Under arrest

She got the interview call for Tuesday at 12.30pm. Part time position as art teacher in the adult education centre nearby. Perfect location, a five-minute walk from home.

Marcella was all set to leave, looking smart and employable, she thought. Blue dress, beige jacket, striped, blue flats. Her mother’s muted pastel coloured linen scarf finished off the outfit. 

           “Shouldn’t be too long,” she called back to her parents as she opened the door. To her surprise two guards were standing outside, one with his hand held up about to press the doorbell.

Assuming they were at the wrong house, Marcella asked them if she could help them find whoever they were looking for.

           “Yes, Miss we would be very happy if you could lead us to a gentleman called Donald, living at this address.”

           “You must have the wrong house and the wrong man. My father Donald, is eighty-eight years of age and I don’t believe you could have any dealings with him.”

           “Well Miss, we believe we may have a few questions to run by him, if you don’t mind?”

Marcella was getting impatient. She had ten minutes and did not want to arrive to her interview all sweaty and out of breath.

           “Look, now is not a good time for me, perhaps you could call back later, I am running late for a very important appointment.”

The song “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date” kept going through her mind. She wanted to shout the words along with other profanities at these nuisance guards who had picked the opportune moment to call.

“Afraid not today, Miss,” said the younger of the two, looking at his colleague for confirmation.

           “Yes, we too are running late. We have a long list of calls and crimes to get through so we will stay, if you don’t mind,” the taller of the two responded.

Marcella cursed silently. What the hell was so serious that it had to be addressed now? Her father’s routine didn’t vary. He drove to daily mass with her mother, did a small shop for groceries and the newspaper, and home.

Is this man Donald a relation of yours?

“Yes, he is my father, incapable of committing a crime. What could you possibly want to question him about?”

The guards looked at each other, the younger one scratching his head once again, forgetting that he wore the official guards’ hat, which he sent flying off his head, hitting his colleague on the nose.

 Jesus what kind of a comedy show is this, thought Marcella, smothering a desire to giggle.

“Guys, sorry Guards, I am under serious pressure here, you have to tell me what the crime is and let me go.”

“Well, it’s like this Miss, we have reason to believe that your father has been involved in a hit and run.

Was this some kind of practical joke? Hit and run conjured up images of mad car chases on those detective series her father loved to watch on TV. She wanted to laugh out loud but he didn’t look amused, so she stared with her lips pursed in annoyance.

“A hit and run? My father? You must be mistaken.”

“Well, he may have damaged a car while moving away from the church yard this morning, and possibly driven off,” the older guard explained.

“Which is double crime,” the younger recruit volunteered.

“Enough Eunice. You stick with note taking. I’ll do the talking,” advised the voice of experience.

Never, thought Marcella, her father was as honest as a bishop. He would never do something like that. When she and her siblings were young his motto was to

“Never tell a lie, always own up no matter what the consequences were.”

           “Not exactly what I would call a hit and run. How do you know it was him? It could have been anybody?”

“Well Miss, if you look at the left-hand side of your father’s car it matches the description of the car he damaged. See over the left back wheel. Besides, he was seen and his registration number reported to us.”

           “By some nosey busy body,” thought the dutiful daughter, stepping outside to verify the evidence. Sure enough there was a red indentation over the back left wheel.

           “Guys, I mean Guards, I am now running later than late for my appointment, a job interview, so can you make this quick.” Marcella knew that she had no choice but to entertain these scourges.

The two guards came into the hallway while Marcella announced their arrival to her father who was having his morning cup of tea and reading his paper in peace. Annoyed to be interrupted, he rattled his newspaper with gusto.

Her Mother was delighted with the intrusion.

           “Welcome to ye. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guard in this house. Has someone done something wrong?”

           “We are here to have a word with your husband if that is okay,” said the older guard.

           “Oh, is he in trouble? He’s busy reading the paper. Why don’t ye chat with me? I’d love to hear all about what he’s been up to.”

Marcella, who was beyond late, smiled at her mother’s comments. She had early dementia and didn’t really care what the guards thought or anyone else for that matter. She spoke her mind, in a nice way, which endeared her to all who met her.

The guards approached Donald. Looking up he greeted them with

           “Good morning, young men and what brings ye here at all?”

The guards were now more sheepish and nervous. They could have been past pupils of his, in the local second level college, thought Marcella.

           “Sir, we just want to check a few things with you about your car at the church this morning.”

Donald looked up with a peculiar look on his face, Marcella hadn’t seen before.

“No need, I know, Mea Culpa, I hit against that red car parked next to me. She was in the way, as always, silly woman.”

“And did you report the incident?”

“I didn’t want to delay or make a fuss, so I drove off. I knew ye’d catch up with me, ye ruffins.”

The guards smothered their grins and looked at each other in disbelief. Donald had made their job much easier, no probing and searching for the truth. Hopefully this will be quick, thought Marcella. Take their notes and go and let her run late for her interview. She was reminded of a recurring nightmare. She arrives late to the venue for her final school exam, locked out of the examination hall, an older nun hands her the paper through a letter box, ordering her to take the exam outside sitting on a bench in the school yard, even though it is pouring rain. Back in the real world, time was ticking on.

Marcella knew she would have to stay with her parents. No point in calling the venue to tell them her father just escaped arrest.

The guards took their notes and asked Donald to read them and sign if he was happy.

The driver of the other car would be in touch, they promised.

           “Pay the woman whatever she wants, get it over with,” Donald muttered from behind his paper.

Marcella wondered if he was using the paper to shield his embarrassment and avoid having to talk about the incident.

As the guards left, her mother perked up

“This will be all over the papers tomorrow. What a disgrace. We better hide somewhere in case they’ll be back to arrest us all.” Marcella smiled at her mother and catching her father’s eyes, she consoled him,

“Don’t worry Dad, it would happen to a bishop.”

Her Mother piped up with

           “But a Bishop would tell the truth.”

Marcella gave her mother a loving hug,

           “Oh Mam, I wouldn’t count on that, at all. Now I must go.”

“Where to? Don’t draw those guards back on us.”

           “Not on your life Mam. I’m running late. Later than and beyond late.”