Margo could only stare, “Seriously?”
“Sure, why not?”
“B-but I could ask for help, maybe get out of the country.”
The Warden laughed, “Jesus, Margo, you’re not Julian Assange, and going to your embassy and asking for help does not break any of the court stipulations. Now, should you run off to Edinburgh without me making proper arrangements, that’s a different issue, and of course, if you do somehow get yourself smuggled out of the country then we’d look at that as you absconding from Scottish Justice.
“If that happens an international arrest warrant would be issued, and should you ever travel to a country where we have any kind of extradition agreement, you’d be arrested and shipped right back. Then you’d serve your full four years, plus another five for running off, all in a high-security prison. Not exactly a brilliant outcome.
“But think about it! I mean, you’re serving Community Service in what amounts to an open prison and in three to six months, your sentence will be complete. If you were a political prisoner or something then things might be different, but Scotland has pretty amicable relations with the U.S. at present. I mean, American tourism is big business after all. So, I can’t see the American authorities courting a political scandal by smuggling a convicted criminal out of the country for something this petty. I mean, they might if we were torturing you or something. Is that what you’re gonna tell them?”
“No! I wouldn’t do that,” Margo grinned, “I mean, getting caned was horrible, and I think my butt still has the marks to prove it, but I’ve not actually been mistreated.”
“Well, there you go then. Personally, I would just get this over with and be done with it. But it’s up to you.”
The “cell” Margo was allocated had a single bed, a comfortable chair, bookshelves and a writing desk with a computer. There was a set of drawers and a wardrobe for clothing, and a door that led to an adjoining bathroom complete with toilet, sink and a shower cubicle.
The Warden nodded, “Right, this is you. Supper is at six, and you have free time after that until lights-out. There’s a gym down the hall you can use and a reading room over there. The inmate’s lounge is just yonder. Oh, the computer doesn’t connect to the internet directly, but it does link to our own servers, and so some approved websites are available, so you can’t download porn. Trust me, it’s been tried, like a lot. Also, any emails you receive or send get thoroughly checked before being forwarded. Sending inappropriate messages will get your computer privileges suspended.
“There’s a document and a video on the computer that goes over the rules more fully. It’s mandatory that you look at it. The computer will log if you don’t access it, and a “gentle reminder” involving your posterior and a strap will be issued every day until you do.
“Hmm, what else? Oh, aye. Because you are on day release you will not be allocated any set routine regarding chores, but on days when you don’t intend to attend your C.S. you are required to inform a member of staff so you can be placed on a work, training or educational detail for the day. Any questions?”
Margo was still staring into the room, “This is my cell?”
“Aye, what’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. I mean it’s better than the room I had in college. I just didn’t think…”
“Expecting manacles and maybe a ball and chain, were we?”
“Maybe a bit.”
The Warden shook her head, “We’re no barbarians, lass,” she grinned mischievously, “mind you, just don’t go changing the channel on the TV in the lounge when “Britain’s Got Talent” is on otherwise you might think differently. There is an intercom buzzer in your room that you can use if required. Do not abuse it.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Righto, I’ll leave you to it then. I know the first night’s always the hardest, so I’ll have one of the girls look in on you to have a chat and show you the ropes. Um, there’s tea, biscuits and whatnot in the lounge, but sadly the coffee is still shite.”
The Warden cast her eye over her new charge one last time and nodded to herself before turning to go.
Margo watched the busy woman bustle off, “Uh, thank you, Warden.”
Clutching her bag of sweets to her chest she turned and, with a sigh, stepped into her new home.
…
The next three weeks were busy for Margo as she threw herself into the task of working off as many hours of her Community Service as possible.
Her lawyer had shown up the next morning to drive her to where she was meant to be. Inmates were permitted to wear their own clothes when they left the prison on day-release, but with her luggage still secured somewhere in Glasgow International Airport, the only items she had were the dress and underwear she had worn on the plane. Still, at least she’d had time to use the laundry, so the dress was clean and pressed. The silk underwear felt strangely decadent after wearing the plain white prison-issue garments.
She had no cosmetics but had brushed her hair and tied it back in a loose ponytail, and she was pleased to see the young lawyer eyeing her appreciatively when he saw her, “Not so bad for an old married broad, I guess.”
Her own bank cards and ID were still locked away in the prison, so she had no access to her own funds, but when she told the lawyer about her lack of clothes, he’d loaned her some money to buy a couple of pairs of jeans, a pack of cheap t-shirts and some knickers. She could have kissed the man for that act of kindness alone.
The work placement for her Community Service was a combination foodbank, charity shop and soup kitchen situated in a refurbished warehouse adjoining a Fire Station. The staff were mostly volunteers though the woman running the place, a formidable older lady with the sort of refined Edinburgh accent Margo associated with the likes of Maggie Smith and the “Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” worked full-time.
She had fussed over having Margo inserted into her realm but seemed happy to have the help, and when she learned that her new worker was skilled with computers and accounting, she was downright ecstatic.
Of course, she was less pleased when she learned that Margo would be obliged to work in the nude but shaking her head she had simply sniffed and dismissed it as an irritating, but otherwise trivial detail.
“Obviously, some idiot male politician thought it wise to have you parading about in your birthday suit, my dear. Utterly ridiculous! But never fear; we shall do our best to shield you from the unwelcome stares of hoi polloi. I’m afraid I’m not very tech-savvy with all these new gadgets and whatnot, so just fixing the mess I seem to have made of our computer system should keep you busy enough in the office for a while at least. Then we can go from there. I like to come in early and have a cup of tea before I get started, and we do get some very early deliveries, so you can find me here most days by six.”
The introduction to the station chief had been brief. He was a sturdy-looking man with a craggy face, clear grey eyes and a well-trimmed goatee beard, and given the nature of his job, he clearly kept himself fit. Margo found herself surreptitiously admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the obvious muscles of his arms that his short-sleeved uniform shirt showed off rather nicely.
“So, Margo, is it? Do you mind if I call you Margo, or would you prefer Mrs. De Vries?”
“Um, Margo is fine, and it’s Miss De Vries. I just got divorced, “Why the fuck am I telling him that.”
“Hmm, well I’m sorry to hear that. Margo it is then. I’m Officer Robert Guthrie, and I’m the Watch Commander here. Most folks call me Rob, as well as a few other more colourful names, I’m sure. I like to welcome those who come to work here pers…”
He paused a moment and grinned, “I just realised. You’re standing in front of my desk like some naughty schoolgirl or one of the lads about to be hauled across the carpet for some spectacular fuck-up or other. Here, have a seat. Can I get you a coffee or something?”
Margo found herself smiling back, “It’s okay. I’ve been standing in front of so many desks lately it’ll be weird sitting across from one like, I dunno, a regular person.”
“I can imagine. But, Margo, it’s Community Service and you’re hardly “Jack the Ripper.” Just do the work you’re allocated, be respectful to the other members of staff, and as far as I’m concerned, you’ll be just another member of my team, if a little underdressed most of the time.”
He poured the coffee for her and sat back down. Margo could smell the freshly ground beans and almost sighed, “He can make coffee!!! Oh my God! I want to have his children!”
She scolded herself, “Get a hold of yourself, you stupid woman! You can’t leap across the desk and fuck the man simply because he makes a decent cup of Joe…”
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