We arrived outside the Warden’s office, where I was told to wait in an open reception area until I was called. A female screw, who I didn’t recognize, sat behind a desk to one side of the space, working on a computer; but also keeping a constant eye on what I was doing. No one trusted a con with anything and they were right to do so, because we would nick anything we could get our hands on.
I was wearing a pair of washed blue jeans and a prison issue blue short sleeve blouse, both of which were still damp from working in the laundry. The regime in the prison was pretty lax, I thought, for most of the older inmates wore exactly what they wanted. When I heard I was being sent to Holloway Prison I had pictured drab grey uniforms with arrows on, or a big number across my back. Thankfully, they had scrapped such degrading garb long before I was born.
A buzzer sounded on the screw’s desk and after a brief conversation, she rose from her chair and walked over to where I was seated.
“Hudson, follow me.” She led me to the Warden’s office door and ushered me inside.
I had only been in the room once, when I first arrived to receive the welcoming lecture from the middle aged female warden. It was an uncomfortable visit having just found out that I could be incarcerated for up to 5 years in the most notorious women’s prison in England.
On entering I immediately recognized Warden Briggs standing beside a tall man with greying hair. They were both in suits, hers was royal blue, while his was dark grey. The Warden wore her permed dark hair up and had a pair of narrow glasses perched on the end of her nose. They both turned toward me when I entered.
“Ah, Hudson. Come and take a seat.” She pointed to an upright chair at the side of the desk.
I walked over and sat down, wondering what on earth I had done wrong, or whether my cell had been searched in my absence. I had heard stories of punishments and reprimands being handed out by Warden Briggs, after an unannounced shake down. The presence of the man though, suggested that it was another kind of problem. But, on the other hand, the stern woman seemed far too genial to be angry over a misdemeanour, or my behaviour.
The tall middle aged guy silently studied me, before walking over and perching himself on the edge of the Warden’s desk, right in front of where I was sitting. He was holding a file, which he laid on the desk beside where he was sitting. Behind him, the Warden walked back to her chair and sat down. She was obviously going to let the tall stranger do all the talking.
“Hello Beth, my name is Steven Dougherty. I’m a barrister in the law firm of Dougherty, Smith & Klein. It is okay to call you Beth?” he asked politely.
“Sure, if you like,” I replied.
“Show Mr Dougherty a little more respect,” snapped Warden Briggs.
“Sorry Mam.”
I was overawed at being confronted by such an officious looking guy. Nobody in authority, within the jail, had ever spoken to me using my first name, so something very strange was going on.
“Beth, I’ve been appointed by the Crown Court to represent your interests,” he explained.
“Why would they do that?” I asked.
“There’s been a development in your case,” he explained.
“Oh!” I sat up in my chair, suddenly interested.
“The DPP has been reviewing your sentence in an extraordinary court session.” He reached sideways to collect a sheet of paper from his file.
Fuck! I thought. I had heard on the grapevine that the DPP had managed to get some sentences increased. They were cases where the prosecution thought the judge had been too lenient. Was that what he’d come to tell me? I wondered.
“The crown court sat yesterday,” he continued. “I represented your interests and I’m pleased to say that your sentence has been reduced to one year imprisonment with two suspended.” I stared at him in astonishment. Then I looked at the Warden, who nodded.
“W… what does this mean?” I stuttered.
“Well, when your time on remand has been added to your 10 weeks here at Holloway and then remission for good behaviour…” He paused. “It means that at 10am tomorrow morning, you can walk out of here a free woman.”
“Tomorrow,” I said, disbelievingly. “I can go home tomorrow?” I jumped to my feet.
“Well no not exactly.” He held up his hand, so I sat down again, deflated. “There are conditions to your release. You will be on licence, Beth. Because you are under 21 you are a young offender and will have to stay at a probationary boarding house until you are 21, whereupon you will be able to find your own accommodation.”
I sat there stunned, trying to absorb the news. My birthday was December 21st, so I did a quick calculation on how long I had to wait and came up with 5 months! Still, anything would be better than staying in a hellhole like Holloway.
“You will be tagged and limited to an area of 2 miles radius from your room and you will be restricted by a curfew from 10pm to 8am. There are some other exclusions and non-association limitations, but your probation officer will go through those with you tomorrow.”
I sort of got the last part, but I was focusing on the fact that I was getting my freedom the following day. Boarding house? I began to wonder if it would be near where I used to live with Dennis.
“How will I know where to go?” I asked trying to supress my excitement.
“Your probation officer, Jack Taylor, will be here at 10 am and will take you to your digs and explain the rules you’ll be living under, until your sentence is completed.”
“Why have they reviewed my case after all this time?” I asked.
“Jack Taylor will explain everything to you after he’s picked you up in the morning,” the barrister replied.
“Are there any more questions, Beth?”
I couldn’t think of any, so I shook my head, dumbly. I started to think of all the possibilities that were opening up for me, while the barrister sorted through his paperwork. I sat stunned while he laid out several sheets of paper for me to sign.
Within five minutes I was on my way back to the laundry.
As I trudged through the corridors of the prison, I questioned the sequence of events in my mind. I had had a discussion with a lawyer about a week after being imprisoned. He categorically told me that there were no grounds for appeal. So why hadn’t I been told about the hearing? I’m not the brightest button in the box, but even I know my legal rights.
Damn! I should have asked more questions, I thought, admonishing myself. I felt like kicking the wall and jumping for joy at the same time.