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Author's Note:
Smoke & Mirrors was originally published in 2024 as an open starter. It has now been remastered into a solo, with revised writing, formatting and presentation.
Content Warning:
* * *
A New Year had descended upon Larkhall Prison. Many of the women on G-Wing were trying desperately to forget that they'd just had to forego Christmas and all of the negative feelings the holidays provoked. The weather was abysmal, with dark clouds dominating the skies day in and day out, almost as if intentionally further punishing the inmates by encouraging them to be just as miserable.
All of it contributed to the dreaded January blues.
Zandra was no exception.
Begrudgingly, she had endured Christmas without her months-old baby boy, Robbie. He was the pride and joy of Zandra's life. Once he'd been born, both mother and baby had been permitted to take up residence in Larkhall's Mother and Baby Unit.
Then came the drugs.
Zandra had been tempted, certainly, but temptation hadn't won. She hadn't taken them. She'd wanted to give them back to her dealer. Surely that counted for something? Surely it proved that, when it mattered, her love for Robbie had prevailed?
She'd never been given much chance to explain.
The privilege of keeping Robbie with her had been revoked and Robin, Zandra's ex-boyfriend, had done everything in his power to separate her from their son. As far as he was concerned, Zandra would never amount to anything, much less be a good mum.
Instead of listening, he'd played the dirtiest trick he could and used her well-established struggles with addiction against her.
However, it wasn't all doom and gloom.
On the inside, Zandra had found people she connected with. For the first time in her life, she felt like she had friends who actually cared about her and, in turn, she cared about them. She had also found love—and plenty of other powerful feelings—in the most unlikely of places.
None of that was to suggest prison life was a breeze, but in Zandra's mind, at least, it certainly beat her old life.
Recently, talk of an upcoming talent show had grabbed the women's attention. Management, in their infinite wisdom, had deemed the girls worthy of having a bit of fun.
In an unorthodox move, a select number of the women's friends and relatives, representatives from outside organisations and members of the local press had even been granted permission to enter the prison and watch the show. Management were keen to present the event as another example of Larkhall's commitment to rehabilitation and preparing the women for life on the outside.
Her blonde hair tied up in its usual bobble, Zandra Plackett was clad in a white shirt and her favoured navy-blue sweater, shielding her adequately from the near-freezing temperatures winter had to offer. A grey skirt, black tights and white trainers completed the ensemble.
Tray in hand, containing a plate of sausage and mash and a plastic beaker of water, Zandra spotted her best friend, Crystal Gordon, and made her way towards her otherwise empty table.
"Y'alright, girl? How you feeling about this talent show tomorrow, given what you're gonna do?" Crystal asked as Zandra took the seat opposite her.
"I must have changed my mind about a thousand times," Zandra confessed with a light sigh and a notable roll of her eyes.
She'd talked herself into participating, largely because of the special someone in her life. Then she'd talked herself straight back out of it. The prospect of performing in front of a room full of people was bad enough without bringing unwanted attention to her secret love life.
Rinse and repeat.
"I'd have thought you, of all people, would enjoy this type of thrill," Crystal teased with a slight smile.
Both Crystal and fellow inmate Nikki Wade knew who had captured Zandra's heart. They also knew her feelings were reciprocated. Others merely guessed, helped along by how poorly both parties concealed their stolen looks and gentle smiles.
"I swear on Almighty God, he'll love it," Crystal reassured her.
Bowing her head slightly, Zandra shook it as a quiet chuckle escaped her lips.
"You know all that religious stuff means very little to me, but thank you."
"What's this then, Zan?"
The irritating, unmistakable, high-pitched voice of Shell Dockley sounded from behind her.
Within seconds, the frizzy-haired blonde had rested herself against the adjacent table to Zandra's left, her sidekick Denny Blood slouched beside her. Dressed in a yellow turtleneck sweater and ripped jeans, Shell looked between the two friends.
"Out to please a fella, eh, Zan?" Shell goaded, her eyes lighting up as a smirk washed across her face.
"Oh, piss off, Shell, and take your lapdog with you," Zandra instructed, nodding curtly in Denny's direction. "I was having a private conversation."
"Who are you calling a dog, man?" Denny raged, stepping towards Zandra.
Surprisingly, Shell caught her by the shoulder and gently pushed her back.
"It's alright, Den. She's not entirely wrong. I mean, you are my bitch, after all, aren't you?" Shell said seductively, stroking Denny's cheek with the back of her index finger.
"Yeah, I suppose I am, Shell. Yeah."
Denny's anger evaporated almost instantly as she bowed her head.
