Coming Down (8 page)

He puts a calming hand on my shoulder.
“The likelihood is he’s either still in here or on the bridge. Let’s go down to the information stand and see if they’ve seen him. They might have CCTV.”

So we all troop back to the entrance. This time I walk at the back of the group, afraid to lose an
ybody else. Niall leads the way; Allegra still stuck beside him for some reason. I can see her chatting away to him, which is really unusual. After her experiences with her mum’s boyfriend she doesn’t usually take well to men.

All is quiet when we get to
the information booth. I make the kids stand in twos while Niall and Allegra go up to the woman standing there. He talks rapidly to the lady behind the desk, then nods as she answers. Then she picks up a telephone and makes a call. How did we manage to lose one of them so easily? There’s a huge river practically outside the building, and I’m trying to ignore the thought of him falling in.

My heart
hammers against my chest when Niall walks back over. It speeds up when I see the expression on his face.

“
Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“
Oh, God. Is he hurt?”

“
Hardly. He’s been caught nicking stuff from the shop. They’ve called the police.”

Oh shit.
Suddenly, this seems so much worse than just playing about on the bridge. This is serious. “Can I see him?”

“
I’ll ask.”

A few minutes later I
’m being led down to the security office. I’ve left Niall behind with the kids, with strict instructions to get them in the bus, and stop for McDonald’s as he promised. They won’t give him any problems—they were all downbeat and morose when I left them. Cameron’s put a dampener on everybody’s day.

The head of security
—a man whose uniform seems practically painted on his plump body—takes me aside and explains Cameron was caught stealing a £50 ornament. He’d pushed it down inside his hoodie before he was caught. It’s all on camera. The guard tells me it’s their policy to press charges, and I nod sagely, wondering if it’s worth begging on Cameron’s behalf.

T
hen I see him sitting in the office, his feet up on his chair and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s got this aura of bravado, wears it like a suit of armour, and I wonder if being taken to the station is the worst thing that can possibly happen. I’m not a therapist, and I’m definitely not a child psychologist, but Cameron’s on a track that can only lead to a life I don’t want for him. So I take the seat the manager offers and we wait almost an hour for the police to arrive.

8

Cameron stares at the wall with dry eyes, his thin lips pulled tightly across gritted teeth. Following his gaze, I search for the thing that’s dragging his attention away from the sergeant sitting opposite him, but the only thing there is the pockmarked, steel-coloured wall. The paint is thick, shiny and dull, dull, dull.

If Dulux made it they
’d probably call it ‘Suicide Grey’.

He
’s scared, I know he is. Beneath the cockiness and swagger that form a tight shell around his body there’s a frightened little kid. I know it from the occasional look he gives me, and from the way his eyes soften and liquefy when they tell him his rights. It’s that little kid that keeps me here, sitting beside him as a responsible adult, trying to get him to answer the questions.

“
We’ve got CCTV evidence,” Sergeant Collier says. “Shows you stuffing that paperweight in your pocket like it’s a Mars bar. Are you still denying it?”

Cameron shrugs and I want to shake him. His lack of cooperation is infuriating. Not
only to the policeman, whose narrow eyes show the impatience of a man who is tired of being lied to. I, too, want him to hurry up, to admit to the crime and let them get on with it. Simon was expecting me home an hour ago. I’ve not had the chance to call him or send him a message. I’m going to be in big trouble when I finally do.

“
Cameron, maybe you should answer his questions.”

He folds his arms tightly across his pigeon chest and flashes his bleached blue gaze across
the room. “Have you found my dad yet?”

They sent a policeman to
locate Mr Gibbs two hours ago. We waited for an hour before Cameron finally crumbled and agreed to be questioned in my presence. He refused to have a duty solicitor present; claimed all they were good for was getting him found guilty and locked up. How a thirteen-year-old knows anything about duty solicitors, I’ve no idea. I suppose he’s been around a lot of crime.

“
Nope.” Sergeant Collier has a self-satisfied smirk. I can understand why Cameron took an instant dislike to him. I’m not that keen, either.

“
I want to wait for him.”

“
You agreed to questioning,” Collier points out. “If we can’t find your dad we’ll have to keep you here overnight.”

A flash of unease passes over Cameron
’s face. Blink and you’d miss it. “Whatever.”

“
Wait a minute.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the plastic-coated table. “Let’s not be hasty.”

