Page 2 of Drake
Robin glances from the road to me, his smile a sad one. “I think the police will be the best place to start. But not tonight. You could do with a good night’s sleep. I hope you like my house; we only have one other boy with us at the moment. His name is Saint, and he’s fifteen, and he’s very kind. My husband, Kip, should be home by now; he owns the gym in town. He runs lots of fun classes you might want to join.”
I know the police is the last place I’ll go to find Mum. I’ll go back to the house. She could be there now. I’ll have to wait until everyone is in bed before I can get out. We are quite a long way from the squat, but I can run. I’m the fastest in my class.
The shower really is a nice one, the water as hot as I want it. Not like the one at the house. I always had to rush that one so that the others could use it. Warrior always takes as long as he wanted, just like he took the most food. I wait by the door for Robin to go downstairs, then shove my clothes back on, notcaring if I’m still a bit damp and the clothes are clinging. I need to get out of here before he misses me. I didn’t know anyone else was here, but them talking makes it easier for me to sneak out of the house.
I’m down the street as fast as I can, not stopping to catch my breath until I’m over three streets away. When I stop, I’m breathing heavily. Along with a little fear, the rush of getting away—as well as how fast I ran—is the reason. I’m not scared of being out at night. I’ve been allowed to do what I want and go where I want for a long time now. Part of life’s rich experiences, my mum would tell me. Sometimes, people came with their children, and we’d do whatever we wanted. They never stayed long, a few weeks or so.
I’m not moving as quickly now, needing to find out where I am. It doesn’t take me many streets to work it out and maybe ten minutes, or a bit more, to see I’m back on my street. I don’t go to the front door. Mrs Moore might be looking out of her window. Instead, I go down the back alley. It’s dark and grubby down here, not used much. Not big enough to get a car down here and nowhere to put it if you could. It’s easy to count down the gates to get to my house. I know the gate squeaks, so I push it slowly, then squeeze through the gap I’ve made.
The house is dark, but that doesn’t mean no one is in there. It’s just a way of keeping the attention away from nosy busy bodies, my mum called them. I know the back door will be open; it’s never locked in case anyone needs to stay for the night.
But as soon as I step inside, I can tell it’s empty. There’s no smell of tobacco or weed. No food either. I wander through the rooms before going upstairs to the one I slept in. I expect it to be empty, but everything is still here. They really did leave in a hurry. It also means that they will come back for their stuff. We don’t own enough to leave it all behind. So, I lie on my bedand wait with my mum’s favourite scarf wrapped around me. It smells of her, of comfort and home.
“This is your room, Drake. The bathroom is next door, and there are plenty of toiletries in the drawer, and you can use any of the towels. Why don’t you have a shower? I’m going to find you some clean clothes and a pair of pyjamas. I’ll put it all on the bed.”
“Um, okay. Will the water be hot?”
God, this poor kid. Just how hard has his life been? “It is and won’t run out, so take your time.”
A squat is no place to bring up a kid. He’s probably seen more illegal activities than most adults. He’s a bright lad. I suppose he’s had to be, but he’s a flight risk. He’s been too calm about being left behind. I reach the large closet on the landing which has sets of day and night clothes for all ages. As I search for pjs for our newest kid, the front door opens, and Saint and Kip come in as loud as usual. I’m grateful for the sound of running water. I can bring Kip up to date on the new addition to the house. I find what I’m looking for and put them on the bed.
When I get downstairs, the two of them have headed into the kitchen and are probably raiding the fridge for a snack. “Dinner will be in an hour, so don’t eat too much,” I say to both of them. Saint has filled out since he got here and has shot up a good few inches. He constantly tells me he’s a growing boy. I fill them in on our latest addition.
“Where is he?” Saint asks, looking past my shoulder to the doorway.
“His name is Drake and he’s in the shower.”
Kip comes over and places a kiss on my cheek. “What’s his story?”
I sigh because I don’t think this is going to be easy on him or us. “He’s been living in a squat, and while he was out, everyone left, including his mother. They must have had a tip-off, because the police were there only minutes after they fled. No one waited for Drake to come back.”
“Shit! What the fuck is wrong with people? Why have kids if you’re gonna treat them like crap,” Saint says angrily. A product of his own father’s abuse and neglect.
“It seems his mum is protective of him, but the latest boyfriend wants him gone. I doubt he orchestrated them leaving in a rush, but I also doubt he’ll let Drake’s mum go back to find him,” I add.
“Then we’ll look after him until she comes back for him,” Kips says with finality. We all know he means if and not when.
I start pulling ingredients for tonight’s chicken casserole. Something filling in a quest to bulk up the skinny frame of the poor kid.
Saint goes to shower before we have dinner. He has a room with an en-suite, so he doesn’t need to wait for Drake to finish. He really is making the most of the hot water.
Footsteps come back down the carpeted stairs, and I turn, already smiling to greet our newest kid, but it’s Saint. He’s frowning.
“He’s not upstairs. I thought I’d say hello and knocked on his door, but it was empty with your clothes on the bed. He’s done a bunk.”
Fuck!
“He’s gone back to the squat. I thought he was taking this all too easily. I better get over there. It’s not safe, especially if his mother’s boyfriend goes back alone. He’s a danger to Drake.”
Kip already has his car keys in his hand. “Let’s go.”
I shake my head. “I’ll go by myself; the poor boy doesn’t know you. So far, it’s me he doesn’t trust to look after him. I don’t want you alienated.”
I know my husband isn’t happy with this. He’s always overprotective of me and the kids. “Call me when you find him,” he says gruffly as he runs his hands over is shaved head.
As I expected, no one comes to the door, but I’m good at my job as head of social services and have done this job for more years than I care to remember. I know every trick in the book. And squatters always leave a door open, either for a quick getaway or to let others in, including their drug dealers. Not every person is on drugs if they squat. For some, they don’t want a normal, regular life and will move all around the country for work or with friends. They don’t care what the places they choose to stay in are like, because they know it won’t be for long.
The back gate is open a little, and I have to push it further to fit through and into the back courtyard. I can’t help but feel sad; this poor kid has come back to a place that is not safe for him. He’s back because he wants his mother, and I hate to be the one to have to break the bubble that she may not come back. I find him asleep on a single bed in an upstairs room. There are some possessions dotted around the room, but not many.
