Oakleaf Academy For Boys

nineteen

Benji was stood in front of the rotting wooden gate, blocking the short pathway up to his front door. He had been stood there for a solid twenty minutes now, just staring and staring and staring. He wanted to rush in and lock his Mum in the tightest hug imaginable. But he also wanted to stay outside forever, because if he entered hell's waiting room, he wasn't sure he would return alive.

With trembling fingers, he reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the rusting metal hatch.

"Benji?"

He sighed in relief - he had a real excuse not to go inside. It was his neighbour, a wispy, ageing old lady in her late seventies. She was in her signature tatty slippers and frayed dressing gown, a newspaper clutched under her arm. Benji had always seen her as a parental figure, or the cooky old grandma who understands you more than your parents do. "Afternoon, Ms Paterson." He smiled warmly.

"You're not going to give your nan a hug?" She pressed jokingly, and Benji complied without a second thought. Once they pulled away, she held him at arms length, examining him up and down. "Look how much weight you've lost. I'll whip you something up - fancy a cheese toasty?"

He smiled again, but shook his head, "No, thank you, Ms Paterson. I should probably go home first."

"Well, don't forget about me. And Benji, sweetheart, I'm so sorry to hear about your Mum. You know that if you need anything at all, I'm here."

Benji's brows furrowed in confusion, "M-My Mum?" He stammered, waves of panic washing over him. He's killed her. She's dead.

"I'm sure she's safe, she was a tough woman."

"What are you talking about?"

"I haven't got my facts wrong, have I? I'm getting old, son, you'll have to forgive me. But I heard it from Margaret who heard it from Cheryl, who's son is great friends with the post man-"

"Ms Paterson, what have you heard about my Mum?" Benji asked, practically shaking with nerves.

The frail old lady froze, her cloudy eyes focussing intently on Benji, "She's done a runner."

The world collapsed around him as everything turned to dust. He frantically turned back to the gate and frustratedly fiddled with the lock until it cracked open and he pushed his way through, paying no mind to Ms Paterson. He banged on the door with no reservations; he wasn't scared anymore. His Dad could do whatever he wanted to him, as long as his Mum was safe. Please be safe.

Three seconds later and the door swung open, and Benji hated what he saw. A scruffy beard, a stained shirt and those eerily familiar blue eyes. But they were darker than those of his son's, more corrupt, more polluted. He looked genuinely surprised to see Benji, as if Oakleaf was expected to foster him forever.

"What're you doing here?" He grunted.

"Where is she?" Benji demanded, "Where's Mum?"

"You home now, or what-?"

Benji shoved past him mercilessly, "Mum? Mum!" He shouted into the shadowed house. He vaguely registered the sound of his Father's shutting the front door behind them, the bolt sliding into place, the chain clinking and rattling.

The house was darker and dustier than he had remembered. Shadows seemed to cling to every corner and haunt every inch of the house. He could see through the living room into the kitchen, where empty beer cans and dirty ash trays littered every surface, the sink stacked high with forgotten plates and cutlery. But the worst sight was that of Benji's Dad. Beer stained his shirt, cigarette smoke lingered in his beard and a glint of insanity haunted his eyes.