Collier looks at me.
“I’m not hasty.”

Oh, joy. Now I
’ve alienated him as well. “Can I have a word with Cameron? In private.” The leaflet they gave me when I agreed to accompany Cameron told me I can request to be alone with him. Collier wasn’t there when I got it, though. For a moment he just glares at me. Steely eyes. Unbending gaze. He gives me the jitters. “Please?”

“
I suppose so.”

“
Don’t do us any favours,” Cameron mutters, and I want to hit him. My knuckles tingle. He’s driving me crazy. His one-way route to self-destruction seems to have picked up a hitchhiker, and unfortunately it’s me.

“
Can you rein it in for a minute?” I hiss. Cameron looks shocked at my vehemence, but wisely says nothing. Perhaps he’s not such an idiot, after all.

“
You can have ten minutes, I’ll get a cuppa.” Collier pauses the recording and leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him. I stare at the closed door for a minute, as though I’m waiting for him to come back. What I’m actually doing is counting to ten. Trying to calm myself down.

It
’s not working.

Eventually, I turn to look at Cameron.
“What the hell are you doing?”

He rocks slowly on his chair—b
ack and forth. Each time he tips I think he’s going to fall over, but he doesn’t. It’s as if he has an innate sense of balance, tuned to a hair trigger.

“
He’s pissing me off.”

“
Don’t swear.” It’s an automatic reaction.

Cameron
giggles. Not a laugh, it’s too high pitched for that. “You’re worried about my language?”

I push off the table and stand up.
“No, Cameron, I’m not worried about your language. I’m worried about your future. You’ve been caught red-handed stealing from a shop. The police have CCTV evidence and witnesses, yet still you’re being bolshie and uncooperative.”

“
Mickey always tells me to keep my mouth shut if the pigs pull me in.”

There
are so many shades of wrong with his words I don’t know where to start. Sighing, I take the easiest route. “Who’s Mickey?”

“
My cousin.” He rocks forward, then adds, “He’s sixteen.” As if that explains everything.

“
And what makes your sixteen-year-old cousin the expert on being arrested?” Do I really want to know?

Cameron
shrugs. “Been busted a few times. Dealing, thieving. GBH.”

Lovely.

“Beating somebody up is a bit different to a first offense,” I point out. “If you cooperate, the likelihood is you’ll only get a reprimand.”

And maybe I
’ll get out of here before Simon throws all my stuff out on the street.

“
I don’t care.”

I come to a stop in front of him, resting against the table.
“Well, you should care. This isn’t funny, Cameron, this is your life you’re pissing up the wall—”

“
Language.”

“
Shut up and listen for a minute. This is your first time in this police station. The first time you’ve been arrested. If you don’t buck up your ideas it won’t be your last. Do you really want to end up like Mickey, or any of those other thugs constantly being hounded by the police?”

His face falls.
“I’m not sure I get the choice.” And in that voice there’s something I want to cling to: a lack of certainty, a wavering fear.

“
You do. You get the choice. And I want you to make the right one.”

His brow pulls down,
as if he’s trying to listen to a foreign tongue.

“
Because it doesn’t have to be like this, Cameron. You don’t have to be that guy who just drifts. The one who ends up serving time in a shitty jail and comes out to kids who don’t know him and a girl who can’t stand the sight of you.” I bite my lip, trying not to get too emotional. “We all have to make decisions. What road to take, which route to choose. Make the right one.”

His eyes meet mine.
“I don’t know what to do.” It sounds like a plea.

I soften.
“Let me speak with the sergeant. Tell him you want to talk. We’ll see what he can offer?” Taking a deep breath, I reach out to touch his shoulder. “Okay?”

“
Okay.”

I
’m not stupid. I know it’s not a breakthrough. It might not be anything at all, but I let a little bit of hope bloom in my heart. Maybe, in the end, he will still end up like his jailbird cousin Mickey, or his slacker, absentee dad, but I truly hope he doesn’t.

* * *

It takes another hour for the on-call social worker to pick Cameron up. By this point we are both drained—emotionally as well as physically—and he barely rolls his eyes when he sees it’s Ryan Clark. The unfortunate-looking guy has the nickname ‘superboy’ because he looks about twelve and is anything but a superhero. Still, Cameron goes quietly with Ryan, only stopping to flash me a cheeky wink before he follows him out of the door.

