Stevie shrugged.

  ‘You said you were when you were at the police station.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I guess.’

  ‘That’s it really then,’ she said to me. ‘I just needed to check he was safe and well.’ She stood ready to leave. ‘Don’t run away again,’ she said to him.

  He gave a half-hearted nod. ‘Can I go back to bed now?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes, but only for a couple of hours. We have Verity coming later.’

  He heaved himself off the sofa and went upstairs as I saw the police officer to the front door.

  ‘Did Stevie tell you why he’d run away?’ I asked her once Stevie’s bedroom door had closed.

  ‘He said he thought he’d be in trouble if he came back.’

  ‘Trouble. What for?’

  ‘He wouldn’t say any more. But he certainly didn’t want to go back to his grandparents. He thought he’d be in more trouble there. He seems to trust you, so try talking to him.’ Which niggled me, given all the time I had spent talking to Stevie, trying to find out what was wrong.

  ‘I will,’ I said. ‘But I hope Stevie already knows he can confide in me.’

  ‘At his age problems can get out of proportion, especially if they can’t live at home, poor kid.’ I nodded. ‘Hopefully he won’t come to our attention again.’

  ‘I hope not,’ I agreed, then I thanked her, and we said goodbye.

  While Stevie slept, I got on with the housework and had a tidy-up. Then just after midday I woke him and told him he needed to shower and dress as his social worker would be coming before long and he also needed to telephone his grandparents. He moaned, turned over and said he was very tired. I told him he could have an early night as Adrian and I would be doing, and pointed out that we’d had less sleep than him. He moaned some more.

  ‘I expect you’re hungry,’ I said. ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘I got chips and had them in the bus shelter,’ came his mumbled reply from beneath the duvet.

  ‘Do you want a cooked breakfast?’

  He nodded. In my experience, growing lads can usually be persuaded from their beds with a fry-up.

  ‘Up you get then. I’ll cook it while you shower and dress.’

  Downstairs, I waited until I heard Stevie in the shower before I started cooking his breakfast. When he appeared he looked quite rejuvenated, clean and with conditioned and towel-dried hair. He was dressed in freshly laundered jeans and a pale blue jersey, and I noticed he was wearing a delicate silver necklace that I hadn’t seen before.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said, pointing to it as I set his breakfast on the table in front of him.

  ‘It was Gran’s,’ he said. ‘I always liked it when I was little and she gave it to me on my thirteenth birthday.’

  ‘That was kind of her. I expect you treasure it.’

  ‘I do.’ He touched it reflectively, then picked up his knife and fork.

  ‘Once you’ve finished you need to phone your gran,’ I said. ‘She and your grandfather were very worried about you last night.’

  He nodded.

  I busied myself in the kitchen while Stevie ate, then once he’d finished I went to the table and sat opposite him. ‘Stevie, now I need you to tell me what has been bothering you lately and made you behave as you did yesterday – swearing at your teacher and then running away.’

  He shrugged, couldn’t meet my gaze and then said, ‘I had my phone on in lessons.’

  ‘Yes, I know that. Carolyn told me. You know you’re not supposed to, so why didn’t you hand your phone to the teacher as she asked, instead of swearing and running off? She would have given it back to you at the end of the day.’ I was struggling to believe this was the only reason for his behaviour.

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t want her to see some of the stuff on my phone.’ I went cold. Surely he hadn’t made the same mistake twice? We were still waiting to hear the outcome of the police investigation into the indecent images he and Joey had swapped.

  ‘What stuff?’ I asked.

  ‘Text messages about her,’ he said, still unable to meet my gaze. ‘Most of the class are in a WhatsApp group and sometimes we keep our phones on silent and text.’

  ‘During lessons?’

  He nodded. I thought that schools must fight a continuous battle with the use of mobile phones. It was bad enough at home, but what Stevie had said did seem plausible.

  ‘What did your text message say about her?’ I asked.

  ‘That she was a useless teacher.’ He finally met my gaze.

  ‘Is there anything else on your phone you didn’t want her to see?’ I asked.

