Thank you, thank you, thank you. For those people who read and then reviewed. You are the oxygen I need to breathe life into this story. Praise from the awesome Trufreak89 is particularly well received. I have no idea how she comes up with such incredible ideas, but I wish I had 10% of her talent. If you don't believe me, GO READ HER STUFF!
So here we go, the story continues...
Emily:
It took me a few seconds to realise I was actually awake. I waited patiently for the hangover to kick in, but surprisingly, it didn't. Then I remembered. For the first time in months, I had resisted Danny's suggestion that we start Sunday lunch with a few beers. A few beers that led to a bottle of Shiraz over lunch, and usually the best part of a bottle of vodka to finish the afternoon. The normal sequence of events started with him crashing about in the morning, trying to find his rugby kit after a skinful with the lads the night before. I would have the morning and early afternoon to myself, washing, ironing and generally being the dutiful fiancée, by looking after his every need. He would come home after spending an hour or two in the pub. Pissed up and usually sporting some heroic bruises, he would burst in and envelop me in a beery bear hug, I learned to hold my breath while his amorous lips nuzzled my neck. Quite frankly, second hand lager fumes are not the most romantic of scents. Like I said, several beers, glasses and tumblers later, I was normally as pissed as he was, and Sunday night was usually an early one for both of us. Not that that implies any sexual activity. He was asleep and snoring by 8, and I was starting my evening hangover early. Two paracetamol's and a gallon of water later, and I was joining him in the arms of Morpheus.
But today was different. I felt good. Clear headed and ready for the day. One look at the virtual corpse next to me was enough to make me get out of bed rapidly. My wonderful boyfriend/fiancée was on his back, bedclothes thrown to one side. His chest rose and fell in time with some very untuneful snores. I noticed that his face was getting that over florid mottled look I had seen on Saturday night roadside drunks before. The alcohol wasn't making him any more attractive, that's for sure. I looked down his body, seeing the start of a pretty impressive beer belly. And then hanging out of the leg of his shorts was... No fuck it, I've seen enough. No, it sure wasn't a good look for Monday morning.
Grabbing my discarded underwear, I padded to the en suite bathroom and treated myself to a long, hot shower. The needles of water massaged my hair and skin, and 15 minutes later, I was dressed and ready for a busy day. I looked myself up and down in the full length mirror next to the bed. Looking good, Ems, I thought, smirking at my reflection. I was pleased with the new red hair and with my black two piece business suit and matching heels, I looked every inch a professional. I had debated whether to wear a white tee under the jacket, but fuck it. The top buttoned up pretty high, so my black lace bra wasn't on show. In any case, the tan I had spent days cultivating in Sardinia this summer was still good enough to make my skin look great against the wool and silk material. I picked up my black leather briefcase, planted a very light kiss on Danny's cheek, not that he stirred, and walked into the lounge, looking for a coffee to complete my transformation. As I drank the dark, slightly bitter Brazilian, I thought about the way things had been going, and a frown appeared all by itself.
Danny and I were engaged, that's true, and I should have been ecstatic. After all, wasn't that what I had always wanted? Someone to look after me. Having spent 20 years living with my twin sister, I had no experience or desire to live alone. I had met him on a Home Office Conference in Leeds. He was just a plain old DC then, fresh from training, and still walked and talked a bit like the uniform plod he had been for the previous 4 years. I was a first year post graduate on the Home Office Governors IDS fast track. We were both interested in Criminology, which was my degree anyway, and something clicked. 6 months later, we were living together. But if I was honest with myself, something just wasn't right. Several times I had almost plucked up the courage to talk to him about it, but he always knew just the thing to say and do to distract me. Usually alcohol nowadays. Since he had been promoted to DS, his hours at work were longer and longer, and leisure time was being taken up by club rugby and too many nights out with the boys. Sure, I was still his preferred eye candy, and he loved showing me off at Police parties, but I had the distinct impression we were on the down slope of our relationship, and unless I did something about it, I could see a long and unhappy future stretching out before me.
I shook myself out of the introspection as I checked the briefcase for today's agenda. Breakfast meeting with the Number One Governor. That should take no longer than an hour. I had a meeting with the Chaplain at 11, which would give the old perv a thrill, and then office admin until after lunch. New inmate meet and greet at 2, then a tour of the wing with Principal Officer Phelps. That was never a bundle of laughs. He was old school. Lock 'em up and throw away the key. Charming. Unfortunately although he was one of a dying breed, there were quite a few like him at Larkwood. Oh well, as my mother says, little victories, I thought.
