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      ‘Damn,’ I said to Christine, once they were safely out of earshot. ‘Trust me to spurn Spider-Man for Roblox.’

      ‘Oh, I really wouldn’t worry. Kelly told me she only bought it for him a couple of days back. He didn’t choose it. The counting to one hundred, though’ – she nodded back towards the hallway – ‘that’s apparently quite a big thing with him. I have no idea why, or whether it has any significance, but apparently he does it all the time.’

      Mike handed Christine her tea and we sat down around the table, so we could get all the paperwork done. Though in this case, there wasn’t a lot of it. No history to peruse, obviously, just the usual Placement Plan. Plus a couple of signatures to confirm we took responsibility for any medical issues. And that was pretty much that – no more paperwork than you’d expect buying a second-hand car. Sold as seen. Sign on the dotted line and the child is all yours.

      Christine must have read my thoughts. ‘Here you go,’ she said, smiling grimly as she handed me our copy. ‘Far as I know, only one careful owner.’

      Joking aside, this was a necessarily serious business. And as Christine began telling us what she did know, I had the usual sinking sense that I was being told an all-too familiar story.

      ‘So, the two younger siblings were apparently found hiding underneath a bed,’ Christine went on, ‘whereas Sam was found in the back garden, shaking and terrified inside a big dog cage.’

      ‘Ah, the barking and howling,’ Mike commented.

      Christine nodded. ‘Exactly. In fact, if he hadn’t been, they could easily have missed him altogether. And the mother was in such a state – a psychotic state, they realised – that a doctor was immediately summoned as well. When he arrived she was sedated and sectioned under the Mental Health Act and, of course, the children were all placed in care. And with different foster carers, as I mentioned to you this morning, Casey, on account of the other two being so terrified of poor Sam.’

      Mike flicked his gaze towards the ceiling. ‘As in this Sam? Who looks like he wouldn’t say boo to a goose? You’d never think it, would you?’

      We agreed we wouldn’t. ‘Any more on why?’ I asked.

      ‘Not really,’ Christine said. ‘Early days yet, and I’m sure we’ll find out more, but one of the children apparently said he thought he was a dog. That he spent a lot of time living in the dog cage.’

      ‘What is a dog cage when it’s at home?’ Mike asked.

      ‘Well, like a kennel, I imagine,’ Christine said.

      ‘Probably,’ Christine said. ‘Though this one was definitely in the garden.’

      ‘What about the dog?’

      ‘No dog. They checked. No evidence of a pet either. They said it looked as though Sam spent a lot of time in there, though. It was decked out with blankets. Scraps of food. A few toys.’

      ‘And they were genuinely that scared of him?’

      ‘Apparently so.’

      ‘But, even given that, it’s still odd that their wishes were so readily taken on board, isn’t it? Hard enough to find one foster family at such short notice, let alone two.’

      ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘but I think the neighbour’s comments were taken into account too. She told them Sam was practically feral – I know, you wouldn’t credit it, would you? – and that she’d seen him attack his siblings on more than one occasion.’

      I couldn’t be shocked by what Christine was telling me because I’d heard him for myself when I was on the phone to Kelly. No, not the howling, but there was no question that he was out of control. But at the same time, could this really be the same boy? From what I’d seen with my own eyes, he’d seemed no more feral than I was. And I’d fostered near-feral children, so it wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen some.

      Christine didn’t stay long. After a quick trip upstairs, to pop up Sam’s suitcase and say goodbye, she left us, promising to let us know as and when she found out any more – though that would obviously be unlikely to happen before Monday morning. In the meantime, it was really just a case of watch and wait. Though in the shorter term, just a case of settling him in and putting him to bed, which, surprisingly, proved as simple a task as it sounded. It had been gone seven when they’d arrived, Sam had already eaten, and after the best part of an hour playing on the PlayStation with Tyler, it seemed that he didn’t even need telling it was bedtime.

      ‘Am I allowed to go to bed yet?’ he asked when I checked on them.

      ‘Yes, of course, love,’ I told him. ‘Shall I help you with your things?’

      There was no side to him. No attitude. And he didn’t seem to mind me watching as he trotted this room, unzipped his case and started rootling round for pyjamas. (That he’d have everything he needed wasn’t going to be an issue, as I knew Kelly would have diligently packed everything she’d thought he might.)

      ‘How about a glass of water?’ I suggested, once he’d finally found them.

      ‘I’m okay,’ he said, briefly meeting my gaze. ‘Night, night.’

      My cue to go, then. So I did – only pointing out the bathroom, so he could clean his teeth. Which he did, albeit that I suspected this was a pretty recent ritual. I knew because I lingered with Tyler for a bit – duty done, he was getting ready to go out now – and heard Sam pad across to the bathroom minutes later. ‘Seriously?’ Tyler whispered to me. ‘Feral? If he’s supposed to be feral, what does that make the eleven-year-old me?’

      ‘Or the sixteen-year-old you, come to that,’ I shot back at him.

      But I’d been doing the job long enough to know appearances could be deceptive. That the answer was almost certainly ‘yes’. And that, despite my observations, that child would probably show up soon enough. As sure as night followed day.

      I switched off the landing light, and tiptoed across to my own bedroom. Fingers crossed not quite as soon as that, though.

      There

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