Breaking the Silence (11 page)

I nodded. ‘I suspect you’re right. But there’s been a development on that score.’ I told him about the contact visit cancellation.
And
the reason.

‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘That sounds a bit ominous, love, doesn’t it?’

I agreed that it did. It was echoing my very thoughts. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions, eh, love? How about your dinner? Shall I finish clearing this lot away and warm yours up?’

‘I’m not sure I fancy anything just now, after all that.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘I can always microwave it later – if and when I get my appetite back.’

I found a smile and dredged it up while Mike poured hot water onto our coffees. ‘Well, there’s a positive, at least,’ I said. ‘Because mine’s disappeared as well. So at this rate, by the time one of them goes elsewhere we’ll have both lost a couple of pounds, won’t we?’

We both laughed because, as everyone knows, laughter’s the best medicine. But violence is always shocking, no matter how young the pugilists, and, duly shocked, I only had one thought in my head – that I might soon be tearing my own hair out.

‘What colour is a rainbow, Casey?’

Not the first thing you expect to be asked in the morning, particularly the very second you open your bedroom door. Nevertheless, that was what Georgie obviously badly needed to know. He was standing right outside it – literally, nose to wood with it. I almost jumped out of my skin.

‘Oh, you gave me a fright, Georgie!’ I said, clutching my chest for effect as I mentally tried to remember the rhyme.
Richard of York Gave Battle in Vain
, that was it. But before I could recite the colours, Georgie had another question. ‘What colour is a chameleon if it goes into a rainbow?’ Then, bizarrely, ‘Do the Aztecs eat meat?’

This was new, I decided, as I tried to come up with answers, but then I realised that Georgie didn’t even seem to want them. I could tell as I spoke that he wasn’t listening, and was back locked in his own train of thought. Perhaps thinking up questions was just a stress-relieving strategy – and after last night there was certainly plenty of that fizzing about.

‘I tell you what,’ I finished. ‘How about you go downstairs ready for your breakfast, eh? I’ll just use the bathroom and then I’ll be there.’

Wincing slightly as I passed my own grinning mugshot on the bathroom door, I reflected that today might be a stressful one as well. Though both boys had settled again, after the aftermath of their fight – even sharing opposite ends of the same sofa to watch TV with us – I wasn’t naïve enough to suppose they were now friends. For one thing, Georgie didn’t ‘do’ friends, not in the way other kids did, and with a weeping bald patch to remind him what Georgie
could
do, I had no doubt that Jenson would be keen to get him back.

I followed Georgie down to find both boys sitting waiting patiently in the dining room, having chosen seats that gave them both a view of the telly in the living room, through the French doors.

‘Morning, all!’ I said brightly, picking up the Krispies for Georgie and pouring them into his bowl for him. That done, I went to do the same for Jenson.

‘Can I have Coco Pops, instead?’ he said.

‘Can I
please
have Coco Pops, Jenson? And yes, of course you can. I’ll go and fetch them.’

I knew why Jenson was doing this; it was to wind up poor Georgie. Having homed in on the white-food thing like an Exocet missile, he was obviously keen to target it at every opportunity. I would simply ignore it, though, because it seemed to me that Georgie didn’t even notice. As long as he had what he wanted, it seemed he couldn’t give a fig about what anyone else put in their mouths.

Not that Jenson wouldn’t get this himself before long. At which point, I had no doubt that he would just try and find something else. The only question being what, and how soon.

‘What we doing today, then?’ Jenson asked me once I’d poured out his cereal. ‘Seeing as how I won’t be seeing my mum and Carley.’ He seemed to think. ‘That’s unless Carley is seeing her. Is she? I bet she is.’

‘No, love. Neither of you are – just like I told you yesterday. Anyway, Mike’s had to pop into work for a couple of hours this morning, so we’ll decide what to do with ourselves then, okay?’

Jenson frowned. ‘Bet she’s lying. She likes Carley way more than me. Bet they’ve decided to go girly shopping and just don’t want me there.’

‘Love, that’s not the case, I promise you.’

‘Bet it is.’

There was nothing I could say that would change his mind, clearly. Not without spelling out the real reason for the cancelled visit, which was the last thing I wanted to do. And perhaps he had good reason to think that might be the case. Perhaps that was something that happened often – how did I know? Once again I got this feeling that there was something more to their relationship; that, much as Jenson wanted to be wanted by his mother, there was this clear sense that he held a grudge against her.