  He shook his head and looked away. ‘I just didn’t want her to see my texts about her. I would have been in trouble and so would all the others in the group. They’re being OK to me now, you know, accepting who I am. I wasn’t going to drop them in it.’

  Which sounded like the truth to me. ‘All right, thank you for telling me. In future, if you can’t trust yourself to keep your phone switched off while you’re in school, it would be better to leave it here so you’re not tempted.’ I knew there was as much chance of that happening as pigs flying. Most teenagers are glued to their phones.

  ‘I’ll keep it off at school,’ he promised.

  ‘Good, make sure you do.’ But of course if all the others in the class were texting during a lesson, I doubted Stevie would be left out. ‘Now you need to phone your grandparents. Verity will be coming later, but I don’t know the exact time.’

  ‘Can’t you phone them?’ he asked. I would have done with a much younger child, but he needed to speak to them.

  ‘No, they need to hear from you,’ I said. ‘They were very worried. Use the landline in the living room if you like. If your granddad answers the phone then apologise for worrying him and ask to speak to your gran.’ Stevie didn’t need a dose of Fred’s caustic comments right now.

  He did as I asked and went into the living room while I stayed in the kitchen. I heard the relief in his voice when Peggy answered. ‘Hi, Gran, sorry for upsetting you,’ he began, and then told her what he’d just told me. She must have warned him – as I had – about following school rules, for I heard him promise he wouldn’t get into trouble again. He also said he’d see them at the weekend, then he fell silent for some time as she spoke. I heard him say a subdued ‘I love you too’ and then ‘goodbye’. When he came through he looked relieved but sad. ‘Well done. Is everything all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Gran was crying. She said how much she and Grandpa love me.’

  ‘Of course they do, very much.’

  ‘And I love them.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Disclosure

  When a young person has been missing, or ‘absent’ or ‘away from placement’ as it’s also known, the local authority – usually the child’s social worker – has to interview them on their return to establish why they ran away, where they were while absent and what can be done to resolve the issues that led to them running away. Stevie was sitting at the table in our kitchen-diner finishing off his homework when Verity arrived, and she was suitably impressed.

  ‘I wish my kids did their school work on a day off,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a school day, really,’ I pointed out, and offered her a drink.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. I won’t stay for long, but I did need to see Stevie today.’ She sat beside him at the table.

  ‘Shall I leave you to it?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, please. I’ll see you before I leave.’

  I went out, closing the door behind me to give them some privacy, and went into the front room where I logged on to my PC. I continued working on the Excel spreadsheet I was updating for work. Fifteen minutes or so later I heard the door to the kitchen-diner open, and then Stevie came into the front room. ‘She wants to see you now,’ he said.

  I clicked the mouse to save the spreadsheet and followed him into the kitchen-diner. He returned to sit next to Verity and I sat opposite.

  ‘We’ve had a good chat,’ Verity said, closing the diary she’d had open in front of her. ‘It seems Stevie ran away because of the incident at school involving him using his mobile phone. Stevie says the reason he didn’t want to return to you or go to his grandparents was because he knew he’d be in trouble.’

  ‘We were obviously worried,’ I said, for it sounded as though I was an ogre. ‘And before then? Have you talked about what was worrying Stevie in the week before the incident?’ I glanced at him.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘It’s doesn’t matter.’ Which Verity accepted.

  ‘Stevie feels he can remain in placement with you.’

  ‘Good. I’m pleased you feel you can stay with us,’ I said to him, ‘but I don’t want a repeat of last night.’ Then, looking at Verity, I said, ‘Not only did Stevie put himself in danger by running away, but he caused his grandparents, my family and me a lot of unnecessary worry. My son, Adrian, came with me to the police station and didn’t get to bed until four-thirty. He had to be up at six o’clock to go to work. If Stevie has a problem, he needs to discuss it like the young adult he is, not run off.’

  ‘I think he knows that,’ Verity said a little curtly.

  ‘Excellent.’ But it needed to be said with his social worker present.

