The Stranger Within (9 page)

I hold it up,  laughing as I remember my impulsiveness in the bakery. “Too much food!”

He chuckles. “Would it be okay if I wait for Dillon out here? I won’t be any trouble.”

I turn to Mrs Simmons’ window and see she is still holding up the curtain, watching us. What would she think if I left him sitting out here? “No, come in and wait. I hope you’re hungry because I’ll need help finishing off this lot.” I hold up the bag again and he grins. A wide smile that stretches across his face. A smile I can trust.

It feels strange to be alone in the house with Dillon’s friend. My guard is still up, part of me expecting any moment that Rhys will tell me I’m the worst mother in the world and I need to stop ruining his friend’s life. Or worse.

But there seems to be nothing cold about him, and if I can’t trust my instincts, what else do I have?

Rhys asks if he can help with anything, but I tell him to take a seat. He sits at the kitchen table, rather than on a stool at the breakfast bar, and watches as I plate the food and pour two glasses of orange juice. I wonder what he’s thinking.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to have some?” he asks. “Isn’t all this for Dillon and Luke?”

I shake my head and tell him about my indecision in the bakery, expecting him to conclude that I must be crazy. But his eyes don’t glaze over, so perhaps he is not writing me off altogether. “Well, I’m glad you went because this sausage roll tastes good.”

His compliment lifts my spirits, even if it comes from a teenage boy. Even if he is the friend of a stepson who loathes me. I am almost tempted to ask him whether Dillon ever talks about me, but it’s not fair to put that burden on Rhys. Instead I will wait and see if he brings up the subject.

“What’s your mum like, Rhys?” I am certain he has loving parents. He wouldn’t be so grounded if he didn’t.

He shrugs. “She’s nice. A bit strict sometimes. Dad too. But I guess I understand why.”

As Rhys continues to talk about his parents, it crosses my mind that this is all an act. I have no idea what kind of act, or what Dillon could hope to achieve if he has set this up, but I file the thought away, ready at any second to say I knew it, that I wasn’t fooled.

“Well, it sounds like you’re all quite close. That’s good.” I have put it out there. An opening for him to mention Dillon. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he tells me about his band and how he wants to study music at university once he’s finished his A levels.

“That’s right, you’re older than Dillon, aren’t you?” Will throwing Dillon’s name out again compel Rhys to talk about him?

He nods, looking pleased with himself. “Yeah, I’m eighteen. Well, I will be soon.”

“So you’re seventeen?” I smile to let him know I’m teasing him. I remember being his age, when years are added on rather than taken off.

“Yeah, but not for much longer, Mrs Harwell.” Perhaps he didn’t get that I was teasing him, after all. He dusts some pastry flakes from the table onto his plate. Neither Dillon nor Luke would have bothered.

I clear away the plates and ask him if he wants a hot drink, but he shakes his head. “Unless you’ve got hot chocolate? I wouldn’t mind one of those, thanks, Mrs Harwell.”

I almost tell him to call me Callie but something stops me. Dillon would not appreciate his friend referring to me so warmly. And if it’s done once, it cannot be taken back, and I can’t tell him to call me Callie only when Dillon is out of earshot.

While I make our drinks, I check the time on the clock above the window. It’s four-thirty, so Luke will only just be starting his game. How am I going to entertain Dillon’s friend for over an hour? He’s nice enough, but eventually I will run out of things to say. And I wanted to relax today while I’ve got the chance.

“Do you want to take this up to Dillon’s room and wait for him there?” I ask, handing Rhys his mug.

He appears to consider my suggestion, scratching his cheek and looking around the kitchen. “Um, if it’s okay with you could I just stay here?”

I am so used to the boys running off at every opportunity that Rhys’ request comes as a shock. “Oh…I suppose –”

“But don’t worry if you’ve got stuff to do…” I sense his disappointment and it convinces me that it won’t do any harm to keep him company while he waits.

“No, it’s fine. But let’s go in the living room. I’ve got some reading to do for my course, but maybe you could watch TV or something?”

He jumps up, his chair sliding back with a screech. “That’s okay, I’ve got some homework to do anyway.”

As soon as Rhys follows me into the living room, he heads for the piano and runs his hand over the top of it. At first I think this is strange, but then I remember he is studying music, so of course he will be interested in James’ piano.

“This is great,” he says, putting his mug on a coaster someone’s left on top.

Feeling foolish because I know nothing about pianos, I sit on the sofa and make the only comment I can. “It’s very old and none of us really play it. James’ grandparents left it to him and I suppose he doesn’t have the heart to get rid of it.” I don’t mention that Lauren played. Or that this is more likely the reason James wants to hang on to it, even though it takes up too much space.

Rhys’ eyes widen. “What? You can’t get rid of it! This is like…a work of art!”

              His enthusiasm brightens his face and I smile because it is contagious. This is what having kids around is supposed to be like, although I have to remind myself again that Rhys is older than Dillon. Perhaps, in a year or two, Dillon will be more like his friend.

              “Mrs Harwell? Can I…I mean…would it be okay if I played it?” He looks at me and I shrug. What harm can it do? It would be difficult to break a piano and I can still get on with my reading.

“Maybe just a quick go,” I tell him, hoping he won’t play too loudly. The piano is right next to Mrs Simmons’ wall, and she’d surely have something to say about any disturbance.

              I settle back and open my textbook, but within seconds it is closed on my lap and I am staring at Rhys as beautiful classical music floats around me. It is a strange sight: this teenager with his shirt hanging out and hair flopping over his face playing with such skill and confidence, and I am immediately mesmerised by his performance. I have no idea what piece he’s playing, but I close my eyes and let the sound drift over me. I have my moment to relax after all.

