until Felicity passed, the day that had cost them their lives. He was a killer. His life be damned. Would Leo wish to spare the man who had taken
Ellie should the choice ever – please, God – be his to make? Would Leo urge mercy, un-derstanding, compassion when the victim was his daughter and not a stranger’s? Would he care about why then?
Maybe not.
Certainly not.
But it was different. Wasn’t it?
It was different because Daniel was a child. Not old enough, in the eyes of a government he was too young to choose, to buy cigarettes, have sex, get a tattoo: to make any mistake but the most heinous. And, more than a child, he was a victim. He had been failed and failed again. That he had killed had been not just his crime but his parents’, his school-teachers’, his social workers’, his peers’. To greater and lesser degrees, of course, but was condemnation, in this context, anything other than self-exoneration? Why should Daniel pay the price, exclusively, without understanding, when he had pulled the trigger on a gun someone else had placed in his hand?
And yet.
And yet, this man who had Ellie: what was he but a child grown up? A victim himself, probably, but one who had managed to survive in the world a little longer. Not sane, clearly, but not in care, not cared for. Someone else who has fallen through the gaps but further, harder. Should it therefore have been his parents who were held to account? Or his parents’ parents? At some point, surely, there was a line to be drawn.
Maybe the victims should decide. Felicity’s parents, in the girl’s case; Leo, Megan in El-lie’s. That seemed right. It seemed just. Except Leo knew what he would choose were he ever to be placed in that position. He knew what he would have done to the man, would do to him himself were he afforded the opportunity. Everything society wished on Daniel – what the crowds outside the courtroom were clamouring for; what the newspapers in their columnising sought to incite – he would visit tenfold on this man, whoever he was, whatever his story, however he might seek to explain why . And such would be Leo’s right. It would be right . Given how good it would surely feel, how could it be anything but?
From the bench, Leo edged closer to the bank. The water, below him, was as grey and impenetrable as stone. It did not seem to be moving but Leo knew enough by now not to be fooled. He knew what the river might swallow, how reluctant it was to discharge what it caught.
He continued his walk, careful of his footing on the uneven ground but not as careful, perhaps, as he might have been. He did not want to fall. It would not matter, particularly, if he did.
There was the sound of something flapping, cracking, in the wind. Leo turned, spooked, but there was nothing behind him but where he had come from. The sound came again and this time he caught its bearing. There: the tree. An ash, ashen and cankered, its only foliage a strip of blue and white barrier tape left behind by the police. It leapt, then wilted, then leapt again.
He had arrived.
The place – the scene – was as empty of life as any other he had passed that morning. Of life, or otherwise. Everything except the remnant of tape had been swept aside by the wind, washed down by the rain. It was clearer here than it perhaps should have been. No litter or junk as further up the river; nothing that had not already been bagged and consigned to an evidence room.
Leo wiped at his eyes. It was this wind, he told himself. He turned against it and wiped his eyes once more.
Back then. Or head on? It was hard to decide when there were no pros, no cons, nothing on which to balance reason. And anyway his reason felt used up. Worse, it felt useless. Left, right, this way, that. He was floundering, whichever way he turned. He had been flounder-ing, in truth, since his father had died. Looking back when he should have been looking forwards. Looking in when he should have been looking out. Doubting what he had accom-plished and ensuring, in doing so, that the one thing he had achieved would crumble, soon enough, into nothing.
What was he doing here – really ? What, in his search, did he actually expect to find? A way out.
Escape.
The freedom to cast Daniel aside.
There was the hope, of course, that the boy’s life would be the price of his daughter’s. That it would be enough for him – whoever he was, this faceless stranger with a beard. That Daniel pleading guilty would be the key to his daughter ’s chains.
But he did not believe it. If he did, he would have made the exchange in an instant. Take him. Take my limbs too if that’s the price, just give me back my heart.
Not hope, then. It was, he realised, fear that was driving his search – his flight, rather, from a truth he had carried with him all along.
