When he went home, Scott was livid.
“What do you mean you didn’t do the drop? Mr. Roberts is going to lose his fucking mind!” Scott had shouted.
Nate had never seen Scott angry. He did not find this disturbing, there was not much that bothered Nate. He had long since learned to roll with the punches, often literally.
“You didn’t lose it did you?” Scott demanded to know.
Nate shook his head. Nate didn’t talk much. Nate had also long since learned to keep his mouth shut.
“Do you have it?” Scott asked.
Nate shook his head again.
“
Is it safe?
” Scott yelled.
Nate nodded his head.
Scott made some calls. He was talking on the phone in a respectful, frightened tone that Nate had never heard him use. When he was done, he turned on Nate.
“Take me to the package.”
Nate again shook his head. He wasn’t stupid enough to give up one of his hiding places. Even at eleven, nearly twelve, he figured he had a life yawning before him where he’d need many hiding places.
“That wasn’t a question!” Scott shouted.
“I’ll get the package, bring it to you,” Nate offered, “just tell me where.”
Scott stared at him.
Scott, no fool (or at least not entirely a fool), knew that Nate was a tough customer. That was why he liked the kid. But Nate didn’t know what this was about, how important this was. Nate had absolutely no idea how much trouble Scott was in.
Watching the boy Scott knew he had no choice. He got on the phone and made hasty, embarrassing explanations. Then he had his orders.
Nate would, himself, bring the package to Mr. Roberts.
When Scott shared this with Nate, Nate shrugged. One drop, he thought, was the same as another.
Making certain sure he wasn’t followed, Nate went to get the package and took it where Scott told him to take it. He was surprised when, on the grimy, dirty street corner, there stood an elegant, shining, long limousine. For some reason Nate didn’t fear this and boldly approached the car.
The window rolled down slowly but Nate saw no one inside.
“Bloody hell, Scott. A kid?” Nate heard a rough, male voice say from inside.
“Mr. Roberts,” he heard Scott’s frightened voice.
“Get out,” the rough voice came again.
“But, Mr. Roberts –”
“Out.”
That one word should have scared Nate, the tone in which it was said would have scared anyone else. Nate just calmly got out of the way of the door.
Scott alighted from the car and looked down at the boy.
“Sorry, Nate,” he said quietly then he took his chance and ran.
Nate never saw Scott again.
“Get in the car.”
Nate, being a very smart boy, did as he was told.
He sat opposite a man like no man he’d never seen before. He had thick, brown hair and assessing brown eyes and an angular, hard face. He was wearing a suit. Not the shiny, cheap kind of suit, a suit that looked like money. He had a nice, flashy watch and Nate could tell even his hair was not cut at the kind of barber that cut Scott’s (Nate’s mother cut his and not very well).
Nate also had very discerning tastes. He just didn’t know it at the time.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Nate.”
“Your full name.”
He didn’t hesitate. He also didn’t fear this man.
“Nathaniel McAllister.”
“That’s better.” The rough voice held approval. “How long have you been doing Scott’s drops for him?”
Nate shrugged.
There was silence. Nate sensed something in the car he didn’t understand. It didn’t frighten him but another person would have been afraid, definitely a kid and also most men.
Nate, however, sat comfortably and waited.
Finally, after watching him awhile, the man said, “I paid Scott three hundred pounds for every drop you made.”
This penetrated the ironclad shield Nate had around his emotions and reactions.
Instantly, Nate got mad and it showed.
“How much did he give you?” the man asked.
Nate shrugged again but this shrug was different, this was a jerky, angry shrug. It was a good thing that Scott never saw Nate again.
The man sat there watching him. Nate struggled to settle his emotions. The struggle didn’t last long. When he’d conquered his anger, the man smiled.
“I’m Mr. Roberts and from now on, Nathaniel, you work for me.”
* * * * *
And he did. For a year he worked for Mr. Roberts. He did drops, he delivered messages, he stood look out. He did a lot of things and got paid a lot more than twenty pounds.
Deirdre was thrilled. Nate began to pay the rent on the flat, paid all the bills on time and there was food in the refrigerator on a normal basis. Now
she
began to steal from
him
.
He didn’t mind, there was plenty to go around or at least a hell of a lot more than there used to be.
At twelve years old Nathaniel McAllister was the bread winner, the man of the house. He’d been that way since he could remember, really, cleaning, tidying, holding her hair back when she’d overindulge and vomit in the toilet, dragging her in and putting her to bed when she passed out in the hall.
But now he was really the man of the house.
She, unfortunately, became stupid with their or, more to the point, Nate’s good fortune. She bragged to anyone who would listen that her boy was working for Mr. Roberts.
She wasn’t proud of his genius or of the budding good looks that were stamped on his features or the tall, lean strapping boy he had become but she was proud that he’d become a gangster’s errand boy at eleven years old.
This pride caused her death.
Drunk and bragging to her new boyfriend, an out-of-work, good-for-nothing lazy bum – or at least that’s what she called him, over and over again and very loudly.
Her
son worked for Mr. Roberts.
Her
son brought home lots of money. He bought her dresses, got her vodka.
Considering her boyfriend was drunk, high, stupid and mean he didn’t take to this very well. He got fed up with it quickly and squeezed the breath out of her throat until there was no more which, of course, made her shrill voice stop. Then he took another, very large snort of cocaine that Nate’s money had bought and he drank the rest of her bottle of vodka and he waited for Nate.
