Joel woke up early, feeling trepidatious, like it was his first day at school. Of course it was already light outside. He realised it was at least a month since they’d had to put any lights on at all. Such a strange sensation.
He clambered into the ‘rugged’ clothes his secretary Margo had bought him last year. They didn’t feel right at all – he preferred a well-cut suit, as armour, something that allowed him to vanish subtly into the background of any room he was in. The moleskin trousers and the rough-hewn pale checked shirt with a waterproof lining felt odd. Also, putting them on, he became conscious of how much weight he’d lost and grimaced. Then he set out into a misty morning, the grey haar obliterating all distinction between land and sea; the kind of morning, in fact, that often burned off into a glorious afternoon, but it made heavy weather of the first part of the day. He took the piece of paper which had arrived the day before.
Grabbing a coffee, he set out up the hill. That he was working with Flora’s ex-boyfriend, and her arch-enemy, hadn’t escaped him. He was aware he hadn’t mentioned it in the café. She had looked so disappointed that he wasn’t going to the party, he didn’t want to make matters even worse.
Not knowing the way, as it turned out, was no problem: the bright orange tents and screams and yells of the boys were visible and audible from miles away, as was the scent of sizzling sausages on the fire.
Charlie was there, on his own third cup of coffee, typically weary as he always was. Every group of troubled youngsters had a bedwetter and some tiny fiends who liked to tell horror stories, although many of them had already lived through their own horror stories. He nodded to Joel, taking in – in a way that surprised Joel mightily – the expensiveness of his outdoor clothing.
‘Morning.’
‘Hey.’
Joel felt awkward. He held out his envelope. ‘I brought this.’
Charlie just tipped his head. ‘Give it to Jan. She handles all the paperwork.’
‘Who are you, mister?’
A small boy of about eight or nine was standing in front of him. His head, which might have been blond, was shaved down to the wood, his body was skinny and none too clean-looking and there were dark hollows under his eyes. His posture was defensive; he had the look about him of a kid that was always waiting for a telling-off.
‘I’m Joel,’ he said mildly. They looked at each other. Joel wasn’t about to say anything else. Adults asking questions was probably more than this kid ever needed.
‘Are you American?’ said the boy, eyes widening. ‘You sound weird.’
‘Yes, I’m from America originally.’
‘What are you doing in this shithole then?’
‘Caleb,’ said Charlie, but in a relaxed way. ‘What did we say about swearing?’
‘Shit isn’t swearing,’ said the lad. ‘Fuck is swearing.’
‘No, shit definitely counts.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ He readdressed his question. ‘Why are you in a poo-hole like this?’
‘I happen to like it,’ said Joel.
‘Like it more than America? With like sunshine and guns and cars with no tops on and California and skyscrapers and stuff?’ The kid’s eyes widened further.
‘It’s not all like that.’
‘It’s naaat allll laaak that.’ The child tried out a dreadful imitation of Joel’s drawl, then called the others. ‘Aye! Ye gadgies! Yon mon here’s a Yank!’
Other shaved heads emerged. Joel knew on one level that small boys having short hair simply made practical sense. But his hair was always shorn when he was a boy because nobody loved him enough to comb it. He’d worn his dark curls longer than was usual for a lawyer, long enough to flop over his high forehead, ever since. Flora adored it, and would have loved it even more if she’d known the reason why.
The boys gathered around Joel as an object of curiosity, and Joel wished he’d brought some sweets to hand out. They all wanted to know about gangs and guns and the streets and all sorts of notions and appeared to have picked up most of their American assumptions from playing Grand Theft Auto, but he helped as much as he could. He noticed Charlie watching him, not in a disapproving fashion.
Jan arrived, looking scrubbed down as usual.
‘Hand over that,’ she said, gesturing at the envelope in his hands, and he did so. ‘Right,’ she said, studying it carefully. ‘You can take down the tents and wash up while we start our forest walk. Has everyone got their squirrel charts?’
‘Can he no’ come with?’ said Caleb, the boy who’d first spoken.
‘Not this time,’ said Jan. ‘You can stay and wash up if you like.’
There was a pause.
‘Aye, all right,’ said the young lad.
‘You’ll have fun on your walk,’ said Charlie.
‘Neh, he wants to stay behind and get felt up by yon teacher,’ said a huge overgrown lad, bulky of shoulder, his voice already breaking, to an outbreak of laughter from the others. Joel went puce.
‘You want to go home, Fingal Connarty?’ shot Jan, sharp as you like. ‘I don’t want to send you home, son. I want you to stay. Can you stay?’
The huge boy shrugged.
‘Then you keep a civil tongue in this place.’
Caleb, however, heard none of this. He had turned bright red, and went charging up towards Fingal, fists outstretched, and despite being several inches shorter than the other lad, still managed to get a reasonable uppercut into Fingal’s pudgy nose.
‘Oi, you little fucker!’
Fingal rugby-tackled Caleb, bringing him down to the ground, and was about to start pounding on him when Charlie and Joel managed to pull them both apart.
Jan then did a surprising thing. She went to both of the boys and put her arms around them.
‘It’s OKAY,’ she said. ‘It’s okay. Can you apologise?’
‘He called me names!’
‘So what?’ said Jan.
‘I’ve got a bleeding nose! I’m going to kill you!’
It was decided, fairly speedily, that Caleb would in fact stay behind with Joel and help with taking down the camp. Joel was starting to worry he’d made a terrible decision.
Charlie gave him a walkie-talkie, as phones didn’t work up the hill, and told him they’d be back in two hours, if he wouldn’t mind organising their main breakfast.
‘How many are you?’ said Joel.
‘Thirty,’ said Charlie. ‘See you later!’
Caleb said that the night before they’d taken the dishes to a nearby stream, so they decided to do so again. As Joel had thought, the haar began to burn off, and from up here the sheep on the farm were tiny fluffy dots, and the sailing boats and great steaming tankers were toys on the horizon. It was quiet away from the sea, only the birds calling and chirruping to one another.
Joel answered Caleb’s questions about America as entertainingly as he could, even into the second half-hour about Avengers Assemble.
But oddly, he didn’t mind. It was the first time in a long time that he’d spoken to anyone who wasn’t telling him terrible news; or trying to ferret information out of him. Caleb was the first person he’d met since he couldn’t remember when who didn’t want anything from him, who didn’t care who he was.
‘I want to go to America,’ said the boy eventually.
‘Well, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t,’ said Joel. ‘Just work hard at school and get a job.’
Caleb laughed. ‘Ha. What’s the point?’
‘Well, I wanted to travel.’
‘Yeah,’ said Caleb, kicking the dirt. ‘You’re not from where I’m from.’
Joel looked at him. ‘I grew up in a children’s home.’
The boy blinked. ‘Aye?’ he said cautiously. They were scrubbing the frying pan, neither of them particularly well.
‘Aye,’ said Joel, rather clumsily.
‘And you went to college and that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you still came here?’
Joel laughed and splashed him with bubbles. ‘Watch it,’ he said.