A Boy Without Hope: Part 2 of 3. Casey Watson

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       Chapter 9

      What’s that story about the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dam? Knowing that if he pulls it out there will be a torrent and then a flood? I don’t know what had happened, exactly – was it the action of leaving the house? Or getting in the car? I had no idea which, but one thing was clear. It was almost as if a switch had flipped inside Miller, and turned him into a completely different child.

      ‘Do you think Donald Trump is a good president, Casey? Do they have a phone shop in your town? And have they got a game shop? Or are we just going to do boring things when we get there? I hate shopping. I like phone shopping and game shopping, but I hate shopping-­shopping. Just so you know.’

      This just in the few seconds it took to reverse off the drive. More words that I’d heard him say at one time in a long while. And on it went. Was there a climbing wall, like in the last place he’d gone to? How long would the journey take? Would he be allowed any sweets? ‘And, as well,’ he continued, ‘do you know what horse power this engine has? It’s important, for, like, when you are loading it up with passengers and suitcases and everything. And, as well, did you know that the size of your feet when you’re a baby determines how tall you’re going to be as an adult? Casey? Answer me. Did you? Did you know that?’

      It was such a torrent of words that I even checked the rear-view mirror, just in case Miller had run off and persuaded a completely different child to take his place.

      I managed to meet his eye, even if only briefly. ‘Goodness me,’ I said. ‘One question at a time, please, Miller. And maybe it should wait till we get into town, eh? There are lots of new road works and I don’t want to end up in the wrong lane or something. Okay? And could you stop yanking my seat back while you’re talking, please?’

      ‘Okay,’ he said. But it did nothing to stem the astonishing tide. This was more unsolicited conversation than I’d heard from him since he’d been with us, in fact, and I was truly stumped by what had brought it about. ‘What do you think about that North Korean leader?’ he asked brightly. ‘I reckon Trump will off him. His followers all have the same haircuts, you know. Shall I tell you the history of the Korean divide? Casey, do they have a game shop in town? I bet they do. Towns always do. I bet they have lots of phone shops as well. Which do you think is best, the Galaxy or the iPhone?’

      By the time I’d wound my tortuous way through the road works and into the town-centre car park, I felt almost like my head was exploding. And before long, with no sign of his non-stop chatter abating, I began to wonder if there wasn’t more to this uncharacteristic animation than I’d first supposed. Yes, it was great that he was chatting to me, but was that all there was to it? He seemed to leap from one bizarre train of thought to another, and though my professional head wondered if this, too, was a sign of autism, my instinct, increasingly, was that I was being wound up. That he was babbling on at me with the express intention of irritating me. To the point, given I was trying to negotiate Saturday afternoon town-centre traffic, that I would tell him to shut up?

      It was an effort of will (why did this kid keep bringing out the worst in me?) to stick to the former. ‘Right!’ I said cheerfully, once we were safely in our parking space and I’d opened the door to let him out. ‘Shoot. Ask me anything you want.’

      Miller yanked his hoodie down over his skinny hips. He seemed all out of questions. ‘Donald Trump, was it?’ I prompted, as I shut and locked the car.

      Silence. I pointed towards the pedestrian exit and he stomped along beside me. ‘Are we going to the phone shop first?’ he finally asked.

      ‘The phone shop? No, love. We’re not. I don’t need to go to the phone shop.’

      ‘The game shop, then? The game shop and then the phone shop.’

      I stopped by the fire door. ‘Miller, I’ve come into town to pick up a few bits that I need. Then maybe to get a coffee – and you can have an ice cream, if you like – and only then, if there’s time, we might go in the game shop. Whether that happens or not will very much depend on you.’

      He stood and pouted, his gaze darting around me rather than at me. ‘Not going, then. Not till you promise about the game shop.’

      ‘That’s not a promise I’m prepared to make, Miller. That’s not how it works. You asked to come, and I’ve brought you, but I’m here to do my shopping. So your choice is to accompany me without moaning and groaning, in which case, there will definitely be an ice cream in the mix, and, if there’s time, we will go to the game shop. Alternatively’ – at this point I pulled my СКАЧАТЬ