Being Me (10 page)

The store detectives drags me into a small room. It’s got a desk, plastic chairs and no windows. They let go of my arms, push me into a chair and block the door by leaning against it. They don’t say anything.

Which is kind of weird.

There’s a knock. A woman comes in.

‘We are detaining you because we have reasonable grounds to believe you attempted an act of theft of an iPod,’ the woman says. She is burly, with blonde hair and a jaw that wobbles from side to side as she talks. She’s standing above me and little drops of spit land in my face as she talks, so I look down.

‘I now need to formally ask your permission to search you. If you refuse, we will detain you here until the police arrive and you will be searched anyway, possibly strip-searched. Do I have your permission to search?’

I feel along the back of my trousers, take out the iPod and hand it to her.

‘One up to the old lady then!’ Pearls Guy says, making a fist and shaking it to the ceiling.

‘Wait till the end of the day, Playstation Kid is gonna race up the board,’ says his skinnier mate. I notice now that Pearls Guy’s mate does look a bit like one of the Anoraks who were playing on the consoles in Entertainment.

Pearls Guy gets on his mobile to what sounds like the police.

The woman says, ‘I’m back out, then.’

‘No,’ they both go, ‘it’s a female, you have to stay on.’

‘Does it matter?’ the woman says. ‘It’s all on camera.’ Her eyes tip upwards. I notice the little black dome in the top corner of the room. They don’t ask me any more questions but all three of them stay in the room with me.

Playstation Kid goes, and then Pearls Guy and the woman talk about how to clip dogs’ toenails and whether the Canary Islands is any good as a holiday destination. Pearls Guy leans on the door as they chat.

What-ifs and whys tumble around in my mind. What if Mikaela hadn’t missed Pearls Guy when she was turnstiling? What if MC and Mikaela hadn’t wound up Statue Man? (How did Statue Man even get there?) Why did he grab me when he didn’t before? What if all three of them, instead of watching as I got flattened outside the store, had actually helped me?

There’s a knock on the door. A policeman in uniform comes in.

‘Only one then?’ he says, looking disappointed.

‘It’s all on camera,’ Pearls Guy replies. ‘We’ll bung you a tape.’

I’m numb when the cop pulls me up off my seat. I’m led through the Perfume concessions, which has the Pouty Ladies all tutting, through the front exit doors into the crowds and along the side of Kendals to a police van.

This is all a mistake,
I say to myself to keep cool,
it’s a scene we’re shooting for a Hollywood movie, I’m not a thief, I’m a film star.

The cop swings the van doors open. He pushes me up and in. Two sets of metal doors slam shut behind me. The van smells of flowers and sick.

It isn’t long before we stop and I’m in a procession stepping out of the van into the grounds of some high-walled police station courtyard. I’m numb. I hadn’t noticed anyone else get inside the van. I’m led, fourth in line, to a Reception. For a moment I think about giving a false name and address, but it seems pointless so I give them what they ask for. They take my possessions which I have to sign a form about. The policeman behind the big Reception desk gives me a friendly smile, which is weird. He says lots of things to me that I don’t listen to. Then he says:

‘Welcome to Bootle Street Hotel. Don’t look so worried, you’ll be out soon. We’re not putting you in cells as it is my judgement you are a minor and pose no risk to yourself or others.’

I feel myself wanting to wee.

I’m led down a corridor and into a room where there’s lots of other people at desks though no-one’s in uniform. I’m shown to a seat in front of a desk with a telephone and computer on it and I sit there wondering what next. The room is hot. Eventually a man comes and slides behind the desk.

‘Adele,’ he says, ‘You were caught red handed with let’s see ... an iPod. You don’t deny that, do you?’

I shrug.

‘I’ll make this as painless as possible for you,’ he continues. ‘We’ve checked the databases and you have no other arrests to your name, nothing. It might not be the first time you’ve done this, but it’s the first time you’ve been caught. Am I right?’

I say nothing again. His tie has some kind of ketchup stain on it. His desk phone starts ringing.

‘If it is your first time, here’s how it works. We won’t seek prosecution. The store will allow that, it’s the understanding we have with them, but only if you admit what you did.’

The phone stops.

‘Can I go now then?’ I ask.

‘No you can’t,’ he says.

‘Why not?’

‘We can’t just release you. You’re a minor.’ He sighs. ‘We have a major terrorist alert on and here I am wasting time with you.’

