Page 222 of Feathers in the Wind
The choice of book may have been a mistake, I thought.
From the corridor, I heard voices and my senses prickled. Rising to my feet, I parted the curtains and caught a glimpse of a blue police uniform among a gaggle of people clustered outside the door.
‘Police,’ I whispered.
Nat was on his feet, reaching for his crutches. ‘Is this not a good thing?’
Mark pushed his way through the curtain.
‘There you are,’ he said, as if he had expected us to be somewhere else.
‘Christian?’ Nat asked, and I could see the fear on his face.
Mark glanced at the bed and shook his head. ‘He’s fine. No it’s you, Mr. Preston, that these good people are interested in. Could I ask you to step into the corridor?’
Nat glanced at me and I shrugged. There was nothing we could do, nowhere we could run. We would just have to brazen it out, whatever “it” was.
We were met in the corridor by not only the uniformed police officer but a young woman in a gray suit.
‘Are you Nathaniel Preston?’ The policeman directed his question to Nat.
Nat nodded. ‘I am.’
The policeman puffed out his chest. ‘Do you mind showing me some identification, sir?’
‘Identification?’
‘Driver’s Licence? Bank book?’ the policeman suggested helpfully.
Nat coughed. ‘I don’t have anything with me.’ He glanced at me. ‘We left home in a hurry this morning.’
‘Mark, what’s this about?’ I asked.
‘Mr. Westmacott has made a report to us regarding Mr. Preston’s lack of proper identification,’ the police officer said. ‘I’m Sergeant Evans and this is Ms. Smith of the Department of Immigration. We have been looking into Mr. Westmacott’s report and there are some matters we wish to discuss with Mr. Preston.’
‘Mark? What have you done?’ I glared at my former lover.
Mark could not meet my eyes. ‘They think he may be an illegal immigrant,’ he mumbled.
Nat opened his mouth but before he could speak, I put my hand on his arm. ‘Nat, you don’t have to say a thing.’ I addressed his accusers. ‘This is ridiculous. He is as English as any of us.’
Ms. Smith consulted her notebook. ‘Then perhaps he can explain why he has no birth record, no NHS numbers or national ID, doesn’t appear to have a bank account or a driver’s license and in short, does not appear anywhere in any record in this country?’
They had done their homework.
When neither Nat nor I answered, the policeman nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Preston, but I have to take you into custody.’ He stepped forward, unbuckling hand cuffs from his belt. ‘Until we can get this matter cleared up, you must consider yourself in detention.’
Nat laughed and held out the crutches. ‘My dear sir. You can clearly see I am not capable of making a swift bid for freedom. There will be no need of manacles. I will just bid my son farewell and then you can take me.’
They all followed us into the ward, the policeman still holding out his handcuffs.
I rounded on him, a white mist of anger rising before my eyes. ‘How dare you even consider putting him in handcuffs in the presence of the child. Put them away this instant.’
Sheepishly the officer complied as Nat bent over his son.
‘Be brave,’ he whispered to the boy. ‘I will be back as soon as I can.’
Christian whimpered and I stroked the hair away from his anxious eyes His hand closed on mine.
