Page 84 of The Player
Then, out of the blue, he said, “It’s horrible here.”
I was surprised he’d spoken again.
“Is it because of that Obi kid?” My eyes flicked to the ceiling where I could hear fighting upstairs, but the boy shook his head.
“I like Obi,” he said. “He fights back.”
“Will I need to fight?” I asked, feeling that scary twist in my stomach again. I always got into fights at school, but the Obi kid upstairs, he sounded tough.
“Depends,” the kid replied on a shrug.
“On what?”
“On whether they choose you.”
ChapterThirty-Six
WILL
The Story of Clivesdon House
Nineteen Years Ago
We stayed in the games room on that first day. Frankie was happy to play on the floor, and when he got bored, he sat and watched the TV in the corner of the room. It hadn’t been switched on when we came in, but the silent boy said it was okay.
I tried to talk to the silent boy, but I don’t think he wanted to be my friend. Sometimes, he answered my questions with simple answers. Other times, he didn’t answer at all. He didn’t ask me anything, and he wouldn’t tell me his name. He said it didn’t matter.
He liked watching Frankie though, that and staring out of the window. I asked him if he wanted to go outside, but he said, “They won’t let you.” I found that strange because later, I saw older boys coming into the house. They’d been outside. Maybe it was just the little kids that weren’t allowed to play out.
Later, a lady came in and told us it was time for dinner. She smiled at me and Frankie, beckoning us to follow her, but when I turned to ask the silent boy why he wasn’t coming too, the lady said, “He doesn’t like to sit in the dining room. He prefers to eat on his own in here.” She looked at him with pity and added, “He doesn’t like mixing with the other boys. He likes his own company.”
Me and Frankie were hungry, so I followed her out of the room and down the corridor, following the noise to the dining room. Inside, there was a large dining table with loads of kids sitting around it eating sausage and mash with gravy. I found two chairs together and sat with Frankie next to me.
This room was busier than the games room, a lot noisier, and I glanced around at the boys stuffing food in their mouths, talking and messing about. One flicked some mash at another kid sitting opposite him, and the kid shouted at him, “Fuck off. Don’t waste the fucking food.”
The kid next to me must’ve seen me staring, and he whispered, “Dinner time is Obi’s favourite part of the day.” Then he gestured to the kid who’d said not to waste the food.
So that was Obi.
I nodded, making a mental note of the Obi kid so I could steer clear of him, and when the lady put a plate of sausage and mash in front of Frankie and me, we started shovelling it in just like the other kids.
“What’s your name?” the kid next to me asked.
“I’m Will and this is my little brother, Frankie,” I said through a mouthful of mash.
“How old’s Frankie?” he asked, peering around me to watch my little brother spoon the mash into his mouth and dribble gravy down his top.
“He’s nearly three,” I said, leaning forward. This kid seemed okay, but I still wanted to protect my little brother.
“Have you just turned up?” he asked, and I nodded as I chewed my sausage.
“We came this morning.”
“I didn’t see you in the yard playing football.” He frowned at me, and I shrugged back.
“Frankie was playing with the trucks in the games room.”
He shuddered when I told him that.