I stepped out into the crisp autumn air and breathed in the scent of fallen leaves and damp grass. It was good to be alive, I thought.
My car was parked in its bay, and I allowed myself a satisfied smile as I unlocked it and sat for a second or two, revelling in the new car smell and the soft leather seat. It was my baby. A white Golf Gti with alloys and a fuck off German sound system. It had cost me most of the money my Dad had given to me on graduation plus a shit load of late night working overtime, but she was worth it. Fast, comfortable and a real looker. Does it sound like I'd rather spend a night with her than Danny? Too right!
I drove to the prison with the window open, despite the chill in the air. I was happy ish. Work was going well, my flat was well on the way to being paid for, thanks to Danny's contributions, and I was driving my dream car. What's not to like?
As I pulled into the staff car park, I looked across, through the 20' high fencing to the admin block, with the inmates two storey buildings squatting behind it. I said a small prayer, thanking whoever was looking over me for being in the position I was in now, and not the horror most of the girls and women in those buildings had to endure daily. Sure, they had it much better here than the hell holes they had been in before. Styal, Holloway, there were still lots of Victorian rat holes still operating in today's prison estate, despite the greasy and self serving statements by successive Ministers. I saw the results every day. Broken people. Drug addicts, inadequates. Most of them were repeat offenders, caught in a cycle of abuse and despair.
Don't get me wrong. Even Larkwood had its share of real bastards. Thieves, murderers and sexual predators. But enough about the screws...
I shook off my thoughts, not wanting anything to spoil this day. I was feeling good, sharp and ready for whatever the day could throw at me. Just not over my nice new suit, I thought with a wry inward smile.
The morning passed quickly. The Number One was his usual vague and courteous self. We covered all the inmate movements on my wing, problems, adjudications planned and discharges for that week. Half an hour later I spent my usual 25 minutes with the chaplain while he listed all the issues that had been brought to him over the weekend. Weekends are not a time of rest and relaxation inside. The women have less to do, but that just gives more time for bullying and the odd bit of demanding money with menaces. I had only last week had two of the worst offenders removed back to Cat B at Holloway, but it was never going to be a problem solved, merely delayed. The happy Reverend also liked to look long and hard at women, so the 25 minutes seemed longer. I was briefly cross with myself for not putting on that tee shirt this morning. As he stood to take his leave, his eyes nearly fell into my cleavage. Fucker.
After a lunch of sandwiches and some nice black grapes, I drank my iced water and settled down to deal with the usual mountain of paper on my desk. Prisons live on two things you see. Paper and fear. The two of them are present in large quantities, and never ever get smaller. There were applications for home leave, compassionate leave for funerals and weddings. Applications for visiting orders, private spending money deposits and various other inconsequential issues which usually take up the bulk of my day.
Finally, I pushed the last file to one side and my ever present tame screw Glenda brought me a cup of fruit tea and cleared away the pile. Only one more job today and I was clear for my regular tour with the PO.
There were only two new transfers today. I scanned the first file quickly as I sipped the very welcome brew. Sasha New. Aged 21, serving 2 years for theft and shoplifting. Transferred from Styal. Her file contained the usual formal notes on her history. On the outside she had a pretty severe case of alcoholism. That at least would be on the way to being cured at the moment. Poor girl would have done months of cold turkey in Styal before getting here, so unless she was in with the hard cases and their inevitable home brewed apple and orange head banger juice, she should be OK. I read the rest of her file without much interest. She had 3 months to go until EDP (Earliest Date of Parole) so unless she fucked up royally while she was here, the Parole Board would get her out on licence then. Prison places are at such a premium these days, unless you were a crazy fool, you were shipped back onto the streets as soon as possible, someone else's problem until you ended up back here. Nice world huh?
I picked up the other file with slightly more interest. It was blue unlike the buff folder I had just put in the out tray. Blue was for drug and violence offenders, so I took my time reading the history of this Naomi Campbell.
Naomi Campbell, I thought. Apart from the obvious name check with the nasty model, what else made that name stick out?
I flicked through the prison records. Three and a half years into a 10 year stretch for DDD (Death by Dangerous Driving) and a concurrent 7 years for Possession of Class A drugs. Hmm, I thought. This one will need watching.