  ‘He’ll be in school tomorrow,’ Verity said, winding up. ‘I’ll phone Mr and Mrs Jones and let them know he’s staying here. OK, Stevie, I’ll leave you to finish your homework.’ She stood and I saw her to the front door.

  ‘Carry on as you were before,’ she said to me. ‘Don’t hold a post-mortem.’

  ‘I don’t intend to,’ I replied, which I would have hoped she’d know. We said goodbye and she left.

  It would have been helpful if she’d lectured Stevie a bit more, as I had, but I’d seen far worse behaviour in a child or young person go unchecked by their social worker for fear of jeopardising their relationship. I appreciated it must be difficult to get the balance right, but then it is for parents and foster carers too. Of course I wouldn’t dwell on Stevie running away; we would carry on as normal and hope there wasn’t a repetition.

  Adrian was home at four o’clock, having worked an early shift, and went up to his room for a sleep before dinner. We all ate together, the subject of Stevie’s absence forgotten. Stevie joined in the conversation more like his old self. The following day he went to school, had the meeting with the Head, apologised to the teacher he’d sworn at and rejoined his class. The weekend arrived, and not a moment too soon. Stevie visited his grandparents on Sunday while Adrian and Paula went out with their father for lunch, and Lucy went ice-skating with a friend. The few hours I had alone gave me a chance to finish the spreadsheets I’d been working on and then sit quietly and do nothing. But while it was relaxing to have the house to myself for a while, I was pleased when everyone returned and the house was again filled with the sounds of my family.

  I hadn’t given Stevie a front door key yet and he hadn’t asked for one. Giving a young person their own key can be a matter of contention. Some young people ask for a key as soon as they arrive, but I’d learnt from experience to wait and let them prove themselves first. Once I knew I could trust them to act responsibly with a front door key and not party, steal or truant from school if I wasn’t in – as had happened to me before – then I gave them a key. I was planning on waiting another couple of weeks and then, if everything settled down, I’d give Stevie his own key as a sign I trusted him to act responsibly.

  A few days passed when Stevie seemed perfectly normal, then abruptly his behaviour deteriorated again. He became silent, withdrawn and spent a lot of time in his room, snapping at anyone if they asked if he was all right. It could simply be teenage angst, and had I raised Stevie from a baby or young child I would have felt more confident in just giving him the space and time he needed to work through it. But as similar behaviour from him previously had been symptomatic that something was brewing, I kept asking him if he was OK. Finally he exploded. It was at the end of dinner. Just he, the girls and I were in and he’d sat sullen and silent throughout the meal, head down, hunched over his plate and hardly eating a thing. As we cleared away I asked him if he was feeling all right.

  ‘Will you please shut the fuck up and just leave me alone!’ he snapped. Throwing his plate on the floor, he stormed off upstairs, into his bedroom, and slammed the door. I was shocked, Paula looked close to tears and Lucy was angry.

  ‘He’s not talking to you like that!’ she said and went up after him.

  ‘Lucy!’ I called. ‘Come here! Let him cool off first, then I’ll talk to him.’

  I went after her. As I arrived on the landing she was at his bedroom door. Giving it a good thud, she didn’t wait for a reply but flung it open. Then she stopped. ‘Oh,’ she said. I joined her. Stevie was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands and sobbing.

  ‘What is the matter, love?’ I said, going into his room. Lucy returned downstairs.

  I sat beside him on the bed and waited for him to calm down enough to talk. His anger had been replaced by tears, and seeing him cry so openly broke my heart. ‘What is it?’ I asked gently. I slipped my arm around his waist and waited some more. His tears kept falling. He was so distraught he was beyond speaking. I passed him tissues from the box and, keeping his head down, he dabbed at his eyes. I could hear Lucy and Paula downstairs in the kitchen beneath and I guessed they were clearing up the mess Stevie had made, which was kind of them.

  ‘It can’t be that bad,’ I said presently.

  ‘It is,’ he sobbed.

