by Kate Hewitt
The boy said nothing, and Rachel took a deep, careful breath. “What’s your name?” she asked the injured boy gently.
“Henry,” he said with a hiccup.
“We’ll get some ice to put on your cheek.” She turned to the other boy, who still wasn’t looking at her, his arms folded, his lower lip jutting out stubbornly.
“And what’s your name, young man?”
He threw her a sullen look. “Nathan,” he said, making her heart sink with the inevitability of it. “Nathan West.”
Chapter Fifteen
IT HAD BEEN the longest first day Rachel could ever remember in her ten-year teaching career. Her body ached, and she longed for a bubble bath, except the flat didn’t have a tub, just a shower. She half-wondered if she could ask Simon to use the vicarage bathroom for a nice long soak, and then decided that wouldn’t be a good idea.
But for once she wasn’t looking forward to going back to her flat at The Bell. For once she didn’t want to pause on the first-floor landing, to see if Sam was about. At that moment, feeling decidedly tired and fed up, she wished she’d never heard of Sam West. She certainly wished she’d never heard of his nephew Nathan.
Guilt rushed in at that uncharitable thought, and Rachel let out a heavy sigh as she started down the high street towards home. She knew Nathan couldn’t help being difficult, considering his turbulent upbringing, but it hadn’t made dealing with him all day any easier.
In retrospect, Rachel realised she’d been imagining a quiet, contained little boy—a mini-Sam, maybe, who was stony and silent but essentially good-hearted, waiting for someone to understand him. She’d fantasised, just a little bit, about being that person, the inspirational teacher who brought a quiet, misunderstood child out of himself. Or not.
What she’d got instead was a total terror who challenged or defied her at every possible opportunity. She’d spent the entire day dealing almost solely with Nathan, whether he was arguing with another child, talking when he shouldn’t, scribbling on the table, throwing his pencil on the floor… Whatever he was doing, he was always too loud, too rough, too much.
If she told everyone to write their names on their books, he wrote a rude word instead. If she asked them to do a simple page of maths, he scribbled silly answers all over it, and then tore the page in two. At snack time he spilled someone else’s milk, and then purposely dumped his on the floor. And every time she disciplined him, trying to pitch her tone between kind and firm, he gave her a look of such blatant defiance she wanted to scream. At one point he called her a silly cow.
When she’d finally sent them all to lunch and playtime she’d collapsed at her desk, her head resting on her arms. In all her years of teaching she’d never come across a child who was so contrary, so impossible. It was as if Nathan West had no self-control at all.
He tried, challenged, and tormented her at every turn. She had no idea how she was going to deal with him all year. In fact, she was quite sure she couldn’t. But it felt intrinsically wrong to write off a child on the first day, as much as she was, at the end of it, tempted to do so. Sam had said Nathan was no angel, but that now seemed like a vast and unfortunate understatement.
She’d had difficult children before—children with learning disabilities, emotional issues, ADHD, autism. She’d considered herself somewhat a veteran in that regard, but now she felt like the worst kind of know-nothing. She didn’t know how to handle Nathan West. So far he hadn’t responded to any of her attempts—being kind, being firm, sitting him by himself, sitting him with others, sending him outside of the room, having him sit with her. She’d tried it all and nothing dented his defiance, his determination to be as difficult as possible.
The Bell loomed ahead of her, relatively quiet on a Monday night. Rachel paused by the front door, wondering if she should duck inside the pub and face Sam. But what could she say? And how was he handling his nephew, now that she knew how challenging Nathan was?
How on earth could a single man who worked all hours of the day and night give the emotional support such a troubled little boy needed? Rachel appreciated the social caseworker’s dilemma even more now. And she wondered just how Sam was managing with Nathan.
Even though she would have rather kicked back with Netflix and a glass of wine, Rachel resolutely squared her shoulders and headed into the pub. Sam looked up the instant she came through the door, and something shivered in the air between them, although Rachel had no idea what.
A handful of men were sat at the bar, and a group of lads who had clearly just got off their shifts were sprawled around a table in the back, already becoming boisterous.