Nate didn’t even have to walk into the flat to know something was wrong but he did anyway. She was his mother. He’d been taking care of her for his lifetime. It was habit.
He opened the door and saw his mother’s lifeless body. That was all he needed to see.
Her boyfriend made a grab but didn’t come close.
Nate was so quick, he was vapour.
He vanished.
For a week.
And missed two scheduled drops.
Seven days later they found him, picked him up and took him to Mr. Roberts.
He sat in the back of the limousine. He’d seen Mr. Roberts twice since they first met; both times he’d been friendly and cordial.
Now he was not.
“Would you like to tell me what’s going on, Nathaniel?” Mr. Roberts’s voice was very cold and Nate knew this was no request.
“Me Mum’s dead.”
This was met with silence.
Then, “
My
Mum, Nathaniel.”
Nate turned burning eyes to his employer. He didn’t miss her, really, but she was all he had.
“
My
Mum,” he repeated sarcastically perhaps the only living soul besides Mr. Roberts’s two children who had the courage to speak to him sarcastically.
Instead of making him angry, Mr. Roberts found he admired this in Nathaniel.
“Where’s your father?”
“Don’t got one.”
“Have one, Nathaniel.”
“That either.”
Mr. Roberts stifled a chuckle. It was no time to chuckle.
“Aunts, uncles?”
Nate shook his head.
“Your grandparents then.”
Nate looked at him, square in the eye and declared, “No one.”
In his line of business Mr. Roberts learned to make quick decisions.
He liked this boy. There was something about this boy. Something special.
Mr. Roberts made a quick decision.
Decision made, he declared, “You’re coming home with me.”
Nathaniel
Victor and Laura Roberts adopted Nathaniel McAllister.
He did not take their name, that was his decision and they allowed it.
He wanted to remember where he came from, he couldn’t forget. He had to remember always what he was, who he was so he would never go back.
It would have been easy to forget with his new life.
It was almost like a genie came out of a bottle and gave him his every wish.
They were rich. Victor and Laura (he never called them Mum and Dad, even though Laura wanted him to) lived in a beautiful home on a street where all the houses were gleaming white, all the railings were glossy black and all the window boxes were filled with redder than red geraniums and trailing green ivy.
They had two children, Jeffrey and Danielle.
Jeffrey hated Nate with a passion.
Danielle loved him just the same.
Conversely, the first was a godsend, the second was a nightmare.
Jeffrey and Danielle had everything they ever wanted, everything they asked for, everything they desired. They had two parents who loved them and spoiled them too much,
way
too much. They had a beautiful home, beautiful clothes, food to eat that they didn’t have to steal or cook and servants to put clean, fresh sheets on their big beds and even iron their expensive clothes.
They’d never needed, they’d never been hungry, they’d never stole, they’d never dodged a punch thrown by a grown, drunken man and they’d never held their mother’s hair back while she vomited.
Jeffrey knew from Nate’s rough accent just who he was and where he came from and he never let Nate forget it.
Never.
And this was good, Nate didn’t want to forget.
Jeffrey’s voice was posh from schooling at special schools. Jeffrey was the same age as Nate but would have lasted about two seconds in Nate’s old neighbourhood. Jeffrey knew this and Jeffrey knew his father knew this.
Jeffrey’s father, he understood (though he was never told), had been like Nate when he was younger. Victor, Jeffrey had heard his father tell his mother one night, saw himself in Nate. Victor
admired
Nate. Jeffrey thought his father even doted on him and he was not wrong.
Jeffrey despised his father even before Nathaniel McAllister came into their lives. He was coarse and rough even though he tried to be polished and refined.
And he despised Nate and did everything he could to make his father’s new son’s life a living hell.
Nothing he did pierced Nate’s armour. If anything it seemed Nate found Jeffrey amusing.
However Nate did not find Jeffrey amusing. Nate watched Jeffrey carefully. Nate trusted Jeffrey about as far as he could throw him. Jeffrey kept Nate’s instincts for survival finely tuned.
Danielle, two years younger than Nate, took one look at the handsome young boy and fell instantly in love.
She wanted him; she was going to marry him. She knew this at age ten.
And everything Danielle had ever wanted, she’d been given.
So after first clapping eyes on him, she decided she owned Nate.
And she was not a girl who liked sharing.
It took Nate mere months to melt into their lives. He was a chameleon. Even though for two years he’d barely gone to school, he caught up so swiftly he immediately became the teachers’ pet. He lost his rough accent within two months, lost his tough manners at one dinner at their spectacular, shining, dining table simply by watching what they did and emulating it. He wore his new expensive clothes with a casual grace that made Jeffrey seethe and Danielle’s heart skip a beat. He learned tennis, how to ride a horse, how to play cricket, rugby, soccer and in no time at all was the best. Better than Jeffrey, better than Victor, better than any boy at school or even the coaches.
Jeffrey hated it.
Danielle loved it.
Laura adored it, adored the boy, her new son. At first her heart went out to him. Victor had sent men to find out Nate’s story and this story Victor shared with Laura. Nate reminded her so of her beloved husband. She realised quickly Nathaniel’s pride and history would not bear her coddling which she
so
wanted to do. Instead she treated him with respect, almost like an adult, and he
that
responded to. He’d never really had a mother and at first he distrusted Laura but after time she won him over. This was because she didn’t treat him like a kid, she didn’t treat him like he was stupid but she did treat him like she cared because she did.