I won a bet with Frank today. The last Parole Hearing he undertook before he died was for the first life sentence prisoner he represented, back in 1994. It's events of this kind that the lovely Reverend  that conducted Frank's funeral informs me that God is working mysteriously to look after me. For example when I met him, at his request, close to the anniversary of Frank's death, the fact Jack had a new male teacher who similarly had lost his father at Jack's age was a gift from God. I refrained from suggesting that it was probably the answer to an advert in the TES, but hey ho. Now that the teacher in question has handed in his notice, and Jack will have his third teacher during the course of his last Junior year must surely be the work of the Devil. Or not.  

Struggling to get back to the point of writing this,  when this client was released in early November 2012 Frank and I had a wager on how long it would be until this particular life licence was revoked the individual would be hauled back through Her Majesty’s revolving door. Despite what you might read, when a person receives a life sentence it is for life – the recipient’s liberty being subject to restrictions that you and I would find problematic, and breach meaning being returned to prison, not for committing further offences, and taking many months for the system to decide whether the recall was justified.

Frank backed six weeks while I gave him a tad more credit and put my money on six months. In fact he proved us both wrong and managed over a year. But I was closest and I win. So there. Despite my lack of faith I have found myself looking skyward and inwardly changing "nr ner ner ner ne." Not particularly satisfying, but I have to get my kicks somehow. And there’s a pyrrhic victory for you. I finally won a bet against Frank and the fucker is dead and can't take the punishment. I might ask the Reverand to advise on that. God's work or the Devils. Or the law of sod. 

In any event the lifer telephoned me this morning requesting representation, and said something along the lines that since Frank’s dead you’ll do. None taken, I replied.

This is precisely the exchange that I find myself, sixteen months after his death, still making a mental note to tell Frank. I don’t miss the big stuff as much as the little stuff. I’ve booked a two week holiday with the Little Darlings this summer and I’m not phased in the slightest that this year I’ll be a single parent in charge. Well maybe a little bit. But  I can deal with it, and the bank, the mortgage company and all the big grown up stuff. What makes me wobble is not having the big man to chew the shit with. He made me gaffaw (generally spitting “you can’t say that!”), and I knew what would make him chortle.

Back to the story -after the client in question hung up I recalled a key feature of his case for release late in 2012, before Frank was late, although he may not have pitched up on time for the hearing, such was his laissez faire approach to judicial matters. Parole Board hearings are based, not as the Daily Fail may have you believe on the quality of the Panel Chairman’s breakfast on the morning of the said hearing, or the severity of the congestion on the M5, but generally on a dossier prepared by Probation Officers, Psychologists and intelligence (if one can be so bold as to use this word in connection with the Prison Service) from prison staff, and the evidence presented at the hearing itself. Please don’t confuse the “dossier” word with the Blaire Government’s interpretation, albeit some clients will insist on inferring similar veracity. And sometimes they are right. The client that is, not Tony Blaire.

In any event, this particular client had taken to feeding a stray cat that voluntarily strayed into an open prison during his time there, and release was recommended by staff strictly on the basis that if this lifer were granted liberty, so was the mangy cat. Following his recall to prison my client is housed in a closed prison and I doubt that the cat would have been smuggled into the prison past the eyes of staff in Reception (yep, that’s what the first department you encounter in prison is called – although no offers of a morning paper or shoe shining service here – unless you read the Daily Fail).  The early morning call is obligatory, as is the food you wouldn’t serve to your dog, let alone a recently liberated prison cat.

I have Frank to live up to but not to live with. Such is life and death. Not necessarily in that order. What I am confident of is that if I succeed in securing the re-release of this life sentence prisoner it will be on account of what Frank taught me. If I fail it will be my failings.  Such is life. Personally, I’m more concerned about the fate of the cat.