A shocked laugh bursts from me. “Seriously? This is my house. I have house keys. I clearly live here, I’m in my pajamas!” I manage, my cheeks flushing deeper with embarrassment and a little bit of outrage now, too.
“Trust me, miss, we’ve seen stranger things than people breaking into properties wearing pajamas. We need some ID. Now.”
I give in.
“I don’t have any ‘valid’ ID. I’ve sent my passport off so they can change my surname. I just got divorced. I don’t want to be called by my ex-husband’s name for the rest of my life. I’ve gone back to my maiden name, which is Green.”
They share a look, then the female officer nods at me. “Right, we’ll need to see something with the old name and the new name. Marriage certificate and the decree absolute paperwork? You have those, miss?”
“I have,” I respond, dizzy with powerlessness.
I wish I could say this was all incredibly unusual, but I had to take the same documents to the bank when I opened my new bank accounts. It is as if the world has never experienced female-sided divorce and cannot countenance the paperwork involved in simply being a woman. But I wasn’t expecting to have to do this here, now, in the middle of the night.
“If you could go and get them. We can check the names match up with the alarm account holder,” she says nudging, her eyes everywhere but on mine.
At this point I can feel her embarrassment on top of my own, as they wait for me.
“And that’ll do it, will it? If you see those papers, that’ll be it, then?” Shame drips from me, at the idea that I am not who I say I am, that I do not own my own house, and the only way to prove I am me is by showing them a document with my ex-husband’s name on it.
Funny, in a sense, that I could be so easily removed from my own life simply by not being able to prove I am me.
The officer pulls a tight but polite smile. “Yep.”
—
Documents accessed and handed back, no apologies given, they nod, finally satisfied.
“Okay, ma’am. Be a little bit more careful next time. We can’t come out every time you forget you’ve set the alarm.”
I gulp back my desire to say something I’ll regret. “Um, great, nope, will do. Oh, and sorry for the left-field question but, can I ask you, seeing as you’re here, if one were to see somethingconcerningrecorded accidentally in someone else’s house on their pet camera, what should they do?”
The male officer nudges the female. She sighs.
“Ma’am, can I ask, have you been drinking?”
“I’m sorry? What?! No.”
My shame and outrage can go no deeper.
“It’s just a courtesy question, ma’am, no need to take offense. Just, given the circumstances, with the alarm being triggered, and your recent…you seem a little…confused. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t check everything was okay here?”
I drag in a mighty inhale. At this point all I want is them gone. “Oh, well, thank you for your concern but, no, I haven’t been drinking. I mean I’ve suddenly woken up to a blaring alarm and the police—so that probably explains any confusion. Right?”
“No, you haven’t suddenly woken up, ma’am,” she corrects me instantly. “You told us a minute ago that you came downstairs to geta glass of water and then the alarm went off? Was it that? Or were you upstairs asleep when the alarm went off?”
Oh God. I am so bad at lying.
“Sorry—I meant before. I was asleepbefore. Then I came downstairs, then all of this happened. I’m really tired,” I concede with a defeated shrug.
The female officer seems grudgingly convinced. “Right,” she concludes, then signals for the other officer to open the door. “Well, good night, ma’am. And try to get some sleep, yeah?”
I am seeing them out when she turns back to me, as if an afterthought. “Oh, and in answer to your previous question: you should tell your friend to stop recording inside people’s houses. They’re breaking the law. It’s an arrestable offense.”
I watch them head out to their car, my nullified marriage certificate clutched tightly in my hand. My broken dreams, and the receipts.
Any plans to go to the police with footage, vetoed.
Their car glides away, blue lights flickering silently across the edifices of the terrace houses as they go. I look to the glowing windows along the street and the few remaining concerned faces staring back at me. Some shake their heads, then turn back inside.