T
hen there was one.

It
’s past ten by the time I emerge from the police station and out into the cool evening air. I’m immediately shrouded by a misting of rain. It hangs in the atmosphere and coats my hair, tiny beads clinging to my eyelashes. When I blink, I can feel the cool wetness against my cheek.

The road outside is bathed with an amber glow, the streetlamps illuminating the city as far as the eye can see. It
’s never truly dark here in London, not even in the dead of night. Streets and alleys which were once contaminated by thick, cloying smog are now polluted by light.

At first I don
’t notice him. It’s not until Niall steps out of his car and walks toward me, his fingers running through his hair like a nervous comb, that I finally realise he’s here. When he comes to a stop in front of me I feel my heart clench for a second. In the half-light he looks more glorious than ever. I stare up at him, his eyes dark in spite of the lamps, and it all comes crashing down on me. The stress of the police station, the misery of knowing Cameron could self-destruct; my fears about Simon’s reaction.

The fact
Niall’s here, waiting for me, when I feel so exhausted.

I do a stupid thing. I start to cry.

Even as the first tear falls, I am embarrassed. A stolen sob escapes my lips. I feel exposed, as if he can see beneath my skin right to the real me.

I don
’t even know when it happens. One minute I’m staring up at him, his face blurred through a curtain of tears, the next minute I’m in his arms, my chest tight against his. He buries his face in my hair. It muffles his words, but not enough for them to disappear.

“
I’m so fucking sorry.”

His jacket is open, and when I wrap my arms around his waist, my hands slip underneath. They rest on his back, just above his waistband.
The warmth of his body radiates through his thin shirt. As he holds me I take in deep gulps of the fresh night air, the misty rain coating my lips as I breathe.

There
’s a part of me that wants to stand here forever. I don’t have to think about how angry Simon is going to be, and how scared I am to turn on my phone and see dozens of missed calls. Even better, for a moment I can forget all about Cameron Gibbs and his mixture of fear and bullishness that both infuriates me and tears me apart. Right now, with Niall, I can just
be
. It’s a luxury I want to hold on to.

But it isn
’t mine to have.

“
What happened?” He cups his hand around the back of my head, fingers tangling in my damp hair. It feels good. Too good. I take a step back and his arm falls back to his side.

“They gave him a reprimand.” I push my wet fringe from my eyes. God only knows how bad I look; pale face, running mascara, red eyes.

“
That’s good, right? Just a warning?”

I shake my head.
“It still goes on his record, that’s what they said.” That hurts more than anything. Cameron’s record was clean, unblemished. What’s done cannot be undone.

“
But nothing else? No court appearance?”

“
No.” That’s something positive, at least. “And hopefully he’s learned a lesson.” Catching Niall’s eyes, I frown. “What are you doing here, anyway? Are the rest of the kids okay?”

“
They’re fine. I bought them all dinner; they were happy as sandboys.” He runs his hand through his hair, and the rain keeps it swept back off his face. It glistens under the light of the streetlamps. “They all asked when we can go again.”

I raise my eyebrows.
“How about never?”

“
My thoughts exactly.” He laughs. It only lasts for a moment before he turns serious again. “I owe you a big apology.”

“
What for?”

“
You told me this would happen. That we couldn’t keep control. I should have listened to you.”

“
I was thinking the kids would run in the gallery and talk too loudly. Not
this
.”

A smile threatens at his lips.
“You set your sights way too low.”

“
Maybe next time we can aim for grand larceny.”

“
Hey, I thought we said there wouldn’t be a next time.”

Good point
, I think. One night in a police station is more than enough; I don’t want to go there again. Not that I’ll be allowed to, if Simon has anything to do with it. Maybe he’s right. I can’t seem to do anything right. Daisy is still in hospital, Cameron is still headed for a life of crime, and I appear to be doing everything I can to mess up my marriage.

“
I need to call my husband.” I don’t know why I can’t say his name. “He’ll be wondering where I am.”

“
We should get out of the rain,” Niall suggests, dipping his head so I can’t see his expression. “My car’s over there. I can give you a lift home.”

“
I’ll call a taxi.”

“
Don’t be silly.” He’s already walking toward his car, an old, beat-up Ford Fiesta. I don’t know what I was expecting from him, but this rusty, downtrodden vehicle wasn’t it.

It
’s unpretentious. For some reason, that warms me inside.