Leo’s eyes snapped open. He met Charlie’s gaze for a brief, heart-stopping second before his expression grew vacant and he was lost again. Charlie crouched by the bed, hand wrapped tight around Leo’s wrist. He pressed his thumb into the pulse point and counted Leo’s racing heartbeat. “Come on, Leo. Wake up if it’s too bad. It’s not real, I promise.”
But as he whispered the words, Charlie’s eyes were drawn up Leo’s arm to the fresh bandage, and suddenly his mind was filled with an image of mangled skin and blood . . . of flames, smoke, and smouldering flesh. Leo’s flesh.
Charlie’s knees went weak. He fell back, still gripping Leo’s wrist, and pressed his face into his knees.“It’s not real, I promise.”What a load of bollocks. Of course it was real . . . real to Leo, and trapped in his sleep, scarred and alone, he’d never be free of it.
Andy Poulton eased his car into a parking space. “You look more impressed than Charlie did when I brought him last year.”
I’ll say.Wembley. Bloody hell. Leo gazed around. He’d been on a school trip to Swindon Town FC once, but he’d never seen anything like thehugenational stadium. It almost took away the discomfort of being stuck in a car with Reg’s eldest son.
Almost, though oddly enough, despite his imposing size, Andy didn’t seem to trigger the monster in Leo’s belly—the one that made his palms sweat and his lips go numb. Perhaps Andy was playing nice, because, so far, Leo had somehow managed to behave like a normal person.
“Charlie doesn’t like football,” Leo said to fill the awkward silence that Andy didn’t seem to have noticed.
Andy snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. I dragged him kicking and screaming to a Champions League game last year. Little twerp fell asleep.”
The image made Leo feel like smiling, but an unwelcome recollection dampened his humour: a few nights’ old hazy memory of waking to find Charlie asleep on the bedroom floor, curled up far closer to Leo’s bed than he ever ventured when Leo was awake.
They got out of the car and made their way into the stadium.
“So, who are you supporting?” Andy asked. “Arsenal or City?”
“Hmm?” Leo glanced at Andy’s red football shirt. “Better be the Gunners, hadn’t it? If we’re sitting at their end and all.”
Andy shrugged like it didn’t matter, and as they found their seats, Leo kind of agreed. A year ago, he’d have given anything to be at a Premiership game like this, dreamed of it, but now the building roar of the crowd felt like it was drawing the breath from his lungs.
He sat down in the plastic seat Andy directed him to and thought of Charlie again. Thought of his shrewd, kind eyes, and the smooth brown skin of his back . . . the back Leo seemed to open his eyes to every morning as Charlie got dressed in plain sight of the reflection in Leo’s window. His pulse quickened. Damn. Thinking of Charlie was usually as good as the doctor’s fuzzy pills. It calmed Leo down. Helped him sleep. But Charlie’s back—
“So how are you settling in at Casa Poulton?”
Leo jumped. He hadn’t noticed Andy dropping into the seat beside him, which was odd, because the bloke was massive. “‘Casa Poulton’?”
“Yeah, Ma and Pa’s, like. Getting on okay?”
“Fine.” Leo shrugged and fixed his gaze on the giant screen at the Gunners’ end of the pitch. He’d been asked that question a lot recently—by teachers, doctors, social workers—and his answer was always the same, because it was the answer they wanted to hear, the answer that meant they could go on their way, convinced they’d filled their quota of good deeds. Not that Reg seemed particularly satisfied with how his latest project was panning out.“We won’t tolerate any disruption to Charlie . . .”
Yeah, yeah.Like Leo had asked him to bunk off school.Glad he did, though, aren’t you?
Leo shuddered, his arm tingling as he recalled Charlie cleaning it, trying to soothe the burn with far more than the cool water. Charlie was good, not like Leo. And Reg clearly knew it too.
Andy nudged Leo. “You there, mate?”
“Huh?”
Andy grinned. “Away with the bloody fairies. You teenagers are all the same. I was saying that it isn’t anything to be ashamed of to find it tough to settle down. I’ve seen enough of you kids go through that house to know it takes time. What’s it been, a month? Two? I reckon you’ve got a ways to go yet.”
Wanker.But Leo couldn’t deny it. In the month they’d been in Heyton, Lila had become more settled with every day that passed, creeping into Leo’s bed less and less, but Leo? Not even close.
His pocket vibrated. He pulled out the phone Kate had given him last weekend, and on the screen was a text from Reg:Lila bathed and ready for bed. Reading Goldilocks with Kate.
Leo scowled. This was Reg’s latest trick since he’d come to Leo’s room and given him his first strike—using Lila to get to him.Bastard.
“So,” Andy said, reminding Leo that he hadn’t answered him. “How’s it all going? Has Fliss thrown her biker boots at your head yet?”
Leo sniggered before he caught himself. “Not me. She chucked olive oil at Charlie last night, though.”
“Sounds about right.” Andy craned his neck as the emcee announced the players to the pitch. “Don’t be scared of her though. Her bark’s worse than her bite.”
“I’m not scared of Fliss.” How could Leo be when she was so kind to Lila? If Kate was out when Leo left for school, he always took Lila to Fliss’s room. “She’s nice.”
