Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

services? He’s only fourteen.’
    ‘You think he’d be better off in emergency care?’ Paula shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Listen, in my line of work, I see too many vulnerable kids screwed up by the so-called care system. Let’s see what happens when his aunt gets here. Nobody’ll get on your case for leaving him in the hands of a cop and a doctor, for heaven’s sake.’
    ‘There’s no need to be like that,’ the woman said huffily. ‘We have a duty of care here.’
    ‘I understand that. But let’s not get into a ruck. Torin’s just lost his mum. He knows us and he trusts us. There’ll be a family member with him this afternoon. This is the best course of action. If you stand in my way, there’s a simple solution. I can take him in to the police station for questioning and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. That’s not the option I want to take, but I will if I have to.’ Paula heard the words coming from her mouth with a sense of shock. She hadn’t known she was going to take so adamant a line in respect of a teenage boy she hardly knew. Bloody hell . What was happening here?
    The woman pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips as if she was squaring up for a fight. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get his stuff then.’

38

    I t was all in the planning. He’d always been good at planning. Flow charts, fault tree analysis, cause-consequence diagrammatics – he’d been using all of those before he even knew the correct terminology. The first lesson his father had taught him was that actions have consequences. B follows A as surely as night follows day.
    He remembered little of his mother. She’d been a timid woman, unassertive and bland, always scurrying to meet her husband’s requirements. But she’d been a poor excuse for a wife and mother, forcing his father to constant complaint. When words didn’t work, he’d had to resort to slaps, then punches and kicks. That was the way the world worked. When you failed, you had to take your punishment.
    Then one April afternoon, when he was only seven years old, he’d come home from school to find the house locked and empty. He’d banged on the door but there had been no reply. Even at seven, he knew better than to make a fuss. He’d slipped down the side of the house to the back garden and settled down to wait on the doorstep. By the time his father came home from work a little after six, he was chilled to the bone but he didn’t complain.
    His father explained that he’d thrown his mother out. Just like a piece of rubbish, the boy had thought at the time. If people didn’t live up to the appropriate standards, they had to face the consequences. His mother had let them both down, so there was no place for her in their family any more.
    He missed his mother’s cooking and holding her warm hand on the way to school in the morning. But not for long. His father explained the need to be tough and self-reliant, and he absorbed the lesson. There was no alternative.
    Not long after he turned eleven, he was sent off for two weeks of the summer holidays to an outdoor activity camp in the Lake District. A trio of ex-Army fitness instructors ran it like boot camp. Most of the boys spent the first few days in a state of shell-shock. They’d never been yelled at so much, never been expected to take responsibility for themselves and others, never had to face tests of physical endurance like it. For him, it had been business as usual. He wondered what all the fuss was about.
    When he returned home, he discovered he had a new mother. While he’d been gone, his father had travelled to Thailand and returned with what the boy later discovered was a mail-order bride. This time, his father had chosen a wife who came much closer to his idea of perfection. Sirikit was subservient, polite, hard-working and eager to please. She never answered back, she cleaned house like a dervish and she never complained, even when his father criticised her for minor infringements of his regime. And she was a great cook.
    By the time he hit fourteen he realised something else about Sirikit. Practically every move she made had the capacity to arouse him. Every meal became a kind of torture, his penis straining against the tight underpants he’d taken to wearing in a bid to control his rebellious body. Luckily, his father paid him almost no attention unless he’d broken the house protocols, which he hardly ever did these days.
    As he lay in bed one night,