‘What do you want me to do?’ Karim raised his arms. ‘I’m not a lot of use until they actually find something, am I?’

Howell beat Thorne to it. ‘If you’re looking for something to do,’ she said, ‘you can grab a bloody shovel.’

TWENTY-TWO

Tides House

A week after arriving on the island, Simon was asked to go and talk to Ruth; given a fifteen-minute slot after breakfast and invited to ‘come along for a chat’. He knocked on the door of the communal sitting room and was called in. The furniture had been rearranged, to make it look a bit cosier, Simon thought. There was an armchair, to which Ruth pointed, another in which she was sitting and a small sofa off to one side, where the screw with the straggly beard sat next to the one with the fat face and the greasy hair.

They didn’t look too thrilled to be sitting that close together.

Ruth nodded towards the low table between them. There were tea things laid out on a tray, a plate of chocolate biscuits. She asked him if he wanted tea, but he said he was fine.

She poured tea for herself and her colleagues.

‘Can I have some biscuits though?’

‘Of course,’ Ruth said. ‘Help yourself.’

Simon did, then sat back and listened. Up close, her voice was even posher than he’d first thought, but it was a lot softer too, now that she was only talking to him and not to a room full of boys.

‘You’re going to be with us for the next three months,’ she said. ‘How do you feel about that?’

Simon shrugged. He didn’t know what to say. Obviously, he wasn’t happy about doing time, but this place was much better than anywhere he’d been before and because he thought it was a lot to do with her, he found himself not wanting to hurt her feelings. ‘Good,’ he said, eventually.

She was flicking through a sheaf of notes, which Simon guessed was details of everything he’d ever done. Everything he’d ever been caught doing, anyway. Now and again, she would scribble something in the margin and he tried to see what it was, but her writing was far too small for him to make it out.

‘It’s shocking,’ she said, ‘that you’ve been in and out of the system this often. You’re clearly not a danger to anyone, are you?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘It’s just this obsession with cars we need to do something about.’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Ruth.’

‘Yes, Ruth,’ he said. He felt himself blushing, shoved another chocolate biscuit into his mouth.

The governor at the last place he’d been was a fat, bald northerner whose face went red all the time. He’d sat behind a huge desk and peered over the top of a folder at Simon, who had always felt about six years old or something. Sitting there next to some scowling screw, while the red-faced governor had sighed at him. Or made some lame joke about how nice it was to see Simon again, how his usual room was waiting.

Ruth sat back and took her glasses off, then tossed the notes on to the table. ‘What do you think of the island?’ she asked.

‘It’s nice,’ he said. ‘Never been anywhere like it before.’ The truth was he’d never really spent much time in the countryside, so he didn’t have anything to compare it to, but he did like it so far. He liked the fact that they spent so much time outside, for a start, and even when they were in the house they weren’t being shunted around. They could go where they liked, within reason, and as long as they didn’t trespass on private property or take liberties they weren’t being hassled or barked at. Food was a damn sight nicer too and he never worried that anyone was spitting in it.

‘Have you made any friends yet?’ Ruth asked.

‘Yeah,’ Simon said. ‘Well, sort of a friend… yeah, I think. We’re in the same room, so…’

Ruth picked up her notes again, turned the pages, nodded. ‘Stuart Nicklin,’ she said.

Simon thought he saw the fat-faced screw roll his eyes. He certainly folded his arms and let his head drop back a bit.

Ruth was still nodding. ‘It’s good to have friends,’ she said. ‘But we’re also keen to encourage self-reliance. You need to be making your own decisions, OK? This is not somewhere where someone is there to tell you what to do twenty-four hours a day like some other places you’ve been. We want you to decide what to paint, if you’re painting, what to cook when it’s your turn in the kitchen. We want you to decide what to grow in your allocated patch of garden.’

‘Can I grow some sunflowers?’ Simon asked.

Ruth smiled, scribbled something down. ‘I don’t see why not. The way we look at it, if you can make these small decisions for yourself then hopefully you’ll start to get the bigger decisions right. The decision to stop stealing cars, for instance.’

Simon nodded. He understood what she was saying. It made sense.

‘What would you like to happen when you go home, Simon?’

‘My mum’s poorly,’ he said. ‘So I want her to get better.’

‘Poorly?’ The fat-faced screw chuckled and shook his head.

‘I’m going to help her.’

‘That’s good,’ Ruth said.

‘I’ve got it all worked out.’

‘Excellent.’ Ruth scribbled again. ‘Planning is something else we’re very keen to see you do. I tell you what, why don’t you write it all down and bring it to show me, next time. We’ll be meeting like this once a week and I’d really like to see what you’ve got in mind.’

Simon told her that he would, and she seemed pleased, then the screw with the straggly beard stood up and Simon guessed it was time to leave. He hesitated, glancing at the table, and Ruth told him to take another biscuit if he wanted one. She said, ‘Don’t tell any of the other boys, though. That’s the last packet and we won’t be getting any more until the boat comes across again.’

Simon promised that he wouldn’t tell, then turned towards the door. Walking past the fireplace he noticed a collection of small china animals, like the ones you got in fancy Christmas crackers or something, and he slowed down so he could get a good look. There were loads of them, lined up like they were all friends or in a zoo or whatever. A tortoise and a cat and an owl, all sorts of others. He wondered where they’d come from, if they were already here when Ruth and the others arrived.

He thought that his mum would like them.

Stuart was sitting outside and Simon realised that he was waiting to go in, that he was the next one on the list. That made sense, because they were next to one another alphabetically.

Milner and Nicklin.

Simon had been happy when he’d found that out. Maybe it was the reason they were put in the same room. He decided it was another sign that they were meant to be mates.

‘What’s all that about then?’ Stuart nodded towards Ruth’s door.

‘It’s just like a chat,’ Simon said. ‘There’s a couple of screws in there, but it’s mostly just her. She’s got all your notes and all that. Wants to know what you think of the island. Who your friends are.’

‘So, what did you say?’

Simon shrugged. He held out the biscuit he’d taken right at the end. ‘I took this for you,’ he said. ‘I know you like chocolate.’

Stuart studied it for a few seconds, like he was trying to work something out. He said, ‘Thanks,’ and took it.

The biscuit had already started to melt and Simon suddenly began thinking about holding his hand out. Letting Stuart lick the chocolate from his palm and fingers. He felt the blood flooding his cheeks, so he quickly lowered his head and did it himself.

Stuart stood up and knocked on the door. He was still eating the biscuit, pushing in the crumbs from the corner of his mouth. He said, ‘See you afterwards, yeah?’

TWENTY-THREE

Fletcher and Jenks had deposited Nicklin and Batchelor, still cuffed, on hard chairs beneath the window. Fletcher went to make himself and his colleague more tea, while Jenks explored the hall. He opened cupboards, took out grubby plastic toys and mildewed textbooks. He lifted the dust sheet and played a few horrendous-sounding chords on the out-of-tune piano.