The phone starts again.

‘OK, what we need to do now is phone Mum or Dad to come and collect you.’

He’s got my phone already. I watch him scrolling through till he finds what he’s looking for. He gets there.

‘Who’s it to be then, Mum or Dad?’

I shrug. I can’t tell whether he’s trying to be nice or teasing me. He has wonky teeth. He dials a number. There’s no answer and it cuts out quickly. That’s Mum’s phone, she’s always switched off. He rings another number. It rings for an eternity. Dad doesn’t like answerphone messages. He says too many people can hack into them.

The policeman scratches his nose. He knows they’re the right numbers because I haven’t had the chance to mess with my phone.

‘Why don’t they pick up?’ he asks.

‘Probably switched off.’

‘Mmm. We can drive you home. Unless you know of another responsible adult who might pick you up? Help us out, we’re a bit busy here, Adele.’

‘My boyfriend’s mum,’ I say.

He grimaces. ‘We need your parents or someone acting as a parent – a guardian. It has to be a responsible adult, else we have to drive you home ourselves, or find a Youth Justice worker. On a Saturday.’

As he says that, someone calls out in the office and asks, ‘Dave, you wrapped that up yet?’

‘Ring her and see,’ I say.

He walks away to the far corner of the office and phones Marcus’s mum. It’s a long call. His face shifts from frowning, to puzzled, to amused, then loops all the way back to frowning again. Eventually, he comes back to the desk and nods. ‘She’s acceptable,’ is all he says.

Eight minutes later Mrs Adenuga is in the police station office and rushing up to me. ‘Adele! What have you got yourself into?’

I fling my arms around her, take a few deep breaths and let the only tear I shed in that police station escape. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Adenuga,’ I mumble. It’s all I can manage.

‘Shh. There, there.’

The policeman butts in. He’s restless. ‘Now, you don’t deny you stole the iPod?’

‘I took it out of the shop,’ I say. What I am not saying is that I lifted it. I didn’t. That was Cakes.

‘We can look at the footage,’ he says.

‘OK, I took it,’ I say.
What difference does it make?

He’s happy now. He clicks his mouse a few times, then looks up again. Adele, because it’s a first offence and you admit that you did it, I’m allowed to issue you with a youth caution. That means we keep a record and if you are ever caught shoplifting again, we can charge you. Be advised.’

As he is talking, he’s typing. A printer whirrs somewhere under his desk.

He ducks down and scoops up some paper. It’s got the police logo on it at the top.

‘Sign here,’ he says. ‘And here.’

As I’m signing, he reads from his computer screen. ‘You may get an Acceptable Behaviour Contract and a Youth Engagement Officer may check up on how you’re doing. You are now banned from Kendals. Understand?’

I nod.

The cop has Mrs Adenuga sign a piece of paper. As she signs, she says, ‘David isn’t it? Are you happy with the windows here, David? Why aren’t they open? It’s tropical in this office.’

‘They’re all jammed. Half of them rotten as well,’ he replies.

She gives him a card. ‘Get this to the right person. Ask them to give me a call. You’ll get a great price. None of you need to be sweating in here any longer.’

The policeman laughs. They chat for a bit more, then he looks over to me. ‘Adele, we don’t want to see you again, understood?’

I nod. I think he actually means it.

‘Thank you, Officer, it’s much appreciated,’ says Mrs Adenuga. ‘I’m so sorry about my niece.’

I catch her eyes. She looks back at me like,
don’t say a word.

The cop weaves us through various other offices back to Reception where we sign out and they hand me the rest of my stuff back.

On the open street, breathing free air once more, tears spill out of me. I feel Mrs Adenuga stroking my face.

‘I’m so ashamed,’ I say to her. Mrs Adenuga leads me the rest of the way to the car. It has a parking ticket on the windscreen. She sees it and makes sucking noises. Marcus is in the front passenger seat. My heart flips.

Marcus makes to get out of the car but his mum is already pushing me into the rear. She rips the parking ticket off the window, stabs the key in the ignition and the car lurches off. Marcus sneaks a hand back towards me. I take it and for a minute there’s silence in the car as me and Marcus hold hands and his mum drives. The parking ticket plastic wrapper flutters on the dashboard.

‘I promised that nice policeman I’d drop you home into the custody of your parents,’ Mrs Adenuga says, finally breaking the spell, ‘what’s the address?’

