The law of unintended consequences
By Gareth George
Waverley to Kings Cross
I sat in the window-less cell at Belgravia Police Station and pondered the depressing events that had led to my arrest and detainment. Even the one private phone call grudgingly allowed me had been a disaster. It was clear from her tone that my wife had found my explanation very unconvincing.
I had caught my early train at Waverley Station with ease. The restricted seating arrangements on The Virgin East Coast service from Edinburgh to London often forces face to face contact with complete strangers across a table, not necessarily welcomed but nevertheless creating a mild diversion that helps to while away the five-hour journey. The women now sat opposite me never smiled, yet at the same time did not appear unhappy. Her face betrayed very little. Her movements were economic and she occupied the seat facing me with the confidence of a woman used to travelling alone. I couldn't help noticing that my fellow passenger, dressed in black trousers and matching jacket was probably in her early forties. Her clothing style was discreet and obviously expensive. Well-chosen cheap and flamboyant jewellery complemented her rather austere dress sense. Luggage matched her appearance and she was accompanied by the very best Antler wheel on wheel off suitcase. This, she had been unable to place on the overhead rack and occupied a space behind her seat. Our conversation during the long journey was restricted to the very bare necessities. Somehow, her demeanour and body language suggested that she had no intention of engaging me in any social chat. Instead she buried her head for most of the journey in various upmarket women's magazines.
At King's Cross we seemed to go our separate ways and I didn't give her, at the time, any further thought. My onward journey was to take me by tube to Waterloo but with a sudden change of heart I decided to take a cab and complete the interchange by taxi. To my surprise my seating companion was also seeking a taxi, now with no luggage and looking slightly disheveled she seemed to be in distress. My attempts to hail a cab were, however, more successful than hers and on an impulse I suggested she shared my taxi. She gracefully accepted and leapt in.
I asked her where she wanted to go, “oh just anywhere, just away from here!” was her frantic response. “Waterloo,” I shouted to the cabbie and as we pulled away my companion quickly selected a tip up seat well away from the window. She was now only too pleased to talk. “My name is Maggie,” she said breathlessly, “my partner is following me, I don't know how but Robyn must have managed to catch the same train. Do you think we've been seen?” In her distress she seemed to have forgotten that I wouldn't have a clue about who might be chasing her. “I'll be mincemeat if I get caught you know,” she continued. I tried to sympathise and keep her calm, already regretting my generosity. What had I got myself into here? Waterloo couldn't come soon enough.
In the mainline station concourse I paid off the taxi and helped her out. Somewhat dumbfounded I then found myself in the midst of a loving embrace. The intimacy of her action clear for all to behold. I have to admit that I offered little resistance to this or the full kiss on the lips that followed. Her hug was so theatrical that I had the distinct impression that she was playing to the gallery. Her disengagement, though, was as rapid as her initial affection and before I could recover she had bolted into the next cab in the taxi rank and demanded a new destination. As it pulled away a huge leather bag hit me full in the face. One minute I had been in the midst of a fond embrace and the next I needed to defend myself from the blows raining down on my head from a tall woman wielding handbag. I think she must have used her bag as a weapon before, her accuracy was impressive. “What the fuck do you mean by kissing my Maggie,” screamed my assailant. Without doubt, I was now being introduced to Robyn – Maggie’s ex!
I had, at first, been delighted by the timely arrival of two station policemen. Clutching a bleeding nose I had definitely come off the worse from this encounter. In one deft move, however, I was hand-cuffed and arrested. Robyn, now looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, explained that I had grabbed her and started an unprovoked attack. “It’s happened to me before,” she had snivelled to the Officer, feigning distress. Shivering with shock and with a quivering lip she now succeeded in looking the vulnerable victim, she clearly wasn't! Protesting my innocence seemed hopeless as I could immediately see, that the officers obviously believed her version of events.
In the police cell I now had plenty of time to reflect upon all the circumstances that had led to my arrest. The Desk Sergeant even added to my discomfort in one of his regular checks on me by saying: "the lady is pressing charges, Sir, she's made a full statement, you of all people should know better."
He had grinned unpleasantly while delivering this news, even pointing derisively at my clergy-mans dog collar, now splattered in blood.