Chapter 26
Fox
From the outside it looked like an ordinary day, but on the inside?
Chaos reigned in my head, and I’d skipped lunch so I wouldn’t throw up.
I’d requested a phone call with the local head of social services in Glasgow, and the questions I was about to ask were…
eating me up. What on earth was I doing?
Also, yes. Noah and I had joked about it. Dreamed up scenarios and then laughed. We hadn’t actually said, yes. Let’s do this. Let’s move in together. Noah! Move to Scotland. Do it!
Perhaps the words had come out in different combinations, but I was so stressed and confused that nothing made sense.
The phone call I took part in felt like a blur from start to finish.
My head was a mess.
Then I sat down and tried to make notes and gather all my findings in a comprehensive set of bullet points.
All I got on that piece of paper was I love him. I miss him. I want all of this. This kid is mine. This family is mine. I just didn’t know how to get there.
Was I worthy? Could I do this? I had no idea, but after that last, slightly unhinged meeting with the school board, my confidence felt…
fine. I was surprisingly fine, and the head of Glasgow Social Services was a nice man who had explained that I had most of the paperwork needed to get started to train as a foster carer if that was what I wanted.
Adoption? He could put me on a list for an information meeting.
I’d blatantly told him that it wasn’t enough. That there was a young boy here who needed to feel like he belonged. I’d ranted about the damage we were doing because we could make no promises. We couldn’t reassure a child that he was safe and loved and cared for. And that to me was a major problem.
The poor guy probably thought I was unstable and weird, but surprisingly he’d emailed me back with an appointment to see someone from the Glasgow team in a week and enough attached leaflets with cheery titles to make me cross-eyed.
I was doing this then. Perhaps I was.
“Mr Riley, sir.” Here was Olsen and Ito barging through the office door, swiftly followed by Barnstowe and Ortega. “Mr Riley, you’re needed. There is some kind of commotion by the gate.”
“What kind of commotion?” I said calmly. Oh God. What had Jones got up to now? Another herd of escaped cattle from Gunner’s Farm?
“There’s someone asking for you, and there’s shouting. Ms Blessing is down there too.”
“Oh.” No cows then. Emma hated the bloody cows.
“Come on!” Olsen urged, stepping aside to let me past. His hand pushing me through the door.
Okay. Calm down.
We walked across the courtyard, and yes, there was shouting, and the assembled schoolboys were…quite a herd in themselves. Not a cow in sight. Just Emma and Jones and…a car that looked far too familiar.
And a certain…Mr Thomas Swain, holding a stupid bunch of petrol station flowers. Still in the bloody cellophane. I was surprised he hadn’t chosen a bunch with a big yellow reduced sticker on because that was his style.
For all that was good and almighty.
I sighed. And there was nothing else. No anger. No fear. No anything, because I was Fox Riley, and this was my school. And I lived here, and these were my boys and this was my…
Mine. This was all mine, and he had no right to even breathe the same air as the rest of us up here.
“Thomas,” I said sternly.
“Fox, sweetheart, this man is refusing to let me in. I need to park up inside, the verge is not large enough…”
Sweetheart? What the all-compassing…fuck?
This was me, and these were my boys, and I, for one, was nobody’s sweetheart. I was a teacher. I was the fucking headteacher.
Don’t lose your cool. All the boys are watching, and you need to handle this. Show authority.
I was breathing, but I was also… Damn. A year ago? I would have found this slightly romantic. I would have been a little pleased. Charmed by his efforts. And I realised my life was so incredibly different now and that…this was just a joke. A massive idiotic joke, and I wasn’t talking about myself.
I was Fox Riley. I was better than this. My life was better than…cheap petrol station flowers? What was he doing here anyway? And was he expecting me to go along with this…farce?
“Get back in that car and leave,” I said sternly. “There is nothing for you here. This is private property, and we have children on the premises. Leave.”
“You heard him!” someone shouted.
“Oh fuck off, Riley,” Thomas snarled. “You know this is what you want.”
“Control your language, Mr Swain. Don’t you talk to him like that.
” Emma. Taking a step forward. The gate sternly in her grip.
Jones on the other side, and I knew full well Thomas Swain wasn’t getting anywhere near me.
Over my dead body. I took a step forward as someone stepped in front of me, holding his arm out.
“Get away from him!” Bailey Butcher, screeching at the top of his voice.
“Yeah, you need to leave.” Ortega. Senior. Built like a brick house. Arms crossed.
“Mr Riley is in charge here, mate.” Thurrock. Taking a step forward too. Arms out.
