by Matt Shaw
“Hello boy,” the man said, sliding his bloodied hands into his pockets. “Don’t be scared, I’m your uncle. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” He walked over to the boy and knelt down so that he was face to face with him. “You look like your mother,” he said. “A shame - probably could have narrowed down the options as to who your father was had you looked like him.” He laughed to himself. The boy shuffled back ever so slightly. “What’s your name?” The boy backed up a little further. The man didn’t move from where he knelt. “What’s the matter, boy? You don’t need to be scared of me. We’re family.” The boy froze on the spot. The man tried reassuring him with a smile. The boy didn’t smile back. He looked down to the body of the woman and up to his uncle. His uncle had followed his gaze. “You don’t need to be scared. She was a bad woman. She took you away from your home. That’s why I’m here. I’ve come to take you home.” The man stood up to his full height and took a step closer to the boy. “You do want to come home, don’t you?” The boy didn’t move. The man watched him for a while. For the most part the boy held eye contact with him but occasionally he’d turn to the cold corpse lying on the floor. The man noticed this. “You don’t have to come with me,” he said. “You can stay here with the lady if you’d prefer?” he pointed to the body. The boy followed his pointing finger and didn’t take his eyes off of her. “Well - okay then - if that’s what you’d prefer.” He waited a moment to see if the boy was going to say anything. He stayed silent. The man nodded, “Suit yourself,” and walked towards the trailer’s door. He opened it and stepped out into the cold night air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes; shaking one out in the process. The man pulled it from the packet with his mouth. Dropping the packet back into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a lighter and sparked his light. He took a deep drag on it and breathed it out into the clear night’s sky. He took a step towards the car he’d parked up next to the driveway and smiled as the boy called out from within the confines of the trailer, begging him to wait.
#
The man was driving the car back. The boy was sitting in the back looking out of the window watching the world pass them by at forty-three miles per hour. The man tossed the remnants of his cigarette out of the car before closing the window with a touch of the electric button. He glanced in the rear-view mirror at the child seated in the back.
“How old are you anyway, boy?” he asked.
The boy didn’t say anything.
“I’ve been away for eight years. So I know you’re younger than that. Your mother - your real one, not the lady she sold you to - didn’t stay in touch with me much when I was away so not entirely sure when she got pregnant. Truth be told, I only found out about you when I came home yesterday. I was round her place and there were pictures of you on the side. I was pretty shocked when she told me you were her kid. Even more shocked when she told me where you were. What’s your name? Seems I could get pretty much everything but that from your mum before she passed out,” the man asked.
He looked into the rear-view mirror again. The boy shrugged.
“My name is Chris. Uncle Chris. You want to tell me your name?”
The boy didn’t answer.
“Not a mute, are you? You know what a mute is?”
The boy said nothing.
Chris looked in the rear-view mirror again; the boy was still looking out of the car window seemingly lost in his own little world. Had it not been for the fact he’d cried out - back at the trailer - he’d have honestly believed he couldn’t speak.
“This is your mother’s fault. If she spent more time looking after you and less time drinking her life away…” he shook his head. He knew he wasn’t in a position to start judging others. He pulled the car to the side of the road, mounting the kerb in the process. He turned to the boy, “This wasn’t the plan but you’re coming back to live with me. I have a small apartment. It’s not much but it’s better than what you’re used to. Your mother’s not well enough to look after you. Hasn’t been for a while. Until she’s better this is the best thing for you. Could be for a week, could be on a more permanent basis - all depends on your mother. You like the sound of that?”
Again, the boy didn’t say anything.
“Sure you can’t talk?”
“She called me Rabbit,” the boy said without taking his eyes from the world outside of the car.
“Your mother called you Rabbit? Your real mum or the lady in the trailer?”
“My real mum,” he answered.
Chris hesitated a moment, unsure of what to make of the name. He turned around in his seat so he could talk to the boy face to face as opposed to face to rear-view mirror.
“You like that name?” he asked.
The boy shrugged; still with his eyes fixed beyond the confines of the car.
“Should I call you Rabbit or did you want a different name?”
The boy turned his attention from whatever had caught it outside of the car. He looked at his uncle’s face. So far Chris had seen fear on the boy’s face, a little confusion, and a lot of blank looks. Now, sitting in the car, he saw what he believed to be a glimmer of hope.
“What name would you like?” Chris asked.
“I like Tom.”
Chris nodded, “Well then… Tom it is.”
Chris extended his hand into the back of the car. The boy (Tom) looked at it. Dried blood splattered on it from the beating he’d laid upon the waitress earlier in the evening.
“When people extend their hand to you, it’s polite to shake them.”
Tom nervously reached out and took his uncle’s hand in his own. Chris gripped it firmly and smiled before giving it a shake.
“Pleased to meet you Tom.”
He released Tom’s hand and turned back to facing forward in his seat. He put one hand on the steering wheel and one on the gear-stick. He selected the first gear and pulled off of the kerb.
