“I—I’ve overstayed my visa. But I was heading to the airport today, I swear.”
The policewoman looked thoughtful. “Well, I have to say we’re not generally in the habit of arresting tourists, especially on their way home. But ye did run, so let’s just walk back to the car and get this sorted, a’right?”
In the end, I was ignominiously perp-walked back through the Wallace Monument field. The spotted goat viewed me balefully, chewing. The police officer, whose name was Doris, carried my backpack and helped me over the fence to the waiting police car.
And standing beside the car was Jack Findlay.
I had used up my full capacity of adrenaline for the day. “What are you doing here?” I asked, as coolly as I could, considering the handcuffs.
“I was just about to ask you the same question,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the sight of my shackled wrists. “I’m here to sign copies of my book at the gift shop.” He glanced up at the tower looming above us. “My Wallace book. And you …?”
I didn’t have time to answer, as something had come over my arresting officer.
“Hellow Mister Findlay,” said Doris, simpering.
I stared at her, but she only had eyes for Jack.
“Er … hello,” he said.
“I’ve read all yer books, Mister Findlay,” said Doris, breathily. “But this last one about Wallace? It were a masterpiece.”
“Well, thank you, PC—ah—Potts. Perhaps you can tell me why you have my friend here all trussed up?”
“I especially loved Missus Wallace, Jack. She was so—enamored with her husband, weren’t she?”
I noted with alarm how Doris had moved so quickly into a first-name basis with her favorite author.
“She was indeed, PC Potts. I—I had a wee bit of historical freedom to develop her character, as so little is actually known. But, regarding my friend Emma, here. Can you tell me why she’s being detained?”
Doris looked over at me as though she had forgotten my existence. “Oh, righ’,” she said. “She tells me she’s overstayed her visitor’s visa, so I need to run her name through the system.”
Jack’s face cleared. “Oh, is that all? Well, I’m sure we can clear this up very quickly. Who is it we need to speak to?”
Doris shook her head regretfully. “I’m afraid there is no speaking to anyone, Mister Findlay, sir. If she is an overstay, I’ll need to bring Miss Sheridan in to the Bannockburn station, and they’ll hold her in a cell until she can be deported, sir.”
“He—held in a cell …?” I began.
Jack put a calming hand on my arm. “It’s okay, Emma,” he said to me in a low voice. “I can handle this.”
“I—I’m not sure I can,” I said, wondering if I had it in me to drop-kick PC Doris and get away with my hands locked behind my back.
But she must have sensed my thought patterns or something, because before I knew it, she’d jammed me into the back of her car, and slammed the door shut.
I did not know, until that moment, that the rear seats in Scottish police cars are sound-proofed. PC Doris’s car was, anyway.
Later, I was grateful for this.
But at the time, I just screamed.
To:
[email protected]
From: SophiaSheridan@angstandarg*t.com
September 12
Dear Emma,
Well, all I feared has come to pass. Detained by the police and asked to leave? Is that the same as being deported? Your email was conveniently unclear.
Emma, I…I don’t even know what to say. We are your family, and of course will stand behind you, but…deported?
I will, of course, have Paul research the implications.
In the meantime, I suppose I should tell you that Starbucks is opening up a new location in my building downtown. Once you get back here safely, we can take you down to fill out an application.
Please, please try to stay out of any further trouble. It’s only a plane ride. Send the arrival information as soon as you have it.
Sophia
PS. We do love you, Emma. See you soon.
I sat silently in the car as Jack pulled away from the police station and headed north. A doctor had been called and they’d given me something that left me feeling fuzzy-headed but calm. And a bit weepy.
They’d even let me check my email after I’d calmed down, but with the drugs on board, that had made me weepy, all over again. And Sophia’s swift reply to my confessional email had not helped.
I clutched a tissue tightly in one hand. “I’m so sorry,” I said, for the nineteenth time. “I don’t know why I ran.”
Jack shot me a sideways glance and swung expertly through a roundabout and onto the highway. “You ran because you didn’t want to be locked away. You clearly don’t like being locked away.”