She stabs my post code and house number into the car’s satnav while she’s driving and drives through two traffic lights on yellow. I take my cue from Marcus and say nothing all the way. We arrive at my house.

I hold my breath. If it’s Mum and she’s not drugged up, there’ll be wailing, tears as a show for Mrs Adenuga, then she’ll build herself a huge spliff and forget about it. If it’s Dad, he’ll probably rant then drive off.

Mrs Adenuga gets out of the car and rings the buzzer by the gates. She’s ringing and ringing. Nobody’s in. I try ringing the house from my phone. Nobody picks up. Mrs Adenuga gets back in the car and hesitates.

‘You really live here?’ she asks me. She’s impressed by the size of it.

‘The top left one is my room,’ I say, pointing.

‘How are your windows?’

‘Mum!’ groans Marcus.

‘They’re fine,’ I say.

‘I can’t leave you here on your own. I’m not driving you back to the police station. You’ll have to stop at ours until your mum or dad get back.’

‘That’s fine,’ I say. I’ve never been inside Marcus’s house before, though I’ve sneaked him in mine once.

Mrs Adenuga drives us off. I feel the sweat drying up in my armpit. Marcus has my hand again. We’re soon on an estate of small houses with no space between them. There’s a park in the middle with one set of slanting goalposts and a pack of roaming dogs. A man is playing golf there and seems to be aiming his golf balls at the dogs. Mrs Adenuga pulls up at a house facing the park and nudges the car onto the short drive.

We go in. There’s a sound like a cat has got its tail stuck in a food blender but neither Marcus nor his mum look concerned. Mrs Adenuga pushes open the living room door. A man is sitting in a swivel chair at a desk in a corner. He’s got headphones on and is swaying to some music while making the cat sound.

‘I just sprung your son’s girlfriend out of the nick!’ Mrs Adenuga calls out to him.

He half turns, gives her the thumbs-up, nods to Marcus, then me, then turns back, still wailing.

She might as well have told him she had just come back from the supermarket. It’s cool with me.

‘How’s Leah?’ she asks him, holding a remote that I assume she’s pressed to cut off the sound to his headphones.

Marcus’s dad swivels fully. He shows off a baby, asleep in his lap. ‘New nappy, new bottle, what’s not to like?’ he says, then he taps his headphones. Mrs Adenuga blips the remote again and the wailing restarts.

‘What he puts poor Leah through,’ Mrs Adenuga mutters. She tells us to come into the kitchen. Marcus says he is starving but I’m not hungry. Mrs Adenuga makes a baked beans and ham omelette. She gives us half each. Marcus nods for me to follow him with my plate.

‘Where are you going?’ his mum calls out to his back.

‘Mars,’ he answers without missing a beat. His mum does a dramatic sigh. Marcus ignores it or doesn’t hear it. He steers me through the living room and upstairs. On the landing we turn left into a room. He flicks a switch. It’s his bedroom. We sit on the bed, eating. His room is nice. It has that boy smell. Lots of bar-bells and weights on the floor. Pictures of hip hop stars on the walls. A roll-on deodorant is on the floor next to a heap of clothes. School books next to the clothes. The floor is his shelving. Only when he’s finished eating his half of the omelette and then mine does he ask a question, except it’s not really a question.

‘Not hungry?’

I shrug.

He shuffles up next to me on the edge of his bed and puts an arm round me. Which is nice.

‘What was you robbing?’ he asks, curious.

‘Leave it,’ I say. ‘I’m tired.’

‘Here,’ he says. He turns his face into mine and kisses me. I kiss him back, a little. Then one of his hands starts roving.

I trap it under mine. ‘Marcus, don’t bother.’

He shrugs, but there’s still mischief in his eyes. I realise I’m in his bedroom, on his bed, and he’s probably got ideas. I fish out my phone and try the house line again. My brother picks up.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ my brother says, disappointed. ‘What do you want?’

‘Is Mum or Dad in?’ I ask.

‘Both,’ he says. He puts the phone down before I can say another word.

Meanwhile, Marcus is leaning in for another kiss.

I go downstairs and Marcus’s mum phones me a taxi. ‘Are you alright, darling?’ she says.

That has me crying again. Mrs Adenuga holds me in her arms. ‘We’ve been a very silly girl today, haven’t we?’ she sighs.

I nod and sniffle. ‘I let you down.’

‘You let yourself down,’ she says.