The World Out There - 48. Forty-Eight

Liam stood in front of his pale blue cotton shirt hanging off the hook on the wall of his room in the B&B hotel. He reached up and ran his hand down one of its sleeves: the cotton was still soft and smooth under his fingers. He was nearly sixteen when he bought it, his only second afternoon out of Nurton Cross. On Day Release. Aiden had egged him to buy it and… It still fitted him and would be ideal for his interviews the next day. He hadn’t worn it since he’d left Nurton Cross - it was too good to wear around every day. It was too good to wear for his few meetings with Bryn, his Probation Officer, but Bryn was so disinterested in him that he could wear any old shit to those meetings.

Next to it hung his denim jacket, the one Mark bought him for sixteenth birthday. He hadn’t worn it either since leaving Nurton Cross, but he’d hardly worn it much when he was at Nurton Cross. The jacket was far too nice to wear around, and he didn’t want to damage it … It was so nice. Ed had said that he liked it when Liam did wear it, and Ed…

He probably wouldn’t see Ed again. He hadn’t heard anything from Ed since he moved here. He thought that Ed would miss him, he really missed Ed, but this silence… He’d written Ed three long letters, telling Ed how dull his days were now and how much he missed Ed. In reply, he heard nothing from Ed. He wasn’t expecting long letters in reply - writing wasn’t Ed’s strong thing - but he was expecting a short letter or postcard from Ed in Ed’s handwriting. But he’d gotten nothing. He’d watched for the post, laid out on the narrow table in the B&B hotel entrance hallway every morning, but there hadn’t been one letter for him written in Ed’s handwriting. He got very few letters - three since he arrived here, and all from Bryn, his probation officer, but none from Ed. Had Ed already moved on from him? Was there someone new at Nurton Cross that…

He missed just being with Ed, in Ed’s company. There was no one here to just sit with. He ate all his meals on his own, spent his evening on his own. He even travelled around London on his own – well, his few trips out on the bus. At Nurton Cross, there had always been people around him. He didn’t have to talk with them, but there were always people to be around. And if he wanted to talk, there was always Ed, or even one of the nurses, but first there was Ed.

The realisation that Ed had moved on from him hit him on Wednesday night. He’d undressed for bed, stripping down to his underpants, sat down on his bed, and then he knew it. The silence from Ed meant Ed had moved on from him, didn’t want Liam in his life anymore. It hit him as if someone had punched him in the side of his head, suddenly and hard. He lay down on his bed, hugged his pillow to his body, and sobbed. Painful and hot tears poured out of him. Why had Ed done this? What was he going to do now? Sob after sob poured into that stupid, old pillow, only stopping when his eyes finally ran dry. Sleep had followed afterwards. He’d done the same the last three nights, sobbing himself to sleep, his grief over losing Ed pouring out of him, but with no relief. What could he do? How could this have happened? If they had ended their “relationship” with an argument or fight, a screaming out loud fight - the way his mother had broken up her many boyfriends - maybe he could have coped better. He would have been angry at Ed at least. But, this silence was worse. Ed didn’t want him, but he didn’t know why. Everything that had been between them had gone, replaced by silence, and he didn’t know why.

He was so on his own here now. If he talked to anyone, and that was only a few times a day, it was the people in the supermarket when he paid for his food. The only person he’d spoken to today were his two neighbours - weren’t their names Kelly and Carter? - and he'd barely said anything to them. His room was so quiet and that was why he had his radio on all the time. The talking radio stations were the better choice to have on - other human voices filling the room - rather than music stations. He wanted to hear other human voices.

There were always other people around him at Nurton Cross. Now he was back to being on his own. It was like he was back to being a little child again when he had no friends: no one spoke to him and his mother certainly wasn’t on his side. It was hard to return to that way of living: being at Nurton Cross had shown him how much he liked being around other people, and he really liked it.

He let go of the shirt’s sleeve, stepped back and sat on his bed, the mattress sinking down under him.

This was supposed to be his new life, and he was just making a mess of it all. It had all been so much easier at Nurton Cross: there were so many people there to help him. Here, no one seemed interested in him: Bryn certainly wasn’t, and who else was there? He should have called Mark, but… he had tried ringing Mark’s office, but each time he’d done so, an officious sounding woman had answered his call, snapping that Mark was in a meeting. Her harsh tone had stopped him - he hadn’t left a message, just quickly ended his call. How could he leave a message? He didn’t have a phone and always called Mark from the payphone of the ground floor of the B&B hotel. He couldn’t leave the number of that phone. He’d never hear it ringing in his room located floors above. He had never heard that phone ringing once.

