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Two officers in flak jackets moved in, circling them, aiming high-power weapons, shouting at them to stand still and keep their hands where they could be seen. Owen automatically put his arms up in the air, his jeans falling in a pile around his ankles. George, bitter and angry, arms akimbo, stared sullenly at the intruders.
Outside their room, the house was in turmoil. George’s mother was screaming, yelling at the police to get out of her bedroom. Scuffling and thumping sounds followed, then the gruff sound of Chas Halcyon admitting his identity. The two officers retreated, barking an order for George and Owen to stay where they were.
Neither one was going to argue with armed men.
Owen rapidly finished dressing, and they stood together, listening as another officer said. ‘Charles Halcyon, I am arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to murder…’
‘Jesus Christ,’ George gasped, his “seen it all before manner” vanished. His mum had been wrong, and he’d been right. The lawhadmade the connection… he could only assume this was about the kid who’d beaten him up. Unless, of course, his dad had arranged for someone else to be killed. His empty stomach flipped as he realised that was also entirely likely.
George felt Owen gripping his elbow. ‘Is that possible?’
He locked eyes with Owen, remembering he had forgotten to mention his dad’s latest activities, and said, ‘It is.’
‘Oh, God!’ Owen gasped. ‘I didn’t realise when you told me about your dad…’
‘You thought I was kidding?’
‘I didn’t. I.. I suppose I thought it was just small stuff. I… I didn’t really take it seriously.’
‘Well, this is serious. As serious as it gets.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Owen rested his hand on George’s shoulder. ‘What will happen to your mum? What will she do?’
George shrugged. ‘What she always does. She’ll cope.’ He pulled away from Owen and prowled the room. He wanted to hit something, somebody… anyone would do. Even Owen. Years of desperate anger were trying to burst out of him. ‘I tell you. This is not a way to live.’ He stopped and met eyes with Owen again. Never in the two-and-a-bit years he’d known the Welshman had he wished so much to swap identities with him. For all the horrible things that had happened to Owen, he would gladly exchange life as a Halcyon for life as a Kingsley. ‘You think you’ve had problems?’ he said. ‘All my life, for as long as I can remember, it’s been like this.’
Owen stepped towards him, saying, ‘I’m sorry.’
George moved away again. He still wanted to hit someone. Owen was just one wrong word, away from being an unexpected and undeserved victim.
‘I was only five years old the first time this happened.’ George shivered at the memory. ‘I still have nightmares about it. They nearly always come early in the early morning. It gives them the element of surprise, see.’ He glanced at Owen, who was standing helplessly across the room, staring at him.
George went on, ‘It gives them power. Gets us when we’re half asleep and vulnerable. My poor mum…’ George paused and looked through the open door towards his mum’s bedroom. ‘She’s had so much to put up with. She’s so brave, but I don’t know why she’s stuck with my bastard dad this long. He treats her so bad… he doesn’t deserve her.’
Through the open door, they saw Chas, hands cuffed, being roughly handled along the corridor.
‘There we have it.’ George shrugged and wiped the back of his hand across his face, sniffing loudly. ‘Christmas is cancelled. I’ll have to tell Millie she can’t come.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Owen moved to George’s side, putting an arm around his shoulder, dark head bent close to George’s spiky ginger hair. ‘Listen,’ Owen said, ‘If your mum’s all right, we can still have a Christmas. Look, your dad wouldn’t have wanted to spoil things for you with Millie.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure?’ George glanced bitterly at Owen.
‘I am,’ Owen said, his arm tightening on George’s shoulder. ‘There’s good in everyone, even villains. Even your dad. Look how kind he’s been to me. Your dad’s not a bad man… perhaps a bit misguided, but–’
‘Christ, Owen!’ George interrupted, pulling away from Owen’s protective grip. ‘Are you listening to yourself? For someone who doesn’t believe in religion, you can sure recite a mean sermon. Ever thought of a career in the clergy?’
‘Sorry.’ Owen’s shoulders sagged.
‘No.’ George grabbed one of Owen’s arms, wanting its protection and strength again. Regretting, he had ever thought of taking out his anger on Owen. ‘Don’t you be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong and you’re right in some ways, but not about my dad. He’s not misguided, he’s a real villain. A fucking bad man.’ George stared into Owen’s trouble eyes. Certain he had not got his message through, he went on, ‘You think he’s been kind to you? What you don’t know is you wouldn’t even be here if Mum hadn’t insisted. He was all for leaving you in Aldershot.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’
George squeezed Owen’s arm. ‘I know. Don’t take it bad. He had you fooled. You wouldn’t be the first. What you got right is we shouldn’t let him spoil Christmas. For everyone’s sake. Mum’s yours and mine.’
Owen nodded. ‘Then let’s see if we can start making things better right now, shall we? You go see your mum, and I’ll make some tea.’
Touched by Owen’s eagerness to help, George watched him bound to the door before he said, ‘Thanks. Owen, you’re a real mate.’
Owen paused in the doorway and shook his head. ‘You haven’t tried my tea yet,’ he said, and with a fleeting grin, he headed out of the room.
