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‘I must caution you that it is an offence to refuse to supply a breath sample—’
He reaches ominously for his two-way radio, and I quickly backtrack. ‘Yes, fine, I consent. Of course I haven’t been drinking! I haven’t even had breakfast!’
Bella opens the passenger door and leans out. ‘Mum, what’s going on?’
‘Get back in the car, Bella.’
‘Mum—’
‘Get back in the car!’
‘If you could come and join me in my vehicle,’ the officer says. ‘Please have a seat there, in the front.’
I climb into the police car, my heart pounding. I’ve never been in a police vehicle before; I’ve never even been pulled over. I feel embarrassed and humiliated, like I’m some kind of criminal. Thank goodness we’re still in the lane, and no one I know is likely to see me. The whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t imagine why he stopped a mum on the school run at eight a.m. They must have some kind of silly quota to meet before the end of the month.
The young policeman produces the breathalyser, and the school prefect in me purses her lips, determined to do it perfectly. I follow his instructions as he holds thedevice steady in front of me, and breathe into the tube until the machine beeps. We both wait awkwardly for it to analyse the sample I’ve just given. It’s going to be negative, obviously. The only thing I’ve had to drink all morning is two cups of Tetley.
The breathalyser beeps again, and the officer reads it. His expression doesn’t change. ‘OK, so it’s a fail 42,’ he says. ‘The legal limit’s 35. You’ve failed a breath test, so you’re under arrest under suspicion of driving while over the proscribed limit—’
‘It can’t be,’ I cut in. ‘It must be a mistake. Can I do it again? I swear, I haven’t had a single drink this morning other than a cup of tea.’
‘We’ll carry out another test at the station, madam.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ I insist. ‘I really haven’t had anything to drink, not even cough syrup! I must have done it wrong, or—’
‘Did you have a drink last night, madam?’
I suddenly feel sick, remembering the entire bottle of wine I got through with Andrew. ‘Yes, but that was eight hours ago,’ I say faintly. ‘I’m notdrunk.’
‘Alcohol remains in the bloodstream longer than you think,’ he says nicely. ‘Now, I’ll be driving you to Brighton police station. I’m going to ask your children to accompany us. If there’s someone who can pick them up from the station, that’ll be fine.’
‘There’s no need to bring the children with us. My mother can come and get them right now, she only lives ten minutes—’
‘I’m afraid I do require you to come to the stationwith me straight away. Your mother can collect the children from there.’
I’ve never been more ashamed in my life as I watch the police officer walk to my car and ask my children to accompany their mother to the police station. Tolly’s eyes are out on stalks, his cheeks pink with excitement as the officer transfers his car seat to the back of the police vehicle and buckles him in, but Bella doesn’t even look at me as she climbs wordlessly into the back of the car.
I don’t blame the officer. He’s just doing his job; actually, now that the process is over, he seems to unbend a little, chatting amiably to Tolly, who is fizzing with questions. My son will tell everyone he’s been in a police car, I realise. His teachers. His father. There’s going to be no hiding this.
Bella leans forward between the front seats. ‘Why were you waiting in the lane?’
‘Please sit back, miss.’
She ignores his request. ‘It’s just, like, a weird place to be parked. It doesn’t lead anywhere, except Barlow’s farm. Nobody goes down the lane but us. Why would you even be there?’
I suddenly understand what my daughter is driving at. ‘Were youwaitingfor me?’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘We are acting on information received, yes, madam.’
‘It’s that bastard farmer, the one who wants to sell off his fields to those developers,’ Bella exclaims. ‘I bet he did it, because you refused to let them put theiraccess road across the bottom of our paddock. It’s just the kind of shitty thing he’d do.’
‘Language,’ I say weakly.
‘It’s him,’ she says grimly. ‘I know it’s him.’
It’s not the farmer. It’s Caz. She’s done this because Andrew stayed last night; he must’ve told her we had a few drinks. I’m quite certain he hasn’t mentioned what happened between us, but as far as she’s concerned, it’s all-out war anyway. I should have known, the minute the police car pulled me over.
We arrive at the station, and I follow the arresting officer through to a room at the rear, leaving Bella and Tolly in reception with the on-duty officer at the desk. I feel sick to my stomach. Caz may have tipped off the police, but her ploy only worked because I failed that breath test. I’m the one in the wrong. My brother died because some middle-aged, middle-class idiot thought he could have one for the road and get away with it. Never mind facing the children, or Andrew, or my mother: I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look myself in the mirror again.
