No Place to Hide

by Susan Lewis

  “He is totally out of control,” Abby shouted at her mother after finding Lula in tears one morning. “I saw him, with my own eyes, tearing the wheel off her toddlebike. He even seemed to think it was funny.”

  “Where is he now?” Justine asked, trying to console Lula.

  “I don’t know. He stormed out when he saw me and he threatened me. He said if I told you and Dad I’d be effing sorry. Like I’m scared of him.”

  Wondering if perhaps she ought to be, Justine said, “I’ll get Dad to talk to him.”

  Abby wasn’t impressed. “Great, and they’ll start fighting all over again, or Ben will make out he’s crying, like he does, poor little him who gets ignored because he’s not a girl, who doesn’t matter to Mummy and Daddy because you never wanted him in the first place…He’ll start listing all the terrible things you’re supposed to have done to him, stuff that never even happened, and you’ll feel bad and think you’ve got to make it up to him…Can’t you see what he’s doing? He even laughs about you behind your backs, telling everyone what dumbfuck parents he has—all he’s got to do is turn on the waterworks and you’ll do anything he wants.”

  It wasn’t the first time Abby had thrown this at her, and though Justine knew it was probably true, she and Matt had no idea what to do with Ben. Grounding him didn’t work because he always found a way out of the house and sometimes didn’t come back for days on end, as though to punish them. Cutting off his allowance made no difference either, because he still seemed to have money. Imagining the various ways in which he might have been earning it made Justine feel physically sick, and often sent Matt searching the streets in the dead of night, not even sure of what he’d do if he found him.

  “You have to confiscate his phone and computer,” Simon told them after yet another bitter episode that they’d all have preferred to forget but couldn’t. “If you don’t, he’s going to end up in the kind of trouble you really won’t want to be dealing with.”

  “You think we haven’t tried?” Matt cried desperately. “He told us if we didn’t give them back that something seriously bad would happen, and he’s so…”

  “Schizo,” Abby provided.

  Matt threw her a look. “I’m getting so I wouldn’t put anything past him,” he confessed wearily. “And you know what Lula’s like with him. She adores him, though God knows why. She’ll do anything he tells her to. You can just hear it, can’t you—‘Throw yourself down the stairs, Lula; run in front of a car, Lula; why don’t you climb this tree with me and see what it’s like to fly?’ ”

  Realizing how close he was to the edge, Simon came to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Shall I get Wes to have another chat with him?” he offered. “It’s seemed to do some good in the past.”

  “He’s always looked up to Wes,” Justine put in, unconvinced, but trying to stay hopeful. “He’s about the only one he does look up to now.”

  “And Harry,” Abby reminded them. “He thinks Harry’s really cool.”

  “Harry’s at uni,” Matt interrupted, “and even—”

  “He’s due back in a couple of—”

  “I don’t care, he’s not family, and just because he’s your hero doesn’t make him mine. Or Ben’s.”

  Shuddering at the thought of Melanie Sands’s reaction to the possibility of her precious boy being asked to help the delinquent, as she’d actually called Ben to Justine’s face, Justine said, “Dad’s right, sweetheart, we have to keep this in the family.”

  “So does that mean we should count Chantal out too?” Abby demanded hotly.

  Justine looked at Simon and Matt. It was a heavy burden to put on a young girl’s shoulders, especially one who’d only recently accused Ben of stalking her, but they were desperate. “If Cheryl agrees,” Justine said, “maybe we could ask Chantal to try being friends with him again. I’m sure it’s what he wants—they were always so close when they were young, and if that awful Connor hadn’t forced his way between them they still might be.”

  To Abby Matt said, “Is Chantal dating Connor these days?”

  Abby shrugged. “Not officially, but they hang out quite a lot, and I know that gets under Ben’s skin. But honestly, the way he treats people, you can hardly blame her for backing off.”

  “Where is he now?” Simon asked.

  Matt and Justine looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “Then this could be a good time to take a look at his computer and see if we can find out where he’s going, who he’s in touch with, what’s making him tick these days.”

  “Good luck getting into his room,” Abby retorted. “He always keeps it locked.”

  “Unless he wants us to go in,” Matt added, “because he does that too so his mother or Lula can find his porno magazines, or used condoms—I’m guessing masturbation, because he’s never brought a girl home that we know of. And as for his computer, I’ve checked it through a dozen times, and the same goes—you only find what he wants you to find. Not that it’s good, because it’s a very long way from that—more porn, the kind of interactive games he’s not even legally supposed to be playing, terrorist forums, animal cruelty…You name it, he’s been there, and if I try talking to him about it, he just tells me to eff off, or he laughs. It’s the way he laughs that makes it clear he knew damned well I’d go checking the minute I found his door open and computer on, so he set me up.”

  Clearly feeling as helpless and frustrated as they did, Simon said, “What about Mum? Have you told her how bad things are now?”

  Matt shook his head. “I don’t want to worry her, or make her feel she has to try and sort it out.”

  “He won’t speak to her anyway,” Abby informed them, “he already told me that. He said, ‘If anyone calls Grandma Catherine about me I’ll disappear and I might not even bother to come back.’ I told him he ought to do that anyway, because we’d all be a lot happier without him.”

