‘Did you know that Jason Watson was living in your house?’
‘Did you know that he was wanted by the police for drugs offences?’
‘How long has he been sharing a house with you?’
‘Did you know him prior to moving into the house?’
‘What’s the nature of your relationship? Are you lovers?’
To all of these she fired no comments with a dull-eyed resignation until they gave up.
‘OK, Ms Myatt, we’re going to charge you with assisting an offender and perverting the course of justice. You’ll appear before Bledburn Magistrates on Friday, so you’ll need to sort out any bail arrangements before then. You’ll get a letter with dates and times and so forth. You’re free to go.’
‘What about Jason?’
‘He’s in custody. I shouldn’t think he’ll get bail.’
‘Can I visit him?’ She knew she was giving away some of the answers they’d wanted, but she didn’t care.
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Is he here? Where will they take him?’
The officer shrugged.
‘Nottingham, most likely.’
The officer held open the door for her. It was clear that there would be no further questions.
She made it to the door of the police station, then stopped. There were cameras set up on the pavement outside, and a curious crowd had gathered.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to the desk sergeant. ‘Do you have a back or side entrance I could use to leave? It’s a zoo out there.’
The sergeant bit his lip.
‘I shouldn’t, but, just between you and me, I’m a big fan of yours, and Deano’s. Got all his albums. If you could give me your autograph for the kids …’
‘Right. Sure.’
She signed a leaflet about dangerous dog breeds and the sergeant took her to a back door that led into a yard full of police vehicles. On one side, she saw an almost-blank wall with high slits of windows at the top. They must be cells. Was Jason in one of them? She walked over to that side and called his name. He wouldn’t be able to answer her, but if he at least heard her …
‘Jason,’ she called. ‘I’ll get you out of there. I love you. I won’t forget you.’
Then, fearful of being heard by the vultures at the front of the building, she ran quickly out of the yard and up the little side street beyond, in which a taxi of
fice was fortunately situated.
She didn’t want to go back into the house, not now, but there was nowhere else for her to go. She went straight up to the attic and lay down on his old sleeping bag, grabbing the ancient tracksuit he never wore any more, and hugging it tightly to her chest.
She cried until her throat ached and her eyes stung, then she sat up and made dozens of phone calls. Everybody had to be warned about this – all the PR people, the TV bosses, the record company executives, the world and its spouse. And Deano.
‘What?’ Deano sounded as if she’d dragged him from sleep or, more likely, a party, even though it would be about lunchtime in LA.
‘It’s going to be in all the papers tomorrow. It’s probably on Twitter already. I’ve been arrested.’
‘Yeah, you said, but I don’t get it, Jen. Why? You’re straighter than straight. Is this a joke or something?’
‘No joke. I wish. You know I bought Harville Hall.’