The usual formal notes were accompanied by some pretty comprehensive intelligence reports. The sort of reports that, although they are in the file, officially don't exist. Several officers had put in reviews of her behaviour since she had been inside. Uncommunicative, sullen, sarcastic, occasionally violent to other prisoners and staff, Highly intelligent (this note was accompanied by a grudging admiration for her refusal to belong to any of the 'posses' running in Styal. The reports were pretty much similar. A highly intelligent, rude, sarcastic and occasionally violent inmate.
Great. Way to spoil a day, I thought.
It wasn't until I flicked through the file again that I came to the photos. One was a police mugshot, taken just after she was arrested, I guess. Dark hair, eyes ringed with running mascara and a nice shiner just appearing on her left eye. She was looking down, so I didn't really see her features clearly.
The second was the standard Prison mugshot. Over lit and stark, it at least showed that she was a very pretty girl. Still with the dark hair, but the eyes were a flash of pale blue, with dark rings around the iris. She was frowning slightly, but it couldn't hide the attractive shape of her face.
It was the third shot which made me choke on my fruit tea, nearly dribbling over my £300 suit. It must have been taken well before her arrest. Probably pulled from her house when they searched it after the drug find. She looked to be about 14 or 15. No school uniform, but she was dressed in a Meat is Murder tee shirt and red dungaree outfit which screamed, 'Don't Fuck with Me'
I recognised two things different in this picture. One, she had blonde hair, cut in a short bob style. And two, I knew that outfit. In fact I had touched that outfit. Because that was what Naomi Campbell was wearing at that party. The one Katie had dragged me to so that she could spend an hour making out with some spotty youth a year above us in school.
The party where, after drinking too much vodka laced punch in the sweaty, heaving living room, I had escaped to the garden for some air. And the party where, after the briefest of introductions and conversation, I had kissed the face off a blonde girl. Kissed her for nearly a minute, the taste of her strawberry chap stick a memory I had never forgotten. Just like I had never forgotten the pain and humiliation of being discovered snogging another girl by my sister and her latest conquest a minute later.
Fuck, It was THAT Naomi Campbell.
I sat for a few minutes, digesting that thought. Who, why what, how. All the usual questions running through my mind. How the fuck had that beautiful girl ended up in here? I entered my password into the desktop computer beside my blotter and brought up her full written record. Manual files are mandatory in the service, but the new computer system at least had the benefit of background information missing on the paper records.
Naomi Campbell, aged 23, late of Bristol, via Holloway and Styal. Convicted of DDD and possession of Class A drugs after crashing a BMW 6 series into two kids standing at a bus stop at midnight in Bristol City Centre. Must have happened while I was in Manchester, at Uni, I thought. Didn't make the papers there. Just one more tragedy.
Mother, Gina Rose Campbell, still resident in Bristol. I looked at the list of visitors Naomi had been allowed. Her mum appears to have been a regular visitor, wherever she was incarcerated up to last year. Then nothing. Other than that, no other regular visitors.
The psychiatric report stated she showed no remorse for the crime. Said she didn't remember anything about it, other than waking up in the drivers seat with the horn blaring and a crowd of angry people trying to smash their way into the car.
Police report showed that she had several drugs in her system when the PME examined her. Cocaine, MDMA and something else, maybe a sedative, unknown substance to the lab. Added to that, she was over twice the legal alcohol limit.
Fuck, I thought, how did she even start the car, let alone drive it half way across Bristol from the club she had been seen leaving that night?
I looked at my watch and let out a small curse, Damn, it was nearly 2. The two new inmates would be outside my office already, waiting.
I decided to see Sasha New first. Straight forward case, early parole almost certain, just needed to cross the t's and dot the i's. Took me all of 10 minutes out of my allocated 25 minutes per prisoner. As she left my office, I felt a moments nervousness, before giving myself a good talking to.
Fucks sake Emily, I thought. For a start she probably has no idea who you are. It was 9 years ago, you've both changed, and I don't even think she knew my name. She may remember Katie more than me anyway, judging by the shit storm stirred up by "You fucking bitch, lezzing up my SISTER! I'm gonna KILL you" I think were my twins chosen words.
There was a firm tap on my door and I said "Come" as calmly as my heart would allow.
The door opened and Naomi Campbell walked in.
