The Child Who

Bent double, he shows it to her. ‘What do you need?’

‘At the back. Behind all the receipts. There should be two twenties.’

He rummages, finds them. They unfold by themselves and he holds them out.

‘They’re yours,’ she says and smiles at his frown. ‘She gave me a cheque, made me promise to cash it. Said if ever I got a chance, I should slip the money into your wallet.’

Two twenties. The same number as were missing, when Leo finally got round to counting, from his bedside drawer. The place Ellie found them. The place, looking for the magazine article that had so angered Megan, she had discovered Vincent Blake’s notes.

Leo folds up the money. ‘Petrol kitty,’ he says and takes his time tucking them back in the place he found them. He takes out the letters instead and leans back with them piled on his lap. He casts his focus through the windscreen, at the spots of lazy rain and the cars beginning to bunch at the approaching junction.

‘It’s the thing she regrets most, you know,’ Megan tells him as the car slows. She checks for some reaction. ‘The note,’ she continues. ‘She doesn’t say so in the letters but it’s what she told me. Last time. I know she meant it.’

Leo looks at the letters in his lap. He picks up the topmost envelope. He puts it back and flips the pile the other way up.

‘She was angry, Leo. Scared above all. Especially when she saw what that man wrote.’

‘I don’t blame her,’ Leo says. ‘I told you.’ He takes a letter – the first one, this time – from its envelope. He lifts it closer to his face as though he were short-sighted. For everything else that has deteriorated about him…

No. Not deteriorated.

For everything else that has altered about him, Megan knows there is nothing wrong with her husband’s eyes.

He is smelling it.

She turns to conceal her smile. He seems to notice and coughs his embarrassment. He angles his head to show he is reading.

If he asked her to, she could read the letter to him. Mum, it starts. I don’t really know where to begin. She has committed to memory all twenty-seven lines, as well as all fifty-six from the second letter, each and every one of the third, fourth, fifth. And sixth. There are six letters in total. The first arrived with the photograph last autumn, for no reason that her daughter has been willing so far to reveal. Because she is happy, is Megan’s guess. Because her happiness has given her strength. The other letters came one at a time every four or five weeks. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Especially as they say so little: gossip, mainly, about Ellie’s friends. But that she has friends is in itself wondrous. Her friends and also her smile. Plus, now, they have met. Three times; roughly once in each of the past few months. At Ellie’s suggestion. Only ever at Ellie’s suggestion. Which is fine, not fine, all Megan can ask for. It is building. Re-building. It is killing her but it is making her whole.

Mum. I don’t really know where to begin.

She looks at Leo. She watches him read. She turns back to face the road and recites the lines in her mind along with him.

‘Here. Or a bit further in. This is the nice part. The expensive part. Acton’s cheaper. Closer to Ellie, too. Although I’m not even sure I can afford Acton.’

Leo, she can tell, is exaggerating his interest. He is impatient. He would rather not have taken the detour.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’ll turn around. Head back to the ring road.’

‘No. Honestly. It’s fine. I’d like to see.’

She narrows her eyes at him. ‘Now you’re stalling.’

‘I’m not. What kind of place are you looking for?’

‘You are. Just a flat. Three bedrooms, if I can.’

‘I’m nervous. That’s all. Three bedrooms sounds okay.’

She smiles. She is not beyond feeling nervous herself. ‘Two,’ she says. ‘It will probably be two. I’d like a garden for Rupert but it seems like a frivolous expense.’

‘Rupert?’ Leo turns. ‘Rupert’s still alive? But she must be…’

‘…on her last legs. That’s what I mean. I have my doubts, actually, that she’ll make it to moving day. That’s why I’ve never mentioned her to Ellie.’

‘You should,’ Leo says. ‘She’d be pleased.’ He shakes his head again at the never-ending wonderment.

‘Either way,’ says Megan, thinking once more about the flat. ‘There’ll be a spare bedroom. In case you ever… I mean, if anyone ever…’

She flushes. She turns away. She does not even pause to see whether Leo has reddened too.

Her husband, after a moment, clears his throat. ‘I’m up here a lot, as it happens. You know. For work.’

Work. It is how he has been referring to it since she asked about it. He is, in Megan’s opinion, belittling himself with the term.

‘How’s that going?’ she asks.

‘Oh,’ he says, ‘you know.’ He does not think she genuinely wants to hear.

‘Tell me. Please.’ They reach a roundabout and Megan swings the car the way they have come.

‘Slowly,’ Leo says. ‘The campaigning part, I mean. But we’ve made a nuisance of ourselves, got some backbench support. Lib Dems, mainly.’ He shrugs. ‘But still.’

But still indeed. She thinks of Leo’s father. She wonders if Leo realises how proud Matthew would be.

‘And Karen? She’s working with you?’

Leo nods. ‘Karen’s involved. She’s a big part of it, actually, especially after her experiences with… I mean… Given her experience.’

‘With Daniel.’ Megan says the name and, for the first time she can remember, she does not shudder.

Leo looks at her. ‘That’s right. Also,’ he adds, ‘a barrister I used to work with. He was involved with Daniel’s case too. And there are others. Other lawyers, other therapists, a judge. It helps that it’s people who work with the law who are arguing that the law is an ass.’

‘And the pro bono stuff?’

Leo’s face shines. ‘It’s good. I mean, Howard’s been great. He’s retired now but he was the one who helped me get it all set up.’

‘You work with kids, you said? Just kids?’

‘Exclusively. Which means I travel a fair bit. Around the south-west mainly. Also, here.’ He gestures at the North Circular. ‘Believe me, there’s plenty of work. Hardly anyone specialises in it, you see. No one’s qualified to. Which is frustrating enough in itself.’ He finishes with a shrug.

‘You do look tired, Leo. Are you eating properly?’

Leo purses his lips, as though to snip off a smile. ‘When I can,’ he says. He seems to consider for a moment. His expression hardens. ‘It sounds heartless, probably,’ he says. ‘But Daniel: what happened to him. It will help. In the long run. I won’t let it not.’ There is a hint of a challenge in his tone. Megan does not rise to it.

‘Not heartless, Leo.’ She indicates, turns, glances. ‘Never that.’

They have been parked, by Megan’s estimation, for thirteen minutes. If they leave it any longer, they will be late.

‘Leo. We should go.’

Her husband stares at the shopfront, as though the coffeeshop signage were something outlandish.

‘Leo. It will be fine. I promise.’ Will it? Does she?

Leo turns to her. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’

‘What?’

‘I shouldn’t have come. It’s not fair. She should have warning.’

The thought has occurred to Megan too. More than that: it has nagged at her, like a child growing fitful in the back seat. What if I ruin it? she keeps thinking, the very thought that stopped her telling Leo from the