Margo smiled at the comment. She could well imagine the redoubtable no-nonsense matron tearing strips off anyone foolish enough to draw her ire.
“I’m no wallflower, Sir. I doubt I’ll need to bring anything to your attention.”
He laughed, “You might be doing Community Service, but nobody says you have to take any shit. This is Glasgow Miss DeVries, not Canterbury Cathedral. Feel free to use my services if things get out of hand, but as long as it all stays friendly you may fight your own battles as you see fit. Just remember, like Mrs. McGilvery, I’m your supervisor while you are here. As such, you should bear in mind that if they annoy me, I can make my displeasure known by giving them shit jobs. You, on the other hand, I can, and will, take a belt to your posterior for that very same reason.”
His brow furrowed in thought, “Um, as an aside. Some of these guys love a good wind-up…”
She interrupted, “Sorry, what’s a wind-up?”
“A practical joke of sorts. So, if any of them pretend they have the authority to put you over their knee or whatever nonsense they come up with, you may feel free to either tell them to fuck off, or if they’re being a pain in the arse, just let me know, and I’ll sort it out.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“It’s Rob,” he laughed, “well, it’s Rob as long as nobody’s annoyed me. Don’t worry; just like everyone else, you’ll soon know when that happens.”
…
It took Margo a little while to get into the swing of things, and sometimes she had to fight to shake off the mopish feelings of loneliness that sometimes haunted her, but she was anything if not determined. She might have fallen far in the last couple of years, but strangely the events of the last few weeks had maybe helped her find something inside her that she’d long thought lost.
She would get up at five, be ready to leave the prison by six, and by seven, she was sharing a coffee and some breakfast with Mrs. McGilvery. And if the woman thought it strange to be eating her morning toast and marmalade across the table from a naked American woman while discussing the day’s news, she never once let it show. It was as if she had simply dismissed Margo’s lack of clothes as “one of those things”, and therefore so entirely unremarkable as to be unworthy of mention.
Margo thought the woman was amazing, and often wondered exactly what level of craziness it would take to even make a dent in her unshakable aplomb. She suspected nothing so trivial as, say, a zombie apocalypse would even give her pause. She’d simply shake her head and tut with disapproval before telling them in no uncertain terms to, “Shoo!”
While Mrs. McGilvery was clearly a formidable woman, she was right when she described her abilities with, “That bloody machine!” as woeful, and the confusing mess Margo found on the computer took days to fix. She practically had to scrub the thing clean, download and install updated software and then rebuild the entire database almost from scratch, but by the time she was done, it was running smoothly.
When she showed Mrs. McGilvrey the results of her labours the woman was simply delighted. The accounts were all neatly kept, the list of donations and deliveries was fully updated and trackable, and Margo had spent endless hours making a complete inventory of available stock, all listed and with foodstuffs sorted according to the myriad “use by” and “best before” dates.
In between working in the office and the storeroom Margo would find herself cleaning in the kitchen or mopping floors. At one time she would have taken umbrage at the very thought of doing such menial tasks and probably looked down on those that did them, but now she just saw them as jobs that needed doing. It also helped that she could see that she was not alone, or being picked on, and all the volunteers were pitching in.
From the outset, she saw that Mrs. McGilvrey was doing her best to shield her from unwanted attention and, for the most part, kept her in the office or the store, and out of sight of the customers who used the soup kitchen, and Margo was incredibly grateful. But she was also determined not to hide and play the victim. She had gotten herself into this mess, and so she could just live with the consequences.
So, when the fire crews returned from jobs, and it was time to take them a cup of tea or a sandwich from the kitchen, Margo volunteered.
A couple of the other people working with her shook their heads and offered to do it for her, but Mrs. McGilvrey eyed the woman and nodded in understanding. She gave Margo a knowing smile and sniffed, “Quite right, my dear. If you have no choice but to pander to this nonsense, then you may as well own it. “Illegitimi non carborundum” I say! You show them that you won’t be shamed, and they’re damned lucky to have the opportunity to feast their eyes upon a lovely young woman like yourself in all her natural glory.”
Margo grinned, “Thanks Mrs. McGilvery.”
“Oh tosh! I’m only saying what is patently true. And please, it’s Josephine.”
The first day she had delivered the tea and sandwiches had caused quite a stir and more than a few hushed comments amongst the crews, but by the fifth day, nobody batted an eye, though there were still more than a few cheeky comments.