Shell had her exactly where she wanted her. Denny adored Dockley and Shell knew it, exploiting those feelings whenever it suited her.
"Anyway..." Shell trailed off, removing her finger from Denny's face and turning her attention back to the two women she'd interrupted. "As I was saying, I thought your baby daddy fucked you off for a new bird, Zan."
She chuckled, forcing those nearby to endure that familiar, girlish fake laugh. Winding people up was one of Shell's favourite pastimes.
Zandra's gaze dropped to her plate.
Determined not to let Shell see the hurt she still carried over Robin's betrayal, she picked up her fork and poked at the mountain of mash she'd been served.
They'd been engaged. Zandra had been so excited about marrying him that she'd even tried convincing Wing Governor Helen Stewart to allow them to hold the ceremony at Larkhall.
Instead, she'd discovered that Robin had not only been unfaithful but was engaged to someone else.
"Yeah, well, his loss is my gain," Zandra replied with a little less conviction than she'd hoped.
She glanced across at Crystal, earning a small, closed-lip smile from her former cellmate. Crystal knew exactly who Zandra was alluding to—the individual who ran rings around her ex.
"Eh?"
Shell's brow furrowed as she straightened herself.
Sighing dramatically, she stepped closer.
"It's alright, Zan. It's understandable that you're so desperate you have to make men up to get you by," she mocked, another forced chuckle escaping her as her hand made for Zandra's plate.
Predicting what was coming, Zandra swiped at the intrusive hand just as Shell plucked one of the two sausages from her dinner.
"Get your hands out of my bleedin' food!" Zandra snapped, jumping to her feet, a hardened scowl creasing her forehead.
Biting into the sausage, Shell nodded with glee.
She'd got exactly what she wanted: a reaction.
"Yeah, I suppose I shouldn't have done that..." Shell replied softly, her repugnant smirk suddenly disappearing.
"After all, it's the only kind of sausage you're going to get, ain't it?"
Shell and Denny burst into laughter, their renowned juvenile sense of humour forever on tap.
"You two need to grow up, innit?" Crystal said, eyeing them with notable pity.
"You wanna give the religious stuff up, Crystal. You don't know what you're missing." Shell threw the half-eaten sausage back onto Zandra's plate. "Anyway, you're boring me now."
And just as quickly as she'd appeared, Shell sauntered off towards the gated entrance to the dining area.
"Do you mind if I have that?"
Denny pointed eagerly towards the sausage Shell had just returned to Zandra's possession.
"I'd rather shit in my hands and clap than touch anythin' that's been near Shell's mouth," Zandra said sincerely as she sat back down and pushed the plate towards her.
Biting her lower lip, Denny pounced forward and snatched up the half-eaten sausage, almost as though she expected Zandra to change her mind.
Holding it out in front of her, she studied it.
"You know how they say you can find art in most things, yeah?"
Zandra responded with a frustrated sigh.
"Isn't this just a perfect form of art? Just look at how Shell's teeth marks make this sausage perfect. I'm gonna keep this."
Denny grinned proudly at her new possession.
Lovesick and far from the sharpest knife in the drawer—a dangerous combination.
Zandra could feel her stomach turn at the thought of Denny holding onto the piece of food for any length of time.
"You do know you can be too close to a person, don't you, Denny?" Zandra asked, looking up at the girl who had somehow taken the encounter in an entirely new direction.
Denny huffed and wandered off, apparently offended by their lack of appreciation.
Zandra's eyes widened as she looked across at Crystal.
Crystal looked back.
Then both women burst out laughing.
Zandra glanced at what remained of her dinner, pushed the plate away and shook her head.
Having finished their dinner, the women were escorted back onto G-Wing.
The floors were a shade of lime, the cell doors a lighter green and the walls adorned in cream paint. It didn't make for the prettiest picture, but then, it was a prison after all.
Until recently, Zandra had occupied a dorm, where two bunks sat on opposite sides of the cell. Following a period of good behaviour, however, her Personal Officer, Dominic McAllister, had seen to it that her accommodation was upgraded.
Zandra had been thrilled.
Dominic was firm but fair and, as she was quickly discovering, possessed a heart of gold. He'd supported her through some of the worst moments of her life and, though he'd never shied away from telling her exactly how things were, he'd always stood by her and given her the extra push she needed.
Unlike most of his colleagues, Zandra had a great deal of respect for him.
Now, she was on the Threes.
It was where almost everyone wanted to be. A dedicated cell on the upper landing came with certain privileges and, more importantly, indicated that its occupant had earned a degree of trust from the powers that be.
