Page 118 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
“Nothing really, officer,” I said, racking my brains for a reason to be here.
The policeman rattled on the gate. “This gate appears to be locked, miss. You do have a key for this park, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” I said, telling the truth. OK, I might not have it on me just now…
“Would you mind coming over here and showing me?” the officer asked. “Only we get quite a few reports of vandals trying to get in these gardens, so I have to check, you see. It’s all because of that film they made here a few years ago. I don’t know if you know it at all—NottingHill, it was called.”
“Er yes, I do know it.” I got up from the bench and made my way slowly across to the railings. I tried to make small talk while I felt around in my pockets, praying I’d find a key. “It’s a good film, have you seen it?”
“Yeah, several times, my girlfriend loves it. Loves old Hughie boy, more like. We have to go and see every bloody film he’s in.”
“But you must have enjoyed watching Julia Roberts,” I said, stalling for time.
“Yeah, she’s OK. Prefer blondes myself. Cameron Diaz—now she’s much more my cup of tea.”
My hand struck on something hard—hoorah!
“Here’s my key,” I said, confidently holding up the key to Belinda’s jewelry box. I’d been having a nose about the house on one of my “down” days a while ago, and had bent the tiny key while trying to get it into the lock on the box. I’d put it in my pocket to remind me to get a new one cut while I was out. But then everything had kicked off with my mother, and I’d never got around to it.
The police officer looked doubtfully at the key. “It looks a bit small, miss.”
“No, this is the key. How else would I have got in here otherwise?”
“Perhaps you’d like to open the gate for me then, miss. Then I can leave you be and carry on my way.”
“Er…right then.” Hopefully I tried the tiny key in the lock, praying that it might just “pick” the mechanism and open it. Well, stranger things had happened.
But unfortunately they weren’t going to happen to me tonight.
“Ah, it appears to be stuck,” I said, rattling the key about in the oversized lock.
The police officer raised his eyebrows at me. “I think both of us know that key has never opened up this gate, don’t we, miss?”
I looked down at the ground and made patterns in the dust with my toe.
“I’ll ask you my earlier question again, miss. Just what are you doing in that garden?”
“I do have a key, honestly, Officer. It’s just I came out in a rush—and forgot it.”
“In that case, Miss, just howdidyou get into the garden tonight?”
“I climbed over the top,” I mumbled.
“I beg your pardon, miss?”
“I said I climbed over the railings.”
“I think you’d better wait right there, miss.” The officer bent down to his lapel and spoke into his radio. “Bravo One to Charlie Four—I require some assistance at the gardens just off Rosmead.”
“Roger, Bravo One, right with you,” came back the crackly reply.
“Look, I’m not a hooligan or anything like that,” I protested, imagining myself being handcuffed and carted away in the back of a police van. “I really do have a key—I live in Lansdowne Road.”
“Could I see some ID then, please, miss?”
“Yes, of cour—” I reached for my missing bag. “No, I don’t actually have any on me right now.”
“I thought not. If you could just wait there, please, miss.”