Was it too late to call Mark now? He’d been living here for a month and he hadn’t spoken to Mark once. Had he ruined that friendship? Mark had all his books, was looking after them for him, and he hadn’t even spoken to Mark since he arrived here. Why was he making such a mess of things?

That picture of him on that newspaper’s front page was hours ago now, and no one had come banging on the B&B hotel’s front door. On every Day Release days he had out of Nurton Cross, no one had recognised him. Aiden had repeatedly told him that he was very different from when he was twelve. Maybe Aiden was right. But what if people found out who he really was? Donna, his resettlement worker, obviously knew who he was.

The first time he met her, back at Nurton Cross, Donna hadn’t hidden her dislike for him. That meeting was just for him to sign a lot of paperwork, but she had been hostile from the moment he’d entered the room. When she looked at him, which wasn’t often, she glared at him. When she spoke to him, her words where harsh and cold. She pushed page after page of paperwork in front, simply saying, “Sign this!” When he asked her what he was signing, the way Aiden had advised him to do, she’d snapped back at him, “So you get some benefits and somewhere to live! If you don’t want that, then don’t sign them!” He just signed the paperwork, not looking back at her.

When she brought him here, to his room, she’d pushed the cheap radio into his hands, snapping, “It’s not what you deserve!” After that, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She didn’t even say goodbye to him.

Donna knew who he was, and she didn’t bother to hide her distaste for him. What would other people do? He couldn’t answer that, he mustn’t try. But…

He had to live in this world now and…

Shit, he had to keep his mind under control. He had to be calm and start to try and build a new life, build his life now. But it wasn’t that easy: he could think it, tell himself to do it, but how did he actually do it? At Nurton Cross, it hadn’t been that easy to make friends, and there were always people around him there. It was Chrissy and TJ who had made friends with him. They pulled him into their little circle. He’d had so enjoyed his friendship with them: they had both given him so much confidence, even if their friendship had been pulled apart by circumstances.

It was Aiden who introduced him to Ed. Would he have made friends with Ed if Aiden hadn’t pushed them together? He wouldn’t have sorted out Ed as a friend on his own. How did people find friends?

He looked at the discoloured wall in front of him. There was a pattern of pale brown, concentric rings discolouring the pale paint in front of him. The rings were irregular, blocky and not matching the ones before them. Were they from damp? He remembered staining like that in the bathroom of the flat he lived in with his mother as a child. The staining was from a slow leak from the room’s window. It discoloured the wall in the same way, the same pale brown, the pattern in expanding and irregular rings. Shit, he hadn’t thought about that bathroom in years - he hadn’t thought about that flat in years. He’d been so fucking unhappy in that place. Was he going to be unhappy here too? It was looking as if he was going to be as lonely here as he was in that flat with his mother.

He couldn’t forget Donna’s reaction to him: she knew who he was and hated him just for who he had been. She hadn’t bothered or even wanted to know who he was now. She had driven him here in silence from Nurton Cross. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to talk with him. The journey had taken over an hour and he’d just wanted it all to be over, as soon as possible.

Was that how someone would react if they found out who he really was? Or would they be worse? How would he know how they would react? He couldn’t drop into the conversation about the child-killer Liam Andrews and see how they would react. That was if he could actually be able to make a new friend or even two.

Shit, tomorrow!

There were those three interviews, arranged for him by Bryn, and he had to go to them. He had to work and try and get one of them, but how? He’d heard say that people should research for a job interview, but how could he do that? He had no internet here and he didn’t even know where his nearest library was. Mark would know what to do…

He had to speak to Mark. He’d certainly lost Ed from his life - could he afford to lose Mark too? But it was his fault he hadn’t spoken to Mark. He should do something about that. But what? All he could do was keep ringing Mark’s office and hope after hope that he got Mark and not that officious sounding woman. Mark had all his books, was looking after them for Liam, and… He wanted Mark back in his life for more than just his books. He trusted Mark. Mark always knew what to do. Well, Mark always had the right answer for him.

He needed Mark back in his life. If Ed was gone, then he only had Mark left. Had he ruined that friendship too?

He’d have to ring Mark’s office again tomorrow afternoon after he got back here from his third interview. He’d have to screw-up his courage and face that officious sounding woman. But what message could he leave if Mark wasn’t there?

Shit, why weren’t things easy?

He stared back at the pattern of stains on the opposite wall. What leak had caused them?