Zandra had never anticipated being afforded such an opportunity.
She hadn't exactly arrived at Larkhall with a glowing record. Before she'd even been processed onto the Wing, she'd slipped into a toilet and fed the drug addiction that had controlled so much of her life. She'd liked to think the screws were stupid enough not to notice whenever she'd used.
They weren't.
Now, though, she had something tangible to show for the progress she'd made.
Reaching the top landing, Zandra sighed contentedly and pushed open the door to her cell.
It wasn't the largest room in the world, but for the environment she was in, it was compact and cosy. A mirror had been fixed halfway up the wall opposite her bed, and Zandra immediately made her way towards it.
She missed sharing with Crystal, certainly—even if sharing with Crystal had also meant sharing with Denny—but having somewhere of her own wasn't half bad.
Zandra studied her reflection.
"Crystal's right," she informed it. "You've got this."
She smiled.
Practising self-love was alien to Zandra, but with friends like Crystal and the support of her Personal Officer, the idea of actually liking herself was one she was slowly warming to.
For a few moments, she admired what might have been her most genuine smile in some time.
Then it faded.
Reflected in the mirror behind her was a black heap on her pillow.
"No."
Zandra spun around and dashed towards the bed.
She snatched up the dress she'd planned to wear the following evening—the one she'd hoped would dazzle the man who'd captured her heart.
She hadn't left it on her pillow.
She knew she hadn't.
Now, stretched between her hands, the material was torn in several places.
Zandra's heart sank.
Every bleedin' time.
Every time she tried to make an effort, every time she thought she was finally making progress, something came along to knock her straight back down.
"I don't know why I shittin' bother!"
Tears glistened in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.
Her mind raced.
Then, almost instantly, it settled on the person she considered most likely to be responsible.
Anger quickly overtaking hurt, Zandra swiped at her eyes with the palm of her hand and stormed back onto the landing.
"You look a bit upset, Zan. What's the matter?"
Shell Dockley stood several metres away, leaning casually against the railing of the walkway connecting one side of the landing to the other.
Shell also had a cell on the Threes, although Zandra would argue she'd plotted and schemed her way there rather than earned it.
"You!"
Zandra marched towards her, ruined dress clenched tightly in one hand.
"I knew it was you!"
Shell straightened herself, feigning shock.
Zandra raised the dress above her head and launched it at her.
"You mad bitch!" Shell roared, flailing as she attempted to dodge it.
The dress struck her before falling to the floor.
Shell lunged.
Zandra met her halfway.
Her hand disappeared into Shell's long blonde hair and closed tightly around it.
"Get off me!" Shell screamed.
The commotion immediately caught the attention of the officers below.
Zandra yanked Shell towards the railing, forcing her hard against it.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't!"
Shell's eyes widened.
There was no need for Zandra to finish the sentence.
She wasn't a killer. She knew that. Somewhere beneath the anger, she also knew exactly what would happen if Shell went over that railing. Whatever privileges she'd earned would disappear and additional time would almost certainly be added to her ten-month sentence.
At that moment, Zandra didn't particularly care.
She'd had enough run-ins with Shell Dockley to last a lifetime.
"You don't have the nerve," Shell laughed breathlessly, although there was considerably less confidence behind the words than she'd probably intended.
"No?"
Zandra tilted her head and tightened her grip on Shell's hair.
"Get off her, Zandra!"
Jim Fenner's familiar voice rang out as he reached the top landing.
Shell's saving grace had arrived.
Zandra glanced towards him, acknowledging the command, before turning straight back to Shell.
"Touch my shit again and I might just fuckin' kill ya," she whispered.
Her eyes burned with anger.
Whether she'd ever carry through on such a threat was another matter entirely. Right now, she wanted Shell to believe she would.
As Fenner approached, Zandra stepped back and released her grip.
"She almost killed me!" Shell coughed, straightening herself before fixing Fenner with her best wounded expression.
"Right." Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Tell me exactly what's happened."
"She just tried to bleedin' kill me! I just told ya!" Shell shrieked, nodding furiously in Zandra's direction.
"Yeah?"
Zandra quickly scooped her ruined dress from the floor.
"And you went through my shit and ruined this!"
She held the destroyed material up for Fenner to see.
"I didn't, Mister Fenner. Honest," Shell replied sweetly, as though butter wouldn't melt. "She was telling me at tea time, Sir, that she's bitter and twisted that no fella wants her. I wouldn't be surprised if she's done this herself."
Zandra stared at her.
She didn't have proof. She knew that.
