Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(91)
She smiles again. ‘It’s nice you still take an interest, Adam. He’s gone down to the park to play football with Phil. Though I suspect the dog thinks it’s all for his benefit.’
She wipes her hands on the towel. ‘Give me a sec and I’ll put the kettle on. They’ll be back any minute and Phil will be gasping.’ She smiles again. ‘We’ve done up Gary’s room since you were last here – you can have a look if you like.’
She disappears into the kitchen and I stand there a moment, then take a few steps forward and push open the door. There are posters of football players on the walls, odd socks rolled up under the bed, a Chelsea FC duvet cover, an Xbox and a stack of games. A muddle. A happy, ordinary, everyday muddle.
The door bangs then, as Jean kicks it open. She has two mugs of tea with her.
‘What do you think?’ she says as she hands me one.
‘I think you’ve done a fabulous job,’ I say. ‘And I don’t mean the decorating. All this – it’s exactly what he needs. Normality. Stability.’
She sits down on the bed and smoothes the cover with her hand. ‘It’s not hard, Adam. He just needed to be loved.’
‘How’s the new school?’
‘Good. Dr Donnelly and I spent a long time with his form teacher before he started, talking it all through. He’s still settling in, but fingers crossed, I think it’s going to be OK.’
‘And he was happy going back to his original name?’
She grins. ‘I think it helps that there’s a Gary in the Chelsea team. But yes, I think leaving “Leo” behind is the best thing that could have happened to him. In every sense. It’s a new start.’
She blows on her tea and I walk over to the window and look out over the back garden. There’s a goal at the far end and a couple of footballs on the muddy grass. And on the windowsill, a little blue china dish. The sort you put keys in, or change. But there’s only one thing in this one. Something silver that catches the light. It looks like some sort of amulet – something you’d wear on a chain or a bracelet. Hardly what you’d expect a boy to have. I pick it up and look quizzically at Jean.
‘Oh, his sister gave that to him,’ she says. ‘And that reminds me. Gary wants to send an email to that nice DC of yours, Everett, is it? To say sorry about causing all that trouble at the B&B. That thing you’re holding – that’s what he was looking for when it happened. That’s what he thought he’d lost.’
‘Really?’ I look at it again, turning it over in my hand. It’s shaped like a bunch of flowers, or leaves, but hanging upside down. Like mistletoe, at Christmas. ‘It must mean a lot to him.’
She nods. ‘It’s some sort of charm. To keep bad things away. Daisy’s teacher gave it to her, then she gave it to Gary. It’s odd, though, all the same.’
‘Why do you say that?’
She takes a sip of her tea. ‘Gary doesn’t really want to talk about it and I haven’t pushed him, but I got the impression Daisy gave it to him that day – the day she disappeared. It sends a shiver down my spine every time I think of it. I know it sounds crazy when you say it out loud, but it’s almost as if she knew. But how could she, poor little lamb.’
Then there’s the sound of keys in the door and the little house is suddenly filled with a clamour of voices and a chaos of mucky dog.
‘Jean, Jean, I got three penalties!’ he cries as he clatters through the bedroom door, with a leaping golden retriever half under his feet. ‘One after the other – bang – bang – bang!’
He stops then, because he’s realized Jean’s not alone. His cheeks are pink with cold and his hair is shorter than when I last saw him. He has no fringe to hide behind now, but he doesn’t need it: he looks me straight in the eye. I can see he’s surprised, because he wasn’t expecting to see me, but that’s all. He’s not scared; not any more.
‘Hello, Gary,’ I say. ‘I just popped round to see how you are. Jean says you’re doing great. I’m really glad to hear that.’
He bends briefly to rub the grinning dog behind the ears. ‘It’s good here,’ he says, looking up at me again. And I can’t think of any three words that could say more. Not just about the past, but about the future too.
‘Three penalties?’ I continue. ‘That’s not bad. Keep it up and you’ll be as good as that player you like – what’s his name – he takes penalties, doesn’t he?’
He smiles then and I realize, with a ghost of self-reproach, that it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him do it.
‘Hazard,’ he says.
* * *
—
When I get back into the car, I sit there for a moment, thinking. About Gary, who’s been given a second chance, and Daisy, who wasn’t. And about the second chance I never got, and I’d trade everything I’ve ever owned to receive.
* * *
—
Tomorrow it will be exactly a year. To the day. That day.
It had been raining for what seemed like weeks – the clouds never lifted. I got home early, because we wanted to talk to Jake and I didn’t want to rush it. I didn’t want him going to bed with it on his mind. We had an appointment with the child psychologist the following day. Alex had been dead against it, insisting our GP knew what she was doing, and Jake hadn’t hurt himself for weeks. That our son wasn’t a ‘case’ I could solve with my brain, and escalating things now might only make it worse. But I forced it.