“Tom’s a good name,” he said. “It’s strong.”
He looked in the rear-view mirror. The boy was looking out of his window again; a faint smile on his face.
#
“Are you insane?”
Tom was sitting in the living room of his uncle’s small apartment. Alexis, Chris’ partner, had told him to wait there whilst she went and talked to his uncle. From the sounds of it - she didn’t want to talk, she wanted to shout.
“Well?” she pushed for an answer.
“Me? I’m not the one who sold him for booze! My alcoholic sister - who we will get to in a minute - is the one who is fucking insane. I go away… I asked you to look out for her… I come back and find out she’s drowning herself in a bottle but, wait, that’s not the best of it. She’s so low, so desperate that she sold her kid to an equally desperate woman for a taste of alcohol! You think I am insane because I went to get him back? He is flesh and blood! I did what any sane person would do and now you’re having a go at me?”
“Where’s he going to go? Look at where I’m living…”
“We. Where we are living.”
“We? You got out today. Eight years. You think you’re just going to move straight back in?”
“You’re kicking me out?”
There was silence.
“I didn’t say that,” Alexis said after a beat. “You’ve been away for a long time. It would be nice if we could have a little time for us - to adjust to having you home - before you start bringing people to live with us.”
“And I get that - I do - but what choice did I have?”
Tom heard his uncle sigh heavily from where he waited in the living room.
“One night and then I’ll take him back to his mother’s. But, Alexis, why didn’t you tell me about her? Not once did you mention what had happened to her nor did you mention the fact she was pregnant! Where’s the dad? Who’s the father?”
Tom got up from the settee and walked across to the window. He looked out. It had started to rain outside. The dark road stretching up into the
distance seemed to glimmer as the streetlights shone down onto the wet shimmery surface. He tried to ignore the voices in the other room as they continued to discuss what should be done with him and what’d happened to his mother.
“She didn’t know who the father was. She was putting it about a bit…”
“Jesus Christ.”
“You went away, she fell apart. We all did.”
“You know he doesn’t even know his proper name? She calls him Rabbit!”
Tom didn’t know his mother as anything but a drunk. She’d been drinking for as long as he could remember. Part of him wondered whether he was the reason for the substance abuse. He’d not settled on an answer before the voices in the other room had gone quiet again. He turned back to face into the room and waited for the couple to reappear in the living room doorway. His uncle Chris was the first to appear, a thin blanket tucked under his arm along with a stained pillow.
“You’re on the sofa tonight,” said Chris as he tossed the blanket onto the settee. “We’ll sort something a little more permanent tomorrow morning.”
“Are you hungry little man?” Alexis asked from the doorway. Her arms were folded and it was clear from the expression on her face that she hoped the answer would be a no. Tom shook his head despite the rumbling in his stomach begging him to tell her that he was. Alexis walked back into the bedroom satisfied that at least she’d offered. She closed the door behind her. Chris sat on the settee. Tom didn’t move from where he was standing.
“Tomorrow I’ll get in touch with your mother and talk to her. See if we can start to get her life back on track.” He hesitated a moment, “I’m sorry I wasn’t really there for you but I’m here now.”
Tom crossed the room and sat on the sofa. There was a clear gap between the two; neither one of them wanting to close it.
“Where were you?” Tom asked.
Chris looked at him, unsure of what to say.
“I was away.”
Chris had served eight years for grievous bodily harm. He’d managed to convince the parole board that he was a changed man but he knew - as did the waitress in the trailer home - that was far from the truth. For as long as he could remember he had a temper; quick to flare at the slightest of slurs against him or someone he loved. Sometimes he’d flip just for the fun of it and to see the expression of his victim change. He wasn’t necessarily proud of what he was yet - at the same time - he wasn’t embarrassed either. A small part of him even liked the fact he had a reputation as being slightly unhinged as he felt it gave him an easier time of things. Especially when he was inside. Whilst other inmates would try to fight and fuck their way to the top - he’d sit back safe in the knowledge that most of them knew of his reputation. Regardless, he didn’t want this little boy to know the truth. Not when he’d already been through so much. Chris knew there was little to no hope for himself but there was still a chance the boy could turn out okay.
“Listen, it’s getting late,” Chris changed the subject. “I’ve got some stuff to sort out with your Aunt Alexis but tomorrow morning we’ll talk. Try and work a way of getting things fixed up for you. That sound good?”
Tom nodded.
“You’re more than welcome to watch some television if you can’t sleep. I know it can be strange sleeping in new places,” Chris realised how stupid that sounded as soon as it left his mouth. The boy had been sold to a stranger for a crate of alcohol. He was probably used to stranger situations than sleeping on someone’s sofa. Chris walked over to the small television in the corner of the room and lifted the controller from where it rested on the set’s top. He pressed the red button. A picture slowly rolled onto the screen as Chris handed the controller over to Tom. He ruffled Tom’s dark hair with his left hand and said goodnight before walking through to the bedroom where Alexis had retreated. He closed the door behind him.