But Shell's account of what had happened over dinner bore almost no resemblance to reality, and destroying the dress was precisely the sort of stunt she loved to pull.
Another threat sat on the tip of Zandra's tongue.
She swallowed it.
Fenner was Shell's favourite screw and Zandra knew pushing her luck any further wouldn't do her any favours.
"Get that dress seen to, Zandra. You might be able to get it fixed," Jim suggested, although his gaze remained firmly fixed on Shell.
"Are you jokin'?"
Zandra shook her head.
How the hell was she supposed to get it fixed in time for the talent show?
"Move, Zandra!"
Fenner's sudden bellow wiped any doubt from her mind that he was messing about.
Defeated, but privately aware she'd been lucky to escape without punishment, Zandra sighed and headed towards the stairs.
As she passed Shell, she stopped.
"You. Twat."
And with that, she continued down to the ground floor.
There were two women down there who might just have the power to salvage the situation.
Zandra could only hope there was enough time.
Shell watched her descend in disbelief.
This was outrageous. She'd just been attacked and the most senior officer on the Wing had simply let Zandra walk away.
"What the frig did you do that for?" she demanded, tucking several strands of hair behind her ear. "You just saw what she did to me!"
Fenner grazed his thumb across his lips as he considered his next move.
He wasn't going to tolerate being spoken to like that. Nor was he about to let Shell treat him as though he were some sort of idiot.
"We can't talk here," he said quietly, lightly tapping her arm. "Come on. Let's go to your room."
A devilish smile crept across Shell's face as she followed him.
Some alone time.
After all the aggravation and upset she'd caused, some quiet time with Fenner was exactly what she needed.
"In."
Jim swung open the door to Shell's cell.
She obeyed, stepping inside. Fenner followed and closed the door behind them.
"Oh, Jim. I'm so glad—"
Shell turned to face him.
SLAP.
Jim's hand connected with the side of her face, snapping her head to one side.
Her hand immediately flew to her cheek.
"You stupid bitch!" he roared. "What have I told you about causing trouble, hm? And the extra work and hassle you cause me?"
He stepped closer, invading her personal space.
"I didn't do anything, Jim!" Shell cried.
Her breathing deepened as she watched him, fearful of what he might do next. It wasn't the first time he'd attacked her. Previously, she'd managed to calm him down and, eventually, they'd become so-called friends again.
"When are you going to grow up and actually start thinking before you act, Shell?"
Fenner grabbed her forcefully by the arm.
"We both know Zandra didn't do that to her dress. I saw her just before tea and she couldn't have been happier that she was ready for tomorrow night. And let's not forget how eager you were to get back here while everyone else was still eating."
He had her figured out.
They both knew it.
"So?" Shell shook her head. "I had a headache."
Fenner lowered his head and sighed.
His grip softened.
His right hand moved to her hair, brushing it gently with the back of his fingers before his index finger travelled slowly to her lips.
"I've told you before, Shell. I can't protect you if you carry on like this," he reminded her quietly. "And now you've got Mister McAllister treating Zandra like his own little pet project. He won't hear a bad word said about her, which makes it difficult for me to do anything. In situations like this, that's the kind of hassle I don't need. Okay?"
"But you've got more power than him," Shell pointed out, lifting her hands to Fenner's face and stroking his cheeks tenderly.
Fenner scoffed.
She hadn't listened to a word he'd said.
Just because he had more power didn't mean he enjoyed cleaning up everyone else's mess. He had his own agendas, and they were far more important. With invited guests and members of the press due inside Larkhall the following evening, the last thing he needed was Shell creating more trouble for the Wing.
His demeanour changed again.
Grabbing Shell firmly by both arms, he shoved her backwards.
Shell crashed onto the bed.
"The moment you start realising who's in control here, Shell, the better."
Fenner turned and walked out.
* * *
"That woman!" Barbara exclaimed after Zandra had finished recounting her latest showdown with Shell. "I feel even describing her as a psychopath is too kind a word to describe her."
"Look, can you fix this by tomorrow or not?" Zandra asked desperately, holding the dress out towards Julie Saunders and Julie Johnston.
The Julies were well-meaning, if a little dim. They weren't related, but from the moment they'd met, they'd considered themselves sisters and frequently demonstrated the point by finishing one another's sentences.
"By tomorrow?" Saunders repeated.
"You're asking for a lot there, Zan," they said in unison, inspecting the damage.
The looks on their faces didn't inspire confidence.
Zandra's heart sank.
They were her only hope.
"Please? You know how much this means to me."
