Lelic, Simon - The Child Who

by The Child Who (mobi)

  Karen raised a shoulder. ‘I’m guessing they don’t have to tell you.’ Leo read, gobbling the words too quickly for them to properly register. He looked at Kar-

  en. ‘How did you . . .’

  ‘I have a friend.’

  Leo looked again at the report. ‘She took a risk, giving this to you.’ ‘We’re close,’ said Karen, ‘he and I.’

  Leo raised his head. Karen lowered hers.

  ‘And anyway,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t help particularly. Not in the way you might expect.’ Leo read aloud: ‘“No evidence of abuse is established.”’ He skimmed. ‘“Daniel’s name

  will not be entered on the Child Protection Register.”’ ‘And here . Look.’

  Leo tracked Karen’s fingertip. ‘“No connection has been established between any abuse and the alleged offence.”’ He looked up. ‘In other words . . .’

  ‘“It wasn’t our fault. There’s no way they can pin this on us.”’ Leo sniffed. ‘Well. That’s all right then. So long as social services have got their own

  arses covered, nobody has anything to worry about. Their jobs are safe.’ ‘From what my friend told me, the investigation wasn’t exactly comprehensive. But that

  was the point,’ Karen said. ‘It was an exercise in self-exoneration.’ Leo tossed the report onto the table. ‘They still should have told us. Even if it doesn’t

  help Daniel’s defence, they are morally obligated to—’ ‘Not so fast.’ Karen gathered together the sheets and started flicking. ‘It doesn’t help in

  the way you might expect. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t help at all. Read here.’ She thrust the pages towards him.

  ‘But we knew about this,’ said Leo after a moment. Daniel, as a toddler, had a history of visits to the emergency ward: twice following ‘falls’, once after swallowing household bleach, a fourth time after ingesting tricyclic antidepressants. He thought they were sweets, Daniel’s mother had explained at the time; he must have done. ‘They investigated,’ Leo said. ‘It says so right here. “Concerns were raised but were demonstrated to be unfoun-ded.”’

  ‘Unfounded,’ Karen echoed. ‘Please. A baby has four near-fatal accidents in his first thirty-six months and social services see no cause for concern.’

  ‘They must have looked into it, though. They must have asked questions.’ ‘It’s where they looked that’s important. It’s what kind of questions they asked, of

  whom.’ Karen shook her head. ‘I’m not blaming social services,’ she said, not entirely con-vincingly. ‘They’re underfunded, understaffed, underappreciated. The point is, something was clearly going on. Maybe we knew the facts before but we didn’t know the context. Daniel’s medical record, tied with his mother ’s depression . . .’

  ‘Her depression? How do you know she was depressed?’ ‘Not was. Is. You don’t need to be a doctor to diagnose that. I’m guessing about when

  it started but it certainly pre-dates the murder. My hunch would be post-natal. The pills Daniel swallowed could have been anybody’s but most likely they were Mummy’s or Daddy’s.’

  ‘You think Mummy’s.’

  ‘I do. Who gave Daniel the pills, though, is another question.’ ‘Who gave them to him?’

  ‘Gave them to him, left them out for him to find – it amounts to the same thing.’ ‘But it could have been an accident. Couldn’t it? You don’t think you’re jumping to con-

  clusions?’

  ‘It could. And yes, I am. But that’s what I’m here for. Isn’t it?’ Leo puffed his cheeks. He stared at the pages, not seeing the words. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s say you’re right. So what? How does what happened to Daniel as

  a baby have any connection with the crime he’s accused of now?’ ‘It doesn’t,’ Karen said. ‘Not if you’re looking for a direct link. Indirectly, though, it ex-

  plains everything. It sets a pattern. It establishes the nature of Daniel’s relationship with those closest to him and by extension with everyone around him. Depending on who you believe, Leo, it’s what happens to us in our formative years that most influences our beha-viour as adults.’

  ‘Show me the child and I’ll show you the man. Who said that? John Lennon?’ ‘Stalin, actually. Also, the Jesuits. But yes, that kind of thing. And it’s doubly true in the

  case of sexual abuse.’

  ‘Sexual abuse? Jesus Christ, Karen.’

  ‘What? You’re surprised?’

  ‘No. I mean, I wouldn’t have been. But the pills: that’s one thing. You’re saying he was sexually abused too?’