“Hey, Margo, you put extra milk in my tea, or have you just stirred it with one of yer nipples?”
But others were just as quick to come to her defence, “Och, leave the quine alone, ye cheeky wee prick.”
“Too right, it’s a wee prick! I saw it in the showers, I think. I mean, I couldna be sure cos I didna have my microscope wi me.”
“That’s not what you said that night after the work’s dance.”
“I wis drunk! It was a sympathy shag!”
And sometimes she would blush as she heard a few whispered remarks.
“Jesus, Bill, did you see the woman’s arse? It’s fucking awesome!”
“Do ye think she’d be mad if I took a snap on my phone?”
“I’m fucking sure your wife will be. She’ll cut yer knob off if she sees it.”
“Might be worth it.”
“Cannae argue wi ye there, man.”
There were two crews stationed at the Firehouse comprising nine men and three women. They were a tight-knit bunch, which was hardly surprising given the jobs they did and the risks they sometimes took. They were forever playing practical jokes on each other, and Margo suspected it was probably an outlet of some kind given the things they sometimes saw.
She could tell by the mood in the Muster Room when they had attended some horrible road accident or gone to a job where someone had died. They were morose and thoughtful for a spell, but then they just seemed to draw a breath and shake off, and to Margo it was an amazing thing to witness.
She was allowed to use the gym and other facilities at the Fire House and was glad of a hot shower at the end of a hard day. Usually, Margo would finish up about six in the evening, grab a shower, dress and go for a walk before heading back to the prison.
She would get back by eight or nine and read for a bit before collapsing in her bed, ready for the next day.
When Josephine found out she’d been coming in for a couple of hours on Sunday mornings she’d immediately arrived at the station and dragged Margo off to her house in Bearsden for Sunday dinner. The woman was a widow and her children had long grown up, so she lived alone in a sizeable property.
They had talked long into the evening and Margo had marveled at the woman’s stories. In fact, she almost choked when she found out…
“Wait! You were an actress and an underwear model! I thought you were a teacher or something!”
“I was a dancer too, and its lingerie my dear, and me? A teacher? Oh, dear Lord, can you imagine! It would have been mayhem,” she leaned close, “I’m afraid I was a teensy bit wild in my younger days. Are you sure I can’t temp you with a gin and tonic?”
Josephine laughed at the womans wide eyed stare, “You should see yourself my dear; you look like you’ve seen a Martian. You know, I still have a few of my portfolios. A bit vain of me to keep them I know, but would you like to see them?”
“Oh, this I’ve got to see.”
The photo album contained dozens of what looked like professionally taken shots. The woman in the pictures was much younger, but still easily recognisable as Josephine McGilvrey. The images showed her in an assortment of outfits and a variety of poses ranging from the tasteful to the extremely daring.
Margo lifted a picture of the woman lying back on a chez lounge wearing only sheer stockings and an alluring smile, and she whistled, “Woah, you were hot!”
“Oh, that’s one of my favourites! It was taken on my twentieth birthday. My late husband particularly enjoyed me in those stockings.”
“I just bet he did!”
The older woman giggled as she sipped her drink, “I never told my children about these. I’m just hoping after I’m gone that I’m looking down, or up more likely, when they find the albums. The look on their faces will be simply priceless!”
Margo so enjoyed the evening of chatting that she almost missed her bus. Josephine offered to drive her home but given the quantity of gin the woman had imbibed Margo thought it probably unwise. As it was, she made it back to the prison by the skin of her teeth, literally jogging up to the gate as the chimes of ten o’clock began to sound.
Given that her behaviour up till then had been exemplary the Warden had been inclined to overlook the slip for the most part and only gave her a minor scolding, and a couple of demerits just to make her point. Margo was careful to work them both off by the end of the week.
It could have been a bit of a mixed blessing when the firefighters started to include her in their pranks, but Margo took it as a sign of being accepted. On one occasion in particular her towel had yet again been stolen when she had been taking a shower and she stomped into the muster room soaking wet, with her long blonde hair hanging down in an uncombed mess almost to her butt, “For fucks sake guys, you’ve seen me naked enough times. Stop stealing my towel!”
They were waiting of course, with cellphones out, and the next day a spectacular photograph of her in all her glory was pinned to the notice board under the words, “Caption Contest.”
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