The Julies looked at one another.
Then at the dress.
Then at Zandra.
"That's true, yeah," they said together.
"Yeah, alright. We'll see what we can do, Zan," Julie Johnston finally said, earning an agreeing nod from the other Julie.
Zandra released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
They'd come through for her, just as she'd hoped.
Now all she could do was wait—and hope the end result was something she'd be proud to wear.
* * *
The day of the talent show had finally arrived.
The atmosphere on G-Wing had changed slightly. Everyone was eagerly anticipating that night's events. Those who weren't performing had the pleasure of watching instead and, either way, it gave the women something outside of their usual routine to look forward to.
Of course, the prospect of outsiders being allowed in was anxiety-inducing for some.
For some of the women, that meant wondering whether somebody they cared about would actually show up. Zandra had no such expectations. The person she wanted to impress was already inside Larkhall.
"Hey, Zan!" the two Julies called as Zandra made her way down the final flight of stairs.
Turning towards them, Zandra tugged at the sleeve of her navy-blue sweater until her hand disappeared inside the material. Lifting her covered hand towards her mouth, she folded her other arm across her chest.
"Hey, Julies!" Zandra beamed, hopeful that they had her dress ready.
"Come on in," the Julies replied brightly, inviting her into their joint room.
Stepping inside, Zandra's eyes instantly fell upon her dress, neatly hung by the window at the back of the room.
There wasn't a tear in sight.
She stepped closer.
Zandra sniffled and quickly swiped her sleeve across her nose.
"Are you alright?" Julie Saunders asked with obvious concern.
The Julies glanced at one another.
To them, this was just a dress.
To Zandra, it was more than that. It was part of something she'd planned for someone who had given her more support than she'd ever expected, and tonight was her chance to give something back.
"How did you fix it so fast?" Zandra asked, ignoring their attempt to gauge how she was feeling as she approached the dress and inspected it more closely.
If she were honest with herself, she couldn't have asked them to do a better job.
Whenever something like this needed doing, Zandra knew she could rely on the Julies.
"Oh, you know us, Zan," they said together, wide smiles spreading across their faces, clearly proud of their accomplishment.
"We don't mess about," Johnston commented.
"No, we don't mess about," Saunders agreed.
"Thank you," Zandra said.
She unhooked the dress from its hanger, turned around and held it against her body.
"What do you think?"
"Perfect," the Julies replied together.
Everybody was happy.
* * *
The prison chapel had been deemed the most appropriate place to hold the talent show. Spacious enough to accommodate both the women and those from the outside who had confirmed their attendance, it also satisfied Larkhall's security requirements.
A strict segregation rule had been put in place. Prisoners occupied the left side of the chapel, while guests sat to the right and officers were positioned around the perimeter. The arrangement had already provoked complaints from some of the women who had hoped to sit with friends and relatives, but management had made the position clear: accept the rules or risk the entire event being cancelled.
A makeshift stage stood at the front, complete with a microphone and the chapel's traditional wooden piano. Behind it, a black curtain fashioned from unwanted fabric had been draped over a metal railing, providing somewhere for those waiting to perform to remain out of sight.
Di Barker stood backstage alongside them.
As the talent show got underway, various acts took to the stage—singing, dancing and even a poetry recital. For a while, at least, the women had an opportunity to forget where they were and simply enjoy themselves.
Zandra waited for her turn, fidgeting with the edge of her repaired dress. The Julies had done a remarkable job and, once again, she felt a surge of gratitude towards them. The thought of facing the audience—and one person in particular—sent a mixture of excitement and anxiety through her.
Zandra's attention shifted towards the stage as Shell Dockley stepped out from behind the curtain. Her adversary had opted to demonstrate a talent everyone on G-Wing already knew she possessed.
If Shell was good at one thing, it was impressions.
"....Yes Jim, no Jim---" Shell projected, adopting an exaggerated impression of Officer Sylvia Hollamby—or Bodybag, as the women preferred to call her. With her nose permanently in the air and a voice that suggested everyone around her was somehow beneath her, Sylvia had earned the nickname several times over.
"No Jim." Shell abruptly abandoned her Sylvia impression, reverting to her own voice.
"Don't put your hands there, Jim. You mustn't have gotten the memo that said you can't touch me like that, eh, Mister Fenner?"
She turned pointedly in Fenner's direction.
Anyone who didn't know Shell might have wondered what the hell they were witnessing. Those who did knew better. Jim had made her feel threatened and, true to form, she'd seized the first opportunity to retaliate.
Fenner's eyes widened.
