Disbelief
As she walked hurriedly away, tears stinging her eyes, she kept her gaze downwards. It was completely unlike Bridget, as she always liked to be aware of her surroundings but most of all, she understood the importance of looking the women in the eye, acknowledging them, trying to make sure that they knew they were not just part of an anonymous sea of teal shuffling through the corridors.
But today was different. She just needed to get back to her office, back to a place where she knew she could fall apart, which she was staving off at every step; worried that she would not make it in time. Worried that she would dissolve, be overcome, be engulfed by the fear, the trepidation, the anger, the hurt; before she got there.
Her office had never seemed so far away. Fuck. There was a bottle neck on the stairs, as she stared down at the jungle of white tennis shoes marking time, not really moving. Fuck. She felt panicked and just when she felt she could last no longer, she seized on the opportunity of a gap between two of the women who were talking and were clearly not in a hurry to get anywhere. Well why would they be, thought Bridget.
Her lithe body slipped through as she then skipped down the remaining stairs, praying that she would not get waylaid. She was close now. She could hold it together.
As she strode towards her door, she readied her hand in anticipation of grabbing the handle. As she reached forward with her keys, her hands shaking, she had never been so thankful to hear the obliging click as the door opened as she exerted pressure downwards on the handle.
As she pushed open the door just enough to enter the room, she then turned towards it, facing the door front on and with two hands, forced the door closed, whilst she flicked the lock. The relief washed over her.
It was against prison regulations to use the lock, as it was to draw her blinds as she had done the day prior when she had arranged for Franky to visit her. She understood Vera’s concern for her and if she had the ability to think straight and in her usual cautious manner, she would have been more cognisant of the inherent risks in bringing Franky Doyle to her. She just had to. Had to see her. Had to hold her, had to feel her. Her mind flicked to the look of despair on Franky’s face. How she wanted to hold her and to tell her that everything was alright. But she knew it wouldn’t be.
Mouth open, she expected to let out an almighty sob. But there was silence. She felt the cool smoothly painted surface of the door pressed against her forehead. She stood, almost suspended in motion until it felt that there was no air left in her lungs to be expelled. Tears were falling from her face, as her left hand, shaking, moved to cover her eyes. She felt her mouth trembling, as her head fell towards the floor.
And then it came. The gut-wrenching inhale which was only inevitable after her body had struggled to exhume all the air in her lungs. As Bridget struggled to control her breath, conscious that there may be people passing outside of her door, her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably as she sobbed silently, intermittently sucking air in as she fought against the tears that threatened to take her voice, her breath and what felt like her very existence.
Bridget turned around, leaning her back against the door and she slid until her toned legs carried her to a seated position. With her knees curled into her chest, she sat, sobbing, not ever recalling when she had ever felt this way. Anger, despair, fear and dread washed over here like waves, each eclipsing the other as she fought to regain her composure.
She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. She almost didn’t as she replayed Vera’s words in her head and her conversation with Franky as she confronted her about the gun, which she said wasn’t hers.
She believed her.
Or did she.
No she did.
Or was it just that she wanted to.
No she did. It just seemed so fucking unbelievable. She knew how it looked. How it would look to the police prosecutors. She had spent enough time in corrections to know that it wasn’t always justice that prevailed. It wasn’t always the bad guy that got caught. It was often whatever was easiest for the prosecution, whoever they could pin it on, using the evidence or even stretching the evidence. Fuck she said under her breath, exhaling as her tried to control her racing pulse. It was the adrenaline that was washing through her which she could feel as it impelled her flight or fight response.
Just utter disbelief. Only yesterday she had being looking up holiday destinations to take Franky away. Given the end of her parole was approaching and Franky would be able to leave the state, she wanted to take Franky away, somewhere to celebrate the milestone of having made it through her parole period. If anyone was deserving of parole, it was Franky Doyle – Bridget recalled her words to the parole board that day. If anyone would survive on the outside – it was Franky Doyle. So what he fuck had happened… Bridget thought to herself.
