Chapter and Verse

1

Julie's voice is nicotine.
'She doesn't see me comin'. I have her by the hair, pull the head straight back, then slit her throat.'
The woman who put the dead in deadpan.
'I use a knife -the knife she bought me on our first anniversary. She doesn't even make a noise, the blood just burbles out.'
'Burbles?'
Ivan glances up from his fingernails. Michelle, right at the back.
'Burbles, yeah -okay?' says Julie, her voice caught between embarrassment and threat.
'Let her finish, Michelle,' Ivan says. 'It's not easy .' Julie nods curtly at him, then returns her attention to the page. Her fingers follow the words. 'The blood just burbles out. ..' She tosses a defiant look back at Michelle. Michelle tosses it back. ' ...And then she collapses in my arms. She's dead. I kiss her once-'

There's a chorus of ooooooohs! from the rest of the class. Julie waits for them to settle again before continuing. 'I kiss her once on the lips, then I bury her in her own garden, just where we used to sit in the summer.' She nods to herself for a moment, then adds a quiet, 'The end.'
They applaud politely. They enjoyed it, but they're nervous about being asked next.
'Ah, yes, very, um, descriptive, Julie.' Ivan gets off his desk and taps his chalk on the blackboard. 'Of course, the title of our essay assignment was actually What I Will Do On My First Day Home From Prison. I, ah, wouldn't show that to the Parole Board.'
They laugh. He likes to make them laugh. Julie gives him a limp-wristed bog-off wave. 'Oh Mr Connor,' she says, 'what would you know about writing fiction?'
Ivan smiles. 'Okay, who's next?' Eyes are averted. 'Come on, we're all friends here. Eileen?' A shake of the head. 'Betty?' Not even a shake, just a stare at the floor. A small, elfin-featured girl slowly raises her hand. 'Donna? Right, off you go.'
Donna licks her lips, pushes hair from her brow. 'The-' 'Stand up so we can see you, Donna.'
She gets up. Her voice is soft. 'The light of the ark surrounds me, the dark of the night astounds me. ..'
'Is that a poem, Donna?' Ivan asks.
'Yes, Mr Connor.'
'It was an essay I specifically. ..' He trails off. He glances at his watch and sighs. 'Okay, let's hear it.'
'Will I start again?'
'Come on, girl!' Michelle shouts. 'Spit it out!'

'All right, Michelle. Yes, Donna, from the top.' She nods slightly. 'The-'
'Shitl'
Donna looks up sharply to see Mr Connor with his foot on a chair, and the broken end of a shoe lace held up as evidence of a legitimate excuse. 'Sorry, Donna. Please. ..'
Donna swallows, takes a deep breath. 'The-'
At that moment the bell rings and class is over. They're up out of their chairs just as if they were back at school then they remember they're volunteers for this class, and they aren't going anywhere. They slow down. Ivan scoops up his own books and joins the exodus. He doesn't notice Donna, still standing with her poem in her hand.
Ivan is forty years old, he wears an old raincoat, his hair is long and straggled. He has been teaching this class in the women's prison twice a week for the past eight weeks. It pays reasonably well, enough to tide him over until the new contract is sorted out. He looks at his watch. He's caught in heavy traffic, not moving. Ben Elton would get a novel and a million quid out of it. Ivan's Metro is decrepit. He's listening to Dvorak on a tape. His most recent novel Chapter & Verse, sits open on the passenger seat. The passages he will shortly read at Waterstones are highlighted in yellow. Beside the book there's a half-eaten packet of Starburst, although he will call them Opal Fruits until he goes to his grave.
He lifts the book and reads aloud, his voice strong, confident: 'But it was not only by playing backgammon with the Baronet, that the little governess rendered her- self agreeable to her employer. She found many differentways of being useful to him. She read over, with indefatigable patience, all those law papers...'