Of all the nights for Shell to start playing games, she'd chosen the one evening Larkhall had invited members of the press inside its walls.
Even after everything he'd said to her, she still insisted on toying with him.
Clearly, she still hadn't understood who was in control. Fenner had little doubt that his word would carry more weight than hers if she dared take things any further. Shell was a known troublemaker. He, on the other hand, was a respected prison officer—or at least that was how Larkhall preferred to see him.
"That's enough!" Hollamby, who was sandwiched between Fenner and Dominic McAllister, called out to the stage.
"I wouldn't stand for that, Jim," she whispered to her friend.
"Don't worry," Jim instructed lightly as he rose to his feet and moved towards the stage.
"Right, that's it. Off. Time's up."
Dockley's mouth dropped open as she shook her head.
"Everyone else has had five minutes! How's that fair, eh? Whatever happened to freedom of speech and having a laugh, eh?" Shell retorted defensively, knowing full well that she'd once more gotten on the wrong side of him. However, Shell always hoped her latest stunt would be the one to place him under her thumb.
"I won't tell you again. Off!" Fenner commanded as his eyes met with Shell's. Both sets of eyes were cold, calculating and filled with unpredictability.
"Mmm..." Shell moaned seductively as she moved closer to the edge of the stage.
"I like it when you're all masterful, Mister Fenner." She licked her lips provocatively as Jim reached up, grabbed her arm and pulled her off the stage. Shell winced as his grip tightened around her arm as Jim guided her to a seat on the front row.
"Sit down and shut the fuck up," Jim ordered sternly, offering her a look that well and truly informed her that she was in serious trouble.
"I thought you handled that very well, Jim." Sylvia complimented him as her colleague returned to his seat.
"I don't even know why we're giving this lot this platform," she opined as she plucked yet another chocolate finger from the box she'd placed on her lap. Her favourite biscuit.
"Oh, I'm sorry, would you like one, Dominic?" she queried as she offered him the box.
"You've got to get some pleasure out of life, haven't you?"
"And next up, we've got Zandra Plackett." Di Barker announced softly as she emerged from behind the makeshift curtain before turning on her heel and shifting behind the stage once more.
Zandra's heart pounded as her moment finally arrived. Stepping out onto the stage, she froze as her eyes swept across the crowd. To one side sat the women she lived among; opposite them were the invited guests and members of the press.
The silence was overwhelming.
Zandra searched the crowd for him.
The man who had captured her heart.
Finally, her eyes fixed on him.
Zandra stepped forward and came to a halt before the microphone. The reality of what she was about to do suddenly hit her like a tonne of bricks. Running her mouth and causing a scene was one thing. Performing in front of an audience was quite another.
"I came to Larkhall eight months ago..."
Her voice broke. Zandra cleared her throat and tried again.
"Which means I've got two left on my sentence."
She swallowed hard.
"I was a total mess. Written off. The system never gave a shit about me, so why should I?"
She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear.
"People don't understand why I let drugs ruin my life. Why I relied on 'em so much and why I could never let 'em go. Then I came here..."
A lump formed in her throat.
From the sidelines, Sylvia's eyes widened as she folded her arms in a huff.
"If she says that she's new and reformed and not touched any drugs in here, I'm going to eat my uniform." Sylvia whispered, loudly enough for the two officers beside her to hear.
"And some of the twats I've met in here, it's tough to stay off the gear." Zandra conceded with a gentle bob of her head.
"But what happens then when someone finally believes in you? And I mean really believes in you? With patience, time and support, they make you see that you're more than your addiction. That you can overcome anythin'. When they give you the strength so you can start lovin' yourself again?"
Tears filled Zandra's eyes. She quickly swiped them away with her palm.
"If it weren't for you, Mister McAllister, I don't know where I'd be right now."
Dominic had supported Zandra when she'd struggled to support herself. Somewhere along the way, the bond between prisoner and Personal Officer had developed into something neither of them had intended.
One kiss in Zandra's cell had confirmed what they'd both been trying not to acknowledge.
The feelings were mutual.
The circumstances were impossible.
For now, that had to be enough.
"Oooh." Sylvia sounded.
"Sounds like you've got a fan club up there, Dominic." Sylvia leaned towards him with a knowing smile.
Peering from behind the curtain, Di Barker's jaw tightened at the mention of Dominic's name.
Until that moment, she'd always got on reasonably well with Zandra.
That changed.
In recent weeks, Di's interest in Dominic had developed into an obsession. She'd even gone so far as to create a shrine to him in her bedroom. Despite him rejecting her advances, she remained hopeful that one day he might reconsider.
