Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

a clear-out, especially in areas that could be a danger to others. That “garden” needs to be cleared, and we need access to your chimney, at a minimum.’ She put a hand on Amy’s arm. Amy flinched. Leah spoke more softly. ‘We don’t want this to be traumatic,’ she said. ‘But we need to think of everyone’s safety, including yours. If you can make it better, even just a little better, we might be able to avoid any unpleasantness. Do you think you can do that?’

Amy nodded.

‘Good.’ Leah got up and smiled, as if they were old friends catching up over a cup of tea. ‘I’ll be in touch. Look out for the letter. We don’t want it getting lost again.’

Amy watched her walk away, and made sure Leah was right at the end of the road before she turned and walked back up her front path. She put the key in the lock and disappeared inside her house.

February 2004

Amy couldn’t work out what the sound was. She opened her eyes. It was dark, except for a beam of light from her phone. That’s what it was. Her phone was ringing. She rolled over and grabbed for it on the nightstand, instead finding Tim’s china ashtray, shaped like a guitar. At least he’d bought one now, instead of using her mugs. She sat up and grabbed her phone, blinking the fuzziness of sleep from her head. Tim emitted a soft grunt and snuggled his head deeper into his pillow.

‘Amy? Thank god you’re there. I need your help.’ Chantel spoke quickly, as if she were on fast forward.

‘What is it?’ Amy sat up in bed. It wasn’t the first time she’d had a call like this in the middle of the night. ‘Tim doesn’t have any weed,’ she said. ‘He’s given up.’

‘Shush,’ said Chantel. She paused. ‘I’ve been arrested,’ she hissed.

‘Arrested?’ echoed Amy.

‘It’s all a big mix-up,’ she said. ‘I was carrying some gear for Spike, and then when the police turned up he chucked another bag at me, and you know I used to captain the netball team, I caught it like an idiot. He ran and I was left looking like some kind of dealer. But I’m not. You know I’m not.’

‘Where are you now?’ said Amy, feeling around the floor for her clothes.

‘Holborn police station,’ said Chantel.

‘On my way,’ said Amy.

Tim rolled over and opened his eyes. ‘Chantel?’ he questioned.

‘I need to go to the police station,’ said Amy.

Tim looked at his phone. ‘It’s one a.m.,’ he said.

‘She needs my help.’

Tim got up and flicked on the bedroom light. Amy fumbled to get her jeans on. She could see Tim in the mirror, scratching at his pale chest and blinking in the light. ‘You’re not going to the police station in the middle of the night,’ he said, talking to her reflection. Amy opened her mouth, ready to argue. ‘At least not alone,’ said Tim. ‘Give me a minute to find my trousers and I’ll come with you.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Amy. ‘She’s my friend. Go back to sleep.’

‘No way,’ said Tim, pulling on a crumpled T-shirt. ‘I can always call in sick tomorrow.’

‘Again?’ queried Amy.

‘Emergency,’ he replied. He leaned forwards and kissed her, his breath tasting of the night-time.

‘Thanks,’ said Amy.

Amy blinked under the harsh glare of the lights in the police station. She was grateful for Tim’s arm around her shoulder as they stood together, watching a drunk man in a dishevelled suit complaining to the female officer on reception.

‘Sit down, sir,’ said the officer. ‘If I have to tell you once more . . . ’

‘I’ve been robbed,’ slurred the man, again. ‘My wallet. My phone. My bloody house keys. It’s all gone and you lot are doing nothing.’

‘I’ve given you a form,’ she said. ‘Kindly take a seat.’

The drunk man turned to Tim. ‘We pay her wages with our tax money and she’s telling us what to do?’

‘Maybe just fill in the form,’ suggested Tim, pulling Amy further away from the man.

‘Formedy form form form,’ said the man, looking disappointed that Tim didn’t share his outrage.

‘Trouble, WPC Kelly?’ A large muscular man strode into the reception. He was in plain clothes, but his bearing showed that he was a policeman. ‘Perhaps this gentleman needs to spend some time in the cells for being drunk and disorderly?’

‘I’m fine, officer,’ said the man, all talk of his taxes disappearing. ‘Just filling in my form.’ He sat down.

‘Thanks, Jack,’ said WPC Kelly, with a smile. She turned to Amy. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her voice tired.

‘My friend’s been arrested,’ began Amy. ‘But it’s all a misunderstanding . . . ’

‘Your friend’s name?’

‘Chantel Smith,’ said Amy. ‘She shouldn’t be in here. It’s all her boyfriend’s fault . . . ’

‘Fill in this form,’ said Kelly, handing her some paperwork. Amy felt a moment’s affinity with the drunk man.

‘Will she get out once I fill this in?’

‘Fill in the form and I’ll see what the situation is,’ replied WPC Kelly.

Amy sat down on the institutional plastic chair, leaving us much space as she could between her and the drunk man, who was now muttering under his breath about the contents of his lost wallet. Tim was standing up, looking uncomfortable. The officer who had threatened the drunk man leaned on the reception desk chatting quietly to WPC Kelly. Every once in a while, a short burst of laughter between the two of them punctuated the silence.

Amy finally completed the form and stood up to hand it back. The female officer was still smiling at something when she took the form.

Tim grabbed Amy’s arm and she looked around to see Spike hurry past, his head down.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

‘Home,’ said Spike, reluctantly pausing. ‘I’ve been released.’

‘You’ve been released?’ repeated Amy.

‘Yes.’

‘But Chantel is still here,’ said Amy, looking to the policewoman for verification. She