Page 119 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
I leaned my head against the railings. Could tonight get any worse?
Charlie Four quickly showed up. He was a fair bit older than Bravo One, and although he didn’t quite say, ’ello, ’ello, ’ello, what ’ave we ’ere then?” he might as well have, as he inspected me standing miserably behind the bars. Oh my God, it was like being in prison already!
“What’s all this then, Constable?” he asked Bravo One.
“Well, Sarge, this lady claims she has a key for this park, but she admits to entering it earlier by climbing over the top of the railings.”
“I see. Is this right, miss?”
“Yes, but—”
“One moment, Miss,” he said, holding up his hand. “Your turn will come. What else, Constable?”
“She also claims to live in Lansdowne Road but doesn’t have any ID on her to prove it.”
“I see. Anything else, Constable?”
“No, Sarge. That is the situation as it appears to me.”
“’Right, miss. Do you wish to add anything to the constable’s statement?”
Didn’t I need a lawyer present before making a statement to the police?
“I guess that’s kind of what happened. But you don’t understand. The reason I don’t have a key or any ID is because I had an argument tonight at home, and I had to come out in a hurry. I’m not a criminal.”
“Is that everything, miss?” the sergeant asked, eyeing me up and down through the railings.
I nodded my head sadly. Wasn’t it enough?
“Right then, you leave us no alternative. Constable, go to work.”
Bravo One looked blankly at his sergeant.
“The equipment, Constable?” Charlie Four demanded. “You do have it?”
Bravo One’s cheeks flushed and then he shrugged and shook his head.
Charlie Four rolled his eyes and sighed. “Then I shall have to improvise.” He reached for his handcuffs.
Oh no, were they going to cuff me to the gates until backup was called?
But instead of removing the handcuffs from his belt, he lifted them up and groped about in his pocket. “Nope, I don’t seem to have anything suitable,” he announced. “Constable, empty your pockets, please.”
“Sarge?”
“Your pockets—empty them. I’m looking for something to pick the lock with.”
The constable slowly emptied his pockets. One by one a tissue, a piece of string, a stick of gum, and a condom were placed into the sergeant’s outstretched palm.
The sergeant raised his eyebrows at the condom.
“I was a Boy Scout,” the constable explained. “Be prepared?”
“Indeed, Constable, we’ll discuss that fact later. But none of this is any good for getting the lock undone, now, is it?” He looked at me through the bars again. “I don’t suppose you have a hairpin on you, do you, miss?”
“Er, no,” I said, absentmindedly feeling about in my hair. I had worn it down tonight, so there were no accessories of any kind hidden in there.
“Then I shall have to ask you to remove your hat, Constable,” the sergeant instructed.