Bridget knee she was in denial, as the disbelief continued to wash over her. But she knew it was her body’s way of dealing with the shock. Her body’s automatic response to enable her mind to process something so shattering, allowing her brain to compartmentalise and break it down without her knowing. But Bridget knew what was going on.
And then the waves of guilt washed over her. She couldn’t believe what she had said to Franky and how she had turned and left, even though she heard Franky’s whimper after hearing what Franky would have thought was Bridget giving up on her.
As she tried to process what Franky had just said, her mind started racing. Why had Franky not told her. At the time standing in front of Franky it felt like a betrayal, but she knew it was just Franky being Franky. Fuck. Always wanting to protect those around her. That is what Bridget assumed led her to protect that fucking Shayne kid. Did Franky just want to save everyone because as a child she hasn’t been saved?
As she struggled to get control of her breath, she pictured Franky, walking back to her cell. She contemplated going to find her, but couldn’t. It would be too obvious. If their relationship got out, that would be the end of Bridget’s career, but it would also place a huge target on Franky’s back. She had softened a lot since being released and Bridget worried that some of that toughness that had ensured her survival before had been knocked out of her, making her more vulnerable than before.
Bridget had to ensure that their relationship stayed a secret, fuck, she didn’t actually care about her career. In context now, she just wanted Franky to get out alive… and her.
She just needed to be where Franky was, to be to be around her, even if she couldn’t be close to her. As she thought about all of the conversations she had with Franky about living separately, being careful about being seen in public together, not only for the sake of ensuring Franky met her parole conditions, but also so that Bridget could continue to practice. There was still more than 12 months to go on her restriction before she could have a relationship with a former patient. But right now, she didn’t give a fuck about her job. She would give it all up now, if it meant that her and Franky Doyle could be home together.
She ached as she realised that wouldn’t now be likely for some time. She knew how the system worked, Everything was stacked against Franky. Up until learning about the DNA, she had thought that Franky had a good chance at being free again. But now. Fuck. Why wasn’t she upfront with the police. She is smarter than that. Fuck. Tears began to fall again as Bridget pictured her life without Franky. She couldn’t.
The whirlwind that was Franky Doyle that had taken over her life, that had become her life was all she could think of. Bridget loved Franky so fiercely and without conviction and without reservation and hesitation. She knew she had to stand by her. But she couldn’t help but feel defeated.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
As she sniffed suddenly, Bridget, unsuccessfully attempted convey a composed expression, to sound like she was fine as she responded “Yes, uhhhh can you come back later.. I’m just in the middle of something”. Her voice, heavy, thick and despondent.
“Bridget”, and Bridget recognised the voice immediately “It’s Vera, please open the door”.
A tear escaped from Bridget’s eye, as she put both palms under her eyes touching the bridge of her nose with her index fingers in an attempt to shield her face from any more tears. Why, she did not know, given her face would clearly have been tear stained.
Sniffing again she replied, “Vera.. look it’s not a great time”, having given up trying to conceal the anguish in her voice.
“I..I ..I know that” Vera said in a somewhat stilted voice. Warm and fuzzy was not Vera’s strong point, in fact outward empathy wasn’t either. Vera had good intentions but which often resulted in awkward exchanges on her part. “That’s why I’m here… I … I…. “ Vera trailed off.
Bridget waited, and was somewhat surprised at her insistence “Look Bridget”, Vera’s voice sounded softer from the other side of the door, “I get it. I understand. Please let me in…. as a friend”.
Bridget knew she needed to let her in – both because she was technically her boss, but also, she needed Vera, if she was going to stay working in the prison, which she desperately needed to have what minimal contact she could with Franky, she needed Vera onside. Vera also needed her, the only way they were going to survive managing Joan Ferguson was if they banded together.
“Ohhhhh—kay” Bridget responded in a husky voice as turned towards the door and stood up. She smoothed her shirt and rearranged her jacket, but didn’t even bother with her hair which she knew was tear stained and pressed to the side of her head. She took shaky breath as she opened the door.