Simon Lelic - The Child Who

There was a man waiting in the next corridor, wearing a name tag and dressed in a shirt and trouser combination that might, or might not, have been a uniform. His biceps, hamlike, were straining the seams. The man did not speak but fell into step behind them as they passed. ‘This is Garrie,’ Bobby said. ‘He’ll be your escort today.’

Leo, as they walked, checked behind. He nodded but Garrie said nothing. Leo turned back and Bobby shrugged, gave another wink. ‘Not a big talker, our Garrie. But he’ll watch your back.’ Bobby’s eyes dipped towards Leo’s cheek, then glanced away.

They had to wait for the next set of doors to be unlocked from the other side and beyond, finally, was a desk at which Leo was expected to sign. Two more guards watched as he fumbled with the pen. They checked inside his briefcase and showed what they found there to Bobby, who returned a nod. A guard handed Leo his pass and Leo clipped it to his breast pocket. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Ready?’

He had put on weight. It had been barely a week but Daniel had definitely managed to grow a chin. He had been lacking one before so it was a good thing in terms of the boy’s health. Leo, though, could not help but think immediately of the jury. Waif-like was good. Emaciated better. Ruddy, well fed, portly: each suggested slobbery, contentment – a lack, above all, of contrition.

He was well turned out, though, and that was something. Much like the guards tacked to the common room walls, the boys all wore smart shirts and trousers, and Daniel looked respectable, as though his mother had assembled him for a family occasion. His posture needed work – he seemed cast, by default, in a slump – and his hair would look better rinsed of gel but with a few minor adjustments he would seem almost…

Leo touched his cheek. He was getting ahead of himself.

‘Daniel?’ said Bobby.

The boy was seated in the corner of a sofa furthest from the wall-mounted television. There were several older boys around him, their eyes pinned slackly to a nature documentary, and Daniel seemed more watchful of them than of the programme. He had set himself at a distance, his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins. At the sound of his name, he gave a start.

‘They’re allowed thirty minutes in here before lessons,’ said Bobby as they watched Daniel slide to his feet. ‘Another hour in the evenings but no TV after eight. They can read, play board games, listen to certain music. No cards, though. No gambling.’ Tough but fair, he seemed to want to imply, but Leo thought again of the morning papers. The tabloids, he suspected, would have blown their budgets for an image of the scene before him, irrespective of the type of programme and the ennui of the boys who watched. They would have had these children breaking boulders, even before they had been convicted of a crime.

Bobby fell silent as Daniel approached. The boy shuffled. He seemed conscious that the other inmates were watching him and managed, somehow, to make himself seem smaller standing up than sitting down.

‘Mr Curtice is here to see you, Daniel. You have something to say to him, I believe.’

Daniel had stopped several paces away. He flushed, glanced across his shoulder at the boys around the television. He muttered a sentence that Leo did not catch.

‘Again please, Daniel. Express yourself clearly.’

There were sniggers. Daniel’s flush deepened. ‘I’m sorry about what I did to your face,’ he said, his gaze reaching no higher than Leo’s chin. Another boy had drawn close and Garrie, Leo’s guard, stepped forwards to usher him away.

‘Better,’ said Bobby and he looked expectantly at Leo.

‘Oh,’ Leo said. ‘It’s fine, Daniel, really. It was an accident. There’s no need to apologise.’

Someone, from somewhere, made kissing sounds. Several of the older boys laughed.

‘That’s not quite the message we’re hoping to get across, Mr Curtice,’ said Bobby, ‘but I’m sure Daniel appreciates your good grace. Don’t you, Daniel?’

Daniel seemed to realise that he was not, this time, expected to answer.

‘We’ve set out some sandwiches for you,’ said Bobby. He turned and held out an arm and Daniel sloped into the lead. ‘Daniel helped prepare them. We no longer allow hot drinks outside the staff areas, I’m afraid, but I’ll have someone bring in a jug of water. Unless you’d prefer orange squash?’

The sandwiches – crustless corners on a tray – were waiting for them in Daniel’s bedroom. The room, to be fair to the papers, was a long way from being a cell. It was larger than Leo would have expected: maybe two thirds the size of Ellie’s bedroom. The space was Daniel’s own – there was just a single bed in the furthest corner – and included what the newspapers would have described as an en suite bathroom, though the washing facilities were basic and boxed off by barely more than a screen. There was a built-in desk, on which the sandwiches had been set, as well as a CD player and an armchair and a pile of thumbed magazines: Top Gear , Autocar , Bike . There were bars outside the window but the window itself was ajar. The view was of the building’s hollow centre: air-conditioning units, mainly. The impression Leo had was of a cheap hotel room. Not fancy but a long way from what he had feared.

‘This isn’t so bad,’ he said, peering around the screen at the lidless toilet. On the sink there was a tub of hair gel, some toothpaste without a cap and a Buzz Lightyear toothbrush. The mirror on the wall was polished metal.

The boy, when Leo emerged, had sunk into the chair, the only one in the room. Garrie was waiting in the corridor through the open door, which left Leo to pick his perch. He settled himself on the edge of Daniel’s bed and felt beneath him the unmistakable crinkle of rubber sheets. Standard issue, he wondered, or only for those who had shown a need?

‘So,’ said Leo. ‘How are you finding things?’ He tried to keep his tone light; tried not to worry that he had allowed Daniel to position himself in the path towards the only way out. He glanced at Garrie, who had his eyes averted but his attention, surely, on his ward. ‘It’s a nice room,’ Leo found himself saying. ‘A good size. It’s got to be at least as big as your room at home, right?’

The boy’s eyes snapped to his. ‘You went to my house?’

‘What? No. I mean, I was only guessing.’

A silence.

‘What are the people like? The other boys. And Bobby? Bobby seems… er… cool.’

Daniel, hunched, twitched a shoulder. ‘He’s all right.’

‘And the other boys? Are you getting along okay?’

Again a twitch. ‘They’re older mostly. Bigger.’

Leo nodded. There were boys here as old as eighteen and Daniel, at twelve, would not normally have been admitted. The choice, for the magistrates, had been between sending Daniel here or keeping him further from his family.

‘But you’re getting on okay?’

Leo waited for an answer but the boy did not reply. Leo tapped his fingers on his briefcase.

‘Where’s Mum?’ said Daniel. He jerked upright and Leo flinched. ‘Is she coming?’

‘She is, Daniel,’ said Leo, recovering himself. ‘She’ll be here this afternoon. I thought it might be helpful, though, for you and I to have a chance to talk alone.’

‘Alone,’ Daniel echoed. ‘Without him , you mean.’

Right. Without him .

‘He told me…’ Daniel looked up, as though wary of whether to continue. Leo gave the faintest of nods. ‘He told me to get rid of you. After last time. He said… he said you were a…’ his voice dwindled ‘… a waste of space.’

‘Who did? Your father?’