Page 41 of No Kind Words

“You’re incredible, you know that, Ben. This is so kind of you, and you haven’t even met him yet.” He leans forward on the sofa and takes my hand. “I can’t think of anything better than being with you.”

The stairs creak, and we both look up. The frail, bruised young man stands on the middle step, staring at us, one hand on the rail, the other holding up the too-large sweatpants. Everything is swimming on him. He looks so fragile and scared. I want to wrap my arms around him and promise he’s going to be okay. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says in almost a whisper.

“It’s okay. Come on down. I’ll introduce you to my boyfriend.” When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, we both stand. Jethro walks up to Roddy and puts his hand gently on his shoulder. “This is Ben, but everyone else calls him Benny.”

“Hi, Roddy, it’s great to meet you.” I hold out my hand. He grips it softly. I keep it gentle, conscious of the many injuries he has.

“Um, hi. Nice to meet you too.” He tries to smile, but with all the bruises and swelling, it’s more of a grimace.

“What’s up? Are you hungry?” From the softness in Jethro’s eyes, the tender way he speaks to this broken young man, it’s obvious why Roddy travelled over five hundred miles to be with him. He knew he would be welcome and safe with Jethro.

“I am a bit. The doctor says I should start by eating little amounts until my stomach is used to it again.” Christ, he sounds like a starvation case. He should probably be in the hospital, but he’s already said no to that.

“Not a problem. Let’s start with some of the porridge. There’s nothing in it that can cause any upset. But when you’re feeling better, you can get some of Ben’s famous French toast. You won’t believe how good it is.” Jethro smiles at me. “It’s a fact, right, Ben?”

“Just let me know when, kiddo.”

“You cook?” A little spark flares in his eyes for a second. Then it’s gone, snuffed out.

“I do. I own a café in town. I bake all the cakes, pastries, and savoury goods myself. You’ll have to come and taste some or tell me what you like, and we can make them here.” I’m more than happy to give him something to look forward to and focus on if cooking is something he’s interested in.

“Thank you, you’re kind.” He blushes a little, although it’s hard to tell with the bruises.

And doesn’t that break my heart a little bit more? He shouldn’t have to thank me for something as normal as making something to eat. “You’re in a good place, Roddy. There are a lot of kind people here.”

Jethro looks at me like he wants to snog my face off, so I’ve said the right thing.

Good to know.

The last ten days have flown by. Between work and looking after Roddy, I’m exhausted, but seeing Roddy begin to heal is a joy. George has done another check-up. His chest infection is improving, and the bruises are fading. The only issue is that he’s still silent about why and how he’s come here. The one thing he’s said is that he needed to get away. Hopefully, he’ll eventually trust me enough to tell me.

“Hey, Roddy,” I call as I walk into the house. After three days of me sleeping on the sofa, I’d had enough, and we moved over to Ben’s. Roddy and Ben are getting on well. All Ben does is cook and feed him. Roddy’s already filling out a little.

“I’m in here,” he shouts back, and I’m not surprised he’s in the kitchen. He’s taking a great interest in cooking and is showing a talent for it too. I am worried about his lack of education and why he lied about his age, though. I’m not sure how to approach it. I suppose the best way is to ask him.

I walk through to the kitchen and find him looking through recipe books. I sit at the table opposite him. “Roddy, can we have a talk? You’re not in any trouble, but I’d like to know why you lied to me about your age.”

He worries his lip between his thumb and finger, and his eyes well with tears. He shakes his head so the tears splatter across his cheeks. I capture his free hand in mine and squeeze it gently. “I told you, you’re not in trouble. Nothing you say will make me send you away.”

“I knew you’d tell the police, and they would take me home. I wasn’t safe there. My dad, he-he would do things to me.”

A shiver of terror runs down my spine. I thought what my dad had done to me was bad, but if Roddy had been molested, that knocks anything that happened to me into the dust. “You weren’t thrown out, were you? You ran away.”

He nods. “I couldn’t stay there any longer. He was getting worse. He never touched my sister, so I thought she’d be safe.”

“Jesus, Roddy, I’m so, so sorry. I wished I’d known. I would’ve helped you so much more. God, how did you survive?”

He shrugs. “I just did what I could. I hid a lot of the time. I thought he’d be looking for me or told the police.” He lifts his head, defiance glaring in his gaze.

Is his nonchalance an act to look as if he doesn’t care, or is he so hardened by his past it’s genuine. A lightbulb goes off, and I know why he ran to me. “He found you.”

Tears flow freely down his cheeks. “Yeah, twice. The first time he beat me up when I refused to come home, then dumped me at the hospital. I think he knew he’d be able to keep an eye on me there, but I ran away.”

“Did you try to call me from there?” God, why hadn’t I picked up the call? He nods but doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry, Roddy, about everything. You said he found you again.”

“Yeah, one of the other kids I hung out with said a man was looking for me. When he described him, I knew I had to leave. I walked, hitching rides when I could. I gotta say it was scary as fuck, Jet, but not as scary as being found again.” He wipes his face with his palm and gives me a watery smile. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what will happen next, but we’ll work it out.”

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