The Child Who

‘Told them? Told who?’

‘The others. The bigger boys.’ Daniel looked down.

‘Fine.’ Leo stood. ‘The PlayStation it is. You’ll have to show me. I probably can’t even remember how to hold a joystick.’

Daniel, briefly, gave Leo a look that would have suited Ellie.

‘On your feet, then,’ Leo said. ‘Lead the way. I mean…’ Leo turned to Garrie. ‘Assuming it’s okay?’

The guard, finally, showed he could smile. He stepped into the corridor. Daniel went next and Leo trailed, his gaze on the boy’s narrow shoulders. At the door Leo stopped. ‘Wait,’ he said, thinking: sod the jury. He turned back into the room. ‘We might get hungry.’ He reached for the plate of sandwiches.

11

He paced. Sitting was out of the question. He felt like a nervous father – or a father soon to be. Although that was probably down to the surroundings: the off-the-peg void of the public-institution canteen. There was nothing to distract him, that was the problem. No one either, not even behind the counter. If Leo had not been alone, he would have busied himself with at least a pretence of looking busy. As it was he simply paced, his shuttling between cutlery and condiments interrupted only by a glance, every ten steps or so, towards the door.

He would have liked to prepare her. He had briefed her on the telephone barely twenty-four hours ago but a dozen things had occurred to him since that she would, he was sure, have found useful. Things, more to the point, that might prove useful to their case – and that Karen, without forewarning, might overlook. It would be Leo’s fault: if an insight were bypassed that should have been signposted; if the answers that Daniel gave were to the wrong questions – or if the boy, at the last, failed to answer at all. Karen, though, had been insistent. That’s fine, Leo. That’s all I need to know. She had made her own way here and would have been making her way straight home again, had Leo not pleaded for a first-impressions debrief before she left.

But it was taking an age. Seven more minutes and he could start to reckon in hours. Daniel gets restless, he should have said. Don’t push him or you’ll push him away. And he’s only twelve. Just remember he’s only twelve. Even the police kept their sessions to less than an hour and most of those were thirty minutes too long. He’s not used to sustained conversation. He’s not used to conversation, full stop.

Not that Karen would have needed telling. She was a professional, after all. And that it was taking so long was probably a good sign. Wasn’t it? Unless it was taking this long because they had barely started. It was entirely possible, given Daniel’s record with such things. The police, the boy’s parents, the social worker, even Leo: they could all testify to that.

‘Not talking to yourself are you, Leo?’

The voice was at Leo’s shoulder. ‘Karen.’

‘It’s one of the things we look for, you know. That and hairy palms.’ Karen tilted her head to get a view of Leo’s hands.

Leo looked too, then offered one for Karen to shake. ‘How did it go? Was Daniel okay? Did he speak to you? What did he say?’

‘I need coffee. Is there coffee?’

‘What? Oh.’ Leo peered towards the counter. ‘Probably. I don’t know.’

‘Want one?’ Karen aimed herself towards the coffee machine in the corner. The pot on the hot plate was empty so she started filling it. Leo followed and loitered by her side.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’ Then, again, ‘How did it go?’

Karen peered at him across the frames of her glasses. She rolled her eyes and resumed her search for an on switch. She found it, flicked it, then stood upright and began with a sigh.

‘He needs help, Leo. Counselling at the very least. What he’s been through, what he’s going through: it’s clear he isn’t coping.’

‘Not coping? What do you mean? I thought he seemed okay. Given the circumstances.’

‘He’s twelve, Leo. He’s doing his best to act tough but tough is only ever a shell. It’s what lies beneath that concerns me.’

The coffee machine gurgled and started to dribble. Karen reached for a cup. She brandished a second at Leo. ‘You sure?’

Leo waved away the offer. ‘So… what? He wouldn’t speak to you, is that what you’re saying?’

‘He spoke to me.’ Karen filled her mug and raised it level with her chin. The steam from the coffee misted her glasses and she blew.

She was making him wait. They had not spoken to each other in years and now Leo had finally got in touch, it was only because there was something from her that he needed. So she was punishing him. This is what you get, she was telling him. This is what you get when you assume that friendship doesn’t deflate when you neglect to fill it once in a while with a little air.

‘We should get a drink,’ Leo said. ‘Or I’ll buy you lunch. Because I know it’s been a while and I know we haven’t even caught up but really, Karen, this is important. I called you because I knew I could trust you and because I didn’t think you would mind if—’

‘Leo,’ Karen said. ‘Calm yourself. I’m thinking, that’s all. I’m digesting. I didn’t even stop on my way from seeing Daniel to visit the ladies’. I didn’t dare.’

Leo made as though to answer.

‘Ordinarily, you know, we wouldn’t even be talking. Not yet, anyway. I don’t work like this, Leo. I don’t like to work like this.’

Leo looked to the floor. This was Karen, he recalled. This was why, when they had had their fling at university, they had reverted to friendship after barely a week. Not because they did not enjoy each other’s company but because they were configured to function at a different RPM: Leo at forty-five, Karen a more considered thirty-three.

Again Karen sighed. The sigh, Leo thought, was new. Probably it was one of the things she had acquired in qualifying for her profession. That and her oversize jewellery.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I should give you some time.’ He considered the room. ‘I’ll wait over there. You finish your coffee.’

Karen gave a gee-thanks snort. She winced through another sip then gestured for Leo to tag behind as she made her way towards the seats. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, taking one. Leo slid into the chair opposite and propped his elbows on the table, his chin on his interlinked hands. ‘Just so long as this conversation is about what we agreed it would be: first impressions, nothing more. Okay?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Leo. ‘First impressions.’

Karen, briefly, tightened her gaze. ‘Daniel,’ she began and she paused. ‘Daniel is suffering from post- traumatic stress disorder.’ She met Leo’s eye. ‘And that’s not a first impression, Leo. That’s a diagnosis. He’s not sleeping. He’s eating but only because he’s bingeing. He has nightmares, flashbacks, repressed memories that are refusing to stay that way. And he’s enuretic. Did you know that?’

Leo recalled the boy’s rubber sheets. ‘I had an idea.’

‘Not that it means anything necessarily. He may well have been so before. The point is, he needs help. Skilled therapeutic input. Something he is categorically not receiving here.’

Leo frowned and Karen rattled a hand.

‘It’s not their fault,’ she said. ‘The staff here – and Bobby, is it? The bloke in charge? – they seem competent enough, caring enough. I’m certain, if they were permitted to, they would ensure Daniel got all the help he needs. But they’re not permitted to. Are they, Leo?’ It was not a question; it was an accusation. As though Leo, facing her, were representing the entire legal system. Which in a way, he supposed, he was.

‘He’ll get treatment, Karen. Once the trial is over, there’ll be no end of doctors through his door.’

Karen drew her chin towards her collarbone. ‘Right. Once the trial is over. Although by then, of course, he could be permanently damaged. But what the hell. He stands accused so his rights hardly matter. Forget about the presumption of innocence – it’s the evidence against him we need to protect.’