  Justine’s eyes closed. “That sort of comment really doesn’t help,” she sighed.

  “But it’s true,” Abby cried, “we would, because all he does is cause trouble and make everyone miserable and upset all the time. This is like a crazy house because of him. Just thank God I’m going to be out of it soon, that’s all I can say.”

  “Please don’t,” Matt murmured.

  Abby’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean, don’t go on my gap year?” she exclaimed. “You have—”

  “I mean don’t say that. We love you, we’re going to miss you, and the last thing we want is you feeling glad to be out of here.”

  Obviously sorry she’d hurt his feelings, she went to give him a hug.

  Reminding herself that they focused far too much on Ben, Justine said, “How are your plans going for the world tour?”

  Abby instantly brightened. “Yeah, cool,” she replied, clearly excited. “Wes—you know he’s going to be my minder and manager, right?”

  Justine glanced at Simon, who had evidently done a better job of taking this on board whenever it had been decided than she and Matt had.

  “Right, well he is,” Abby ran on, “and we’ve already been in touch with loads of venues around Europe, you know, sending them links to YouTube and my website and stuff to try and get some gigs booked in advance.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Justine smiled, so relieved to be hearing good news that she almost wanted to cry.

  “Does Harry fit into this anywhere?” Matt asked.

  Abby shrugged. “Not really, he has to go back to uni when summer’s over, but it’s not like we’re an item or anything. We’re just mates, you know.”

  Since Abby had had a couple of boyfriends following her crush on Harry, Justine was ready to believe she was as relaxed about that as she sounded. No doubt she’d find out more when he came home.

  Glancing at the time, she said, “I should go up and check on Lula. She ought to be awake by now.”

  Abby didn’t hide her disappointment. “It’s always Ben or Lula with you,” she protested sulkily. “It
’s never about me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Justine apologized. “You know I’m interested in your plans, and I promise we’ll talk about them later, but I can’t just leave Lula.”

  “What’s wrong with talking to me?” Matt wanted to know.

  “Or me?” Simon added. “Come on, I’m dying to hear some of this new material. Wes tells me it’s some of the best you’ve done yet.”

  Clearly cheered by this, Abby said, “My guitar and everything’s set up over in the studio, so if you’re really interested…”

  Leaving them to it, Justine ran upstairs to check on Lula, and felt her heart flood with love to find her sitting on the floor of her room with a jewel-bedecked Rosie at her feet, listening to a story Lula was reading from an upside-down book. She was never any trouble, and hadn’t been from the day she was conceived.

  “How long have you been awake?” she asked, going to kneel down with them.

  “This is Rosie’s favorite story,” Lula told her, “and it’s mine too.”

  Seeing it was Miffy the Fairy, Justine said, “I expect you know this one almost by heart.”

  Lula nodded her head up and down. “Rosie can’t read, because she’s a dog.”

  Hearing her name, Rosie thumped her tail on the floor, and Justine ruffled her adorable head. She followed Lula everywhere, and had done since Lula had started walking. It was as though she was protecting her, ready to alert someone if Lula fell, or lend a handful of fur if Lula needed to pull herself up again. She slept beside Lula’s bed, was always waiting when Lula came in from nursery, and seemed to prefer Lula to throw her ball when they took her for walks, in spite of it never going very far.

  “Mummy, am I three?” Lula asked curiously.

  Justine smiled. “Not yet, sweetheart. In a few months you will be.”

  Lula was frowning. “Ben said I can’t have a birthday this year.”

  Trying not to show her annoyance, Justine said, “You mustn’t listen to Ben, he makes jokes that aren’t very funny. Of course you’ll have a birthday, and you’ll be three.”

  “And Ben will be eight.”

  “Eighteen.”

  “And before that Abby will be nine—tee.”

  Laughing, Justine said, “Nineteen. But there are still a few months to go before—”

  “What I said,” Ben declared, making her jump, “was that she won’t be three.”

  Justine turned to look at him, her heart racing, her mind spinning into chaos. “I—I thought you were out,” she stammered.

  With a shrug, he said, “Maybe I was, and maybe I came back.”

  Her eyes stayed fixed on his, and for once Lula didn’t struggle to go to him.

  He was thin, gaunt even, with hunted, haunted dark eyes that seemed too large for his face, and thick black whiskers that raged unchecked around his jaw and cheeks, mixing with acne, specks of food, and towel fibers—anything that seemed to pass by. In spite of that he was still a good-looking boy, though she guessed that only she, as his mother, could see it, just as she was probably the only one who could sense the real him beneath all the darkness and contempt. He was her son: the bond that held them together was tightening even now, pulling them closer, not physically, but on a level neither would be able to put into words even if they tried. He was hanging on desperately to that bond because he needed her, and because for some reason he was afraid she might be letting him go. She had to let him know that would never happen.

  Before she could speak, he said, “I heard you talking about me downstairs.” His tone was so cold and aggressive that it snapped the bond like a useless stick. “Save yourself the bother of calling Wesley or Chantal to the rescue. He’s just a moron and she’s a slag.”

