Home Truths. Susan Lewis

He explained how he envisaged fitting in two large sofas and an armchair, a good-sized TV and an eight-seater dining table and chairs at the far end for when they had guests. Next came the kitchen, not huge, but at least four times the size of the one they had now, with pale oak veneer cabinets, a double sink, and mock-granite worktops. There was space for a small table and chairs, also for one of the big American-style fridge-freezers they’d always promised themselves they’d get one day. There was even a separate alcove for the washing machine and tumble dryer.

       ‘Obviously everything’s brand new,’ Steve announced like a salesman, ‘from the heating, to the electrics, to the plumbing, all the kitchen units … We’ve even got a dishwasher.’

       As he laughed, Angie slid her arms around him. ‘You might have to pinch me,’ she said, ‘because I’m still trying to take it in.’

       Holding her face between his hands, he said, ‘Just tell me you think we can be happy here.’

       ‘Of course we can,’ she murmured. ‘I can be happy anywhere as long as I’m with you.’

       Although it was the answer he’d expected, it still made his heart soar to the stars. He loved his wife a thousand times more than he’d ever be able to put into words. ‘I’m getting carried away with everything,’ he said, ‘but you know all the decisions will be yours. All I want is a small space for the piano.’

       ‘And a barbecue built into the terrace,’ she teased, ‘and swings, slides, sandpits for the children, and a shed somewhere to keep your surfing gear.’

       Smiling at the way she read him so easily, he kissed her tenderly, hoping to feel the baby fluttering against him, but she – Grace they were going to call her – was so close to arriving now that there wasn’t much room for her to move.

       ‘Found it!’ Liam yelled from the top of the stairs. ‘Can I have a bed like an aeroplane? Preston Andrews has got one and it’s really cool.’

       ‘Do you feel up to climbing the stairs?’ Steve asked.

       Angie shook her head. ‘Not right at this moment, but tell me what’s up there.’

       ‘Not three, but four bedrooms,’ he declared as if even he was still trying to believe it, ‘the master has room for an en suite if we want one, but there’s a really big bathroom with a walk-in shower that I know you’re going to love. I did it myself, using the tiles you picked out when I told you Hari was trying to make up his mind which way to go.’

       Eyebrows raised, she said, ‘So how long have you known he was going to let us rent this place?’

       ‘Only a couple of days. When I worked on it I had no idea.’

       Turning at the sound of Liam thundering down the stairs, Steve shouted, ‘We’re through here.’

       Finding them, Liam cried, ‘I can’t wait to bring all my friends here. They’re going to love it.’

       ‘And they’ll all be very welcome,’ Steve assured him, knowing how much it meant to his son to have friends, even those who didn’t always treat him well.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      It was early on Sunday morning. Angie was in the bathroom staring through specks of water on the mirror’s surface at her tired blue eyes as they assessed her reflection. It was as though it belonged to someone else, someone who looked vaguely like her; a kind of clone living another life over there in an alternative world.

       Angie through the looking glass.

      Maybe, in that elusive back-to-front place, things were actually as they should be, continuing unassumingly, happily, along the path she’d been on since she and Steve had moved to Kesterly fourteen years ago. OK, she’d understood that the odd curve ball could be lobbed in from out of the blue now and again, meaning tears had to be dried and hurdles overcome. Sometimes, Liam was picked on at school, and three miscarriages had followed Grace’s birth, making a total of seven altogether. In spite of the challenges they’d loved being parents right from the start; holding Liam in their arms knowing he belonged to them, that he was them, had made them feel as though they’d found the right way in the world. They were meant to create a family full of love and laughter, understanding and adventure, and for the most part that was how it had been. Now their youngest, Zac, was soon to be seven, making six years between each of the children, though somehow it had never seemed to matter – until one day they’d realized that it did.

      The first time Liam had been brought home by the police he was only eleven – eleven. His PE teacher had found a stash of drugs in his school bag and instead of contacting them he’d reported it. It was all a big mistake, of course, Liam didn’t even know what drugs were, much less how to get hold of them – or so they’d believed at the time. It was only later that they’d discovered how wrong they were, how life had already started slow-rolling the worst curve ball of all.

      In the weeks and months that followed, the problems increased in ways they’d never have imagined possible for their sweet-natured little boy who’d always been desperate to be noticed, to feel he belonged, to impress those he considered friends. They seemed to lose all connection with him as he was sucked deeper and deeper into the worst kind of crowd. He all but stopped going to school, and began spending his days hanging around street corners and municipal parks with kids from the notorious Temple Fields estate, thinking he was as cool and smart as them when he was anything but. They used him, abused him, had fun at his expense and he never saw them as anything but heroes. When he was expelled from school he wore his disgrace like a badge of honour and reviled his parents for trying to punish him. He began disappearing for days on end, and after the first few occasions the police simply told them that he’d come back when he was ready. His known involvement with the Satan Squad, as the biggest gang on the estate had ingloriously named itself, made him of far less interest to the overstretched authorities than any normal child of his age would be.

      No one had ever told his parents about the county line gangs that infiltrated small communities, priming local gangs to prey on vulnerable children and turning them into couriers or addicts, or both. They’d had no idea until it was already too late just how cruelly Liam was being exploited, manipulated and brainwashed by forces so evil that neither Angie nor Steve knew how to combat them. Even the police seemed to struggle. By the time he was fourteen they’d lost all contact with the sweet, innocent boy he’d been. He behaved as though he despised them.

      Steve became gaunt with worry, so stressed and fearful that it began affecting his health. Each time the police knocked at the door they expected the worst, that Liam had been stabbed, or he’d overdosed, he was in prison or he’d killed someone. Usually the police came because he was thought to be a witness to a crime, but they never found him at home.

      It was the day Steve spotted five-year-old Zac with an old syringe, making to jab it into his arm, that he’d finally lost it.

      Angie hadn’t been at home; if she had maybe she could have stopped him. As it was she’d been at the end of the phone when he’d said, ‘I’ve had enough, Ange. He’s no longer a son of mine.’

      ‘Don’t say that, Steve. Just tell me what’s happened. Where is he?’

      ‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find him and when I do …’

      ‘Steve,’ she cried in a panic. ‘‘Don’t go! Please … Oh God, no, please don’t …’

      ‘I can’t take any more, Angie. I swear … If you’d seen what I just have …’

      ‘Whatever it is …’

      ‘Our five-year-old son had a syringe in his hand.’

      She’d