No one’s mother would be happy to know their child was suffering.
I shrugged, and kept my eyes focused on the floor. “You haven’t met Mummy,” I said.
The next few days were somewhat challenging.
On several occasions, Raymond arrived unannounced, ostensibly to bring comestibles or relaying messages from Bob,
but in fact to check that I hadn’t committed an act of self-slaughter.
If I were to compose a concise crossword clue to describe Raymond’s demeanor, it would be the opposite of inscrutable.
I could only hope that the man refrained from playing poker on all but the most casual basis,
as I feared he’d be leaving the table with an empty wallet.
It was surprising that he should bother with me, especially given the unpleasant circumstances in which he’d found me after the concert.
Whenever I’d been sad or upset before, the relevant people in my life would simply call my social worker and I’d be moved somewhere else.
Raymond hadn’t phoned anyone or asked an outside agency to intervene. He’d elected to look after me himself.
I’d been pondering this, and concluded that there must be some people for whom difficult behavior wasn’t a reason to end their relationship with you.
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