The Debt & the Doormat (11 page)

‘I actually need a letter back that I posted by accident,’ I say as sweetly as I can.  He ignores me and takes out the grey bag.  ‘So if I could just get it.’

‘Afraid not love.  Once it's posted it’s posted.’

‘Sorry?  What do you mean; once it's posted it’s posted?  It hasn’t been posted.  It's just been put in the red box and I want it back.  So I think, you know as the customer, you should give it back to me.’  My voice is raising in panic.  Try to remain calm.

‘Sorry love, but its policy.  Once it's in our hands it's ours.’

‘But you’ve only literally just put it in your hands!  Can't you just turn a blind eye this once?’ I ask trying to dazzle him with my smile.

‘Well...’ he looks at me questionably.  ‘If you show me some ID then...well, maybe I’d think about it.’

‘Great!’ I exclaim, already starting to calm down.  I reach into Jazz’s patent bag for my purse.  A sinking feeling starts to take over my stomach.  I don't have my purse.  That bastard thief has it.

‘I....I don't actually have any ID.  I got mugged last night.  But, is there anything you could do anyway?’  I smile as brightly as I can.

‘Well then, like I said, there’s nothing I can do.’   

I knew I should have had my teeth whitened.  And maybe a boob job. 

‘Surely you can try and help us out?’ Ryan asks, reminding me that he’s still here.

I turn to stare at him, shocked that he wants to help.  Or maybe he just wants me to embarrass myself more and is setting me up.

‘Like I told your lady.  It's no good.  It's now Royal Mail property.  Have a good evening.’  He loads the sack in the back of the van and starts up his engine.  I stare helplessly from the pavement.

‘Well....I’m calling your supervisor!’ I shout at him.

He ignores me and starts indicating to pull out. 

A helpless feeling, threatening to give me a heart attack starts spreading over my body.  What the hell am I going to do?  I can't let that letter get to Him.  The thought of him reading it makes me feel sick.  He’ll think I’m crazy and any last shred of dignity I had will be washed away forever. 

‘Quickly, give me your keys!’ I shout to Ryan.

‘What?’ he asks, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

‘Just give me your fucking keys!  I need to follow him,’ I shout impatiently.

‘No way am I letting you drive,’ he snorts.

‘Please!’ I beg, jumping up and down like a spoilt child.  ‘I’m desperate!’

He looks at me, seeming to be considering if this is a good idea. 

‘Come on,’ he says, opening the car and getting in.  ‘I’ll drive you.’

‘Great.’  I jump into the small ford fiesta.  ‘Follow that van!  I’ve always wanted to say that,’ I giggle.

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. 

‘So...what’s so important about getting this letter back anyway?’

‘It’s...it’s a long story.  Let’s just say that.’

‘Come on.  I’m following a post van.  The least you can do is tell me why?’ he asks, a comical look on his face.

‘It's private, ok’.  I cross my arms defensively. 

‘Ok.’  He rolls his eyes.  ‘Always a drama,’ I hear him mutter under his breath.

‘Here!  He’s pulling over,’ I screech, watching as the postman pulls over next to another red post box. 

Ryan pulls over a little behind him. 

‘What do we do now?’ he asks, yawning as if to show how bored he is.

‘Sssh!  I’m thinking.’  I watch the postman get out of the van and head towards the post box.  He seems to decide to walk to the end of the street to get the other post box and I grab my chance. 

‘Stay here,’ I instruct Ryan. 

I get out of the car and sneak over to the back of the van, which he’s left open.  I look inside and see at least ten identical grey sacks.  Shit.  I start rifling through one of them, desperate to find the pink envelope but there must be a hundred letters in this sack alone. 

‘What are we looking for?’ Ryan says, suddenly at my side.

‘A pink envelope,’ I say not stopping for a moment.

‘Shit, he’s coming,’ he whispers, grabbing my arm, trying to pull me away.

‘But I need to find this letter!’ I persist.

‘Come on!’  He begins to pull me away, more forcibly this time.

‘No!  I need this,’ I wail, throwing him off me.  ‘You don't understand’. 

Before I can think rationally I climb into the back of the van.

‘Poppy!  Get the fuck out!  He’s coming,’ Ryan whispers angrily, his face scrunched up in impatience.

‘Just go.  I’ll be fine,’ I whisper.

He looks around, clearly considering his options.  He lets out a big sigh and then jumps in too.