Ellie was lost. Daniel was too. In failing one, Leo had sacrificed them both.
The morning, on any other day, would have seemed a blessing. The sun sat bold in a cloudless sky, softening the breeze and warming the colours of the breaking season. A new beginning, was how a churchman had put it in his thought for the day: ‘The morning after the nightmare before.’ And it was indeed as though the city, the country, sensed it had been purged; rinsed clean of something distasteful.
The effect, mercifully, did not seep beyond the doors of the detention centre. The mood within seemed more closely to match Leo’s own, though partly this may have been down to the pall Leo knew he carried with him. He saw it – had seen it since Ellie had been taken – cast back at him by everyone he encountered. He only had to enter a room and the light within would immediately seem to dim.
He waited beside the security desk, the two guards on the other side of the counter con-spicuously evading a collision of eyes. They were intimidated, Leo realised. By his presen-ce. By the absence his presence brought home.
He coughed and one of the security guards squirmed. ‘Mr Curtice.’
Leo raised his head. Bobby had appeared through a doorway. He edged closer, looking the way Leo felt whenever he was forced into conversation with one of his daughter’s class-mates.
Had felt.
‘I wasn’t expecting you. Did you call? Nobody mentioned . . .’ Bobby exchanged glances with the men on the desk, who said, without speaking, don’t look at me.
‘No,’ Leo said. ‘Sorry. I should have. I wasn’t sure I was coming, to be honest. Not until I got here.’ Which did nothing to set anyone at ease.
‘Daniel is . . . I mean, I assume that’s why you’re . . .’ ‘Will he see me?’
‘I think . . . I think he was expecting you sooner.’ ‘I know. I’m sorry. But will he see me now?’
Bobby winced. ‘Look, Mr Curtice. Leo. I don’t know whether that’s such a good idea.’ ‘Please,’ Leo said. ‘I’d like to talk to him.’
Bobby started to shake his head but Leo spoke before the gesture could gather momentum. ‘Please. Just ask him. Can’t you? I only want to explain. That’s all. Please.’
Once again Bobby looked towards his colleagues. Expressionless, curious, they peered back; and Bobby, eventually, sighed.
‘Wait here.’
It was a mistake. That much was clear from the outset. Daniel had agreed to see him but not in his room. There was significance, clearly,
in the stipulation, no doubt less obscure to a twelve-year-old mind than to Leo’s. When Leo entered the visitation room, however, all ambiguity fell away. He was not welcome. Whatever he had come here to say, Daniel was not interested in hearing it.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Daniel. Listen. I know I’m probably the last person you—’ ‘Leave me alone! Do you hear? That’s all I’ve got to say. That’s the only reason I told
them to let you in.’ He was on his feet, his hands feeble-looking bundles at his side. He turned to Garrie, who was guarding the whitewashed wall at the back of the room. ‘You can kick him out now. We’re done.’
Garrie moved but only fractionally.
‘Wait.’ Leo held up a hand. ‘Please. I’m only asking for a minute. That’s all. Just one more minute.’
‘You lied. I
hate you. Your mate too. You’re all liars!’ Daniel’s words made Leo flinch. Not the part about him being a liar: he had expected
that. It was, rather, the boy’s expression of hate that struck him. Ellie had once told Leo the same thing – months ago, now; a lifetime, it felt like – and it cut, this time, just as precisely.
‘You’re right,’ Leo said. ‘I let you down.’ Daniel was standing beside the table and Leo edged to within touching distance of the adjacent chair. It was the only thing between them in a room that was for the most part empty space. ‘But I didn’t lie, Daniel. Even Terry: he didn’t lie. We were wrong, that’s all. We were both wrong.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Daniel backed slightly away. ‘You said you’d help me!’ ‘I wanted to! We both did. I thought I could but . .’ But what? But no one could have?
How to convey to a twelve-year-old that hate, often, trumps humanity? That justice, some-times, is blind, deaf, dumb. ‘I was wrong,’ Leo said. He reached a hand and Daniel permit-ted it to settle on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. I’m really desperately sorry.’
