A Boy Without Hope: Part 3 of 3

‘There are always police coming.’

I turned the knife over in my hand. ‘Why did you steal this from Jenny, Miller?’

He pulled a face – one that said, Do you even need to ask? ‘For protection, of course,’ he said.

‘Protection from what, Miller? From who?’

He shrugged. ‘Just in case,’ he said.

‘In case of what?’

A heavy outbreath. ‘Just in case.’

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ I said. ‘What situation do you imagine where you’d need – or want – to use this?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just need to be able to defend myself.’

‘Against what, love? Everyone around you – me, Mike, Libby … absolutely everyone – wants only what’s best for you. No one wants to hurt you.’

‘So you say …’

‘But it’s true, Miller. You know that.’

He shook his head. ‘Well, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘About what?’

‘About a raid. About everything. You’re on your own now.’

‘Miller, there is not going to be police raid. Nothing bad is going to happen. There is no need for you to be frightened about someone trying to hurt you. Or us.’

He looked at me strangely. ‘So you say,’ he said again.

Then he turned on his heel and went back up to his room, leaving me at a loss to know what to do or what to say. But he was right about one thing, I thought, as I took the contraband into the kitchen. That’s exactly how I felt. That I was on my own now.

***

Despite my resolution that he would have to earn back the TV remote, after our encounter I returned it to Miller’s room. I’d been discomfited, to say the least, about his proclamations of impending danger, and was still chewing over the whys and wherefores of what he’d said. Mainly the whys. Why did he feel that he needed protection? There was nothing to indicate it in his records, but was it because of an incident that had happened with a removal from a previous placement? Or – more likely, I imagined – related to violence meted out to him while still with his parents? Either way, he clearly felt he was in danger – something clearly reflected in his obsession with disasters and death; his endless wondering what it might feel like to be fatally wounded. Yet he’d also spontaneously given up his ‘protection’, which, however garbled his thinking, felt like a big step towards trust.

Of course, it might just be that he genuinely believed that, as a result of the disclosures and the meeting, they’d have been searched for and found anyway. But even if that were so, it was still a considered action – one of taking control, yes, but of taking control in a positive way. A decision taken to perhaps minimise negative consequences. No, I wasn’t sure that was quite how he’d seen it himself, but when I’d given it back I’d made much of the fact that he had taken control of a situation in a way that I definitely approved of. That he’d been a good boy, and had done the right thing.

Though, as I’d had to talk to the duvet in which he was currently rolled up, saying nothing, what he thought of my little speech, I had no idea.

***

At around three that afternoon, a young fire officer arrived at the house, armed with a small laptop and a big smile. He looked to be in his early thirties and was so tall that he had to duck his head as he entered the house.

‘Well, I thought my husband was tall,’ I said, as he bent even lower to come into the living room. ‘I must look like someone from Gulliver’s Travels to you.’

The fireman laughed. ‘Not just you, Mrs Watson, I can assure you. I kind of have this dwarfing effect on most people. I blame my father. I’m David Helm, by the way,’ he added, holding his hand out for me to shake. ‘I trust the young man in question is ready to meet me?’

‘It’s Miller,’ I told him. ‘And please, call me Casey. But I’m afraid he’s upstairs and I doubt he’ll come down. He’s not asleep – he’s playing on his PlayStation – but I’ve tried everything to get him down here for your arrival, without success. I even told him you’d march up there and do the work right there on his bed, but he still won’t come down, I’m afraid.’

‘Well if you don’t mind, that’s exactly what I will do,’ he said. ‘When I’m right there in front of them, most boys tend to listen to what I have to say. Would that be okay with you?’

I had no doubt at all that most boys would listen to this imposing fellow, but would Miller? Though he was in the habit of listening more to males rather than females, he wasn’t ‘most boys’ – far from it. Still, after the fraught, defeated expressions of my earlier visitors, this young man’s demeanour was like a breath of fresh air. ‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘Though you’ll probably have to open his curtains, and please ignore the state of his room, but, yes, please, be my guest. Top of the stairs, turn right, second room. ’

He patted his laptop. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said with a grin. ‘All I need is this and my charming banter, and he’ll be putty in my hands.’

Bolstered and inspired by his confidence, I left him to it, but still crossed my fingers for good measure. Perhaps a stranger of this kind coming in would flip some switch and get him to communicate properly, in a two-way conversation. But I wasn’t holding my breath.

I’d been right not to, as well. Because half an hour later, David Helm was back downstairs, looking decidedly more frazzled than when he went up. ‘Wow,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That was a career first. What an odd experience.’