Charlie frowned. Kate often said cryptic things like that, and he never quite understood them.
She touched his cheek. “Don’t think so hard, sweetheart. You’ve always been my little brooder.”
“‘Brooder’? Why are you so obsessed with poultry references?”
“Because I’m a mother hen.” Kate grinned, but her gaze sobered as she rose to leave. “You’ve always been a calming influence on me, Charlie, in the same way Fliss’s sharp tongue is good for your father’s reticence. You remind us how human we are, and how much value there is in being different. Life would be boring if we were all the same.”
It was a nice sentiment, but Charlie didn’t see how it would help Leo stay out of fights at school. Heyton High was a pit of hormones, angst, egos, and despite Kate’s faith in him, not a day went by that Charlie didn’t want to deck someone.
Not that there’s anyone there worth decking.
Kate paused at the door, her hand on the handle. “Fliss thought you could stick some of those posters you did for the Olympics in Leo’s room.”
“She did?”
“Yes, she did. You know she’s not as heartless as she makes herself out to be.”
“If you say so.” Charlie would have to take Kate’s word for it, though a lifetime of living with Fliss told him that she was indeed a class-A bitch. “I’m not sure about the posters. The Olympics were years ago now. Do you really think he’ll like them?”
“Can’t hurt,” Kate said. “I know they’re not football, but he might like other sports too.”
She said good night and left Charlie to it. Alone again, he considered what artwork he could bear to part with, even if it was only going across the hall. The study was tiny, but if they put Leo’s bed under the window, the posters could go on the ceiling.
Charlie closed his eyes, picturing the finished result, and fell asleep still holding the haunting photograph of the most beautiful boy he’d ever laid eyes on.
Heyton High School was the bane of Charlie’s life, and never more so than at lunchtime. He didn’t smoke, play football, or fight, and that left hanging around the tennis courts with the girls, listening to them talk about periods and shagging.
Most days he sat quietly between Jess and Lucy, his BFFs, doodling cartoons of them with the bigger boobs they craved, but not today. Nah. Today, he couldn’t sit still, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Bloody hell, Charlie,” Jess said as Charlie paced around. “You got ants in your pants, babe?”
Charlie shot her a baleful glare. “Piss off.”
“Oooh. Someone’s touchy.”
“I’m not touchy.” But Charlie gave in and drifted back to his usual place all the same. “My parents are taking some new kids. They’re coming today.”
“Ah. Are you pissed off about it?”
“No, my folks have taken plenty of kids before.”
“Then what?”
Charlie shrugged. “Dunno. It’s just been a while. Forgotten what it’s like to have new people in the house. Mum’s been cleaning all week and moving the furniture around. Feels weird.”
Jess gave him a cuddle. Across the tennis court, a year-eleven douche shot him the stink eye. Dickhead had been trying to get in Jess’s knickers since year nine, and he had it in for Charlie, if the graffiti scrawled on Charlie’s locker was anything to go by:Gaylord Zone.Ha. If only they knew.
“So,” Jess pressed. “How old are these new foster kids? Are they little ones?”
“Not really.” Why did people always assume the only kids who needed help were bloody toddlers? “Six and fifteen.”
“Boys or girls?”
“One of each. The boy is fifteen.”
“Oooh, a boy?”
“Yep.” Charlie tried not to notice the flare of curiosity in Jess’s gaze. Then he tried to ignore the irritation he felt when he failed. “His name’s Leo.”
