Leo blinked, taken aback by Charlie’s sudden animation and the stacks of weird comic books he produced from under the bed. He stepped forward, curious, despite the heavy haze of apathy clouding his mind. “Which is which?”
“This one is manga . . . this one anime screenshot.” Charlie pointed between two images that appeared pretty similar to Leo. “See the difference in the detail? Anime uses loads of effects and music. Manga is all about the illustrations.”
Leo studied the drawings. He didn’t know jack about art, but the fiery gleam in Charlie’s dark eyes made him feel a little dizzy. “So manga is comics and anime is . . . like, um, animated stuff?”
“Something like that.” Charlie huffed out an irritated puff of air and shoved his boxes back under the bed. “I’m knackered. All right if I turn the light off?”
Leo swallowed. He’d noticed the single lamp by Charlie’s bed and fought the urge to swipe it. “Whatever. Are we allowed to use the shower at night?”
“Course we are.” Charlie shot Leo a strange look, turned off the light, and crawled into his bed. “But don’t leave wet towels on the floor. Mum goes mental when we do that.”
“She’s not my mum.” Leo backed away. In the murky dark of the room, he could just about see Charlie’s face, see him watching Leo like he was a stray dog, likely to turn at any moment. “Where are the towels?”
“In the airing cupboard, mate.”
Mate, sweetheart, darling, honey. Over the course of the evening, Leo had heard them all. “Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Mate. It’s not my name.”
“Oh.” Charlie’s voice was hollow. “Sorry. It’s a habit. You want me to just call you Leo?”
“I am Leo. Why would you call me anything else?”
“Fair enough.”
Leo almost felt bad again, but it passed. The fire had taken everything—home, things, Wendy’s still-warm body. In this strange house, surrounded by strangers, Leo’s name was all he and Lila had left.
He retreated from Charlie’s dark room and went to the bathroom, peeking into Lila’s bedroom on his way. She was sound asleep, and didn’t stir as he rescued the hand she’d wedged between the wall and the bed, and tucked her favourite bear in beside her.
In the bathroom, he took a shower, slathered ointment on his scarred skin, and redressed his arm with the fresh bandages someone had left out. He didn’t look at the mangled flesh—never did, unless he felt like making himself retch—and then, despite an urge to leave a mess just for the hell of it, he dumped his wet towel in the washing basket.
Back on the landing, he noted that the house had stilled while he’d been in the shower, and the only sign of life now was the sliver of light filtering through Kate and Reg’s open bedroom door. He checked Lila one last time, then slunk back to his own room where the dark enveloped him. The silence was heavy—choking—and he wondered if Charlie was asleep.
Charlie.
A shiver passed through Leo. Charlie was as annoying as the rest of the world, but Leo felt somehow colder without his warm, earnest gaze following him, and disquiet gnawed in the pit of his stomach. His pulse quickened and his breath caught, like he’d played ninety minutes on a football pitch without moving a muscle. Sweat prickled his shower-damp skin. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and rummaged in his bag. Nights were often like this—a long, anxious wait for Lila to wake up, and then an even longer wait for morning to come, rocking her in his arms while she slept, hopefully comforted, for a while, from the bad dreams that plagued them both.
Only one thing ever calmed his own wayward nerves, and he found it hidden in a sock at the bottom of the bag that held his worldly possessions. He retrieved the small bag of weed and crawled out of his bedroom window and onto the porch roof.
He rolled a joint and lit up, blowing clouds of fragrant smoke to the sky, and letting the earthy scent seep into his bones, calming him from the inside out. He closed his eyes and thought of Wendy. Sometimes he imagined that he saw her behind the moon, giving him the look that made him squirm and do anything but meet her gaze. The frown that let him know he was in deep trouble. He’d hated that look before it had been gone forever.
Now he’d do anything to see it again.
It was still dark when Charlie woke the next day. Winter was like that: gloomy and misty, the fog swirling around the streetlight by the window. An orange glow filtered through the half-shut curtains. His eyes tracked the light down to the open door and found a bright-green gaze staring right back at him.
Charlie sat up. He’d forgotten about his new housemates, but it wasn’t Leo who waved at him, it was little Lila.