  ‘I’m saying it’s likely. More than likely. For a start, eighty per cent of abusers have them-selves suffered abuse. Daniel was moulded, Leo – he wasn’t manufactured.’

  ‘But the report.’ Leo lifted the pages, knocking his coffee cup. ‘What did it say. It said . . .’

  ‘It said they found no evidence. But it only dug as deep as it needed to, remember – mainly into the past few years. As far as I’m concerned, it skirted the most interesting peri-od of Daniel’s life.’

  Leo looked again at the pages, searching for what Karen meant. ‘There’s nothing to see,’ she told him. ‘And that’s why it’s interesting. Apart from when

  he was a toddler and the two years just passed, there isn’t any detail at all. Except here,’ she said, pointing to a paragraph barely three lines long. ‘There was a sustained phase of truancy, noted but never explained. It coincides with Daniel’s father leaving home, with his mother . . .’

  ‘“Coping”. Whatever that means.’

  ‘Exactly. So in the most traumatic period of his life – not counting the actual physical trauma he seems to have suffered – Daniel barely gets noticed. He was sexually abused, probably. His father hit him, then left him. His mother – his only carer – was clinically de-pressed. But through all of that Daniel was . . . well . . .’

  ‘He was alone.’

  Karen nodded. ‘He was alone.’

  The coffee in Leo’s cup had spilled onto the saucer. There were puddles, too, on the wooden tabletop and Leo dabbed at them distractedly with a napkin.

  ‘Can we use this, do you think?’ He was talking to himself as much as Karen but she answered anyway.

  ‘You’re the lawyer, Leo. It’s a narrative but there’s very little in the way of evidence.’ Leo frowned and raised his head. ‘Why now, though? Why, if Daniel was so damaged,

  did it take so long for the damage to show?’

  ‘A seed has to grow. Throw on enough manure, sprinkle a few hormones – sooner or later you reap what you sow. And probably the signs were there all along. Someone has to be watching for them, however.’

  Leo pondered. ‘The abuse,’ he said, not wanting to consider it. ‘You don’t think . . . I mean, his stepfather. Vincent Blake. You don’t think . . .’

  ‘He seems the type, doesn’t he? But Daniel was, what? Ten when Blake came on the scene? I don’t know. There’s no love lost between them, clearly, but . .’ Karen tugged her lips sideways. ‘There’s something interesting, though. Don’t you think? About Vincent’s relationship with Stephanie.’

  ‘Hm?’ Leo was thinking, churning.

  ‘Vincent and Stephanie. He bullies her and she lets him but . . . I don’t know. There’s something else at work there too. He’s insecure, clearly. Bitter, too, about something.’

  ‘I thought all bullies were insecure,’ said Leo idly. ‘I thought that’s why they ended up being bullies.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Karen looked at Leo and smiled. ‘You should be sitting where I am.’ Leo did not smile back. ‘I’d be glad to,’ he said. ‘ To be honest, I’d take any chair right

  now that wasn’t my own.’

  ‘You should have called me.’

  ‘We did call you, Mr Curtice.’

  ‘I mean right away. You should have called me as soon as it happened.’ ‘It was late. Gone nine. Most solicitors, in my experience, don’t like to be bothered by

  things they think can wait unti
l morning. Most parents, come to that.’ Bobby held open the door and Leo passed through. ‘That’s up to them. I, on the other hand, would have appreciated being told immediately.

  You have my home number, don’t you? Do you need me to give it to you again?’ ‘No, that’s fine, we have it. I apologise, Mr Curtice. These things happen unfortunately,

  much as we try to prevent them. They’re boys, after all. If there’s a way to make trouble, they’ll find it. But we’ll know for next time to inform you straight away.’

  Leo broke step. ‘Next time?’

  Bobby made a gesture, conceding the poor choice of words. The bruises, it turned out, were not as bad as Leo had feared. A black eye, Bobby had told him; a cut lip. Admirably restrained terminology and yet Leo had envisaged Daniel’s eyelids swollen shut, his teeth gapped and veined with blood. In reality it was difficult, but for the discoloration, to distinguish the swelling that had been caused by a knuckle from the puffi-ness attributable to Daniel’s tears. Not that this made the sight of the boy any more bear-able. It was not, after all, the degree of physical harm Daniel had suffered that governed how wretched the assault would have left him feeling.

