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Part 4

Calum arrived back at Mr Armitage's, looking like he was approaching a cliff edge. He did not look at the man, in his high-back chair. The boy was on the verge of tears, making his way straight past his new guardian. Mr Armitage hinged forward and stretched his long arm, wrapping his great hand around the skinny forearm and gently pulled him towards himself. The boy toppled over the edge. A gentle headbutt at first, into his chest, before his head craned upwards and pressed his face in. His whole body heaved as heavy tears reached through the tattersall shirt, pooling and running down Mr Armitage’s body like sweat. He leant the left side of his face gently upon the top of his head as the boy sat crouched upon him. He applied great pressure to the boy, he needed to be surrounded, and Mr Armitage’s structure was able to oblige. They waited together for a long time. This cry was not short-breathed panic. The fear was subsiding. His breathing was steady and deep, this was not mere sadness either. Mr Armitage knew well what he was embracing, the boy was truly mourning. He heard Calum’s grief doing that most challenging work, somehow reconciling the irreconcilable. The boy was pulling his gaping wounds together and attempting sutures with his teeth. Mr Armitage felt a rush of admiration for this boy as he wept hard through controlled, heavy breaths. They remained this way deep into the evening.

When he was ready, Calum lifted his head, before he could excuse himself, Mr Armitage reached left and grabbed some tissues on the side table that Mrs Careen must have placed there on some prior visit. Calum wiped his face.

“I’m sorry Mr Ar-”

“You’ve nothing to apologise for my lad.”

He could tell the boy was desperate to tell him something, but he had that look children have - not knowing whether their questions are cause for adult dismissal or something worse. He tried to make his face seem welcoming, like the boy could say whatever was on his mind. Whatever face he pulled mustn’t have worked since Calum’s face distorted to a kind of confusion at what exactly he was looking at. Mr Armitage gave up then and reverted to words.

“Have you something you want to speak to me about my boy?”

Calum realised then that he trusted this man only because he had no one else. He looked at his eyes closely, still on his lap, he readjusted himself so that he could press down on his stomach a little to feel the resistance. See what was in there. Calum trod carefully.

“I went to Number Seven.”

Mr Armitage tensed, a flash of anger across his face gone as quickly as it came. Calum couldn’t tell whether the anger was for him or the neighbour.

“He’s a sick man, isn’t he?” He continued.

“Very.” Replied Mr Armitage.

Calum continued, “Why did you go to him? What did you want from him?”

“Ah, just neighbourly kindness, I suppose, lad, and having had police around, it’s best just to stay informed. But he’s not my responsibility, hey, a mistake, really.”

“Please don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Said Mr Armitage, who immediately regretted trying to withhold from the boy, who turned away then, rather like a disappointed parent. “I’m sorry, boy, it just feels natural to want to protect you after what you’ve been through, but I can see it isn’t what you want or need.”

The genuine nature of his contrition was like a warm wind on Calum. It was a short while before Mr Armitage answered truthfully.

“I just missed my friend.”

Calum sat quietly for a while. The warm wind was gone - winter was back in earnest - how could anyone be friends with that man? The boy spoke again, “he told me about what happened to them. Your girls. Where they came from, I mean. You were very brave.”