The first summer

Jarred came out of prison in May after a Big Ben—ten years straight—and faced his first summer of freedom since the 1980s.

His first adult summer, in fact: he went away as a kid, caught breaking and entering dressed as a Boy Scout. He became a great burglar, but a pointless one. He’d find the valuables by intuition and experience—“Jews keep them in the fridge,” for instance—but then blow the proceeds in a couple of days. He was always getting caught after the event.



Jarred has spent 23 of the last 26 years in prison. He felt safe there, safe enough to go a bit mental. In Belmarsh he even made chums with the terrorists, converted to Islam: judged it wise, he says; till MI5 had a word. He stayed Muslim for form’s sake, till he got out this summer and was offered a bacon roll at the hostel.

The hostel’s out in Surrey. Full of nonces, he said: you can tell by the specs and walking sticks. But it was safe, he thought. Then one day last month Robson arrived: a famous psycho from the 1990s, just out after 12 years for kidnap and torture. In the end it was OK—Robson was so worried Jarred would tell people where he was, he stuck to him like glue. They’d go for walks together down the Surrey lanes, warily swearing secrecy and loyalty. Jarred thinks Robson’s lost the psycho streak.

Probation couldn’t believe it, but on his release from prison he came off drugs and started behaving. The only madness was benign: making up for all those prison nights alone. He built an extraordinary pulling record at the concourse pub on Victoria station, where his train to Surrey went from: he even snogged an off-duty WPC once. But he was always with us for nine in the morning, breezy after the gym. In the afternoons he’d visit the women he’d met in the pub.

In 2009, Jarred achieved his longest time on the outside since childhood. And when he went back in September it wasn’t for another offence, just a recall because he breached his curfew. We should have seen it coming: the Notting Hill Carnival, the girls, the afternoon becoming evening till it was too late to make the train. He handed himself in the next day.

So he’s in HMP High Down for a couple of months. Not happy about it, but safe again. Bit of a lie-down, he says.