LITMIR.BIZ

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in an episode of one of your flipping soap operas. Nothing’s “breaking up”, as you put it. I’m just going to spend a couple of weeks round Kieron and Lauren’s – who are very happy to have a babysitter on tap, trust me – so that you can make sure you see this one through. If I don’t, I’ll end up thumping him, then all hell will break loose, and then he’ll have won, won’t he? And you’ll let him go, and feel terrible. Like you’ve failed him. Even though you won’t have. Now stop your blubbing and help me sort some clothes out so I can go back down to Kieron’s before the not-so-clever pyrotechnician gets up. I’ll probably be back as soon as all my clothes are dirty anyway.’

      I managed a laugh then and replaced my loving hug with a punch. ‘You probably will too,’ I said. And he probably would too. Which made me feel a bit better. ‘Okay, you take the bedroom and I’ll check the ironing pile, and fetch that little suitcase down from under your bed.’

      ‘Thanks for understanding, Mum,’ Tyler said, as he headed for the stairs, ‘and don’t worry, I’ll be quiet. I won’t wake Miller up.’

      I didn’t really want to dwell on the fact just yet. It hurt like hell that Tyler was moving out, no matter how temporary it might be. It just didn’t bear thinking about. And I had to stop myself doing so. For the moment, I had to concentrate on the here and now. The immediate future. The future which, since Miller came to us, I was measuring in hours, rather than days. Days, rather than weeks. I couldn’t do anything else, because the longer term was too complicated to contemplate. All I could do was hope for the best for Monday, hope something changed for the better as a result of him attending this frankly almost-too-good-to-believe school, and that Tyler deemed it safe to come back to us. I wasn’t some air-headed believer in fairy godmothers, but if Mr Hammond donned a twinkly frock I thought he’d make a good one. I bloody hoped so. The thought made me smile at least.

      It was almost lunchtime before I decided I would tackle Miller. Well, not so much Miller as Miller’s bedroom. And I would be true to my word. I’d promised Mike I’d give it the full CSI treatment, and I intended to. With or without Miller’s co-operation.

      Assuming he even woke up, after the extent of his night-time fun and games. Tyler by now had long gone – and heartbreakingly, too, with his case in his hand and his guitar slung across his back, like he was off on some road trip across America. Much as Mike and I ribbed him about it, the house would feel so silent without his endless twanging, and I grew tearful all over again just thinking about it.

      Christine Bolton – spit spot! – had also phoned back to say the fire service would be sending a man round tomorrow afternoon, to impart some fire-related home truths to Miller. But of Miller himself, there had been no sight or sound.

      Nevertheless, as I marched upstairs – extra loud, to herald my imminent arrival – there was still this sense of being braced for a difficult confrontation, Confrontation with a diminutive twelve-year-old-boy – honestly!

      Get your act together, girl! I told myself as I reached the landing, prepared for argument, prepared for attitude, prepared to be resolute and determined in my attitude, prepared for anything apart from what I found.

      Which was a seemingly empty room. And within it, a perfectly made-up bed, as if it hadn’t been slept in at all. And, to my shock, absolutely no sign of Miller.

      My heart began thumping in my chest then, my mind quickly tossing around various possibilities. Could he be in the bathroom? No. I’d seen the door wide open as I came up. Could he have made his bed and gone out early for a walk or something? No, don’t be ridiculous, Casey – he didn’t do any of those things, ever. Could he have run away from home? That was the question I didn’t want to ask myself. Because, given his history, that was the only question with a likely correct answer. And it all fitted. I’d called him out, and he’d scarpered. I tried to steady my breathing as I sat down on the edge of the bed. Think, Casey, think. Think like he might.

      So I sat and thought, and it wasn’t long before I noticed something strange. That the old wooden wardrobe – a family heirloom that had been in service for years now – had a small chunk missing from one of the doors, about four inches from the bottom. I craned my neck forwards to look more closely at it. I had no idea when or how, but a hole had been neatly carved out of it. Almost like a spy hole for a giant mouse. My first instinct was annoyance. Had he been destroying our property too?

      I got up and moved towards it, bending down to inspect it. And almost jumped out of my skin.

      ‘Stop!’

      It was whisper, but a very loaded whisper.

      What the …? ‘Miller? Is that you in there?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Please do not open the door.’

      What the hell was this all about? I retreated and sat back on the bed again. I knew he could see me through the newly carved hole, but what on earth was he doing in there? Was this some kind of childish response to being castigated? Sort of ‘if I stay in here long enough it’ll all go away’?

      ‘Miller, please come out and talk to me. What are you doing in the wardrobe?’

      ‘I like it in here,’ he said. ‘I want to stay here for a bit. ‘Can you leave me now,’ he added. Then, ‘Please?’

      Curiouser and curiouser. ‘No, love,’ I said, ‘I can’t. I need to know you’re okay. And I also need to have a proper look around your bedroom. I’m sorry. I know it’s not nice to have your room searched, but after what happened last night, I need to make sure you don’t have any other lighters or matches.’

      ‘I am okay.’

      ‘So will you please come out?’

      ‘No. Just go on and do it. Look anywhere you like. I don’t have any more lighters or matches or anything. But you can look, and then when I’m allowed out of here you can look inside here as well.’

      ‘What on earth do you mean, “When you’re allowed out of there”? You can come out of there right away, love. No one is stopping you. And if this is you punishing yourself, then that’s silly. We just need to talk about it, that’s all. Come on. Come out, Miller. Please.’

      No response.

      So I decided I’d start searching anyway. Whatever he was up to – whatever reason he had for squirrelling himself away from me – perhaps once I started searching he’d change his mind. I got up off the bed to begin a systematic investigation.

      Miller’s case was locked, as I’d expected, unable to give up its secrets unless I broke it. But, in the circumstances, with Miller behaving as he was, that felt too dramatic and potentially disruptive an act. I didn’t know what was going on here, but I was keen not to derail it. It might, after all, prove to be illuminating.

      But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be things to find elsewhere, and he’d told me to go ahead, hadn’t he? So I started looking in all the places kids who’d stayed with us had stashed things over the years: inside pillowcases and under them (the little toy train was still in place), inside board games, behind books, under mattresses, above cupboards, beneath the laundry bin and, on more than one occasion down the years, taped to the slats in the bed base. I was on all fours, in fact, peering up under his bed when he began speaking again.

      ‘And, as well, I counted one hundred and fifty times one hundred and fifty, and he didn’t come back. He didn’t come back. I saw three darks and three lights. And nobody came. And, as well, all the custard creams had gone after the first dark, and I had nothing to eat at all, and I was hungry. I could see him kissing her on the couch and they were drunk, and sometimes laughing, and I had to be quiet. I had to be mouse-quiet. Or else. And, as well, there was a mouse and it scared me and I wet my pants, and had to take them off and cover myself with a big coat …’

      I stopped searching and sat back on my heels. Miller was so obviously relating something that had happened to him when he was little. And he knew I was still in there. He could see me through his spy hole. Which meant he wasn’t just

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