tightening in his chest as tears trickled down his cheeks. 'Oh, I. didn't know.' 
The doctor put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. 'Isn't it the big day for you today?' How many years is it?'  
Sam nodded without really hearing, unable to take his eyes off the stretcher carrying Bruno away to the prison mortuary.
 	'Thirty. thirty, long years.'  
The doctor smiled. 'Good luck then and best wishes for the future, Officer Taylor. I hope you enjoy many years of retirement, after thirty years in this job you really do deserve it.' 

THE END
"the extent" 1366