  ‘Is it to do with school?’ I asked. He shook his head. Then I wondered if perhaps it wasn’t a specific problem, but he was generally feeling low, even depressed, and should see a doctor. ‘Are you feeling very sad and maybe missing your family?’ I asked.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Can you talk to me about how you are feeling?’ I tried.

  He shook his head and fresh tears fell. I passed him another tissue. He wiped his eyes again and then the sobbing gradually eased, and we sat quietly side by side for some time. Just as I thought he was starting to recover, his face clouded and silent tears fell. I was really worried. I was unable to reach him. ‘Stevie, you need to tell me what’s wrong,’ I tried again.

  He shook his head in despair. ‘I’ve been so stupid,’ he said at last. ‘If I tell you, you’ll hate me forever.’ So I knew it was something specific that was upsetting him rather than generally feeling low. I didn’t believe it could be anything so bad that I would hate him. I needed to try to coax it out of him.

  ‘Of course I won’t hate you,’ I said. ‘I’ll try to help you.’

  ‘My grandparents will hate me.’

  ‘They might be annoyed with you, but they won’t hate you, they love you.’

  ‘Not after this they won’t. They’ll never forgive me.’ I was now feeling uneasy at the enormity of whatever it was Stevie perceived he’d done.

  I looked at him as he sat with his head in his hands in complete despair. I couldn’t begin to guess what the problem was, although part of me still felt he was probably overreacting and had blown it out of proportion, but of course I couldn’t be sure. ‘Stevie,’ I said after a while, ‘you are going to have to share this with someone sooner or later, otherwise it’s going to eat away at you just like when you had the problem with Joey and the photographs you sent him of yourself.’ I saw him flinch.

  ‘It’s worse than that,’ he said. I felt another stab of unease.

  ‘Go on,’ I prompted.

  He raised his head slightly and stared at a place on the floor a little way in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘You know my gran asked you about a secret Liam and Kiri had?’

  ‘Yes, I remember. It wasn’t long after you moved in.’

  ‘It’s about that secret,’ he said.

  ‘OK.’ I felt another stab of unease. I hadn’t got a clue where this was leading. Peggy hadn’t mentioned it again.

  ‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth. There were more photos.’

  ‘You mean the photos you sent to Joey of you naked?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, there were some others. Of Kiri and Liam.’

  I stared at him, hoping I’d misunderstood. ‘Not like the ones you sent of yourself?’ He nodded. ‘Without their clothes on?’

  He nodded again, and I felt physically sick.

  ‘You took photos of Kiri and Liam naked?’ I asked, unable to believe what I’d heard. ‘Oh Stevie. Why? Whatever made you do that? Are they still on your phone?’

  ‘No, I deleted them after I sent them.’

  ‘Sent them where?’ I asked, my stomach contracting with fear.

  ‘To Joey.’

  ‘Oh no.’ His eyes filled again. I continued to stare at him. This had taken a new and horrifying turn, as Stevie knew. ‘Why?’

  ‘Joey told me to. He said if I didn’t he would send the pictures of me to my grandparents, all my friends, the school and post them online. What else could I do?’ There was plenty Stevie could and should have done, but he’d panicked. ‘So I took the photos and told Kiri and Liam not to tell anyone – that was our secret.’

  ‘But you must have known it was wrong?’ I said, struggling to take it in.

  He nodded and his tears fell again. ‘I did, but I hoped it would put a stop to it and Joey would go away. I couldn’t tell my grandparents, they would have killed me.’

  ‘So it’s been on your conscience all this time,’ I said, though I’m afraid to say that my sympathy was waning. Kiri and Liam were six and eight years old, and Stevie had taken indecent images of them and sent them to a stranger. Where were those photos now? What pervert was drooling over them? This was no longer two teenagers making an error of judgement and sexting, but paedophile activity in which Stevie had been complicit. For a moment I wished he’d never set foot in my house. Then I knew I had to pull myself together and act professionally. Thankfully my own children were older, otherwise I would have asked for Stevie to be moved. Harsh though that may seem, I would never have put my own family at risk. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about those photos when you told me about the ones you’d taken of yourself?’ I asked after a moment.