  And wretched, from the look of him, was the term. He was a bundle of limbs on the bed, his spine to the wall at the pillow end, his knees drawn to his chin and his arms wrapped protectively around his shins. The curtains in the room were shut but the material was pale and the day bright. Even tucked in the room’s dimmest corner, Daniel was exposed.

  Leo closed the door behind him. Garrie, the security guard, had not followed him inside but recently he had tended not to. The door, however, would invariably remain open and it occurred to Leo as he entered the room that this was the first time he and Daniel had ever been properly alone: unaccompanied, unguarded, unobserved. It did not alarm him, as once it might have done. Rather, it saddened him; made him feel ashamed somehow, too.

  Daniel did not speak. Leo felt the boy tracking him as he crossed from the doorway to the chair. He set down his briefcase, easing it to the floor so that it made no sound. He stood, until standing felt wrong, and then he sat. Daniel looked away, tucking his puffy eyes below the peak of his knees.

  ‘What kind of names?’

  Daniel did not reply.

  ‘Pay no attention. Do you hear? It doesn’t matter what they say. It doesn’t matter what they think.’

  Daniel dragged a hand across his cheek. ‘S’easy for you to say.’ The boy was on the edge of the bed, legs dangling from the mattress, bare feet protruding

  from his tracksuit bottoms and just about brushing the linoleum. His head hung and when he spoke he spoke to the floor.

  Leo was seated but barely. He had his elbows on his knees and was leaning forwards of the edge of the chair. ‘How’s the eye?’ he said. ‘Do you want some ice or something?’

  Daniel just frowned.

  ‘For the swelling. It’ll make it hurt less.’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt that much. My tummy hurts more.’ His tummy. They had hit him there too, Daniel had told Leo. The oldest boy had, while

  the other two had held him by the arms.

  The boy shifted, winced. He wiped again at his eyes. ‘Did you speak to your parents?’ Leo asked him. ‘ To your mother? Are they coming to

  see you?’ He checked his watch. If they were coming then surely they would have been here by now.

  ‘Bobby did,’ said Daniel. ‘He said . . . Mum said she wasn’t feeling well. She . . . Some-times she doesn’t.’

  ‘No. Of course. Well. She’ll come by soon, I’m sure.’ Daniel raised his head. His features were wrinkled, his cheeks streaked. ‘How much

  longer am I going to have to be in here?’

  ‘Here? What, in your room?’ Leo checked the door. ‘We can go out, if you like. I’m sure we can. Do you fancy a walk? Or we could go to the games room, see if the PlayStation’s free?’

  ‘Not in here. In here . This place.’

  Leo felt his lips part. He sighed. ‘A while, Daniel.’ ‘Until the rain-thingummy?’

  ‘The arraignment? Yes. At least until then.’

  ‘What about after? Will I have to come back after?’ ‘That all depends. I’m sorry. It really all depends on what happens.’ ‘I hate it here.’ There was a venom to the boy’s tone, a ferocity to his expression, that

  Leo had almost forgotten he was capable of.

  ‘I know. I’m doing everything I can to get you out. But, Daniel. You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that you will be here, or somewhere like it, for a very long time.’ Daniel stared at the air. Leo, watching him, might have said more. He might have said, here, this place you say you hate: it’s not so bad. Compared to the alternatives, it’s about as

  good as you could hope for.

  But Leo did not have the heart.

  ‘I didn’t mean it, you know.’

  Leo raised his head. They had been talking about what Daniel should wear; about his hair – which had been cropped short – and how it might be better, until the arraignment, to let it grow.

  ‘What didn’t you mean?’ But almost as Leo voiced the question, he realised what Daniel was referring to.

  ‘The girl.’ Daniel was staring at his thumbnail, worrying at the flesh around it with the nails on his other hand. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

  Leo swallowed. He folded his own hands together and felt a tension build in his grip. This, the murder itself: it was not something Daniel spoke about. Not willingly. Every de-tail Leo had so far managed to procure from the boy had been prised from him, and he had so far volunteered no insight beyond those Leo had gleaned long ago from reading the police reports. When Daniel talked about what had happened, it was as though he were de-scribing a scene from a movie. His detachment was such that Leo might have wondered, had he not known better, whether the boy had been there at all.

