The World Out There - 45. Forty-Five

Liam sat on the battered old armchair in his room in the B&B hotel. The damn thing was still uncomfortable: he was sinking down into it because of the rotten springs in its seat. However, it was the only chair he had there. Dusk had fallen outside, so he’d already drawn the thin curtains at his room’s tiny window. Now the room was lit by the single electric light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It gave out a harsh yellow-white light that cast heavy and long shadows in the room. The edges of the room disappeared into the shadows. The brightness of the light bleached down what colours there were too. But he was used to it. He had been here a month and… That was it: he had been here a month and achieved nothing!

He missed the routine and structure of life at Nurton Cross. There, his days had been planned out for him, well most of them, and there were always people around him. Ed was at Nurton Cross. There had always been Ed to spend time with. They could talk or not talk, relaxing in silence together. Here, in this B&B hotel, silence was always solitary.

Here he had to find things to fill his time: it was down to him to decide what he should do, and those decisions were so hard because there were so few options and… he was lonely. He missed Ed so much and… The silence from Ed was too much. Even if Ed no longer wanted any contact with him, why couldn’t Ed just tell him that?

The only thing that relieved the silence in his room was his radio, but he’d had enough of that for today. Harris Daly’s radio show had been eye-opening. Listening to Boris Flint had also been eye-opening. He’d almost forgotten that anyone could tell the truth about what he did. It was so long ago now, but it had felt like no one could tell the truth about what happened between him and Rhys Clarke. Everyone was telling their lies, making him sound like a cold-hearted killer, no one was telling the truth about him, not even his own mother. Now the truth was finally coming out, years and years late. What did Leanne James’s book say about him? It sounded like she was telling the truth too. But he didn’t want to listen to any more radio. He didn’t want the risk of hearing his own name mentioned on it. He didn’t want to be the subject of any more news stories and people’s opinions.

When he saw that picture of himself on that newspaper’s front cover this morning, he’d been terrified that he would be recognised and exposed, but so far that hadn’t happened. There had been no hammering at his room’s door, no crowd shouting for his blood. No one had come searching him out. There had been Kelly & Carter - his neighbours in the next room - had shown an interest in him, but Kelly had been fixated on the newspaper reward and was seeing his face everywhere. She didn’t recognise him: he was the right age, right skin colour, and that had been all. Maybe no one would recognise him? Maybe he had changed so much since he was twelve? Who looked the same as they did when they were twelve?

He rested back against his chair, lent his head back and strained his ears. What could he hear? Some sounds rose up from the house below him. He heard running water somewhere. He heard music softly playing below him. There were some footsteps, but they quickly stopped. Even for a Sunday night, the house was quiet. No shouting voices - no footsteps running up or down the stairs - no doors slamming. The house was quite quiet and still.

Liam stood up from his chair, the springs loudly creaking as they always did (the chair was so old and shit) and he took the few steps towards his room’s window. He pulled back one of the curtains and looked down into the dark street below. There was a scattering of cars parked there, most of them half on the pavement. There were people on the street too - some hurrying along it; others just wandering along the pavement. A few people were actually walking in the road. On the opposite side of the street, a figure lay slumped down against the wall of closed shop there, the shop that had never opened since he moved here. It was the figure of a local homeless man. Liam had seen him around most days, begging on street corners and drinking from open cans. The man often seemed to spend the evening slumped there, but he never seemed to sleep there. Where he actually bedded down, Liam had no idea. The street looked like it always did. There was no crowd of people outside the front door to his B&B hotel screaming for him, screaming that he be punished, screaming that he be hung, screaming for his blood. There was none of that.

He stood there, for a long moment, staring down at the street. There was nothing interesting happening out there, nothing unusual, just the usual comings and goings of that street, but it was reassuring to watch. He didn’t have to think about them - he could simply watch them.

Tomorrow, Monday, he had those three different apprenticeships interviews and Bryn, his Probation Officer, said he had to attend them. What if someone recognised him on his way to these interviews? Worse, what if someone at one of those interviews recognised him? Bryn had organised them so they must know he’d been convicted of a crime. Did they know what crime? How much could Bryn tell those people? Did he even want to do any of these apprenticeships? The little he’d read about them, in Bryn’s letter, didn’t make any of them seem interesting. But they were what Bryn wanted him to do, and Bryn was his Probation Officer.

There wasn’t anyone here he could talk to, ask advice from. He was on his own here and… He was on his own. He had to fully make his own decisions.

At Nurton Cross, there was always someone else he could ask advice from - people he trusted and who he knew would give him the best answer for him. Nurton Cross had always been a safe place for him, and he had barely realised that at the time. Now he was outside of it… He was on his own. There was no structure to his life. Anymore. And the outside world was so loud and busy and full of strangers … and… It wasn’t right to wish he were back there - it was a secure hospital; it was a prison by any other name. He shouldn’t be wishing he were back there. This was his life now, but there was no one here to help him.

He turned his back on the window and looked again into his room. His pale blue cotton shirt hung on a hook on the opposite side of the room - the pale blue shirt he’d bought with Aiden on that first shopping trip. Shit, that was so long ago. At least he had that shirt to wear for tomorrow’s interviews. But what would he say at those interviews?

Liam stepped away from the window. There was tomorrow and he had to get ready for it, but how?

He just stood there for a long moment, looking at his pale blue cotton shirt.