Kit de Waal: My Name Is Leon

She dabs the back of Tufty’s head, all the time talking and not looking at Leon.

“I owe you my thanks, I know that much. You’ve brought him back and that’s all that matters.”

She says nothing to Leon. She’s not telling him off. Not noticing him. Sylvia is looking after Mr. Devlin, talking and dabbing and worrying about stitches and doctors and the ER and getting the police involved.

“Don’t,” says Mr. Devlin, one of his eyes almost closed up. “I don’t want the police. I saw what they did to him.”

He turns his head to Tufty. “Thank you,” he says.

Leon stays in the doorway. He slips his pack off and puts it on the floor. He knows Maureen has seen it.

“Can I go to the toilet, please?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” says Maureen. “I don’t live here. You better ask Sylvia.”

But Sylvia doesn’t answer him. She’s acting busy and bossy as usual and she keeps shaking her head and looking at Maureen and then looking at Mr. Devlin and filling a bowl with hot water and fussing a bit more.

Leon walks along the hallway to the bathroom. He washes his hands and looks at himself in the mirror. Where he was crying there are little tracks on his dirty face. He has a few leaves stuck in his hair and there are scratches on his back and arms where the brambles caught him. He’s even got blood all over his chest, Tufty’s or Mr. Devlin’s. Maureen will have noticed but she hasn’t said anything. He does a lovely long pee and then flushes the toilet. He closes the lid and sits down. One of his legs is moving and shaking all on its own and he can feel the tears again just behind his eyes, waiting to come out.

It’s too dark to leave now. He might get hit by a rock or a policeman. It was very easy to get lost even with a map. His bike is at the allotment and he’s too scared to go and get it. He walks back to the living room. Maureen is ushering Tufty onto the sofa.

“Sit, go on. Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Go on, sit. You’re in no fit state to be walking the streets. Go on, sit down. You’re safe in here.”

Tufty holds a cloth to his head and leans back.

Maureen stands over him. “Good, that’s it. And you,” she says finally to Leon, “you go and sit next to him. Have you had a pee? You’ll need a sandwich before bed. Bet you’re starving, aren’t you?”

He can’t see her face, because she’s on her way to the kitchen, but her voice sounds shaky and thin.

“Yes,” he says and suddenly she stamps back into the living room, stands in front of the television, and puts her hands on her hips.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at, Leon?”

They all go quiet. Sylvia has shut up and Tufty puts his head down.

“Do you know what I’ve been through tonight? Not knowing where you were? I’ve been trying the police fifty times but they’re too busy. Apparently. Too busy to bother with a ten-year-old run-away. I haven’t called Social Services because I don’t want you ending up in a bloody home, do I? I don’t want them coming in here and saying I can’t look after you.”

She wipes her face with a tea towel, her chest heaving and her breath ragged and torn.

“Where were you going and why? Why are you half-naked? What in the name of God has got into you? What’s it all about, Leon?”

Sylvia walks out of the kitchen and puts her arms round Maureen.

“Mo, love. Calm down. You’ve just come out of the hospital, Mo. Calm down.”

But Maureen wriggles away from her.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m calm. I am. He’s home now.”

They both go into the kitchen. Tufty raises his eyebrows.

When Maureen comes back she has a huge plate of sandwiches that she puts on the coffee table, a can of Coke for Leon, and a cup of tea for Tufty.

“Sugar’s there,” she says.

She sits in Sylvia’s chair and closes her eyes.

“You’re back. That’s enough for now.”

Tufty nudges Leon and nods in Maureen’s direction.

“Say sorry,” he whispers.

Leon has a mouthful of cheese sandwich. He looks at Tufty because he doesn’t want to say sorry, and anyway, Tufty doesn’t know about Maureen and Sylvia’s plans.

Tufty nudges him again and frowns.

“Say it,” he hisses.

“Sorry, Maureen,” says Leon.

She half opens her eyes.

“Off to bed when you’ve had that. No, actually, get a wash, a good wash all over. You’re sleeping in my room on the floor. The window’s painted shut and I’ll move my dressing table in front of the door. Think you can move that in the night, Leon?”

He shakes his head.

“Bloody right,” she says and closes her eyes again.

A sharp sliver of sun cutsthrough the curtains and into Leon’s eyes. He can see the pinkish back of his lids, dots of color and light like a kaleidoscope he once had. He can hear pots and pans clanging in the kitchen and the radio on with Sylvia’s music. He hears Sylvia laugh. He remembers getting into the bath and hearing the grown-ups talking in the kitchen. He thought he could hear Tufty and Mr. Devlin and Sylvia and Maureen all laughing together but maybe they were arguing. He doesn’t remember getting into bed. He didn’t dream.

He opens his eyes and sees that he is on the floor on some cushions at the bottom of Maureen’s double bed. Under the bed is dusty where Sylvia forgot to vacuum. He scrambles up, squeezes past the dressing table, and opens the door. He’s starving.

Something’s different about Maureen. She’s not exactly in a bad mood but she’s not talking a lot. She’s not sick, because they’re still living with Sylvia and she makes Maureen sit down all the time and eat salads. Maureen says that lettuce will kill you slowly instead of cakes that will kill you fast. She woke Leon up very early and told him to get dressed in his best clothes. She put rollers in her hair and made it very see-through and wide. She put on a fluffy cardigan with diamonds for buttons and a new pair of old ladies’ sneakers with Velcro fasteners. Then she went quiet for the whole day and when she did speak she just said “Hmm” and “Maybe” or “Let’s see how the day pans out.”

But the day’s been quite boring so far. First they had a very long train journey, which was just fields and fields for miles. Maureen said he could have a bar of chocolate from the cart and they played cards but she wasn’t paying attention and Leon won easily. After a while they settled back in their seats and Leon must have slept until they got to Bristol.

At last the train stops and everyone gets off. Maureen actually takes his hand like he’s a little boy but when they get out of the station she lets it go. They have to wait in line for a taxi and, when they get one, Maureen keeps looking at her map.

“Have to keep your eye on this lot,” she says. “They’ll take you around the long way if you let them.”

They cross a bridge and then walk down some steps to a wide walkway overlooking a river. On the opposite bank, there’s a massive battleship and Leon asks Maureen if they can go and have a look.

“Later,” she says. That’s her favorite word of the day.

She stops and looks up and down, left and right, and then turns around, then turns back.

“Is this the right place?” Maureen asks. She looks at her watch again. “Must be.”

They sit on a bench by a concrete building so Maureen can catch her breath. She opens a Tupperware container of sandwiches.

“Here you go, ham and cheese.”

Leon can see in her bag. She’s bought chocolate and potato chips and two cans of Coke, so they are going to be here for some time. Maureen isn’t eating anything. Says she’s not hungry.

“Go and stand over there and have a look at the river. Go on. It’s lovely.”