Startled, Charlie waved too and signed, “Morning.”
“Hello,” Lila signed back. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh.” The rest of the house, including Leo, seemed to be fast asleep. Charlie considered his options, and signed, “Breakfast?”
Lila nodded and disappeared onto the landing, coughing. Charlie hurriedly got up and followed her, poking his head into Leo’s room. Lila’s soft toys littered the bed all around his sleeping form, like she’d spent all night there—perhaps she had, and Charlie wondered how often Leo shared his bed with Lila. And how Lila had snuck down the hallway without Reg hearing.
Charlie darted back into his room, snagged a hoodie, and then followed Lila downstairs, ready to grab her if she stumbled. He thought about taking her hand, but a flashback to Leo’s fury at Reg the previous evening stopped him.
He doesn’t like people touching Lila.
Charlie considered why, but killed the thought before it could take hold. He’d seen enough in the Poulton house to know that there were many stories that he didn’t need to hear.
In the kitchen, they found Reg already seated at the kitchen table. Charlie frowned. It was 6 a.m., and no one in the family was an early riser. “What are you doing up?”
Reg stood and put the kettle on to boil. “Leo was creeping around until all hours, then I heard Lila get up. I didn’t want to disturb them once they finally settled, so I came down and scrabbled through some of the work I missed yesterday.”
Charlie eyed the tools spread on the table. Reg taught woodwork at Heyton College when he wasn’t collecting stray children from social services. “Are you working today?”
“Not today. Your mother and I are taking Leo and Lila to the doctor.”
“Why?”
Reg smiled tiredly. “To register them and have them checked over.”
And the rest. But Charlie didn’t say it. Instead, he opened the cereal cupboard and beckoned Lila, who’d been hovering behind him since they’d entered the kitchen, over to choose her breakfast. “Which one?”
Lila studied the cupboard that Kate had stocked with more choices than usual and pointed at the Coco Pops.
Charlie retrieved the box, but Lila continued to stare into the cupboard. A tiny frown creased her forehead. Charlie glanced at Reg, who was watching them intently, studying . . . analysing, like he always did new kids. He nodded, so Charlie crouched at Lila’s side and signed, “Do you want something else?”
Lila coughed again and pointed at an unopened box of Shreddies. “I don’t like those.”
“Okay. You don’t have to eat them.”
Lila shook her head. “I don’t like them.”
Something in her posture seemed to make Reg move. He appeared behind Charlie and stepped carefully around him, a move Charlie didn’t understand until he realised Reg had avoided approaching Lila directly.
Reg pulled the offending cereal from the cupboard and signed, “Throw them away?”
“In the bin?” Lila didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t seem afraid of Reg. Or hostile, like Leo.
“Yes,” Reg signed. “The big bin outside, if you like?”
Lila nodded. Reg opened the backdoor and instructed Lila to find her shoes. She ghosted into the hallway as Charlie shot Reg a quizzical frown. “What was all that about?”
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Reg shrugged. “We can’t fix much in this life, son, but we can chuck out the bloody Shreddies.”
Lila came back before Charlie could answer. Reg pointed her in the direction of the nearby wheelie bin and talked her through disposing of the cereal. The whole scene took less than two minutes to play out, but Charlie felt like he’d been dropped into another world.
He poured Lila a bowl of Coco Pops while Reg made tea. Lila ate with her head down, and didn’t look up until her bowl was empty.
Charlie picked at his toast and watched her glance around the cosy kitchen. Kate had decorated the whole house in comforting shades, and the AGA kept the kitchen warm in the winter. I wonder what their old home was like.
Reg tapped the table to get Lila’s attention. “Drawing?”
Lila’s solemn gaze brightened. “Can I?”
“Of course,” Reg signed. “Charlie, do you think Lila could use your special pens? She’s a little beyond the crayons we got for her.”
No one was allowed to touch Charlie’s precious wooden manga pens. He’d saved his paper-round money for six months to buy them. He opened his mouth to protest that there were plenty of art supplies stashed in the study upstairs, but hurried footsteps on the stairs distracted him.