The boy jerked away, lashing out at Leo’s arm. There were tears budding in Daniel’s eyes.
‘Why did you go? If you’re so sorry, why did you leave me in the first place?’ Leo, for a moment, floundered. He didn’t know. He had assumed that Daniel would
know.
‘Did Terry not tell you?’
Daniel shook his head, more than was necessary to convey an answer. His mind, in that instant, seemed as ragged as his appearance implied. His clothes were dishevelled, his eyes raw and his hair a pillow-chafed mess. All, probably, much like Leo’s.
‘He said you were on leave or something. On holiday!’ ‘What? No!’ Again Leo reached, to stop Daniel edging back, but the boy shrugged him
off. ‘It was my daughter. She was . . . She needed me. She needed my help.’ ‘So did I!’
‘I know but Ellie, she . . .’ You killed her, Daniel. Me and you together. ‘I would have been here. I promise. I tried but . .’ But it would have made no difference. It would have been longer, harder, the disappointment all the greater. But the outcome would have been the same.
Leo let his head drop. He tucked his fingers into his hair. ‘Did you see?’ said Daniel, after a moment. ‘The papers. I’m in all of them! That’s what
they told me. Every one of them.’
Slowly, Leo nodded. He slid a hand across his mouth. ‘I know,’ he said. He recovered himself; tried to. ‘But listen to me. Daniel? Are you listening?’
The boy made a noise: why should I listen to you? But he fell silent. ‘It will pass. I promise you. The coverage, the outcry, everything you’re feeling now:
things will settle down. I prom—’
‘Stop! I don’t wanna hear your promising! All you ever do is promise and it always turns out to be a lie!’
Which was unfair. He had never promised, not once. He said he would try, that was all. He had never said the words. That was the only difference. The promise had been in-
ferred.
‘Have they . . . You know they’ll protect you, don’t you? And later . . . after . . . You’ll have a new start. A new identity. They’ll keep who you really are a secret.’
‘Like now, you mean? Like you said they would this time?’ The boy had moved against the wall. Leo remained two paces away but Daniel acted as though cornered, driven back by a press of hostility.
‘This is different, I prom—’ Leo stopped himself. ‘It’s different. No one can overturn it this time.’ You’re lying, said a voice: half Daniel’s, half his own. You’re doing exactly what you did before. Just because you hope something is true, doesn’t make it any less of a lie.
Daniel, anyway, did not believe him. He was shaking his head, dislodging his tears in the process.
‘You didn’t hear him. The judge, what he said. If you’d been there, you would’ve heard him. They hate me. Everyone does.’
Again Leo reached out. He could not stop himself. Daniel recoiled and Leo’s hand swung to his side.
‘Not everyone hates you.’ Again the voice but he ignored it. Better to lie, surely. Better to give the boy something approximating hope. ‘They don’t understand, that’s all. They’re angry and they’re upset and they’re looking for . .’ Blood, was the word that came to mind. ‘. . for someone to blame. What you did was an awful thing, Daniel. You do under-stand that, don’t you?’
The boy, a mess of snot and tears, nodded. He sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘And when someone does something awful, other people, they . they get angry. They
get so angry, sometimes, they forget about the other things that matter. Like understanding. Like compassion. Like forgiveness.’
‘I said I was sorry! They didn’t believe me! But I am! I really really am!’ ‘I know. I know you are. And they’ll listen. In time. The hurt will fade and . . . and . .
.’ The hurt will fade. To whom was he lying this time? ‘The important thing, Daniel, is for you to get help. Karen. You remember Karen? She wants to help you. She’s determined to. And there are other people like her. Kind people, not . . .’ Not what?
The boy was shaking.
‘You need to let them help. That’s important too. You need to trust these people, Daniel. Karen especially.’
‘She was there! I saw her! She didn’t say anything! I thought you said she was gonna say something!’