Now she watched Zandra thanking him in front of the entire chapel.
Suddenly, Dominic's rejection made perfect sense.
Or at least, it did to Di.
Turning towards the piano, Zandra smiled at Barbara Hunt, who had kindly agreed to accompany her.
"I'm ready," she said softly before returning her eyes to the front.
"You go, girl!" Crystal called enthusiastically from the crowd.
Barbara placed her hands on the keys and began to play.
"This is for you, Mister McAllister, because you're my hero." She announced as she removed the microphone from its stand.
"She's got a thing for you, eh, Sir?" Shell announced loudly with a girlish chuckle as she turned to look at Dominic.
Barbara's fingers moved across the keys as Zandra began to sing. Her voice was soft and, much to the surprise of those watching, she was actually in key.
Any nerves she'd carried onto the stage remained, but gradually, Zandra allowed herself to become lost in the song.
Gulping, Zandra's gaze settled once more on Dominic. This was for him—her expression of gratitude towards the man who had done so much for her. For obvious reasons, she couldn't simply stand there and tell him that she loved him, so her rendition of Mariah Carey's Hero would have to say what she couldn't.
As she reached the first chorus, a rush of emotion flooded through her.
Di Barker raged internally as she continued to watch, her features hardening with every passing second. Surely this was inappropriate. Why was nobody putting an end to it?
It all made sense now. Dominic had knocked her back—but had that been because of Zandra? Even if nothing was going on between them, surely it wouldn't take much for him to fall for Zandra's charm and passion when she was standing up there singing directly to him.
Di glanced behind her. The remaining women due to perform had gathered towards the opposite end of the curtain, some spilling out beside the stage as they watched Zandra's performance.
For the moment, nobody was paying any attention to Di.
Extending her free hand, Zandra pointed towards Dominic as she prepared to launch into the chorus again. Her heart swelled with love and appreciation. This was as close as she could come to revealing her true feelings, at least until she was released.
There was something strangely empowering about it. Everyone else could speculate all they liked. Zandra and Dominic knew the truth.
"Someone's definitely smitten," Sylvia commented with a slight chuckle as she eyed Dominic.
Whether she was commenting on Zandra or teasing Dominic over his reaction wasn't entirely clear.
Behind the stage, Di pulled herself away from the opening in the curtain and looked around frantically.
For something. Anything.
Anything that would put an end to Zandra's moment.
Then she saw them.
A packet of cigarettes lay where Zandra had been sitting, her lighter resting on top. Zandra loved a smoke and, predictably, she'd brought them with her.
Di stared at them.
Behind her, Zandra continued to sing.
Checking that nobody was watching, Di reached down and picked up the lighter before plucking a cigarette from the packet.
Barbara struck an emphatic chord and Zandra punched the air with her free hand.
Seething with jealousy and anger, Di flicked the lighter and brought the flame towards the cigarette.
She pocketed Zandra's lighter and stared at the glowing tip.
For several seconds, she hesitated.
Perhaps some small part of her understood just how far she was about to go.
Oblivious to what was happening behind her, Zandra continued towards the final chorus. Whatever nerves she'd started with had all but disappeared.
Zandra placed a hand over her racing heart as she prepared for the final chorus.
Behind her, Di made her decision.
She flicked the burning cigarette towards the bottom of the curtain.
Without waiting to see what happened, she hurried towards the side of the stage and joined the women she'd been watching moments earlier.
Zandra launched into the final chorus, unaware of the first faint wisps of smoke beginning to rise behind her.
She looked towards Dominic again, singing with more confidence than she'd possessed at any other point in the performance.
Then Zandra smelled something.
Smoke.
Her nose flared instinctively, but she forced herself to continue. For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether she was imagining it.
She wasn't.
Behind her, the bottom of the black curtain had caught alight. Smoke curled upwards, gradually thickening as it climbed above the makeshift backdrop.
For several seconds, Zandra continued to sing.
A murmur spread through the chapel as attention began to drift from Zandra to the smoke gathering behind her.
"Fire!"
The cry came from somewhere amongst the women.
Zandra stopped.
Turning sharply, her eyes widened as she caught sight of the flames beginning to climb the black curtain behind her.
"Oh, shit!"
Screams erupted throughout the chapel as several women jumped to their feet. The carefully arranged rows quickly descended into chaos as prisoners and guests alike attempted to move away from the stage.
"Everybody stay calm!" Helen Stewart called, rising from her seat.
Predictably, nobody listened.