Leo burst into the kitchen. He was beside Lila in an instant, shielding her from Reg’s view. “What are you doing?”
“Having breakfast,” Reg said mildly. “Lila’s had some Coco Pops, now she’s going to borrow Charlie’s pens to draw more of the daisies she drew so beautifully yesterday. Do you want a cuppa?”
Reg retreated to the kettle without waiting for Leo’s response. He didn’t even look back, like he couldn’t feel Leo’s sharp, defensive glare boring into him. Charlie shivered. Something in Leo changed when Reg was around. It was frightening . . . disturbing, and Lila obviously felt it too.
She touched Leo’s hand. Charlie couldn’t see what she signed, but Leo’s expression softened.
“Yes,” he signed. “Use the pens.”
Charlie took his cue and fetched the pens from his school bag. When he returned, no one had moved. Reg still had his back to Leo, and Leo was still watching him like a sniper. Charlie dropped the case of pens on the table and grabbed scrap paper from the arts-and-crafts box on the dresser. “I want to draw too. What shall we draw?”
Leo cut his gaze at Charlie. “Lila can’t hear what you’re saying.”
“I’m talking to you.” Charlie reclaimed his seat at the table and signed, “No fun on your own.”
Lila smiled and pulled a sheet of paper toward her. Charlie emptied the pens onto the table. “Dad? Do you want to draw too?”
Reg finally turned around. “Not now, Charlie. I’m going to jump in the shower before Fliss hogs all the hot water. How about the three of you do something nice for the fridge door? We haven’t had anything new for ages.”
He left the room. Charlie heard his soft tread on the stairs and turned his attention to Leo. “You can sit down now. He’s gone.”
Leo scowled so hard he looked as though his head might explode. “He doesn’t scare me.”
“I know,” Charlie said. “Why would he? It’s his job to take care of you.”
“Why do you talk like him?”
“Talk like Reg?”
“Who else?” Leo took a small swig from Lila’s juice cup. “You sound just like him when you spout stupid crap like that.”
Someone else would perhaps have been offended, or at the least affronted, but Charlie was used to Fliss’s sharp tongue. “It’s not crap. It’s the truth. Reg is the coolest dad around. He’ll let you do anything you want if you stick to the house rules.”
Leo snorted. “Fuck the rules.”
Charlie suppressed a sigh. Late last night, Leo had been given his own copy of the printed list stuck to every bedroom door, and Charlie had seen it shredded in the bathroom bin when he’d brushed his teeth. “Suit yourself. You’re going to be pretty bloody bored cooped up here when you break them all.”
Leo didn’t answer, and Charlie’s patience wore thin. He blocked Leo out and returned his focus to Lila, who had sketched a formation of flowers. Charlie studied them, impressed. Neat and intricate, they were better than half the crap his classmates produced at school.
Charlie found some bright colours and pushed them Lila’s way. “Colour them.”
Lila got stuck in. She was halfway through her second flower when Leo pulled out a chair and sat down. Charlie eyed him. For all his belligerence, Leo appeared lost. And tired too, like he hadn’t slept in days. Reg had looked much the same, but the strain of fatigue hadn’t seemed out of place on his already lined face. On Leo, it didn’t feel right at all.
“Do you want any breakfast?”
“Hmm?” Leo glanced up from Lila’s work.
“Breakfast,” Charlie repeated. “Mum will probably cook for you, as it’s your first morning, but I can make you some toast now?”
Leo blinked and rubbed his arm, the arm covered by a thick bandage. “I don’t want her to cook for me.”
“Have some toast, then. Marmite or jam?”
Leo frowned. Charlie got up anyway and stuck two slices of bread in the toaster. When they were done, he buttered them and left them plain. Leo didn’t seem to notice.
“Eat,” Charlie said. “If nothing else, it’ll keep Mum off your back till lunchtime.”
Leo ate slowly, like he wasn’t sure of his actions, or if his limbs belonged to him. He seemed surprised when his plate was empty, and Charlie tried not to stare. Eyes half closed, hair tousled from sleep, Leo was beautiful, but that wasn’t what was keeping Charlie’s attention. No. It was the darkness in that hooded gaze and the weary slump in his posture. It was wrong, and Charlie couldn’t let it go. “Are you okay?”
