The Bad Boy's Dancer

Prologue

00: How it All Began

Saturday, 02 June 2012

I NEVER THOUGHT I would find myself in the back of a police car.

     Nothing good comes from getting in trouble.

     Mum's words kept ringing over and over in my head whilst I was being taken to the police station, for a crime that I hadn't even committed. I was just in the shop, minding my own business, when a guy had come up to me and we got talking. I didn't think anything of it, he asked me whether I was interested in the perfumes that I had been looking at, and then the next thing I know he's telling me that we needed to run, and before I know it we're both being arrested.

     I didn't even know who the guy was, that had caused my arrest, yet I was still being taken to a police station to be questioned about the whole incident. I kept going over in my head on what to say, and how I would explain my side of the story. I also kept thinking about how much of a lecture I was going to get from Aaron, and Aunt Rhona. I had only been in London for a week, and the first thing I find myself caught up in is something to do with me being arrested. I know for a fact that she would want me to return back to Manchester, for the rest of the summer and she would probably have me under house arrest too, until I turned eighteen.

     It was safe to say that I was absolutely shitting myself.

     When we arrived at West Hampstead police station, I was escorted out of the car by the police officer who was sat beside me and into the station, where I was asked to hand over any valuables and empty out my pockets. I was then searched, had my fingerprints and photographs taken, before I was then put in a custody cell.

     I don't know how long I was pacing back and forth in the small cell for, awaiting to be interviewed, but when the door opened, I felt more nervous than I did when I first got handcuffed. I was taken to an interview room, where a young woman and a man was sitting, around a table. I was motioned to sit next to the woman, who didn't look like she worked for the police.

     The man who was already seated, pressed the record button on the tape, as we were now all seated.

     "For the record of the tape, please state your full name and date of birth." The office opposite me spoke,

     "Florence Blaise Robbinson." I said, "Twelfth of February, nineteen ninety-five."

     "You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Are we ready to begin?"

     I nodded my head, as the question could only be directed at me.

     "When do I get my phone call?" I blurted.

     "You will be entitled to your phone call at a later stage," The officer informed me. "Why were you shopping at the O2 Centre  today Florence?"

     "I was looking around," I stated. "I didn't even touch anything."

     The police officer looks at me questioningly, before bringing out a series of photos, which you can see me clearly because of my brightly pink coloured hair.

     "For the purpose of the tape, I am showing the defendant, CCTV images of them in the store, shoplifting —"

     "Shoplifting?" I uttered. "I... I wasn't shoplifting." I defended.

     The police officer place in front me another image of me, where you can clearly see a perfume bottle in the pocket of my jacket. I stare at the photo in pure shock as I know damn well that I didn't put the perfume bottle in my jacket pocket.