even if more to myself than anyone else. But it caused both Mike and Tyler to grin in mild amusement. ‘What?’ I said, going to peep out of the window for the umpteenth time. ‘Don’t the pair of you ever talk to yourselves these days?’
We’d bought Tyler a guitar for his sixteenth birthday, the better to further his dream of becoming a famous singer-songwriter (well, in his free time from being a famous footballer, obviously), and in the few months he’d had it, he’d already become quite good. He was also having lessons, and had impressed us with his diligence in practising; we’d often hear the sound of repetitive twanging coming from his bedroom, accessorised by the odd curse when he played a wrong chord. He was strumming it now, swaying on a dining chair as he played, channelling Ed Sheeran, as was his current habit. ‘And we all watched … as she slowly went insane, yeah, yeah …’
Mike roared with laughter. ‘Is that the new song you’re writing, son?’ he asked, quickly taking refuge in the dining area, where he’d be safely out of my reach.
‘Oh, very funny,’ I said, shaking my head at the two of them. I glanced at the clock again. ‘It’s now gone seven,’ I pointed out. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Maybe the kid’s run off,’ Tyler suggested. ‘Didn’t you say that was one of his things, running away? Maybe he’s decided he doesn’t want another move and has run away to join a circus.’
As opposed to this circus, I thought. Then caught myself half hoping it might be true, so that it was a decision that wouldn’t be mine to make. I silently berated myself. I had to do this wholeheartedly, or not at all.
And Tyler was right. Since the morning’s meeting I had been receiving bits of information all day. Christine had been busy; I’d had several phone calls and emails, and the bigger picture was now becoming clear. Absconding appeared to be one of Miller’s favourite activities. And he didn’t do things by halves either. He’d run from classrooms, meetings, various foster homes and cars. At one point, it was recorded, he’d even leapt from a moving car. It seemed clear that if he wasn’t in a secure area, and constantly watched, it was odds-on that he’d try to escape.
But he always came back. And, to me, that seemed key. Just as a half-hearted suicide attempt was often a cry for help, so this lad seemed not to really want to disappear – which he could do, should he want to – but simply to cause maximum inconvenience and stress for all concerned.
Which, of course, was a cry for help too. I left my vigil at the dining-room window, and went into the kitchen, where I slapped the switch down on the kettle for about the sixth or seventh time. Ridiculous, really, because I could boil it when they arrived. It was just a nervous tic I couldn’t shake. ‘I imagine he probably has,’ I said to Tyler. ‘But you’d have thought they’d have at least phoned me! John knows what I’m like,’ I harrumphed. ‘He should have phoned.’
‘But it’s not John who’s bringing him, love,’ Mike reminded me. ‘It’s the boy’s social worker, isn’t it? John probably doesn’t even know what’s going on, truth be known. It will be Christine taking the lead on this one, won’t it?’
I was just about to say ‘Whatever’ when, as if on cue, my mobile phone rang, showing an unknown number in the display. I snatched it up, mouthing ‘Finally’ at Mike.
‘It’s Libby Moran,’ a female voice said. ‘I’m Miller Green’s social worker?’
She sounded bright enough, but I could tell that the brightness was forced, as if her tone was for the benefit of someone else. ‘I’m just, um, calling to let you know that we should be with you in about half an hour, if that’s okay? Sorry about the delay. Miller was a little bit afraid of another move so quickly, so we had a teeny bit of a job convincing him to get into the car … but it’s all okay now,’ she trilled. ‘We’re finally on the road.’
‘That’s fine,’ I trilled back, imagining I’d be coming through the loudspeaker. ‘We’ll see you when you get here, but please do tell Miller that he has nothing to be afraid of. We’re all really looking forward to meeting him. Oh, and you might want to let him know that we’ve put a TV in his bedroom, and I’ve managed to borrow a PlayStation from my sister for him, too.’
‘Oh, that sounds wonderful,’ she replied, but, as she hung up the call, I was sure I could hear manic laughter.
I kept that to myself, however. Best not to pre-judge. ‘Half an hour,’ I told Mike and Tyler. ‘He was just a bit reluctant, that was all.’
‘I can understand that,’ Tyler said. ‘I mean, he’s bound to be scared, isn’t he? Specially if he’s been on the move all the time. Must be crap for him.’
‘Rubbish.’ I corrected. ‘It must be “rubbish” for him. You’ll have to try to curb your language, Ty – he’s at an impressionable age, remember.’
Though whether we’d be able to make any sort of impression on him was quite another matter. I had my doubts. Miller, it seemed, liked to be the one calling the shots. The half-hour stretched. Then stretched some more. Then became a full hour. It was gone ten past eight by the time the doorbell eventually buzzed, and I wondered what had held them up now.
Though it wasn’t a ‘them’ that was standing on the doorstep. It was just a young, flustered-looking woman – no sign of Miller – with a suitcase in one hand and a bin bag in the other.
‘He’s still in the car,’ she explained, as I peered past her into the street. ‘Won’t get out at the minute – this is a bit of a thing with him, I’m afraid – but I’m sure if we go inside, curiosity will get the better of him, and he’ll come and join us.’
With little choice but to go with her assessment of the situation, I stood aside to let her in and put the door on the latch. She looked to be in her late twenties, and put me in mind of a 1960s hippy; long floral skirt, bright orange oversized jumper and her dyed red hair hung in long dreadlocks. Conventional social worker she wasn’t, at least in appearance. She also had a lip piercing, which surprised me, even in these enlightened times. Though less surprising, I decided, as I ushered her into the living room, would be to find out that under the maxi-skirt she had heavy workmen’s boots.
I wasn’t disappointed. As she took the seat I proffered, and hitched up her dress, I spied a pair of chunky ten-eyelet Dr. Martens. I hoped she was as robust as they looked.
‘Bless him,’ she said, accepting the mug of coffee Mike handed her. ‘He’s such a little monkey. After all he put Jenny and Martin through, you wouldn’t credit it, would you? Decided he was going nowhere. Refused point blank to get into my car. And then of course he ran off and it was ages before we found him. Up a tree as it turned out, watching us all running around looking for him.’
Running rings round them, more like, I thought but didn’t say. There was also the small matter of him still being in the car. He was only twelve, after all, and with a long history of absconding. For all we knew, he could already be halfway down the street.
Mike was on a different tack, however. ‘And, if he refuses, how do you propose we get him back out of your car?’
‘Or more to the point,’ Tyler said, before Libby had a chance to answer, ‘how are you going to get back into your car?’ He’d been keeping watch, out of the window, and now motioned for us to look. ‘Because he’s sitting in the driving seat and, if I’m not mistaken, I think those are your car keys he’s waving?’
Libby