Leo cast a dull glance in Charlie’s direction. “What?”
“You don’t look very well,” Charlie said. “Mum’s taking you to the doctor today. You should tell her if you feel sick.”
“I don’t feel sick.”
“Yeah? What’s up, then? It’s not that bad here, honest. Even Fliss likes it.”
Leo started to smile, Charlie was almost sure of it, then Kate bustled into the kitchen, and the moment passed.
“Good morning, boys.” Kate stopped in front of Lila and signed, “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Lila started to answer, but Leo pushed his chair back, wooden legs scraping the tiled floor with a flat shriek. “She slept fine.”
He pulled Lila from her seat and towed her from the room, leaving her daisies abandoned on the kitchen table. Charlie watched them go and tried to figure out what was worse—the disappointment in Kate’s gaze, the confusion in Lila’s, or the black emptiness in Leo’s.
Or the sight of his favourite purple pen disappearing up the stairs.
Leo watched Charlie pedal his bike down the street. Charlie’s BMX was blue, like one Leo had once had, but he’d decorated it with weird Japanese stickers and symbols. Combined with his skinny jeans, emo hoodie, and crazy dark hair, he looked a little strange. Not a bad strange, though. Where Leo came from, all the boys were the same: baggy jeans, football, and hair gel. Rinse and repeat.
Leo thought of his old friends. Do they ever think about me?
“Leo?” Kate knocked on Leo’s bedroom door. “Are you ready, honey? It’s time to go.”
Leo suppressed a sigh and tore his gaze from the window. Charlie was long gone anyway. “What kind of doctor are you taking us to?”
“Just our GP this morning, but you have an appointment at the hospital with the burn specialist this afternoon. Reg is going to take you to that one.”
“Reg?”
“Yes. I’ll be taking care of Lila.”
Leo swallowed. He didn’t know which was worse: having a hard-faced doctor prod at his ruined skin, or spending the afternoon with creepy Reg.
He followed Kate downstairs. Reg was already in the car, but Lila was waiting by the door.
“Hurry up,” she signed. “Baking cakes when we get back.”
Leo found a smile from the pit of his stomach and plastered it on his face. “Not me. I have to see another doctor.”
He took Lila’s hand and led her to Reg’s car. She poked him. “Why? Your poorly arm?
Leo nodded. Lila had never seen the mangled flesh on his arm, but she knew it was there. A few days after the fire, she’d told him she could still smell it burning. Leo strapped her into the car. He felt sick and dizzy, like he didn’t know which way was up, and most days, he smelt it too, awake, asleep . . . always.
The doctor’s surgery was a twenty-minute drive away. The doctor was a young Asian woman who listened to Lila’s chest and gave her a sticker. Lila smiled like she hadn’t smiled in months, and skipped back to Kate, who took her outside and left Leo alone with the doctor.
The doctor ran through the checks Leo had come to expect. Until the fire, he hadn’t seen a doctor in years. Recently it seemed like he saw one every bloody day.
“So, Leo. How are you settling into your new foster home?”
Leo forced himself to meet the doctor’s gaze. “We only got here yesterday.”
“And you were in Swindon before?”
“Yeah.”
The doctor made a note, though Leo couldn’t see why it mattered. “I read in your file that you’ve had trouble sleeping since the accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident.” Leo’s temper flared. Why couldn’t people call it what it was? “My dad killed my mum.”
The doctor didn’t blink. “I can give you a mild sedative to help you sleep. A short-term measure until we can arrange proper counselling. I’ve referred you to a specialist at St. David’s.”
“St. David’s?”
“It’s a mental health unit at the hospital, for children and young adults. You’ve been through a lot, Leo. There’s quite a waiting list, but they can help you.”
They can help you. Apathy washed over Leo. How many times had he heard those words before any of this shit had happened? Teachers. Police. Social workers. Help . . . yeah right. Too little too late.
Leo stood and shrugged into his coat. “I’m fine, thanks. I don’t need any help.”
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