Tom leaned back on the sofa and started flicking through the four channels on offer. He could hear the muffled voices of his aunt and uncle through the paper-thin walls. It wasn’t clear enough to hear what was being said but it sounded as though it were heated. It wasn’t long before there was silence, followed by the sound of a sudden creak from what must have been a bed-spring. He could hear laughter. Another muffled voice followed by more laughter, accompanied with the sound of the bed-springs creaking again. Tom turned the television right down. On screen the person’s lips were moving but no voices was coming from his mouth anymore, nor was one coming from any of the people on screen with him. Laughter, muffled voices, bed-springs; the latter being the most frequent of the noises. Tom stood up and walked across to the door separating the two rooms. As quietly - and carefully - as he could, he pressed his ear up against it and listened to what was happening within. His expression was emotionless.
The following morning Chris walked into the living room and found Tom sitting up and the television still on. He noticed the blanket hadn’t been moved from where he’d put it earlier, nor had the pillow. Tom didn’t look at him, he kept his eyes fixed on the television. Chris frowned. The boy looked vacant. He couldn’t help but wonder whether he was even taking in what he was seeing or whether he was simply staring - unfocused - at the moving pictures on the screen.
“Good night sleep?” Chris asked.
Tom shrugged.
Alexis came into the room with a smile on her face. She went to say something but stopped herself when she saw Tom sitting there. At the same time, the smile faded. The initial enthusiasm brought about by the first night she’d spent with her man in eight long years suddenly snatched away from her when she remembered the nephew neither of them knew sitting on the settee. She tried to be friendly, “Morning.”
Tom jumped to his feet and turned to them, “Am I going home today?”
Chris looked at Alexis who - in turn - completely avoided his gaze. He turned back to Tom, “Well we’re going to go and have a chat with your mum. See if we can sort something out. Does that sound okay?”
Tom shrugged again.
Chris turned to Alexis and muttered, “Convicts are easier to deal with than this.”
Alexis wanted to snap right back at Chris and remind him that the only reason the boy was there was because he’d gone to collect him. For all either of them knew, he could have been perfectly happy (and safe) living with the woman who’d purchased him for the lowly price of booze. She bit her tongue and changed the subject, “I’m going to get some breakfast.” She walked from the room towards the small kitchen.
“That sounds great,” said Chris. “What have we got?”
“Cereal,” she called back.
Chris turned to Tom, “How’s that?” he asked.
Again, the little boy shrugged.
Alexis called through to the living room, “The phone is in hallway! Phone your sister!”
Present Day:
A New Name
“Remind me… Your name?” I asked the new family member.
He was sitting opposite me in my private study on the ground floor of the mansion we’d been given by one of our well-to-do family members. It was just him and me; the first time we’d been left alone. Until family members prove themselves they do not get a private audience. This is done for my own protective.
“I was thinking - can I be whomever I want?” he asked.
“It’s the start of your new life. We want everyone in our family to be happy so - in a word - yes. Did you know I chose my own name once upon a time?” He looked at me as though he wasn’t sure whether I was just saying that to make him feel better about his own request but I wasn’t - it was the truth. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked to go with a different name as opposed to the one given at birth. For a lot of the family members this was a new start for them; a chance to be a part of something they’d only ever dreamed about.
“James,” he said.
I waited a few minutes, half-expecting him to turn around and pull another name from the depths of his imagination. It wasn’t the most original of nam
es and certainly not the most exotic. Previous chosen names have been things like Skylar, Seth and even one member calling themselves Zowic.
He continued, “I’ve always liked that name.”
“I had a friend called James,” I told him. “In my old life, that is.”
“Same.”
I smiled. And just like that I knew more of his character than he’d actually told me himself; a loner in life, probably didn’t have the best of childhoods. He knew someone called James. Whether they were friends or not I don’t know, but I do know that he was envious of this ‘James’. James had the life that the new James wanted for himself but never had. Until now anyway. A new name for his new life with us, in this house.
The house is a mansion. A large stately home in the middle of the country. We did not steal the house. We were given it as a present from one of the more well-to-do family members; a rich man who ran a double-life between his real family and this family. He gets away with it because he is both generous with this home and his money, ensuring we wanted for nothing. He is part of our family for the buzz of it. The other family members are not quite as fortunate as he; most of them coming from broken families or from a life of complete solitude from where they’ve been left alone and failed to make friends. Social skills lacking, no doubt further dampened by their lust for the darker side of life’s offerings; murderous impulses and other supposedly anti-social desires. Sides which I encourage them to indulge themselves in so long as it benefits us as a group.
There are ten large bedrooms on the upper floor. With the exception of one of those rooms - my own room - the other rooms have two sets of bunk beds in each one. We started out with most rooms empty but now every room has at least one occupant and we continue to grow.
“Well then,” I put him out of his misery, “welcome to the family James.”
