‘There are two policemen downstairs. They need to talk to you.’ Nina looked afraid. ‘They won’t say what it’s about.’ Her long, grey hair hung loose over her purple robe so she resembled a benign witch.
‘What time is it?’ The curtains were shut and it felt like the middle of the night. He still had one foot in the green dream-garden.
‘Seven. What’s going on, Ralph? Do you know what it’s about?’
He didn’t reply, but sat on the edge of the bed, blinking himself into the day, beginning to suspect what had happened. ‘No. No idea.’
‘They need you to come down quickly.’
‘OK. I’ll just go for a pee.’ It took a long time to arrive then dribbled sadly, mocking the randy night visions of youthful potency and transmuting lovers. He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, drew the belt tight on a dressing gown, put on some espadrilles and descended the stairs as sturdily as possible.
The policemen looked ludicrously young. The one with porcine features was surely too plump for this line of work, the other a skinny boy with a weasel face and a bad case of acne. He would have pitied them if the cold dread had not been so overwhelming.
‘Mr Boyd?’ Piggy said. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of child sexual abuse.’ Ralph didn’t take in many of the following words that had been heard too often to ring true – incantations or Bible quotes, seen in a thousand films. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention…’ Shit, bugger, fuck. ‘Anything you do say can be given in evidence.’
Nina’s face caved in as though she were disintegrating from shock.
‘It’s a mistake. I haven’t done anything.’ He turned to Nina. ‘It’s all right.’ So this is how I end up, he thought. Strung up and vilified.
‘But what happened?’
Ralph shook his head. ‘I have an idea – I think it’s revenge.’
‘He’s ill,’ Nina said to the policemen. ‘Can’t he be questioned here? It’s not right. He should not be put under a strain.’ Her Greek accent increased from tension.
‘It’s fine,’ Ralph said. ‘Don’t worry. Nina, please.’ He gave her a look that was meant to mean, ‘Stay quiet, don’t fuss,’ but she kept talking to the young men, louder this time.
Piggy Boy interrupted her, lips wet. ‘Madam, let us do our job. Your husband needs to come with us. Now, sir, if you’d like to get dressed as quickly as possible, we’ll take you down to the station. We’ve got a car outside.’ He was evidently enjoying the alarm he could induce in two people old enough to be his grandparents, thought Ralph.
He put on a jacket for dignity, but then they handcuffed him. The metal bracelets surprised him – weighty and uncomfortable, preventing him from walking tall. Nina watched, holding the front door as the uniformed Laurel and Hardy led him down the steps. He stared ahead, hoping nobody would see him, but Justin, their awful neighbour, was setting off for work at exactly the same time. Ralph saw him start to raise his plump hand for a jovial wave and then do a double take, nod in recognition and continue his merry little jog down to the pavement like a president descending from his jet.
As Ralph got into the back seat, the boyish policeman held his arm and, sure as a priest giving his blessing, placed a hand on his head so it wouldn’t bang. Leaning his forehead against the cool window, he stared as the familiar streets of Primrose Hill passed like a film.
He surrendered to the processes in the police station, retreating inside himself. Another example of how boarding school can help you in later life, he thought. Let them do what they like. They took away his phone, wallet and watch and removed his shoelaces, leaving him to shuffle. It wasn’t unlike the hospital. He relaxed his hands while fingerprints were taken on an electronic machine, obediently opened his mouth for the DNA swab and sat still when he was photographed; these procedures were less stressful than many of the medical scans he’d undergone recently. He was in a system; it was better not to fight. A kindly, pink-cheeked policewoman who reminded him of his school matron asked whether he would like to make a call before she took him to a cell. He almost said no, then remembered why he was there.
Jeb Rosenberry had been his lawyer for such a long time, he knew the number by heart from the quaint days of pocket address books and coin-operated, public telephones. From the start, a shared appetite for success had fuelled their friendship and professional collaboration. Maybe it had not been exactly friendship, thought Ralph. Jeb called him Boydie, but they’d never been drunk and confessed things or been on an adventure together. Nevertheless, they knew each other’s wives and children and, in the end, all those years counted for something.
‘OK. I see.’ Jeb sounded grave, but when he heard who was bringing charges, his voice rose an octave. ‘Daphne Greenslay?’ Jeb had known the family. He’d been to Sunday lunches at Barnabas Road, for goodness’ sake. ‘It’s an epidemic, this historical-child-abuse business. Hideous. Any middle-aged woman – or man – with nothing better to do remembers someone who stroked their bum back in the last century and the taxpayers have to cough up for endless police investigations and court hearings. And for what?’ Ralph didn’t answer. ‘All right, don’t say any more now, Ralph. It’ll be OK. We’ll sort this. Kentish Town, you said? An hour at the most and I’ll be there.’
Matron took him to a cell. ‘I’ll bring you a cup of tea. I expect you’d like something to eat too?’
‘Thank you so much,’ he said, polite as a prep-school new boy and looking into her eyes to make the point. ‘I’d really appreciate that.’ She smiled and he felt a tiny victory.
The cell resembled a large, tiled shower room. A narrow bench topped with a plastic-covered foam mat served as a bed and there was nothing else but a minimalist, stainless-steel lavatory and basin. It reeked of cleaning chemicals with an underlying hint of more organic matter. The window offered dull light through blurry glass tiles but no view. Ralph had never been locked up before, but he refused to panic. Instead, he tried to think of it as a secret hiding place. At least he was alone. The tea, when it came, was comfortingly hot and strong and, after wolfing the plastic-wrapped cheese sandwich, he felt better. The evil, blood-and-eggs, metallic taste in his mouth was gone. He lay down on the bench, fighting off squeamishness at the foam mat’s sticky surface. Various names and messages were scratched on the tiles:
Wankers
Dave ♥ Linda
Fuck
A lone tear pressed its way out of one eye and ambled down his cheek.
The round window in the cell door opened with a metallic scrape, an eye and nose appeared and then the cover closed again. This happened about three times before Jeb arrived, incongruous in the hose-down lock-up with his snappy suit and groomed, gun-grey hair. He shook Ralph’s hand and attempted a tentative Englishman’s hug that was more a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Boydie. We’ll get you out of here.’ They sat down on the bench and Jeb leaned forward, hands on thighs, glancing down as though checking his handmade shoes. ‘Nina called,’ he said. ‘She told me about your health issues. I’m sorry you’ve been having a hard time. Of course, the good thing is it should help with getting bail.’
Ralph looked at him with disbelief. ‘You mean otherwise they might keep me locked up?’
‘I’m afraid the system’s bonkers. They go into overdrive with this abuse business. If they know you work with children’s choirs they might consider you a risk. But I’m confident we can get you out.’ His smile provoked a rush of renewed fear in Ralph.