Kym really wasn’t bothered. She hadn’t been bothered about too much these past few days

Maggie felt the need to defend the troubled kids she invested time in. They weren’t all bad. “I do have other kids, you know,” she retorted. “Like who?” Maggie retrieved her mug. “Kieran Chalmers, for one.” “Kieran? He’s a different story altogether. Lovely lad. Not his fault they had to move here.”

“I know. Father died. Brain cancer. Killed him in weeks.” She breathed a sigh. Another woman suddenly widowed. Except Rose Chalmers had to up sticks. Move from a Wimpey chalet to a Seaton high rise. So why was Maggie feeling sorry for herself? “How’s Kieran coming along?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure. We seemed to be making progress, but then…” She broke off. “He became a bit difficult.”

“Difficult? How?”

“Hard to put a finger on. Introverted. Evasive. And he was always such a well-mannered boy.”

“It’ll maybe pass. Just so long as he doesn’t fall into bad company.” Somebody sniffed. “Chance would be a fine thing.”

“He’s had a bit of bother with bullying lately,” another offered. “Blast,” said one of the older teachers. “Thought we’d knocked that on the head.” “Who is it this time?”

A new voice. “That Wiseman lad.”

“I think you’ll find Wiseman’s been warned off.” “That right?”

“Yes. And no marks for guessing who.” “Meston again?”

“On the money. Saw Willie cornering Wiseman when I was on playground duty the other day. Come to think of it, your wee friend Kieran was with him.”

“Keiran?” Maggie jumped, slopping tea onto the table. “Yes.”

“With Willie Meston?”

“Yup.”

Dammit. Something was up. Something serious. Maggie would have to move fast if she didn’t want to see a whole year of painstaking work go down the drain.

Dug in

“Must do your head in.” Fatboy lounged on Kym’s settee. “What?” She raised a tousled head. Fatboy eyed the row of kids on the rug. “Looking after this lot.”

“I’m not bothered.”

Kym really wasn’t bothered. She hadn’t been bothered about too much these past few days, not since she’d managed to cadge a few Vals off Fatboy. This week, she hadn’t needed to buy nearly so much booze down the shop to get high. The weans hadn’t given her so much grief either, hers or the others.

She sighed. She’d been that stressed this past while, ever since the Health Centre had said there were strict new rules on prescribing Temazepam. She gnawed at her cuticles. Maybe this new fella could get her a regular supply.

“See, you know what I think?” Fatboy leaned in towards her. “You might not want to admit it, but I bet this lot would try the patience of a saint.”

Kym pulled a face. “Some days.”

“Told you.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then: “What do you do to unwind?”

“How d’you mean?”

“In the evenings,” Fatboy persisted. “After you’ve got rid of them.”

“Make my own kids their dinner. Put them to bed.”

Scowled

He frowned. “I’d forgotten some of them are yours. But don’t you ever get out? On the ran-dan,” he leered. “You know – clubbing?” Kym scowled. “As if.”

“Not even the pub?” She snorted. “What d’you think I’d use for cash?”

“Oh, come on, you must be earning a fair bit off this lot.”

“Not as much as you’d think.” Fatboy smirked. “My heart bleeds.” She drew herself up. “I’m giving it to you straight.”

Kym wished Fatboy had never mentioned the pub. She was gasping for a drink. Any kind of drink. These Valium tablets mustn’t be the same strength as the last lot she’d had. Or maybe she was just getting used to them. She closed her eyes. Tried to visualise the shelves behind the corner shop counter. Zero in on the spirits.

The last time she’d been in the shop, she’d got a warning. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get banned altogether. Not that she wouldn’t be in good company. Willie Meston had long been banned from the place, Ryan Brebner too.

It was where both boys had served their apprenticeship in shoplifting. But Kym couldn’t afford to be banned. The licensed grocer was handy for her flat, the only place within spitting distance she could get a bevvy.

“Penny for them?” Kym’s eyes opened. “Penny for what?” she muttered.

“Aren’t you the crosspatch today?” Fatboy responded cheerily.

Her head reeled. In front of her, Fatboy’s face swam out of focus. He rooted around his trouser pocket. “Away and treat yourself.” In the blurred face there was a sudden flash of teeth.

Kym felt something being pressed into her palm. She opened her hand. Looked down at the note. Looked at the children. Looked back at Fatboy. “What d’you mean?”

“Away and get yourself something.” Kym salivated. “Out of here, is that what you’re saying?” Feverishly, she tried to calculate what Fatboy’s note would buy her. He grinned. “Why not?”

“But the kids…”

“Don’t you worry about the kids.”

Her face lit up. “Thanks a bunch.” She peeled herself off the settee. “I’ll away and get my coat.”

Docile

“Fatboy,” a pudgy girl with a pudding-bowl haircut piped up, “what are we going to do now?”

He looked up. On the television screen, the CBeebies credits were rolling. “Dunno.”

They’d been docile enough: four boys and two girls ranging in age from two to almost five years old. Fatboy glanced at his watch. It would be a while yet before he could expect to have sight of Willie Meston. “What would you like to do?”

“Play a game?”

“What kind of game?” he asked cautiously. Fatboy assumed Kym did some sort of activities with the kids – building bricks, finger painting, whatever it was you did with small children. First thing, probably. Before Kym got herself tanked.

“Hide and Seek,” there was a yell from one of the boys. “Oh, alright, then,” Fatboy hauled himself to his feet. He could remember that one. Somebody would go off and hide. The rest of them would go looking. He could stay put. Piece of cake.

“Who’s going to hide?” he demanded.

“Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.”

Six pairs of hands shot in the air. Six pairs of eyes watched him expectantly.

“You can’t all be the one to hide.” He did a quick head count. “Kyle, you go first.” Ryan’s wee brother was almost four and a favourite of Fatboy’s, in part because Ryan’s connection to Willie had facilitated an entree to the flat, but also because he was an engaging kid: blond, blue-eyed and bright as a button.

“Oh, but…”

“Shut it,” Fatboy’s temper flared. “Kyle’s going first. The rest of you will get a turn when I tell you.”

More tomorrow.