  “Don’t say that, Ben. You and Chantal were always so close, and if—”

  “She’s with Connor now,” he cut in viciously, “just like Dad’s with Hayley. You have to get used to these things, move with the times.”

  Justine hardly knew what to say. She was reminding herself that this was what he did—played games with the mind, tied people up in knots, got them believing things that weren’t true. And this wasn’t the first time he’d taunted her with her old insecurity about Hayley.

  “Come on, Mum, you know really, so stop pretending.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “What’s happened to you…?”

  He pointed at Lula. “That’s what happened to me,” he told her.

  Justine’s arms tightened around her daughter. “Don’t talk about her that way,” she protested. “She understands.”

  “She’s a freak. No kids her age speak the way she does, or—”

  “Ben, stop this now. I’m doing my best with you, I swear. You mean more to me than I can ever put into words, but…”

  “But. There’s always a but, isn’t there, Mum? B is for Ben and B is for but. It would all be OK but for Ben.”

  She regarded him helplessly, this stranger, this precious, beloved son whom she adored, misunderstood, and feared.

  “It’s all Dad’s fault, you know that, don’t you?” he stated.

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I wouldn’t be like this if he hadn’t dropped me on my head when I was a kid.”

  Realizing he must have overheard her and Matt talking, so he knew this was Matt’s worst fear, she said, “Do you have some sort of listening device set up around the house?”

  He simply shrugged, which might have been a confirmation, she couldn’t be sure. “I want a car,” he announced, as if that were the most natural way for the conversation to proceed.

  “You can’t even drive,” she reminded him.

  “That’s what you think.”

  “Who—who taught you to drive?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  The truth was she probably wouldn’t.

  “Abby got a car when she was eighteen, so I should have one too.”

  “She’d passed her test by then, and you know very well that Grandma Camilla bought it for her.”

  “So, let Grandma Camilla buy one for me.”

  “Why would she when you never go to see her?”

  “Nor does Abby.”

  “Abby spent the whole of Easter in London doing work experience on Grandma Camilla’s TV program.”

  “So she gets a car for sucking up.”

  “She gets a car because she can drive and she deserves one.”

  “So you’re saying I don’t.”

  “What do you think?”

  “What I think is if you want that thing there to become three, you’ll get me a car.” And with a jaunty lift of his eyebrows he turned and walked away.

  —

  Matt’s face turned white when Justine repeated the conversation. “We have to get him out of the house,” he stated furiously. “I’m not putting up with that sort of blackmail, much less the threats he keeps throwing at his sisters. Enough’s enough.”

  Though Justine didn’t disagree, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them, telling him he had to go. And could she really do it? Could she actually watch her son walk away, not knowing where he was going, when or if she’d ever see him again? He’d end up getting even more involved with drugs and alcohol, possibly even crime. What earthly good could ever come of it?

  “Justine, I don’t know the answers,” Matt cried in despair. “God knows we’ve tried to find them, we’re driving ourselves out of our minds trying to help him, but we have to face it, he doesn’t want our help. He doesn’t even want to be part of our family.”

  “I know he says that, but he doesn’t mean it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  No, she wasn’t, but neither could she convince herself that leaving their son to the mercy of the streets and whatever lowlifes he was already involved with was the right thing to do.

  They were walking across the field beyond the orchard, keeping to open land so they’d know if he was following. Not that he’d ever shadowed the
m on a walk before, or if he had they were unaware of it, much like they were unaware of any devices he might have planted around the house. They still hadn’t found any, so perhaps they didn’t exist, but he knew so much, always seemed to be a step ahead of them, had everything he needed to ridicule or torment them.

  “I know this is going to sound crazy,” Justine began cautiously, “but do you think we should talk to the vicar about him? Or the priest at the Catholic church?”

  She half expected Matt to laugh, but for a long time he didn’t say anything, making her wonder if he’d even heard her. In the end, he said, “We can’t even get him to respond to a psychologist, so I don’t think there’s much chance of him sitting down with a cleric, especially when we’ve never been a religious family.” He glanced at her. “Was that your mother’s suggestion, by any chance?”

  She nodded.

  “So you’ve been talking to her about him?”

  “Abby told her what was going on, so she rings now and again to find out if things are any better. For all her…idiosyncratic ways, I think she cares.”

  Not taking issue with that in a way he might have done a while ago, he asked, “What else does she suggest, apart from an exorcism?”

  Justine didn’t smile. “She didn’t actually say that.”

  “But it was what she meant.”

  “You’re putting words in her mouth. What she actually said was that we might all benefit from some spiritual guidance.”

  “Because she, God-fearing Christian that she is…”

  “Matt, she’s trying to help.”

  After a few moments, he said, “Did she have any other suggestions?”

  “Not really, but she says we shouldn’t blame ourselves.”

  “Oh, that’s helpful.”

  “Please don’t be sarcastic.”

  “So who does she think we should blame? He’s our son, just like Abby’s our daughter, and let’s be frank, I’m not sure we’ve done a brilliant job with her either.”