“Rachel.” Sam nodded once, alert, waiting.
He knew, Rachel realised with a pang. He knew Nathan was in her class, and he knew what a terror he was. How could he not? He was clearly bracing himself for bad news—and suddenly she couldn’t give it, not that that’s what she’d been going to do, exactly. She hadn’t known what she was going to do.
But she knew now, looking at his wary expression and slightly slumped shoulders, that Sam already had a tremendously challenging job, taking care of his nephew on his own, and she couldn’t possibly make it any harder.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said. “I just wanted to say hello.”
Sam nodded tersely. “Hello.”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I’m glad you have Nathan with you.” She glanced around the pub. “He’s here, isn’t he? Afterschool club is over…”
“He’s in the back.” Sam nodded towards a swinging door. “In my office.”
“Is he going to be there every night while you work?” That seemed both impractical and unfair, not to mention unwise.
“Until bedtime, and then I’ll nip upstairs with him to tuck him in. It’s not ideal, but…” He shrugged defensively, spreading his hands. What else he could do?
What could she do?
Rachel knew she didn’t want to do anything. She’d just had six hours of Nathan West; she really, really didn’t want to offer another three or four. And yet she couldn’t stomach the thought of a seven-year-old stuck in the dreary backroom of a pub for hours on end.
“It’s not very nice for him back there,” she said. “He could always come up to ours, you know. Have tea with us and play with Bailey.” Boys liked puppies, didn’t they? Although Rachel wasn’t sure she wanted to unleash Nathan on poor Bailey.
Something flickered across Sam’s face and then was gone. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t,” Rachel said lightly. “It’s called being nice, Sam. Being neighbourly, friendly.”
“You’ve had a long day—”
“Trust me, I know that, as well. But it’s not fair to Nathan to leave him in a backroom for hours on end, and I think your caseworker would agree with me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you blackmailing me?”
Startled, she drew back. “No, of course not. I’m just pointing out the obvious.” Why was Sam so suspicious? What was in his past to make him so unwilling to accept help? “Look, I won’t fight you over it, because like you said I’ve had a long day, and your nephew was part of that. But he’s a little boy and I believe you want the best for him and I don’t think that involves sticking him in a corner.” Sam didn’t reply and Rachel sighed, too tired to argue the point any longer. “But you’re his guardian so you do what you think is best.” Without waiting for an answer, she started back towards the stairs to the flats.
“Rachel, wait.” Sam came out from behind the bar. “I’m sorry. I should be more grateful. You’re being very kind and generous.”
“I’m already starting to regret it,” she only half-joked.
“It’s just…I’m not used to accepting help.”
Her heart melted a little at the reluctant admission. “I gathered that.”
Sam nodded slowly. “But you’re right. It’s not fair on Nathan. But it’s not fair on you, either. I can’t a
sk you to do my job for me every evening—”
“Maybe not every evening, but once in a while, surely.” Definitely not every evening. She’d go insane. “And maybe you could hire more help so you could be here for him, because that’s why you took him in, isn’t it?”
Sam’s jaw tightened and bunched. “Yes,” he agreed tersely. “It is.”
“Well, then. Let’s make this work…for Nathan’s sake.” And for Sam’s, because he clearly needed help. Rachel just hoped she had the strength to give it, because she knew, with a surprising and unexpected ferocity, that she wanted to.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Sam said, and started down the hallway. After a moment, Rachel followed.
Nathan was sitting in a swivel chair, watching Minecraft videos on Sam’s computer and munching his way through several packets of barbecue crisps. Hardly the most edifying way for a seven-year-old to spend an entire evening.
“Hey, Nath.” The smile Sam gave his nephew was so tender Rachel had to look away; she felt as if she’d seen something she shouldn’t have, something that made her both melt and yearn.
“What’s she doing here?” Nathan gave her a blatantly unfriendly look, one she already recognised. Great start.
“You know your teacher, Miss Holley, hey?” Sam said in an attempt at cheerfulness. “She lives in the flat above us.” Nathan looked decidedly unenthused by this information. “She’s offered to have you come up there, have your tea and that. And play with her puppy, as well. He’s really sweet.”