"Bloody hell!" Sylvia exclaimed, abandoning her Chocolate Fingers as she scrambled to her feet. "I knew this was a bad idea!"
Officers immediately began directing people towards the exits while others rushed towards the stage.
Zandra remained rooted to the spot.
She'd been standing before an audience only seconds earlier, terrified of forgetting the words or making a complete tit of herself.
A burning curtain hadn't exactly featured amongst her concerns.
"Zandra!"
Dominic's voice cut through the commotion.
She turned towards him.
"Get off the stage!"
"I'm tryin'!"
A section of burning material fell from the curtain, landing dangerously close to where Zandra stood.
That was enough.
Dropping the microphone, she hurried towards the edge of the stage.
Dominic was already there.
He reached out instinctively and caught her hand as she stepped down. For the briefest moment, neither seemed particularly concerned about who might be watching.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah."
Zandra glanced back at the growing flames.
"I think."
"Get outside. Go on." Dominic instructed.
She nodded.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say to him.
Instead, Zandra allowed herself to be swept along with the other women as officers continued evacuating the chapel.
Amongst them was Di Barker.
Her heart hammered against her chest as she followed the crowd.
This wasn't what she'd intended.
She'd wanted to stop the performance. Cause a distraction. Ruin Zandra's perfect little moment with Dominic.
She hadn't expected the flames to spread so quickly.
Di slipped a hand into her pocket.
Her fingers brushed against Zandra's lighter.
She snatched her hand away.
"Keep moving!" another officer instructed.
Di obeyed.
Behind them, officers had begun tackling the fire. Fortunately, the alarm had been raised quickly enough that the flames hadn't yet spread far beyond the curtain.
Outside the chapel, prisoners gathered in their designated groups while officers conducted hurried headcounts. Guests and members of the press were ushered elsewhere, Larkhall's carefully planned showcase of rehabilitation having descended into precisely the kind of spectacle management had hoped to avoid.
Zandra wrapped her arms around herself.
"Well, that went well."
Crystal turned towards her.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Then she laughed.
Zandra tried not to.
She failed.
"I ain't bein' funny," Zandra continued, "but next time I decide to sing in front of half of Larkhall, fuckin' stop me."
"You were good, though," Crystal insisted.
"Yeah, Zan," Julie Johnston added.
"Really good," Saunders agreed.
Zandra smiled despite herself.
At least she'd done it.
"Zandra!"
She looked up.
Dominic was approaching.
Her smile disappeared almost immediately.
"Everything alright, Mister McAllister?"
The formality sounded ridiculous after everything she'd just said about him in front of an entire chapel, but there were still people around.
"Fire's out. Nobody's hurt."
Zandra released a breath.
"Thank God for that."
Crystal's eyebrows shot upwards.
Zandra caught the look.
"Oh, shut up."
Crystal grinned and wisely moved away with the Julies.
Dominic watched them go before returning his attention to Zandra.
"For what it's worth..."
He hesitated.
"...you were good."
Zandra looked at him suspiciously.
"Good?"
"Very good."
"That's better."
Dominic smiled.
Zandra returned it.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Dominic lowered his voice.
"And I got the message."
Her smile faltered.
"What message?"
"Zandra."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"Of course you don't."
She bit the inside of her cheek, desperately trying to suppress her grin.
"So..." Zandra began, rocking slightly on her feet. "You liked it, then?"
"I did."
"Even before the place nearly burned down?"
"Especially before that bit."
Zandra chuckled.
Then her expression softened.
"I meant it, you know."
Dominic's smile faded.
He knew exactly what she meant.
"I know."
There was no kiss.
No embrace.
Nothing that would confirm what half of G-Wing already suspected and what Zandra had come dangerously close to announcing from the stage.
Dominic simply held her gaze.
For now, it was enough.
"Come on," he said eventually. "Let's get you back inside."
Zandra nodded and began walking alongside him.
She'd spent the previous twenty-four hours convinced the talent show was doomed.
Shell had destroyed her dress.
She'd nearly talked herself out of performing more times than she cared to remember.
Then, when she'd finally found the courage to stand in front of everyone and sing, the bloody stage had caught fire.
It hadn't exactly gone according to plan.
But as Zandra glanced towards Dominic and caught the smile he was trying unsuccessfully to hide, she realised something.
She'd still done it.
For once, everything that had threatened to derail her hadn't won.
Behind them, Di Barker remained amongst the commotion, Zandra's lighter still concealed inside her pocket.
Zandra didn't notice.
Nobody did.
And for tonight, at least, the truth remained hidden behind the smoke and mirrors.