The 4.30pm London to Berkamhead, Return (Chapter Three: Voices in my Head)

London 1996

6Am. A prison cell.

What are you doing here Juliet? What mess have you gotten us into now?

I don’t know! Why the hell is my head hurting so much?

You’ve obviously been bad, but that’s you Juliet, a bad person

My head pounded again, making me squint, over and over like a banging drum, until tears were running down my face.

What was it Juliet? You don’t remember do you, but I do. Drunk and disorderly? A little theft and a lot of prostitution? I know, but I am going to keep you guessing. Why can’t you remember Juliet?

Why the fuck was I in here? I leapt up and took a swing at the door with a clenched fist, immediately coiling back in pain. “Fuckin’ door”.

And where are your clothes Juliet?

Where were my fucking clothes? I swept my bloodied knuckle across the sleeve of what were effectively heavy cotton pyjamas. I thought for a moment that maybe I had been institutionalised.

Juliet is a mental patient, Juliet is a mental patient

The thumping in my head had turned to a whistling ring. I sat on the blanket covered slab that had been my bed for… for how long? I tried desperately to piece it all together. My clothes had gone; maybe there had been an accident.

Maybe you had an accident. Pissy pants Juliet

No, I know that I had gone to some excesses last night. Was it one night or two? But wet myself, never. Perhaps if I called out someone might come.

But no one listens to you Juliet, I’ve told you before. Except me, but you never respond. You’re ignorant to me. You’re evil to me and you are finally going to find that out. I’ll be laughing at you, as you are finally going to pay for ignoring me

I started to cry and felt nauseous. They’ll come for me soon enough and get me out of this cell. Then they’ll explain what I’ve done, give me a slap on the wrists and let me pay with this god awful hangover. I’ll sleep it off at Miria’s and get back to work tomorrow. It’ll be fine. It will be fine.

As the locks on the door snapped open outside, I quickly tried to wipe the tears from my eyes, checked my hair in the imaginary mirror and straightened the horrible hospital style robes. Even now, with no idea why, or how, I ended up in prison; I was determined to look strong and professional. “What am I doing here?” I tried to remain casual, but the words rushed out of mouth in desperation as the male officer entered.
“Would you come with me please Miss Cardean”?
Holding out his hand, beckoning me to the hallway, it didn’t seem like a civil request, so I duly followed him out into the corridor. Perhaps he had been on the nightshift and had used his quota of politeness locking up the real criminals. I guess I would forgive him, even though he ignored my plea for answers all the way up the barren station hall. I glanced about, trying to take it all in, although apart from the odd positive moral poster, there was very little to see. Two female PCs stood at the end of the corridor, gasping about something. Perhaps some Inspector that had shagged someone in the ranks.

Perhaps about you Juliet?

Why were we stopping outside an interview room? The office opened the door and I was gently pushed forward.
“Ah, Miss Cardean. I hope that you enjoyed your sleep. Would you come and sit down please. I’m Detective Robson and this is Detective Mourn”
I moved around the table and sat down. Apparently the British Police Force has become yet another employee of smug university graduates. Just my luck. As for Detective Mourn, well, he was just another faceless wanker you see down the pub at the weekend, drinking his doubles before going home and smacking his wife about.

Why are you so defensive Juliet? You only had an accident didn’t you?

“Detective Inspector Robson, would you please tell me why I have been detained here against my will?” My headache was starting too clear, and now wasn’t the time to be letting myself down just because I had had a little bit to drink the night before.
“It’s Detective”. The faceless wanker beside him smirked as his colleague continued, “We are currently holding you as part of our investigation into the murder of Mr Matt Reynolds, twenty eight, an, um, estate agent”. I gagged for breath. “You were arrested in the early hours of this morning outside”, he paused for a moment, “outside Millars of London, Mr Reynolds place of work”.
I urged, my hangover driving sick to the back of my throat. “Thing is Miss Cardean, we would like to ask you a few questions about the events leading up to Mr Reynolds death, your movements between eleven pm and four am this morning. And why”, he barely paused to draw breath, “why your clothes were covered in blood”. I urged again and was sick on the table.

…………….

8. 30 Am. Interview Room 2
“Right Miss Cardean”, it was Robson again, “We’ve spoken to Mr Tony Rence, the DJ at um”, he shuffled some papers, “Migration in Faring Road and got his version of events, which we would now like you to confirm. Now you have every right to some legal representation with you during the interview, but if you’re interested in going home, perhaps we could get on?”
I nodded. This all seemed so surreal I questioned whether I was dreaming. I’d gone into automatic pilot after being herded around the station as they looked for a another interview room. I had to get it together now that my headache was clearing. The ringing had stopped when I had been sick. Yes, now was the time to be strong. I took a deep breath and hoped I could recall my every step otherwise be accused of murder.

…………….

Perhaps now I can let you into your secrets Juliet? Of course you got to speak to the DJ last night. It turns out Matt , god rest his soul, and Tony were flatmates. You thought he was sooo sexy, you sad bitch. He was a rake, with the personality of a library assistant. I’ve always said that coke clouds your judgement. Anyway, you got chatting, then got to flirting. With the pair of them Juliet? At least we can conclude that with a bit of coke you’re anybodies. It could have all been so different Juliet. Tony had planned to move on to an impromptu house party, but young Matt was so disappointed. I mean, let’s face it, he had wanted to fuck you since meeting you at the flat. The black cock was just the icing on the cake really. Not wanting to disappoint, you had insisted that the least Tony could do was come back to yours and get a taxi from there. You didn’t even offer them coffee. Like the little crack whore that you are, you quickly got your knickers off and were taking them both on. Sort of shit you wouldn’t do to a farm animal. How the fuck can you live with that Juliet? Then you left. With Tony. Of course, you drank yourself stupid at the house party and people saw you for what you really are. And still, Tony was good enough to invite you home with him and you shared a cab. But your little crack nose finally fought back. You had a nose bleed Juliet! They dumped you at the side of the road, I mean, you were bleeding all over yourself, all over the cab. Why would anyone want you all bloodied and fucked up? It was just coincidence that you dragged yourself out of the gutter outside Millars.

……………..

“Interview ended, ten thirty am”. Detective Mourn got up quickly and headed out of the door. I looked up and caught Robson’s glare, “I’ll tell you this Miss Cardean, we will soon get the results back on that blood”. He rose and walked towards the door, before turning back to me, “And if it is Mr Reynolds, you’ll go down for fucking murder you bitch. Your hear me? Murder”