by Kenny Walters
"I'm absolutely terrified!" Bethany Harris covered her eyes with her hands, tears already forming.
"I know. I know." Her friend and neighbour, Sandra Abbotson sat in the driving seat of the Land Rover Discovery and put a consoling hand on Bethany's shoulder.
"What time is it?" Bethany looked up, tears now flowing.
"Twenty to two. Plenty of time yet."
"Twenty minutes? I don't know if I can do this."
Sandra stared up at the ugly grey walls in front of them. "Yes, you can, Beth. You have to. It's not like you have any choice anyway. If you don't surrender yourself, they'll only come and find you."
"True. I know that really."
"It's going to be much better for you if you surrender yourself and let them do whatever they have to. Imagine the humiliation if your neighbours saw you being arrested and dragged away in handcuffs. They'd all know about it then."
"Yes, I'd never be able to show my face again."
"And the authorities might even increase your sentence."
"Yes, I know all that, but it doesn't make it any easier."
At that moment, another car, a bright red saloon car, pulled into the car park. The two occupants, a dark-haired woman in her forties and a teenage girl with slightly lighter brown hair sat looking at the bleak grey walls in front of them, and in particular at the sign by the side of two large blue-painted gates: Bremington Prison.
"Maybe someone else has a two o'clock appointment, Beth," Sandra Abbotson said, looking across at the new arrivals. "Perhaps there'll be several of you."
"Maybe. I thought I'd be alone, but perhaps they do it in groups. That girl looks young." Bethany wiped the tears from her face with a clean white handkerchief. "She must be a teenager, by the look of her."
"Yes, probably still in school. I wonder what she did."
"Who knows? Then again, maybe it's not her; maybe it's the older woman. Hey, is that someone else coming?" Bethany and Sandra both looked round as a third car stopped next to them.
"On her own? Surely not?" Sandra queried, looking at the single occupant. "Maybe she has a different reason for being here. Curious she's arrived at the same time though."
This third car was a low sports car, and the driver was a girl in her early twenties, very attractive, with long dark hair tied back into a ponytail.
"I could have done with someone my own age," Bethany said. "You know, for moral support."
"I know what you mean, Beth. Still, we don't know it's the teenage girl from the red car. It might be the older woman, probably her mum. She's more your age."
"No, it's the girl. She looks scared to death; the older woman just looks worried."
They both jumped when a car door slammed shut. The young woman in the sports car had got out and was walking slowly towards the main gates of the prison. She had a small wad of official-looking papers in her hand.
"Same kind of papers you've got, Beth. It's ten to two. She clearly doesn't want to be late," Sandra said, looking at her watch.
"I wonder why she's wearing that short skirt," Bethany said as she stared at the girl's pretty pale blue, quite loose-fitting skirt. A matching pale blue cotton top complemented the skirt.
Briefly looking down at her friend's rather tight grey pin-striped trousers, Sandra had an inkling but thought it better to keep her ideas to herself.
"I'd better get going," Bethany opened her bag and searched for her own papers.
"Good luck. I'll pop into the village and have a look round the shops. Give me a ring on your mobile when you're, you know, finished, and I'll come straight back and pick you up. I'll probably be back inside an hour anyway."
"Thanks, Sandra. I don't know how I'd have managed without you."
As Bethany Harris started walking to the main gate, she was joined by the teenage girl from the third car. They smiled weakly at each other, and saw the first girl was being admitted through the gates. A female prison officer held a small side door open for them.
"Yes?" The officer, short and blonde, greeted them tersely.
"I'm Bethany Harris. I've been ordered to report here at two o'clock," said Bethany. She held her papers out, but the officer looked at the younger girl.
"And you?"
"I'm Amy Walstead. I've been instructed to report here too."
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"Right. Inside."
As they entered through the small side door, they found themselves in a large concrete yard. The first girl to enter, the attractive girl with the ponytail, was standing ahead of them with her arms stretched out to either side while another tall, somewhat overweight, female prison officer was searching her extremely thoroughly.
As the door slammed shut behind them, the blonde prison officer spoke sharply.
"Take five steps forward, then stand still. Stand with your feet twelve-inches apart, arms out to either side."
"I've been dreading this," the eighteen-year-old girl from the red car whispered to Bethany as they both complied with the instruction.
The overweight prison officer, having finished with the first girl, now came to search Bethany, while the shorter blonde officer started searching Amy.
"Couldn't this be done inside, in private?" Bethany asked politely, as she watched several women in scruffy non-uniform clothes wandering around the yard and watching them intensely.
"Keep your mouth shut and just do as you're told!" snapped the overweight officer.
Bethany thought about protesting at the aggressive manner, but decided it might be better to just keep her mouth shut. She cringed as the disagreeable woman searched just about every inch of her body, lingering around her breasts, her bottom and between her legs.
Looking to her right, Bethany saw the blonde prison officer was at least treating the teenaged girl with a little more sensitivity, and only lightly brushed her hands across the seat of the girl's blue jeans and across the front of her white T-shirt.