“I don’t want to.” Nathan jutted out his lower lip.
Rachel didn’t want to either, but she stayed silent, sensing the fear and vulnerability behind the boy’s attitude, or at least hoping it was there, underneath the blatant aggression.
“There’s a puppy, Nath.”
“And sausages for tea,” Rachel chipped in. It was just about the only thing in the fridge.
“And chips?” Nathan asked suspiciously, and she nodded, relieved that somewhat miraculously she had those in the freezer.
“You can’t have sausages without chips.”
“Try it once, maybe?” Sam suggested. “See how you get on? You can always come back down here if you like.”
Nathan glanced at his uncle and then at Rachel, looking unconvinced. She smiled encouragingly, but it seemed to bounce off him. “I’ll try it,” he finally said, sliding off the stool. “But if I don’t like it, I’m coming back.” He glared at Rachel for good measure. “Areet?” He sounded far too tough for a little boy, and it made her ache—and feel a little bit afraid.
“All right,” she agreed.
She should have warned Miriam about their unexpected guest, Rachel realised as she unlocked the door and stepped into the flat. Miriam was on the sofa, scrolling through photos on her camera, Bailey snoring softly in her lap. She straightened, startled at the sight of Nathan, and tipped poor Bailey right out onto the floor.
“Oh, hi—”
“Miriam, this is Nathan,” Rachel said cheerfully. “Nathan West. He’s staying for tea.”
“Maybe,” Nathan said, and then dropped to his knees, holding his arms out towards Bailey.
Bailey came towards him with a curious sniff, and Nathan stroked the dog with surprising and gratifying gentleness. Maybe this was all it would take—a boy, a dog. Simple pleasures.
With a small sigh of relief, Rachel kicked off her shoes and headed towards the kitchen.
Of course it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was. Within five minutes of coming home, Nathan had tugged too hard on Bailey’s tail and sent the poor puppy scampering to hide under the sofa.
“Nathan, you need to be gentle with her,” Rachel said as kindly as she could. “She’s only little. If you’re rough, she won’t want to play with you.”
“I don’t want to play with her,” Nathan retorted, and then started kicking the legs of the sofa. Hard. Miriam gave Rachel a startled, beseeching look, clearly having no idea how to handle this. And despite her ten years’ teaching experience, Rachel wasn’t sure she did, either.
“Nathan.” She placed one hand on his shoulder, the movement deliberate and careful. He tensed underneath her touch, and she was suddenly struck by how small he was. How little. He was just a little, angry, frightened boy. “Why don’t you come help me with the sausages?” she suggested. “And the chips.”
He glared at her with the same overt hostility she’d been faced with all day—blue eyes like Sam’s narrowed in suspicion and dislike. She kept her smile in place, her gaze steady on him. “Please?”
It seemed an age before Nathan finally shrugged off her hand and stomped over to the kitchen. It was a victory, whether it felt like one or not.
The evening was interminable. As patient as Rachel tried to be with Nathan, he resisted and defied her at every turn. He refused to eat his sausage, and he deliberately squirted ketchup all over the floor, even aiming the bottle at poor Bailey, who whimpered and hid under the table. He refused to clear his plate, lounging back in his chair instead, arms folded in direct challenge as he glared at her.
After tea, he demanded to watch television, and grabbed the remote from her when Rachel had tuned it to the innocuous CBBC, choosing a game show instead, which he watched with surprising avidity, giving Rachel and Miriam a few minutes’ peace.
“I am so not ready to have a child,” Miriam whispered as Rachel stooped to wipe the blobs of ketchup from the floor with a paper towel. “Seriously, Rachel.” She looked panicked and Rachel sighed.
“Trust me, they’re not all like this,” she said in a low voice. She was so tired her teeth ached. It was seven o’clock at night and she still had a full day’s lessons to prepare.
As soon as the game show was over, Rachel turned off the television and gave Nathan a briskly cheerful look. At least, she hoped it was, and not the simmering glare of resentment she felt inside.
