urgently, he needed to talk to Jo (preferably without Grey or the General present) about how quickly she could rope in more paying guests. But the boy looked so pathetic crouching there: wretched and friendless and bloodstained. With a mother in the nuthouse. And a streetful of angry shopkeepers waiting to beat him up if he ventured out of the car park again. Charlie couldn’t quite bring himself to walk away.
‘Look, er—’ he said irritably, making a point of examining his watch. ‘D’you want a lift somewhere? I’m going out towards Fiddleford, if you know where that is…I can drop you off at your – mother’s. Place. Or something. Is she there? I can drop you off at home if you want. Where do you live?’
‘No thanks,’ Colin said drearily.
‘What’re you going to do then?’
The boy shrugged.
‘Well, come on, buck up,’ said Charlie. ‘What’re you going to do? You can’t sit here muttering to yourself all afternoon. And you certainly can’t go back out that way…’ He indicated the car park’s only exit, which led directly onto the High Street. ‘Shall I drop you off at school, perhaps?’
The boy laughed suddenly, a blast of genuine mirth which took Charlie by surprise. ‘I’m better on Lamsbury High Street, thank you very much,’ he said. ‘But you can take me down Fiddleford if you like.’
‘I don’t like. That’s not what I was offering.’
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