              Even though I’ve told him to have a quick go, I am disappointed when he stops after only a few minutes. He turns to me and I can’t hide my excitement. “Wow, you’re really good. That was…” But I don’t have the words to describe his talent.

              Rhys flushes. “Thanks, Mrs Harwell.”

              I want to tell him to keep playing but instead I ask what other instruments he plays.

“Oh, not many,” he says, picking up his mug and taking a sip. “Just the drums, flute and saxophone. And I sing a bit too. But I’m not that great.”

              “Well, your parents must be really proud,” I say. If only I had a chance to feel the same about Dillon.

              Rhys shrugs. “Ah, they’re used to it. I’ve been playing since I was a kid.”

              I open my mouth to remind him he still is one, but think better of it. He doesn’t deserve to be patronised. “You can play some more if you like,” I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

              “I might just listen to my iPod, if you don’t mind.” He stays on the piano stool and draws his knees up so he is sitting cross-legged. Pushing his headphones into each ear, the tinny sound of rock music blasts from them and he nods his head to the rhythm. I don’t mention that he is supposed to be doing homework.

              I flip over my book and resume reading, happy to have some company, even if the boy sitting across from me is not the teenager who should be.

              At half past five, I ask Rhys if he wants to stay for dinner and am relieved when he says he will.

“How were the boys today?” James asks, climbing into bed. “Any trouble?”

              I turn on my side and smooth the duvet over us. “Fine,” I say, which, for the most part, is true. I don’t add that it’s only because Rhys was there that they bothered to sit down.

              “Thanks for repainting the hall. It means a lot to them. I know it’s difficult, but they miss her, Callie…”

              I reach for his hand. It is my way of comforting him because I know he isn’t only speaking for the boys. We are silent for a few seconds, and then James reaches over and strokes my arm. I know what he wants and I want it too because, somehow, today has been a better day. I know it was for Rhys’ benefit, but I got a few civil words out of the boys this evening at dinner and it feels as if we may be able to turn a corner.

              Afterwards, I lie across James and listen to his slow, deep breaths. He is already halfway towards sleep, but I am happy just to rest on his chest.

              I have almost drifted off when a pounding on the bedroom door shatters the silence. I sit up and shake James, who is still half-asleep so hasn’t realised what’s going on. Rushing to the door, I throw it open and Dillon stands in front of me, his arm around Luke, who is bending over, clutching his stomach, his face almost yellow.

              Dillon looks straight past me. “Dad, quick, Luke’s been sick. He’s really ill.”

              I step forward and try to touch Luke’s forehead but Dillon stands between us, like a bodyguard. “Dad? I think it’s something he ate.”

              James clambers out of bed, looking at me as he passes but saying nothing. For a second something flashes in his eyes, but I won’t allow myself to dwell on what it is. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with this,” he says, rushing to Luke and ushering the boys out of the room. The door clicks shut behind them.

How quickly things change. Only moments ago I was convinced there was hope that it would get better, but now I know I was foolish to believe that. The boys will not stop playing their game.

Chapter Ten

Saturday arrives and with it the reality that my husband will be going to Leeds with Tabitha. I know they work together almost daily but this is different. They will be away from home, away from me. That would be bad enough on its own, but the distance I thought was narrowing between James and me is now wider than ever. I don’t want to believe he thinks I am responsible for Luke’s sickness the other day, but with the way the boys have built me up to be a monster, anything is possible.

              “Emma will be here to pick them up in a minute,” James says, throwing clothes into his weekend bag. He has arranged for the boys to spend the weekend with her, and I am relieved I won’t be left alone with them. I am beginning to doubt whether I can trust my own perspective, so having some space will give me a chance to try and make sense of things.

              But the minute they have gone, I feel as if the ground is falling from beneath me. I wanted this peace, the silence an empty house brings, but now it feels oppressive. The thought of being alone here once night arrives begins to worry me. It’s not that I’m afraid of intruders and I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that; what I fear is worse than that. It’s myself. I don’t want to be alone with myself.

              Eager to distance myself from the house, I decide to drive to Kingston. I doubt shopping will ease my anxiety but it is worth a try, and there is no way I can concentrate on coursework.

              Walking in and out of shops, I half-heartedly flick through clothes rails, not interested in anything that’s on display. Even in the middle of the Saturday morning swarm, I have never felt lonelier and the mid-morning sun does little to lift my mood. Eventually I give up and decide to have a coffee, but as I cross the road to

Starbucks, I notice a computer game shop next door.

Thinking of Luke’s paper-white face the other night, I decide I will get the boys a new game for their PlayStation. I will give it to them if they do some chores around the house, that way they won’t think they’re being rewarded for poor behaviour. They will probably still see it as a futile attempt at bribery, but I don’t let that deter me. This feels like the right thing to do. Isn’t a mother’s love meant to be unconditional? No matter how the boys have behaved in the past – and regardless of whether they change in the future – I have to forgive. I have to try to love them.

              The inside of the shop is a maze of games and I have no idea where to begin. I think about asking one of the cashiers for help but I would only look stupid.
Hi, I’m looking for a game for my sons but I have no idea what they might like. Can you help me?

              Turning around, I am about to admit defeat and leave when someone taps my shoulder. “Hi, Mrs Harwell. What are you doing here?”

              Rhys stands before me, grinning as if he’s caught me somewhere I shouldn’t be. He looks different dressed in jeans and a hooded top; I have only ever seen him in his smart school clothes.

              I confess I’ve been looking for a game for Dillon and Luke but have no clue what to get. I don’t feel ashamed or idiotic admitting this to Rhys, although I still wonder if Dillon has roped him into toying with me.