‘For fucks sake,’ he sighs, crawling to the back of the van.  ‘Quickly, hide!’

We sink down behind the sacks so we’re not seen just in time for him to arrive at the back of the van whistling.  We look at each other nervously, hoping he won't notice us.  I’m trying so hard to be quiet, but even my breathing sounds heavy.  The postman calmly goes round to the front and turns the engine on, loud trance music blasting out of the stereo.  What kind of old dude listens to trance?

‘Quick,’ I whisper.  ‘You take that sack.  It's a pink envelope.’  I riffle through, but all I see is stacks and stacks of white letters. 

‘Is this it?’ Ryan asks holding up my pale pink letter.

‘Oh my God, I could kiss you!’ I say, massive relief taking over me. 

He smiles awkwardly and I quickly feel embarrassed as I realise what I’ve said.  What if he thinks I’m after him now?

‘Now how the fuck are we gonna get out of here?’ he asks, his voice low and serious.

‘Um...I didn’t really think that through,’ I admit reluctantly. 

‘Yeah, that much is obvious,’ he snorts.

‘I say we just make a run for it,’ I shrug.

‘Are you serious?’ he asks, completely horrified. 

‘Yes.  Now shush!’  I put my hand over his mouth and listen as the van grinds to a halt. 

I feel his warm breath on my hand and try not to think how it's giving me goose pimples.  This is neither the time nor the place.  We listen as the doors open and sunlight streams through the sacks.  Footsteps go away from the van, probably to collect some more post.

‘Go!’ I whisper pushing the sacks out of the way.  Ryan looks at me in disbelief, but follows me as we both jump out and run as fast as we can down the road.

‘You two!  Come back here!’ we hear him shout after us.

I look back for a second and to my horror he’s actually running after us.  Oh my God.  And he’s actually quite fast for an old man.   

‘Run faster,’ Ryan shouts.  He grabs my arm and practically drags me along the street. 

I run as fast as my legs can take me, but they feel like lead weights, probably still exhausted from Izzy’s workout.  If he catches me will he call the police?  Will I go to prison for stealing post? 

After we’ve turned into the next street and run to the end of that one we finally stop, both completely out of breath.  I’ve got a stitch on my right side, doubling me over in pain.  I consider demanding he carry me the rest of the way, but I don't know if that would just play into his whole princess idea of me. 

‘Where are we?’ I ask him, not recognising any of the houses around us.

‘I think we’re on Evelyn Street.  We need to walk another three roads before we get back to my car.’

‘Oh crap,’ I say, the soles of my feet burning.  ‘Wait.  I just need to take these shoes off.’  I bend over and release the straps of my flats.  I press my feet onto the pavement and moan with pleasure. 

He smirks at me, but quickly looks away when I catch him. 

‘Anyway, are you ever going to tell me what the letter was about?’ he presses.

‘It was...it’s really embarrassing.’  I look at the pavement and my feet, covered in blister plasters.  What a mess I must look like.  Since I’ve met him I’ve lied about being Jazz’s cousin, been tied to a banister, had a one night stand, nearly started a house fire, been mugged and now chased after a post man.  He must think I’m a raving lunatic. 

‘It sounds funny.  Come on...tell me.’  He smiles encouragingly.  ‘If the police come knocking on the door for stolen post I want to know what I’m going down for.’

I look back at him, feeling warm from his humour.  When he’s nice he can be quite cute. 

‘I doubt you’d go to prison for stolen post,’ I retort, blushing despite myself. 

‘You don't know how serious this is.  A proper brush with the law I’d say,’ he says playfully.

‘Ok!  If you stop winding me up I’ll tell you.’

‘I can't promise anything,’ he says, his eyes smiling.

‘Ok, it was a letter I’d written to my ex just after we’d broke up.’

‘Oh.  And what?  You never got round to posting it?’

‘No.  I never meant to post it.  Jazz made me write it; said it was good therapy or something.  Read it in some magazine of hers and then she took it away so I couldn’t actually post it.’

‘And then Izzy found it?’

‘Yep.’

‘She’s always tidying things away.  I can't tell you the amount of stuff I’ve lost because of her incessant cleaning.’

‘Yeah, well she meant well,’ I say, suddenly feeling bad for talking about her.

Ryan’s phone starts buzzing and he takes it out of his pocket.  ‘Jazz,’ he explains to me.

