“I live down south. Near Brighton, but I’ll come up and visit again soon.”
“I’ve lived in Brighton. Just a short while, near Hove. Crap house, door was broken, so we got burgled twice, and we had no food.”
I nodded. Accepted his words. I didn’t want to ask but still did.
“You moved a lot then?”
“Mum moved us all the time, whenever she got a new boyfriend. Never got married or nothing, just one new bloke after the other. We’ve, like, lived everywhere.”
“Can’t have been easy.”
He shrugged.
“Bailey, do you like it here?”
Perhaps Fox shouldn’t ask these kinds of questions with me around, because it all felt a little intrusive, but yet? I liked that he did. Almost like we were family.
It was frightening how much I liked it.
“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, some of it is really good. Mrs Cook’s food is nice. School is fine; I think it’s the best school I’ve been at. Teachers are okay.”
“Have you made any friends?”
I liked Fox’s voice when he talked to the boy. A calm, low tone. Soft.
“Have you seen me? I’m like the…charity case. Everyone else here is proper posh.”
“No, they’re not. We have several other boys, just like you. They make this their home, and they thrive. There’s a good future for you here.”
“Not bothered about that. Not what I want.” He looked almost happy there for a second, staring out at the view. Wind blowing in his face. “As long as I don’t get kicked out.That’s the worst.”
“I can imagine,” I stuck in. He surprised me, this kid. Usually these kinds of children were either clammed up or gobby. Bailey Butcher was surprisingly well spoken, and easy to talk to. For a child.
“You said you wanted to choose.” Fox continued, picking Winter up onto his lap. “I think for Monday, can you write down what you can see yourself choosing? Then we’ll schedule time in the afternoon to sit down and go through our options.”
“Like homework?” The kid looked almost disgusted. “It’s my life, not some English essay.”
The kid was twelve. At that age, I’d barely known how to get myself up in the morning, and here this kid was mapping out his future.
“What do you see?” I had no right, but yet…we were all here. Just having a conversation.
“Well. Since you live in Brighton, that’s too bloody far away.”
“Butcher,” Fox warned. “Language.”
“Well, it is. He needs to move.”
He was staring at me, and I nodded. And laughed. “Yes. I agree. Too far.”
“See?” he said, waving his hand to Fox. “I’ve got this figured out. No need for bloody meetings.”
“And where do you suggest Mr Fairweather should move?”
“Well.” Bailey shuffled in the grass, so he was facing us. “You’re not married.”
“Nope.”
“You should be. None of this boyfriend stuff, because it doesn’t last. Trust me, I know this.”
