Читать книгу The Throwaway Boy - Alix Chapel - Страница 22

‘Bye, Mummy, have a nice time,’ I called from the basement.

‘When is Samantha coming over?’ she asked as she stopped at the top of the stairs.

‘She’s not. She has to go out with her mum.’

‘Oh dear, that’s too bad. Won’t you be bored when the girls go to bed?’

‘No, it’s OK. I’m going to watch Fantasy Island and Love Boat.’

‘OK, darling, we won’t be late. I’ve already told Naomi and Sophie they can stay up until 9.00pm. Make sure they go to bed then… I don’t want Sophie watching Love Boat.’

‘Oh, Mummy, there isn’t anything bad in Love Boat,’ I laughed.

I was still rolling my eyes as Mum and Dad left. They had only just started letting me babysit. Kate used to, but lately she complained about it so much that it was decided that at sixteen she was allowed to go out with her friends and I, being thirteen, could then be left in charge of Naomi and Sophie.

The three of us watched television until 9.00pm and then they went up to bed. I settled on the couch to watch my programmes. The TV room was in the basement of our house. At one end of the room, the stairs went up into the kitchen and at the other end was a door out to the back yard. I wasn’t nervous as a rule, but I did always make sure that the door was locked whenever I was downstairs on my own.

As I watched the programme, I glanced over at the door just as I heard a noise outside on the patio. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the door handle. After a few moments, I began to question what I had heard – like you do. It sounded like the crunching sound that was made when someone walked over the crushed rock on the patio, but I wasn’t completely sure.

I convinced myself I had imagined the noise and immediately felt foolish for getting myself all freaked out. I glanced over at the door to prove to myself that I wasn’t scared. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and my breath caught in my throat. I wanted to get up and put the light on, but I couldn’t get up the courage actually to move. I was rigid with fear, and was straining my eyes to get a proper view of the doorknob through the darkness, when I thought that I saw the handle turn, but I couldn’t be sure. I told myself that my eyes must be playing tricks, then suddenly I thought that, if someone was out there, whoever it was probably thought no one was in; I did have all the lights out after all. I reasoned that perhaps I could scare him off if I let him know I was there, but there was no way I was going to manage to put the light on as the switch was right by the door.

So I decided, after tense deliberation, to put the volume up on the TV and then run upstairs and wake up Naomi. She was younger than me, by almost two years, but in many ways tougher. She certainly wasn’t a wimp and I knew she wouldn’t panic. I almost wet my knickers when I noticed the doorknob definitely turn. Here goes, I thought, now or never.

I put up the volume and then flew to the stairs. I went so fast that my feet barely touched the floor. I didn’t want to scare Naomi, but I was so frightened I burst into her room. She was obviously startled and, as I wasn’t making much sense, she kept saying, ‘What… what… what?’ over and over. I took a deep breath and managed to explain what had happened.

‘OK, OK, OK…’ she said. ‘Let’s try not to wake up Sophie, she will get too scared. Let’s just go together to the kitchen and phone the police.’

So that is what we did. Within seconds, a patrol car pulled into the driveway and a lovely, friendly police officer stayed in the living room with us while the other one checked outside. I was totally embarrassed, worrying that I had imagined it all, but the policeman said that, even if it was all a mistake, phoning them had been the right thing to do. The other officer then confirmed there was evidence that someone had been trying the door. He reassured us that whoever it was had obviously run away and that he was sure they wouldn’t come back. As Mum and Dad were due home soon, the policemen said they would wait outside until they came home just to ensure we felt safe.

When they eventually arrived home, the policemen filled them in on the night’s events. Listening from the kitchen, I heard one of the officers telling Dad that there had been a break-in on the next street the previous night and that they would have a patrol car check the area thoroughly throughout the night. Dad then thanked them for their assistance and they assured him they were only too happy to help.

About a week later, a police car drove past Naomi and me as we walked to school. It was the same two policemen that had come to the house. They honked and waved at us. I was thoroughly mortified but, at the same time, I thought it was very cool that they had remembered us.

We never did find out who it was who had tried to break in, but the incident didn’t make me more nervous. In fact, it had the opposite effect. From then on, I always felt complete trust in our neighbourhood police force and had faith in them. Of course, we had visits from the police and firemen many times in school and we knew that they deserved our respect – we were brought up to feel that way. We had been taught that they were there to ‘serve and protect’ and we knew that dedication needed to be honoured, but all the same it meant more when we had personal experience of that service, even though, thankfully, it had been a minor incident.

* * *

I couldn’t help smiling to myself when I remembered my childhood experiences. It was obvious that Billy’s negative attitude was a world apart from mine. I knew that in Britain a lot of children often grew up without a sense of respect for the police but Billy’s lack of regard for them seemed to go much deeper than that.

I smiled, too, thinking about the nursery children. Whenever we were out on a walk and a police car drove by, the children would get very excited. I always thought it was incredibly sweet how the officers knew that young children hero-worshipped them and how they would make a point of slowing down and waving. Some even flashed their lights, which absolutely thrilled the children.

The experiences of the past week had me wondering if I would ever get to the bottom of Billy’s attitudes. I was reminded of what I had known right from the start – Billy wasn’t like other people. I hesitate to say that he wasn’t ‘normal’, because what is normal? But I did know that he wasn’t right. I could tell by the blank look at the very back of his eyes. I could tell by his personality, his mannerisms and behaviours, his speech, and even by his aura of uncertainty.

I could tell.

It’s like he doesn’t know how to be. He surveys; he copies; he overcompensates, becoming too friendly and then too accommodating. All of it is his persona. It is in the way he watches people, and scrutinises them. He watches, and even squints, as if to catch a clue in the silence. His composure is off as well – too premeditated and then too aloof – as if it is habitual behaviour, or sort of rehearsed.

Are those things normal? Maybe I wasn’t normal for noticing.

I didn’t know for sure. What I did know was that I loved him. Despite and because.