Making myself a coffee, I thought back to what the neighbour had said about ‘all that business with the little one’. It wasn’t really anything to do with me – social services would obviously reach their own conclusions – but, given that they had flagged up some concerns regarding the fiancé, perhaps I should make it my business to find out.

Breakfast soon eaten and Mike due home from work imminently, I told the boys to go up and wash and dress. ‘And while you’re at it you can both tidy your bedrooms,’ I said. ‘Think you can do that?’ I glanced at Georgie to see that he understood what I was saying. ‘That sound good, Georgie? You know how to tidy your room, right?’

I ignored Jenson’s snigger, and concentrated on Georgie, and was pleased to see that funny little smile cross his face. As he spent so much of his time looking so blankly at nothing, I decided it must have some significance. That he understood, perhaps? And that he felt comfortable with it? Just instinct, but then I would have to work on instinct. Till I got to know him better, that was all I had to go on. That and my experience with my own son.

If Georgie was anything like Kieron, of course, I would have nothing to worry about. Kieron would only operate in a room with complete order. Everything would have its own special place and he certainly wouldn’t accept the thought of mess. And something told me that I was dealing with the same sort of mindset. Unlike most boys his age, but in the same way as Kieron, Georgie probably wouldn’t dream of leaving dirty clothes on his floor or randomly discarding toys and games. Children with such dispositions, like Georgie – and also our last child, Abigail – did have some perks, I decided.

The boys off upstairs, I went back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Annoyingly, it had started to pour down outside. I switched on the radio and turned it up to drown the noise out. If there was one thing I really hated, it was rain. I loved the cold, I loved the heat, and I especially loved snow, but rain just drained the cheer out of everything. Most annoyingly, it had that unique ability to scupper plans, and where with snow you could simply make new, more exciting plans, when it rained there was so much you couldn’t do.

And I had had a plan: to take the boys to the woods. I loved having a patch of woodland just yards from our front door. Not only had it been one of the unexpected bonuses of moving to our current house, it had also delighted us with bluebells and wood anemones and primroses and, best of all, since it had a proper babbling brook running through it, with frogspawn and baby frogs as well.

And, naturally, it also had stones. But if it continued to rain like this we’d have to schedule our visit for another day, and I was just trying to think what else we could get up to when I heard the front door go. Mike. Home from work.

‘Hi, love! I’m back!’ he called, as per usual, from the hallway. I smiled as I put the kettle on for more coffee.

‘It’s awfully quiet in here,’ he said, coming up behind me to give me a hug. ‘Come on, out with it, woman. What have you done with them?’

‘What, my little angels?’ I laughed. ‘Actually, they are both upstairs, cleaning. I am endeavouring to mould them in my image. By the way, what do you think we should do with them today? I did think it would be nice to take them to the woods and tire them out. But now it’s raining.’

Mike peered out of the window. ‘Not that hard. And it looks like it’s easing up, too. So that sounds like a plan to me. But is there any chance of some boiled eggs and soldiers first?’

‘You big baby,’ I scolded, smacking him on the backside with the morning paper. ‘Go on then. Long as you promise to be the one to take them down to the muddy bit by the stream. Do your David Bellamy bit while I stay on the grassy bit, because if I end up on my backside in the mud there will be hell to pay.’

‘You big wuss,’ he responded. Touché, then.

Even so, his breakfast made, I went upstairs and pulled clothes out for all weather eventualities, which was only sensible for summer outings in Britain: my very tatty combat pants, a lightweight baggy jumper that had seen better days and my not-at-all-fashionably-branded wellies. Very chic, I thought, taking my pyjamas off, ready to go and have a shower.

I’d just done so when the still air was once again disturbed by a high-pitched and now familiar scream. I stopped dead. It was obviously Georgie, and in distress.

Grabbing my combat pants and wriggling into them, then pulling a vest top over my head, I yanked the bedroom door open to find Georgie standing in the doorway to Jenson’s bedroom, still screaming and this time also pointing. I then heard Jenson’s voice from inside. ‘Get lost, you freak!’ he was yelling. ‘Stop fucking screaming and sod
off
!’

Mike had by now joined us on the landing, and crossing it I could now see inside Jenson’s bedroom. He was sitting on his bed looking cross.

Mike sidestepped Georgie, taking care not to touch him. ‘What’s going on, Jenson?’ he said over the racket.

‘Oh. My. God!’ Jenson spluttered. ‘What are you blaming
me
for? That freak just came in here and started screaming at me! I can’t get no sense out of him. Look at him!’