  ‘What do you mean, Daniel?’

  Daniel switched his attention to his other thumb. ‘I wanted to talk to her. That’s all.’ He seemed to ponder this for a while, to the point Leo felt an urge to offer another prompt. But, ‘She was scared of me. Even before I’d said anything.’

  ‘Why do you think she was scared of you?’ Beyond talking, Leo kept as still as he could. ‘I . I dunno. Probably cos I’m, like . you know. Ugly. Or . I dunno.’ Still the boy

  stared at his hands. ‘I asked her to kiss me. Just cos I knew she wouldn’t.’ He glanced but failed to hold Leo’s eye. ‘I was only joking. I wasn’t going to make her. But she – ’ again Daniel looked puzzled ‘ – she made this face. Like . . . Just this face.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Daniel dropped his chin. ‘She walked away. She was laughing, like she wasn’t scared any more, and I . . . I dunno. I liked it better when she was.’

  Daniel’s hands stopped writhing. He clasped them together, aligning the knuckles of his thumbs.

  ‘She walked away,’ Leo said and the boy nodded. ‘I followed her. Not on purpose. I just started walking the same way she did and it ended

  up that I was following her, along the riverbank. It was cold and I . . . I just wanted to be moving.’

  ‘Did she . . . Was she aware . . .’

  ‘She saw me. She pretended she didn’t but she did. She started singing. To annoy me. Stupid songs like the Spice Girls and that.’

  ‘Why do you think she was trying to annoy you?’ ‘I dunno. It was annoying though. She knew it was.’ Leo nodded, once. ‘And what happened after that?’ ‘I was getting closer, just cos she was walking so slow. She did that to annoy me too. I

  could tell. Walking like she didn’t care who was following.’ ‘Did you speak to her? Did you say anything?’

  The boy, almost undetectably, shook his head. ‘I got to like . . . I dunno. Like a bus-length away. She was still singing, even louder than before. I . .’ A drop fell from Daniel’s eye and burst on the back of his thumb. ‘I picked up a stone. I threw it. Not to hit her but . . . I dunno. It landed closer than I thought i
t would.’

  ‘What kind of stone? You mean like a rock?’

  ‘I don’t remember. It was just a stone. I didn’t hit her with it.’ ‘No. Sorry. Go on.’

  ‘She heard it land. The stone, I mean. She turned. She looked, like, angry. Properly angry, like teachers get. She didn’t say anything, though. She stuck her tongue out. And then . . .’

  Leo waited. ‘And then?’

  ‘Then she ran.’

  Daniel was crying freely now. The tears drew no sound but they filled the boy’s eyes to the point that he was blinking, wiping, just to be able to see.

  ‘Would you like to take a break, Daniel? Can I fetch you some water or something?’ The boy shook his head, more forcefully this time. ‘I chased her,’ he said. ‘Just cos she

  ran. I wasn’t even trying to catch her but she – ’ he sniffed ‘ – she tripped. Slipped on some ice maybe. She fell. It wasn’t my fault she fell but when she did I . . . She was just . . .’

  ‘You caught up with her.’

  Daniel nodded. He ground his knuckles into his eye sockets. ‘She was crying. Shouting, too. Kept going on about her coat. Her stupid coat.’

  Her coat. Felicity’s crimson overcoat. Leo thought of bulls, of beasts: of the instinct – irresistible; incomprehensible – to charge.

  ‘She said she’d tell. She said she knew who I was and that it was my fault her coat was ruined. Even though it wasn’t. Even though I didn’t do anything. Even though it was her fault for running, for tripping, for looking at me like . . . like . . .’

  Leo could imagine, all too readily, what had come next. An exchange of abuse, perhaps of blows. Felicity’s terror dictating her volume; Daniel, the louder Felicity grew, ever more desperate that she should keep quiet. Him seizing her. Her flailing at him. Daniel shoving and Felicity falling and then . . . and then . . .

  ‘I just went mad. Just, like, mad. Her coat – her stupid coat – I ripped at it just to annoy her, to piss her off, to make her as cold as I was. But her blouse, it ripped as well. And I . Her skin, she . It . .’ Daniel swallowed and his narrow neck bulged. ‘I just went mad.’