The door bleeped as Lucy entered into the earthy fug of freshly ground coffee.
Benedict’s mum, Nikki, stood, mouth pursed.
Lucy ignored her, walked up to the counter instead and made a big show of examining the menu chalked up on the back wall. Kept her voice low. ‘It’s probably best if you pretend I’m not here. Don’t want to scare Benedict off, before we can help him.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ She flushed pink, then sat down again. Went back to fiddling with her napkin. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’
A young man appeared behind the counter, all spots and jutting chin, bumfluff clinging to his jaw, but nothing on his top lip. ‘Help you?’
‘Latte: hazelnut syrup, chocolate sprinkles, and a raspberry muffin, please.’ Then she helped herself to a copy of that morning’s Daily Standard from the small selection of papers on the rack. After all, if she was going undercover, she might as well look the part.
Dear Lord, but the Daily Standard was an awful right-wing rag. If it wasn’t ranting on about migrants, or travellers, or the EU, or lefties, or ‘woke’ celebrities, it was praising the idiots in government, or bowing and scraping to the royal family, while having a pop at anyone daring to be brown-skinned in public life. Not in a racist way, of course. No, no, no, it was simply reflecting the thoughts and fears of its loyal readership. ‘Will of the people’, and all that rancid... Lucy scowled. The bloody Dunk was rubbing off on her, wasn’t he? If she wasn’t careful, next thing you knew she’d be dressed head-to-toe in black, shouting, ‘Smash the system!’ and ‘Groovy, daddio!’
‘Hello?’
When she looked up from the paper, there was Benedict’s mum, Nikki, holding her coffee mug as if it were a security blanket. ‘Mrs Strachan.’
‘I’m really sorry, but I don’t think he’s coming.’
Quick glance at the clock above the counter: ten to eight. Benedict was twenty minutes late.
Nikki pulled out the chair opposite and sank into it, shoulders slumped. ‘He used to love coming here. I mean, this was when it was one of those places that did sweet and savoury pancakes? He’d have a Nutella-and-banana stack and watch the trains going to and from the distilleries for hours.’ She stared into the half-drunk depths of her mug. ‘Before it all went wrong.’
Might as well face it, Lucy was going to have to call Benedict’s CJ social worker and tell him to get the paperwork started. Their good deed for the day was a complete failure.
‘Ian used to work as a management consultant at Glendorchadas, you know, when he was on the council. People said it was a conflict of interest — city councillor working for a distillery — but he always maintained it was good for Oldcastle. That if local businesses didn’t thrive, neither could the city.’
Still, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. In the end, Benedict only had himself to blame. Again.
‘We used to be such a happy little family...’
Lucy folded the paper and placed it on the table. ‘Did he fall in with a new crowd? Or maybe there was a girl he was trying to impress?’
Frown. ‘What, Ian?’
‘Benedict.’
‘Oh...’ The creases between her eyebrows deepened. ‘No. Not really. Benny...’ She cleared her throat. ‘He was always very young for his age. Romance hadn’t even registered on the horizon: too busy with astronomy and palaeontology. It’s hard for a girl to compete with quasars and dinosaurs.’
‘What about new friends?’
‘He was working hard, gearing up for the first term at a new school, looking forward to getting his hands on some fancy science kit. Then...’ Nikki shook her head. ‘He wasn’t like that. He was such a sweet little boy. He was my angel.’
Not exactly helpful.
Maybe try another tack? ‘When I spoke to him, yesterday, he kept saying “They” were after him.’
Nikki shuddered. ‘Please, just the word’s enough to...’ Her mouth hung open, eyes fixed over Lucy’s shoulder at the coffee-shop window. ‘Oh my God.’ She stood. ‘My little boy...’ Then she was out of her seat and hurrying through the door.
By the time Lucy caught up, she was wrapping her son in a hug, kissing his forehead, tears glistening on her cheeks.
‘Oh my baby, what have they done to you?’
Benedict’s arms hung limp at his sides, the cast on his left arm a lot filthier than before, face turned to one side, those bruises looking dark and heavy in the streetlights’ glow. ‘Mum, I need some money.’
‘I’ve missed you so much.’
That bored voice buzzed out from the tannoy system again: ‘Passengers are advised to take care, as the platform may be slippery due to weather conditions.’
‘There’s things I need to do. Things... You and Dad aren’t safe, because of me, but I’ve figured it out!’
‘Shhh... Shhh...’ Stroking his lank hair. ‘It’ll be OK, I promise.’
‘I need to fix things. I need to...’ And that was when he looked at Lucy. His swollen mouth clacked shut.
‘Hi, Benedict.’ Lucy stepped forward. ‘I’m here to help you.’
‘What’s she doing here, Mum?’ Wriggling his way free and backing off a couple of paces. ‘You were supposed to come alone!’
‘Shhh... Baby, shhh... It’s—’
‘You didn’t report to your Criminal Justice social worker today, Benedict. I need you to come with me and speak to him, or they’ll find you in breach of your release conditions.’
He turned on Nikki. ‘You lied to me!’ Shoving her away from him.
‘Oh my poor baby, I didn’t—’
‘They’re going to throw you back in prison if you don’t come with me, Benedict.’ Advancing slowly, being as unthreatening as possible. ‘It’s not too late.’
‘Baby, we can—’
‘YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COME ALONE!’ The fingers on his good hand curled into a fist.
OK, this was going downhill fast.
Lucy inched closer. ‘It’s all right, Benedict, everything’s going to be fine. You’re not in any trouble.’
His unswollen eye went wide. ‘They got to you, didn’t They? You’re working for Them now!’ Paranoid and stoned, all over again.
‘Come with me, Benedict, and we’ll sort things out with your social worker.’
‘You’re going to kill me because I got caught!’ Lurching backwards, as if the tarmac shook beneath his feet. ‘I never told anyone! I didn’t! I kept the secret!’
Should’ve brought her collapsible baton with her, or at least some pepper spray. ‘You’re safe now. No one’s trying to kill—’
‘I KEPT THE SECRET!’ He turned and ran.
Damn it.
Lucy chased after him, as that same bored voice tried something new for a change: ‘Please stand behind the yellow line. The next train at Platform One will not stop.’
Why did everyone have to run?
Though, to be fair, he wasn’t running very fast.
He hurpled out of the car park and across the road, Lucy closing the gap at an easy jog. Whoever had beaten him, they’d done a thorough job and now his top speed wasn’t anything to worry about.
‘Come on, Benedict, I’m trying to help you here.’
No answer, just huffing and panting as he lumbered up the steps to the train station.
‘They’re going to send you back to prison if you don’t come with me.’
It’d been a manned station at one point, but now the ticket office and the waiting room were all boarded up, the walls clarted with bills advertising local bands and car boot sales. A ticket machine sat inside a bus-shelter affair, and a footbridge connected this side to the other platform — though, from the looks of things, no one had used that one for years.