We both looked each other up and down steadily. She had lost weight since the last picture of her had been taken. Slim but not skinny. Although the loose tracksuit bottoms and grey hoodie didn't give any more hints at her shape than that. Her face was the same, just strange to see dark hair instead of the bottle blonde I remembered. Her eyes were still that bright iridescent blue, but she had shadows under them and her skin was typical prison tan. Pale is one thing, but prison, especially a closed prison, gives women a sallow paleness which marks them out easily.
I cleared my throat and spoke
"Hello Naomi. I'm Emily Fitch, your Wing Governor. Take a seat"
At least I managed that without choking, I thought.
"Thanks, I will" she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes
Once we were face to face, I could see bits of the old Naomi in her features. She had suffered, I could see that, and the guarded way she looked at me was typical of a long term prisoner facing officialdom. She wasn't going to give anything away, that's for sure.
"OK, the purpose of this first meeting is to determine a regime and plan for you in preparation for release on licence"
I started to go on, but she raised her hand, and I paused
"Excuse me, miss" she said, politely but definitely
"Is there any point in this conversation?" she grimaced
"I mean, drugs, violence, death...its all in the file I'm sure you've read it" She gestured to the blue folder in front of me.
She continued, while I watched her
"People like me are not usually parole material are we Governor Fitch?" her voice hardened as she emphasised my title.
I looked at her long and hard before answering.
"OK Naomi. You look and sound like someone who likes the unvarnished truth, so here it is"
I looked into her eyes and saw that she was listening
"So the Parole Board is less likely to be easy on you because of all this" I pointed to the file she had been eyeing since she walked in
"But you don't know me, which is why you don't trust me. I get that"
"Just let me explain what we are trying to achieve here, OK?"
She nodded shortly, but at least she was listening.
"Its my job to get you out of here. You may not believe that at the moment, why should you, but ask around. I'm not old school. I believe that there is more to you than meets the eye, and more to you than just a drunk who runs over people after a good night out"
I thought I had gone too far, but after a few seconds, I saw her eyes soften, just a little"
She sat back in the chair, arms folded and flashed me a very small and brief smile. This time it reached her eyes.
"Go ahead, disappoint me" she said, and this time the grin was wider.
"I have no intention of doing that Naomi" I said and tried a smile of my own
"And my name is Emily. At least while we are in this office. Outside I am afraid we are back to formalities"
She shrugged, but her eyes were still on me. Little victories, I thought.
Inside I was mighty relieved. It seemed she had blocked out the memory of our shared snog in that far off garden 9 years before.
Good, I thought. We can keep this on a professional level, and move on.
We covered the paperwork, and set up a schedule of meetings which she had to attend, both group and one to one with me. I gave her a written copy of the dates and times and she looked at it cursorily before slipping it into the pocket of her jacket
"OK" I said, starting to rise from my seat. I looked up and saw that her eyes weren't on my face any more. She was 'doing a vicar' as I called it. Her mouth twisted into a sly smirk as she enjoyed the brown flesh revealed as I leaned forward. My stomach got suddenly heated as I realised she could see the tops of my breasts clearly, enclosed in black lace. I reddened under my tan, cursing myself again for not putting on that tee.
"I'll see you on Wednesday then Naomi" I said in a voice suddenly croaky.
"I'll look forward to seeing more of you Emily" she said, still wearing that interested look"
I blushed a bit deeper and tried to pretend I was shuffling papers as she left the room.
Just as the door was about to close, she poked her head round it and said in a stage whisper
"It was a hell of a snog though, wasn't it?"
I nearly choked on my own spit as I heard her chuckling quietly to herself.
I sat back in my leather chair and looked up at the ceiling. Oh fuck, I thought, and this was gonna be such a good day...
For those of you who care, I have a few thoughts. First, don't be fooled into thinking this story will blindly follow any plots you have already seen. I have no desire to rehash or even emulate Helen Stewart and Nikki Wade in Bad Girls. I have neither the ability or the wish to to that. I envisage this story being about 10 or 12 chapters, each of about 3000 words. So no extra long episodes, although as I know now, stories seem to have a mind of their own!
And there will be smut, or as I prefer to call it, physical activity between willing females. I am not gonna give the game away by saying WHICH females... yet!
So please review if you liked it. Flame me at will, although my stock answer to anyone who hates anything I do enough to be rude is to say "You must be mistaking me for someone who cares" ha ha.