"Place your hands by your sides and walk in single file. Follow Prison Officer Anderson," the tall officer commanded.
With the shorter blonde prison officer leading the way, the small group crossed the concrete yard and entered the main prison complex by way of another blue-painted door. Inside was a long corridor ahead of them, with a small reception area to the left. Another prison officer leaned on the counter.
"Papers!" This officer had three white stripes on her epaulets, against the one stripe of the other officers, but was otherwise dressed in the same dark blue trousers and white shirts. Bethany and the two younger women placed their papers on the counter and waited.
"Elizabeth Birke?"
"That's me," the dark-haired young woman from the sports car replied, with little emotion other than a slight tremor in her voice.
"I'm Chief Prison Officer Matherson. You address me as ma'am when you speak to me. Understood?"
"Sorry. This is all very new to me, ma'am."
Bethany was surprised at how this bright young woman had suddenly become so submissive.
"Aged twenty-three. Drunk and disorderly in a public place. Insulting a police officer. Correct?"
"Yes, that's correct, ma'am," the girl, seemingly close to tears, answered nervously.
"Eight strokes of the cane. Correct?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Amy Walstead?"
"Ma'am," the teenage girl answered nervously. She already had tears trickling down her cheeks.
Bethany saw her tears and instinctively put her arm round the girl's shoulder to comfort her.
"Step away now!" snapped PO Anderson.
"She's petrified!" Bethany explained. "I'm just offering her a little support."
"I said, step away now!" PO Anderson was at least three inches shorter than Bethany, but her menacing manner was enough to persuade Bethany to comply.
Chief PO Matherson, standing behind the counter, watched for the small altercation to end, then barked, "Aged eighteen. Possession of a small quantity of cannabis. Five strokes of the cane. Correct?"
The girl burst into crying openly, and simply nodded.
"I asked you to confirm your name, age, offence and sentence. You need to answer me."
"C-c-correct," Amy managed to stutter through her tears.
"Bethany Harris?"
"That's me, ma'am." Bethany found it hard to address this dark-haired, plain-looking woman as ma'am, a term she hadn't used since her school days.
"Aged thirty-nine. Violent assault. Something about a row over a parking space? Nine strokes of the cane. Correct?"
Bethany wanted to explain how an argument about who arrived first at a parking space had escalated into a row and resulted in her slapping the awful man round the face, but knew this woman likely would not be interested.
"Correct, ma'am."
"How long are we going to be here, ma'am?" Elizabeth Birke asked, somewhat unwisely in Bethany's opinion.
Chief PO Matherson glared at the attractive young lady as though her simple question was some kind of insult.
"Keen to get on with it, are you?" Chief PO Matherson smirked.
"No!" The girl replied defensively. "I was just wondering, that's all."
"Perhaps I need to explain one or two things to you," Chief PO Matherson looked around at all three of the new arrivals. "You have all surrendered yourselves in accordance with the court's instructions. If you hadn't, have no doubt you would have soon been arrested and most likely would have faced additional penalties. So, you've all been most sensible keeping your appointments. Until your sentences have been carried out, you are now prisoners here, just like all the other prisoners locked up here. Just do as you're told and you'll be out of here, somewhat wiser, but not detained longer than you need to be. Is that clear?"
The three women murmured that they understood.
"Good. Any questions?"
Even if they had, no one felt it sensible to voice them.
"Good. PO Morris, please take these ladies along to the holding room. You should find Junior Officer Masters has got everything ready for you. Show her the ropes, if you would be so kind. PO Anderson, you'd better go along too. This will be young Masters' first experience, so keep an eye on her."
"Right you are, Chief," the short blonde-haired officer confirmed.
"Come along, this way." The tall officer brushed a hand over her mousey-brown, short hair and pointed further along the corridor outside the reception area.
Bethany went first with the two younger girls following.
"Turn left. Third door on the right," PO Pauline Morris called from the back of the line.
"Here?" Bethany looked round when she reached what she thought was their destination.
"Stay in the corridor. Stand facing the right hand wall with your hands on your heads."
The three detainees complied while the tall prison officer pushed open the door and went inside. They could hear two people talking, but the wall was too thick to allow them to hear what was being said.
"It's like being in school," Bethany whispered to her neighbour, Elizabeth Birke.
"No talking!" PO Anderson barked.
As she stood in line, Bethany tried to take long deep breaths to calm herself. It seemed better not to think, not to anticipate. Each of them was going to be punished in accordance with their sentences. There was no way of avoiding it, however unpleasant it was going to be. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other two young women standing very still, hardly daring to move. Why were the prison officers all so sharp with them? It seemed so unnecessary. Wasn't the harsh punishment enough?
Both her new companions were staring at the wall intently, as though the grubby paint held some attraction. More likely, they were lost in their own thoughts and struggling to deal with the nightmare they found themselves in. Probably, their thoughts would be no different to her own.
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