And I stood there, wondering why I always thought I was so inadequate.
Here I was, and I had all these people who actually…
cared. And I’d spent my savings on a holiday with people who didn’t, and I wondered what I’d been thinking.
I stood there, and I laughed out loud because I couldn’t believe what I’d done to myself.
Why I’d thought it had been a good idea.
“Do you want me to call the police, sir?” Armstrong, hanging on to my arm. Oh God. What was I doing to these boys? What kind of trauma was I inflicting here? And what kind of goddamn role model was I? Seriously, Fox?
“Leave, Mr Swain. You’re not wanted here,” I repeated as Thomas fumbled with the goddamn flowers.
“Yeah, take your cheap flowers and find someone who cares,” someone shouted from behind me.
“Don’t mess with my dad.” Bailey. Oh fucking hell, kid. I put my hand on his shoulder. Squeezed tight.
“You heard the man,” Jones growled. “You have five seconds to get back in that car before I get the baton out.”
“Threats are illegal,” Thomas squealed. Fucking coward.
“Private property and you’re trespassing,” Emma said sternly. “Riley?”
“Leave,” I barked. “You heard the man. You’ve wasted two seconds already. Three.”
The boys pushed forward. This wasn’t good. I’d have a riot on my hands here in a second, but Thomas finally saw sense and scurried back to his car. Threw the flowers to the ground and slammed the door shut.
“Idiot,” Ortega snarled next to me. “You have crap taste in blokes, sir.”
“I did,” I agreed. Fuck. Don’t show weakness. Stay in control. But I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.
“Now, gentlemen,” I said, clapping my hands in the air. “Mrs Cook has afternoon tea ready, and we all know how upset Mrs Cook becomes when we let her efforts go to waste. Let’s go sit down and indulge.”
“You can sit with me, Dad.” Bailey grinned. “Ashoka has the dentist, so there’s a spare seat at our table.”
“Fabulous.” I grinned.
“And I’m right, you know. That was your boyfriend? Right? Boyfriends are idiots. You need a husband. Am I right or am I right?”
I wanted to say, “No, Bailey, you’re a child. And it doesn’t work like that.” But instead, I just laughed and nodded.
“Marry Noah, Dad. Then I’ll have two dads.” He looked awfully pleased with himself. “It will be good.”
“Yes,” I agreed. I mean, what else could I say? Dad? What the fuck, kid?
What a spectacle. Had I managed it right? And here was Emma slapping me gently on the shoulder. “Good job,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” I whispered back.
“When’s your man Fairweather turning up?”
“Soon,” I said. Soon. As soon as humanly possible, I hoped, because I was struggling here. With my emotions, myself, my sanity and my bloody hopes and dreams. Everything felt too fragile, and here I was again. Walking along with a little boy’s hand in mine like it belonged there.
“Mr Riley, sir. A word.”
Ah. Mr Bethan. A cheerful smile. A superb housemaster and a joy to work with. I almost read out his latest appraisal in my head because…I was losing it. Fast. Smile. Pretend you’re in control.
“Absolutely.” I sent Bailey on his way with Emma and stood there in the middle of the courtyard as Mr Bethan discreetly turned his back away from the retreating boys.
“Your young man. We are going along with his chosen name of Fairweather for now. He was made to remove the marker pen from his door, the chore board has been restored after he…attempted to deface it, and he has completed detention for five days and has been very helpful with his assigned tasks. The new door sign with his chosen name arrived today; I am going to get him to assist me in fitting it. Just wanted you to have the heads-up so you’re aware, sir. ”
“Very good.” It…was crazy. But okay. I could go along with it.
“It’s fine. He’s a very happy boy. And I am aware he sneaks out at night, and as long as you are happy with our current…arrangements?”
“I am very aware, and despite being satisfied that the boy is safe and sleeps well, my concern remains. Butch… Fairweather makes himself at home on my sofa. He sleeps through the night and sometimes takes his breakfast with me. It’s unconventional, I know, but under the circumstances?”
“He’s expressed an absolute joy at the arrangements.” Mr Bethan was an amateur actor and spoke like he was constantly on stage. I didn’t mind. He was a nice man, and he had once again shown himself to be exactly what he needed to be. Trustworthy. Reliable. Consistent. Kind.
Everything I needed was here.
Having worked late in the office, I made it back to my accommodation way past nine to find Bailey curled up on the sofa, his hair damp and wearing…pyjamas.
“Armstrong got these for his birthday. They were like two sizes too small for him, so he gave them to me. I’ve never owned…pyjamas. I feel like a baby.”