Page 53 of Indie

“No, Emmie. Stay here till I know it’s safe.”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry, a tug of dread at the bottom of my diaphragm, watching him step into the house and leaving us behind.

“What’s he doing mam? Why can’t we go in?” Luke whined.

“I think we’ve been burgled. Indie’s going to check it’s safe.”

I could hear his footsteps inside, stomping over the laminate flooring and then moving away again, a hammer of booted feet on the stairs. Daisy barked furiously, locked away in the utility room, her voice shrill with urgency and a growl on the periphery. And then eventually the steps came back, growing louder, the tempo changing from heavy clods to a slower stomp.

The door yanked open.

“It’s not pretty,” Indie muttered, his voice low enough so that only I could hear. “But it’s safe.”

I swallowed, the acid in my stomach rising to the back of my throat. And nodded. Then I turned to the kids.

“Luke. Lily. Some naughty people have broken into our house. They’ve left a mess, and they may have taken stuff. When we go in, I want you to go to the lounge and sit down for me. There’s probably going to be glass about, and I need to get that tidied up first.”

Lily looked up, her grey eyes glossing over, her bottom lip wobbling.

“It’s ok, Princess,” Indie’s voice purred, gentle and calming, as he dropped to his haunches in front of her. “We’ll get it tidied up and then you’ll never know it happened.”

Luke stayed silent. Quiet tension on a nine-year-old’s face. There was no hint he might cry, just an eerie stillness.

I followed Indie into the house, Lily’s little hand gripping mine, waiting for the carnage to hit me. And carnage it was. The contents of the kitchen cupboards were all over the floor, cups and plates smashed where they had just been dragged out. Cereals scattered, Coco pops and Rice Krispies spilled everywhere and crushed to dust, where someone had walked backwards and forwards repeatedly.

No room had been left untouched. They had been absolutely everywhere. The lounge had got off lightly, the cushions pulled off the sofa and dumped on the floor. Indie was already putting it back together.

“Look, kiddo. Good as new,” he purred to the small girl stood at his side, as he patted the last cushion into place.

“I can’t see Mr Morris. I left him here. Someone’s taken Mr Morris!” Her voice escalated, panic rising.

“We’ll find him, Lily. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”

Upstairs was worse. The full contents of the airing cupboard had been pulled out, towels and bedding scattered across the landing, and I had to step onto them just to pass. I found Luke in his room, sitting on the floor. In his hands was a games controller. But that wasn’t what he was staring at. Opposite him was his X-Box. The once rectangular box pulled apart. Gutted. He wasn’t crying, yet his face was a mix of emotions. A concoction of unreadable expressions. Every feelinghe was having right now all mixed into one, to the extent that I couldn’t dissect anything at all.

“Luke,” I said cautiously.

“My X-Box.”

That was all he said. In every one of those few words, I could hear his pain. And I could feel it.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Why? You didn’t do this?”

I didn’t. I hadn’t. But I thought I knew who had. And that would be because of me. So yes. I had done this. There were no words I could offer to make any of this any better. To take any of his pain away. I couldn’t tell him I’d buy him a new one. I had no money for that. We were managing now. Just. But there was little left for anything like a new X-Box.

The stairs creaked under a heavy weight. Indie’s footsteps padded in long gentle thuds across the landing and then his frame blocked the doorway. I pushed myself to my feet, leaving my son sitting on the floor, nursing the broken bits of his X-Box. We said nothing, just a look, and I cocked my head sideways, beckoning for him to follow me.

In my room, the mess was even worse. My bedside drawers had been pulled out, all my underwear spread on my bed. If I was missing any, I wouldn’t ever know. My room didn’t have much. A few ornaments, a couple of pictures. And all of them had been smashed.

“Emmie….” Indie started.

But I stopped him, just putting my finger up in the air. A sign I needed a moment. A moment to get the anger racingthrough my veins under control, and to stop the spill of tears. To stop the swell of them at the back of my throat and the burn of them behind my eyes.

“It’s Gaz,” I said when I’d stopped the sobs from breaking out of me. “It can only be Gaz.”

Indie looked tense. A flash of something across his eyes and the flicker of the muscle in his neck.