‘I know but it’s . . . it’s complicated. She—’
And you! I trusted you !’
Leo looked down, away. He caught Garrie, the security guard, watching. Leo had forgot-ten he was in the room. Neither man held the other’s eye. There was just the sound, in that moment, of Daniel crying and trying not to.
‘What’ll happen now?’ the boy managed to say. ‘Where will they send me?’ Leo pressed his lips, shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Stash, one of the older boys: they sent him to prison. Last week. Proper prison. With
murderers and that.’
‘He was eighteen. Grown up. Didn’t you tell me that? You’re twelve, Daniel. They’ll send you somewhere like here. Not a prison but a . .’ Leo shook his head again. The se-mantics, once again, failed him.
‘But I’ll be eighteen! In, like, four or five years or whatever. They’ll send me to prison then. Won’t they?’ The boy stared hard, watching for the lie.
Leo hesitated, then nodded, as fractionally as he could manage. Even such a minor af-firmation, though, was enough. The boy seemed to wither. He let out something between a moan and a wail.
This time when Leo reached, Daniel allowed himself to be enfolded. The boy pressed his face to Leo’s chest and gripped with an intensity that belied his narrow frame. Leo, in turn, wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders, encircling them easily. Daniel was Ellie-sized, Leo realised: just as meagre, just as fragile. ‘Shh,’ he said, ‘hush now,’ and, thinking of the last time he had held his daughter, he had to stop himself from clinging too tight.
Bobby was waiting for him in the corridor. That he had been watching, listening, seemed unlikely but the expression he wore – apprehension, tenderness; mainly sorrow – would no doubt have been the same if he had.
‘He’ll be grateful,’ Bobby said. ‘When he gets a chance to think about it, he’ll realise he was glad you came.’
Leo said nothing. He wiped an eye.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ Bobby said. ‘Shall I?’
This time Leo nodded. They fell into step.
Leo cleared his throat. ‘Have his parents been? His mother?’ Bobby inhaled, nodded on the out breath. ‘They came. They weren’t here long. She . . .
Mrs Blake . . . She seemed to take it hard. The stepfather too, in his way.’ They reached a set of doors, negotiated them awkwardly. For several paces afterwards
they walked in silence.
‘What about Daniel?’ Leo asked. ‘How long will he stay here?’ Bobby drew his lips sideways. ‘As long as they let him. Not lo
ng, probably. Not once
the Home Secretary makes up his mind and they draw up a sentence plan. But it was only ever a stopgap, as you know. We’re not really set up for boys as young as Daniel.’
Leo sniffed. ‘Is anywhere?’
Bobby turned slightly, as though deliberating whether to take offence on his peers’ be-half. ‘There are some good institutions around, Mr Curtice. All things considered.’
‘All things considered?’
Bobby shrugged. ‘Facilities like ours don’t tend to be a priority. In terms of funding, I mean. We’re up there in government minds with asylum seekers and single mothers. Down there, rather.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘No. I don’t suppose it does. But we do okay. We do, others do. It helps when you get the right people. You’ll find, actually, that boys of Daniel’s age receive the best care of all. It’s only as they get older, turn into adults, that sometimes they . I mean, it’s inevitable really that at some point they’re . . .’
‘Set adrift.’
Bobby glanced.
They walked on.
‘He’s scared, you know,’ said Leo. ‘Terrified, actually.’ Bobby nodded. Both men watched the floor as it passed beneath their feet. ‘Is he right to be, do you think?’ Leo regretted the question almost as he finished asking
it. He shook it off. ‘Don’t answer that. It was a stupid thing to ask.’ They passed through another set of doors and found themselves in the main lobby. They
slowed, then stopped alongside the security desk. Bobby exhaled audibly. He seemed actually to be considering Leo’s question. ‘You never
know,’ he said, finally settling on his answer. ‘He’s due a little luck, wouldn’t you say?’ He was, that much was certain. And, possibly, he would encounter some. But that Bobby
Lelic, Simon - The Child Who Page 19