‘Hey Jazz, what's up?’ he says into the phone.  ‘Um, yeah, sure.  She’s just here with me.’  He hands over the phone to me and I look back at him confused.  ‘She wants to talk to you.’

‘Hey hun.’

‘Um...hi,’ she says, sounding weird.  Her voice is clipped and high pitched.  

‘Jazz?  Are you ok?’

‘Um....yeah.  I just....’ she trails off and I hear her gulp heavily.  This must be bad.

‘What is it?’

Ryan looks up, his face full of concern.  ‘What?’ he mouths to me.

‘Um....the police are here,’ she says, her voice quavering.

‘The police?’

Ryan’s eyes widen in confusion.

‘They say I need to go down the station with them.’

‘What?  Why?  What did you do?  Oh Jazz, I really do wish you’d stop getting yourself into trouble.’

‘Actually,’ she says, a bit defensively, ‘that's why I’m calling.  They want you to meet us there.’

‘Where?’

‘St Albans police station.  They’re arresting us.  Apparently....something to do with a...fire.’

An hour later, Ryan and I are walking into St Albans police station.  I’ve explained everything to him and although he’s horrified, he hasn’t told me off, which if I’m honest is what I thought he’d do.  I assu
med he’d be the first to rub it in.  How I’m a raving criminal.

I walk up to the little glass window with a woman sat behind it.  She’s got grey hair and a stern long face.  She instantly reminds me of my old headmistress. 

‘Um...’ I clear my throat.  ‘My name’s Poppy Windsor.  I’ve been asked to come down.  My friend Jasmine Green has also been arrested.’

She looks back at me with disgust and I retract, my stomach bubbling with nerves. 

‘I’ll call someone.  Please take a seat.’  She gestures to some red plastic chairs. 

I go to sit down, my entire body now shaking.  Ryan smiles weakly at me as if to try and reassure me.

‘Don't worry,’ he says.  ‘I won't let them keep you for long.  I’m sure they have no evidence anyway.’

I smile, my mouth now so dry I can barely swallow.  I look down at the cracked tiles and start counting the corners to try and calm my mind. 

‘Miss Windsor?’ a butch policewoman says, towering over me.  She’s got a heavy black moustache that she should really bleach and her brown hair is tied back tightly into a boring low pony tail.

‘Y-y-yes,’ I stammer. 

‘I’m DI Darcy.  I’m arresting you for the criminal damage caused to St Bernard’s Street in St Albans.’

I stare back at her, my heart sinking.  In spite of myself, I’d still harboured a secret, tiny belief that it would all be ok.  That they’d apologise and say it was all a big mistake.  I mean, I didn’t actually think they’d properly arrest me.

‘You’ll have to be kept in a cell for a short while, during which we’ll conduct an interview with Miss Green.  You can have one phone call if needed and we can arrange for you to have free legal advice.  Will that be required?’

I open my mouth to try and respond but Ryan stands up.

‘I’ll be representing Miss Windsor and Miss Green,’ he says, puffing his chest out proudly.

What the hell is he doing?  He can't pretend to be a solicitor.  They’ll figure it out.

‘Oh really?’ the policewoman says to him in amusement.  ‘And can I ask who you are?’  She raises her eyebrows at him as she surveys his tracksuit bottoms and white t-shirt.

‘I’m Ryan Davis, her Solicitor.  Previously of Hanson & Estuary law firm.’

‘Oh,’ she says, taken aback.  ‘Well fine.  We’ll get her checked in.  If you could wait here and we’ll call you when we’re conducting the interviews.’

‘Fine,’ he says, with a stern face.  ‘Please ensure my clients aren’t held for any more time than needed.’

She nods and blushes.  Wow, he’s so strong and powerful looking.

‘Miss Windsor, if you could come with me please,’ DI Darcy says, her stern voice back.

I look up at her, still in my seat.  My insides are turning to jelly.  I look at her and then Ryan helplessly, feeling sick with fright, not daring to move a muscle. 

Ryan offers me his hand.  I take it and slowly get to my feet, taking deep breaths to try and calm myself.  I swallow hard, my eyes pricking with tears.  Ryan puts his hand on my lower back, guiding me towards her.

‘Don't worry Pops,’ he whispers in my ear.  ‘It’ll all be fine.’

I smile back gratefully as I’m herded away.  I’m taken to a ginger policeman who takes my fingerprints and then takes my handbag, mobile phone and shoe laces from my trainers.  I mean, shoelaces?  What the hell do they think I’m going to do,  hang myself on them? 