‘I’m not blaming you for anything,’ Mike said calmly. ‘I’m just asking you because Georgie is obviously too upset to speak.’

At the sound of his name, Georgie’s screams got even louder.
God
, it occurred to me,
what are the neighbours thinking?

Jenson crossed his arms over his chest and looked defiantly back at Mike. ‘I don’t
know
what’s wrong with him,’ he said. ‘How should I?’

‘But why do you
think
he might be upset?’ Mike persisted.

Jenson spread his palms now. ‘I told you – I don’t
know
!’

I knelt down close to Georgie. ‘Love,’ I said, ‘I can see something’s upset you, but you need to tell us what. Or show me. Otherwise we can’t help you, can we?’

The screaming stopped as dramatically and instantly as it had started, and though I had absolutely no idea what had been the trigger in what I’d said I silently congratulated myself for having found a way through the din. Georgie then marched straight across the landing to his own bedroom, and pointed – very pointedly – at the line of stones just beyond his doorway.

I followed his eyes downwards – it was some kind of moat, I imagined, preventing entry. Had Jenson stepped over it? And then I remembered. I counted. There were nine stones. Before, there’d been ten.

‘Did someone move a stone, Georgie?’ I asked him, even though I already knew the answer.

Without saying a word, Georgie walked, shoulders down, to the bathroom door, where he pointed to the picture of Jenson.

‘Did Jenson take your stone, sweetheart?’

‘Jenson bad,’ Georgie said. He then hung his head and returned to Jenson’s doorway. Once there, he looked straight into the eyes of his tormentor, and promptly began screaming again.

‘Jenson!’ I called, above the noise. ‘One of Georgie’s stones is missing. He says you have it. Now will you please give it back to him. You obviously knew it would upset him, and if you don’t want to be grounded I suggest you do as I ask right this minute.’

Mike, who was by now sitting on the bed with Jenson, patted his arm. ‘Come on, lad, this isn’t funny. Not when you do it to a boy like Georgie. It’s just mean. You know that …’

Jenson bridled. ‘So’s what he did to my fucking hair!’

‘I know, lad, but two wrongs …’

Jenson leapt up then. He reached under his pillow and produced the offending item, then, waving it around above his head for a moment, yelled ‘Here it is, you fucking retard! You wan’ it so bad? Well, you can have it!’ With which he threw it, with unnerving accuracy, straight at Georgie’s forehead.

Here we go again!
I thought, as Georgie’s hand flew to his temple and, meanwhile – it was obviously a lucky shot, after all – Jenson , looking mortified, tried to make a bolt for the door. Luckily, Mike grabbed him, and meanwhile (and quite forgetting about the various protocols) I grabbed Georgie and clamped my arms around him. Which again stopped him screaming, but now he started struggling instead, and, to my amazement, managed to shrug me off as easily as he would a coat. I didn’t resist. He was obviously in some sort of shock, but it was only as he got free of me that I saw to what extent, because he immediately hurled himself across the room and slammed his whole body at the wall.

It happened so quickly but he must have done it three times in all – each time more violently than the last – before Mike could grab him from behind and wrestle him gently but firmly to the ground.

They stayed locked there, both rocking from side to side, for some minutes, Mike with his arms wrapped firmly round Georgie’s torso, and with the boy’s legs spread out in front, between his own. It almost looked like some horror-movie version of that dance – the one that goes ‘Oops, upside your head’, that people do at discos in long chains.

Jenson, as transfixed now as I was, hadn’t moved, his bolt for freedom obviously having been forgotten. This was a whole other league of kids having freak-outs, I thought distractedly. I’d been in some scrapes with angry, self-loathing, behaviourally extreme children, but I’d never witnessed anything quite like this before – and certainly not in my own home. And nor had Jenson, I imagined. He had tears rolling down his cheeks again, and was shaking. He looked scared and appalled.

I followed his gaze. ‘Look, Casey,’ he said in a small voice. ‘Look at his
head
.’

So I looked, and saw a fat thread of blood on Georgie’s neck, which was running freely and beginning to soak into his hair. It wasn’t from the stone; there was no sign that that had actually hurt him, and from where it seemed to come from my guess was a wound on the back of his head. Which wasn’t surprising, given the animalistic way he’d thrown himself against the bedroom wall.

Another instinct kicked in. I mustn’t alarm Georgie. Mustn’t alarm either boy, in fact. Squeezing Jenson’s hand to reassure him, I mouthed the word ‘blood’ to Mike. Forget the woods. We needed to get to A&E.