“Right, Nathan. Time for bed.”
He looked at her uncertainly. “Where am I sleeping?”
Rachel gazed at him, seeing the way his shoulders hunched, his eyes darted. It was moments like this that she remembered how absolutely impossible his life must have been—in and out of care, the adults in his life letting him down again and again. And now he wasn’t even sure where he was sleeping.
“At your uncle’s, of course,” she said gently. “You have a bedroom there?”
“Yes…”
“Then why don’t we go down together, and you can get ready for bed.”
Fortunately, for once, Nathan didn’t resist or answer rudely. He slunk from the room, and Rachel followed. She was, she admitted to herself, curious about Sam’s flat. What would it look like? What might it reveal about him?
In the end, not much. Nathan flung open the door and Rachel followed, glancing around the nondescript lounge with its bland furnishing and military neatness. Nothing was out of place, not that there was much to be in place—no photos, no books, no pictures or mementoes or knickknacks. The place looked like an especially boring hotel room.
“My room’s in here,” Nathan said, and Rachel peeked in the doorway of the second bedroom. The flat had the same layout as hers upstairs, but without all the new fittings and fixtures. Clearly Sam had done up the rental before his own place, although as she looked in the bedroom, Rachel saw he’d made an effort here—there was a starchy new duvet and curtains in blue plaid, a model of the solar system hanging from the ceiling. The little touches made her smile even as she felt strangely saddened by them.
“What a lovely room, Nathan.”
“It’s all my own.” He spoke proudly before turning away from her, as if afraid he’d revealed too much.
“I like it a lot,” Rachel said. “Why don’t you get changed and brush your teeth? I’ll wait in the lounge, and then we can have a story.”
“A story?”
“Do you have any story books?” He shook his head. “All right, I’ll just have to make one up, then. Even better.”
As Natha
n got ready for bed, Rachel prowled around the flat, feeling restless and sad. She could feel herself getting tangled up in Sam and Nathan’s lives, wanting to help their loneliness, assuage their need, and yet already she suspected she was in over her head. What help could she really give them, two hurting people with so much against them, especially when she was still hurting herself?
“What kind of story?”
Nathan’s words, spoken sulkily, startled her out of her thoughts and she turned to him with a smile. “Whatever kind you like. You know what my mum used to do, for stories?” Nathan shook his head, still looking sceptical. “She’d tell me to name three things, whatever I wanted, and she’d put them into the story.” Rachel sat down on the sofa and patted the empty space next to her.
“Why don’t you do the same?”
“Three things.”
“Yes.”
“Can I have five?”
Rachel almost laughed at that bit of brashness. “Let’s start with three.”
Slowly Nathan edged towards her and then sat on the sofa, a little bit away from her, his arms folded, his expression turning sulky again. “This is stupid.”
“Is it? But you haven’t tried it out yet,” Rachel returned lightly. “Why don’t you wait and see?”
Nathan drummed his heels against the sofa. “What kind of things?”
“Whatever you like.” She thought of the solar system model in his room. “A rocket or an alien or a spaceship…”
He looked at her scornfully. “Those are stupid.”
Rachel held on to her patience. “Then why don’t you choose?”
More drumming. His arms were folded, his shoulders hunched. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Still, Rachel waited. Hoped.
“A monster,” he finally said, the words practically a growl. “Two monsters.” He glanced at her to see if she would object, and Rachel just waited some more, smiling. “And…a poo.”
Of course. “Fab, let’s get started, then.” Rachel settled back into the sofa as she began to weave a tale of the two monsters and the very big, messy, monster poo.
It was after eight o’clock by the time Rachel finished; to say Nathan had been spellbound would have been optimistic in the extreme. He tolerated her storytelling, at least somewhat; halfway through he got up and started circling the room like some caged predator. Towards the end he started hitting himself rhythmically in the face with one of the sofa cushions. At least he was relatively quiet. By the time Rachel managed to get him into bed, it was half past and she was even more shattered than she’d been previously, which she hadn’t actually thought possible.