I’m led into a large hallway with doors all the way down it.  People are shouting and I flinch nervously.  At least the ginger policeman didn’t put me in handcuffs.  He leads me into a tiny blue room without a window.  There’s a tiny bed big enough for a midget and a heavily stained smelly toilet.  The walls are covered in penned graffiti.  How did they manage to get a pen in here when I’m not even allowed shoe laces? 

‘We’ll come to collect you for interviewing as soon as we can.’

I nod nervously.  He smiles back briefly, clearly feeling slightly sorry for me.  Then he slams the door and locks it.  I sit on the bed, scared of what disease I might be contracting doing it and start to cry.  How could I have gotten myself into this mess?  This isn’t Jazz’s fault.  This is all of my own doing.  I’m so
so
stupid.

I get up and walk to the door, opening the little hatch and stare outside.  There’s still a lot of shouting going on and I listen to what they’re shouting about.  The closest voice I hear sounds familiar. 

‘Jazz?’ I call out sheepishly.

‘Pops?’ she bellows back.

‘Yeah, it's me,’ I say, rubbing the tears from my face.  ‘You OK?’

‘As OK as I can be.  I’d be better if these
fucking pigs would let me go!
’ she screams, her voice suddenly picking up.  I forgot what she’s like about authority.

‘Jazz, shut up!  You’ll get us in more trouble!’

‘Whatever!’ she shouts.  ‘Do you know they took my heels from me?  My fucking
Prada
!  They’re pigs. 
Heartless pigs,’
she screams, her voice breaking from emotion.  That's Jazz – she could be arrested fine, but take away her shoes and she’ll cry like a baby. 

‘Don't worry hun.  I’m sure we’ll be out of here soon.  Ryan’s being our solicitor.’

‘Well thank fuck for that.  I tried calling the family solicitor Reggie but it went to voicemail and the fucking arseholes said I’d had my one phone call and they could offer free legal advice!  Free legal advice!  Some idiot that got their degree at a local college?  How ludicrous.’

‘Shut up you stupid bitches!’ a voice suddenly barks towards us.  I peer out of the latch trying to work out who said that, as a swoop of fear takes hold of me.

‘Why don't
you
fucking shut up!’ Jazz shouts.  ‘Or I’ll give you something to fucking shout about!’

There’s silence as I wait for my life to end.

‘Jazz!’ I whisper, completely horrified.  I’ve never seen Jazz like this.  ‘You’re really scary in prison.’  

‘I know,’ she giggles.  ‘Thank God I watched so much Bad Girls years ago.’

Heavy footsteps echo along the hallway and we both freeze as we watch a policeman round the corner.  He walks towards Jazz’s cell.

‘Miss Green.  DI Darcy is ready for you.’

She’s taken out of her cell and as she’s led past my cell she smiles at me.  Yet I can see that behind that bravado she’s as terrified as me.

Half an hour later she’s back, her hair frazzled and her eyes droopy.  Before I can ask how it's gone, the policeman opens my cell door. 

‘Miss Windsor.  DI Darcy is waiting for you.’

I swallow hard and let him lead me into the grey interview room.  Ryan is already sat there, with the butch policewoman on the other side of the desk.  He doesn’t smile at me.  He actually looks a bit worried. 

I sit down next to him, feeling completely hopeless.  I’m going to prison.  I’m going to have to eat Spam to survive and I’ll probably end up being someone’s bitch.  And I’ll get tattoos and probably contract HIV from the needles.  My whole prison life flashes before me.

Ryan clasps my hand under the table, making me jump.  He squeezes it reassuringly and I try to smile back, but my face is frozen in fear.

Butch policewoman DI Darcy presses a button on her tape recorder and turns to look at me.

‘Interview with Miss Poppy Windsor, conducted on June 10th at 19.37.’  She leans back in her chair.  ‘Miss Windsor, you do not have to say anything.  However, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.  Do you understand or would you like me to explain further?’

‘No, that's fine’ I nod.  ‘I’ve seen a lot of CSI.’

Ryan puts his hand up to his mouth to stifle a giggle.  I don't see how laughing at me is helping me. 

‘Miss Windsor, we have sufficient evidence to believe that you and your friend Miss Green set a public bin on fire in St Bernard’s Drive in St Albans.  What do you say to that claim?’

‘I say it's all lies!  I’m innocent, I tell you!  Totally innocent.  I’ve never had anything like this before.  Well, OK, so I did once return my library books late when I was fifteen and I got a fine, but Greg Carlson was fighting Tim Kevinson and I totally forgot all about it!

She stares back at me blankly.  Maybe I’m starting to ramble. 

‘Right.  Can you tell me what happened on the night of Saturday 1
st
?’

‘Nothing!  Me and Jazz just had a few drinks and kind of passed out.  I don't actually remember anything.’

‘So you
could
have done this and just been too drunk to remember?’

‘Please don't put words into my client’s mouth,’ Ryan protests, his face blank and scary. 

‘So you have no idea how the fire got started?’ she asks, licking her lips and leaning in towards me.

‘No!  No idea whatsoever.  I didn’t even go near it.’

‘Really?’  She smiles, as if she’s caught me out.  ‘Because your friend Miss Green says, that you did see the fire being lit and you just tried to put it out.  Is that not what happened?’

‘Um...’ I look at Ryan trying to understand what to say, but his expression is blank.  ‘Yes...that's what happened.  I’d...forgotten about that.’

‘Really?’ she enquires.  ‘So you both saw a group of gay French tourists dance down the street juggling fire and accidentally setting the bin alight?’

My mouth spreads into a smile, despite myself.  How can Jazz be so ridiculous?  I quickly frown and bite my tongue to cover it.

‘Err...yes, that's it.  French gay tourists.  That's what happened,’ I nod.

‘And can you describe these French gay tourists?’ she asks, leaning back in amusement.

‘Um...well, they had on tight t-shirts and spoke in French accents.  That's all I can really tell you.’

‘That's all?  Because Miss Green told us one had pink hair and they all wore stripy shirts with berets and were talking in English about cooking frogs legs when they got home and how they hated the English.’

Oh for goodness sakes Jazz.

‘Oh yes.  I....forgot about that,’ I grimace.

‘You seem to forget a lot Miss Windsor.  Do you suffer from a memory disorder?’

‘No,’ I say, my cheeks flushing.  She knows I’m lying. 

‘The thing is that I want to believe you.  In fact, I have more reason to believe you rather than Miss Green.  You’ve got a clear criminal record, but I can't say the same for Miss Green’.  She consults a file and starts running her finger down it.  ‘We’ve got her being arrested in 1999 for shop lifting.  Then there’s the drunken and disorderly in 2001.  Plus the protesting that got out of hand in 2006.  She’s got quite a record.’  She leans back in her chair and tutts.   

‘Well I’m sure she wasn’t charged for any of them, so she was obviously innocent,’ I protest, one blush blending into the other.

‘Was she innocent?  Or was there just not enough evidence?  Or did Mummy and Daddy’s lawyer help her out?’

‘Excuse me,’ Ryan pipes up.  ‘But I fail to see how Miss Green’s past record has anything to do with my client.’

DI Darcy stares back at him, grimacing.  She’s obviously been caught out. 

‘Can we please cut to the chase?’ Ryan asks.  ‘What actual evidence do you have of my clients?’

She glares back at him.  She gets a laptop out of the top draw and turns it on, all the time smiling smugly back at him.

‘I’m now showing Miss Windsor exhibit A.  The recording acquired from St Albans council showing activity on St Bernard’s Drive on the night in question’.  She turns to look at me, raising her eyebrow.  ‘Miss Windsor, are you saying that this is not you?’

I watch the patchy black and white recording of the corner outside my flat.  After a few seconds you see two women walking out and, although grainy, it's clear to see it's me and Jazz.  We stumble out of the door with pieces of paper in our hands.  We throw them in the bin and Jazz gets some matches out of her pocket.  She lights it and throws it in, small flames glowing in the night.  We high five and hold hands, dancing around it like school children.  Jazz stops for a second to vomit in the street.  Raj comes running out with a wet towel, trying to put out the fire.  He calls for help and two other men come to carry us away while they battle with the fire. 

DI Darcy turns it off and stares at me, the silence in the room deafening.  I recoil in my seat, not daring to look anyone in the eye.  How the
hell
am I going to get out of this one?  I glance up from behind my hair to see Ryan’s expression.  His mouth is still open and he’s staring at the screen, his face drained of all colour. 

I’m going to prison.

‘So Miss Windsor.  Do you still claim that isn’t you?’ DI Darcy asks, smiling smugly.

I feel my chest tightening and my throat closing.  I burst into angry sobs before I can attempt to pull myself together.