Over the next few days our family adjusted as usual to having a new person living in the house. Mum continued driving us to school, and once home I was either finishing off my GCSE coursework in my bedroom or Jonah was out with my mum or dad, replacing all the things he’d left behind, or never had – clothes, toiletries and a phone.
At mealtimes he was polite enough with my parents, although he mostly remained quiet unless asked a direct question, and he occasionally chatted with Nicky about their similar music taste. For me, it still felt strange. Jonah King was an enigma at school. Silent, friendless, slightly terrifying because no one knew what lay behind that blank face and badass attitude. Far too cool to notice someone like me. At home, we shared the same bathroom, drank the same juice, and when I opened a carrier bag, thinking it was the Topshop jeans I’d bought with my birthday money, I found a pack of Topman boxer shorts.
I nodded when I passed him in the hallway at home. Did the same at school. But when it came to more than that, I couldn’t seem to get the friendly, welcoming words bumbling about inside my head out of my mouth.
Honestly? Every time he looked at me – and this boy was bizarrely good at making direct eye contact – my breath caught. I didn’t trust myself to speak to him because I didn’t know what this was or how to handle it.
After five nights of my ducking my head and being even quieter than usual at mealtimes, my parents called Nicky and me into the dining room while Jonah was visiting his younger brother and sister, who were now living with a foster carer in a nearby town.
‘So, Jonah is still with us,’ Mum said, using her Serious Voice.
‘What, he’s still here?’ Nicky asked, her face a picture of innocence. ‘Oh! So that explains why the bathroom stinks of Lynx and the snack cupboard empties within moments of you restocking it. I was wondering who the giant trainers in the hallway belonged to.’
‘Social services are having a really tough time finding him a longer-term placement.’
‘Well, duh!’ Nicky rolled her eyes. ‘A teenage boy with a violent criminal record? I can’t imagine why.’
‘He’s not got a criminal record!’ Dad retorted. ‘Where did you hear that?’
She shrugged. ‘Rosie’s brother said he beat the crap out of someone. And he’s been done for stealing.’
Dad took a deep breath. ‘When his mother’s boyfriend hurt Jonah’s sister, there was a minor physical altercation. And yes, he has stolen food. Again, for his siblings. And you two know never to repeat this information outside this house.’
‘Is he staying longer, then? Is that what this is about?’ I asked, not wanting to think too hard about Jonah’s six-year-old sister, Ellis, being hurt.
‘We’ve been thinking about it. We really like Jonah, and we can’t bear the idea of him being moved so far away from Ellis and Billy after everything they’ve been through. He’s basically raised them himself. But obviously we all need to be happy with the decision. So, please be honest. What do you think about us offering Jonah a home here for a while longer?’
‘How much longer?’ Nicky asked. ‘Until they can find a long-term placement nearby?’
‘No. We’ll be the long-term placement.’
‘Until he’s eighteen?’
‘At least until then,’ Dad replied.
‘Fine.’ Nicky shrugged, playing with the end of her artificially orange plait. ‘I’ll be gone in September, anyway.’
Nicky had an offer to study medicine at Cardiff University. I was proud and miserable about her moving away in equal measure.
‘Libby?’ Mum asked. ‘I know this might be strange for you, with him being at the same school. But it’s only another few months, and in September he’ll be starting college. How would you feel about him staying with us?’
Honestly, if my parents had an inkling of how I was starting to feel about Jonah King, he’d be out of here first thing in the morning. But when I thought about how much his siblings would miss having him nearby, I resolved to not allow a tiny, weird, sure-to-be-unrequited crush cause these children yet more suffering. He’d become like a brother soon enough, and any trace of feelings would fizzle out until even the idea of liking him that way felt disgusting.
‘If there’s nowhere else, then I think he should stay here,’ I said, keeping my voice as level as possible. ‘For Ellis and Billy’s sake.’
Nicky gave me a swift, sidelong glance before focussing her attention back on her plait.
‘Are you sure?’ Dad asked. ‘There’s nothing you want to discuss first? More rumours you’ve heard about, or other issues?’
‘Maybe rather than the girls speculating, we should fill them in before we make a final decision?’ Mum suggested. ‘You know we can’t tell you everything, but it might be helpful to share the bare bones, so you’re aware of how it might impact us as a family.’
And so, I got to hear the short version of Jonah King’s story. The kind of information that half my year would gorge on like a dessert buffet. That, when it is a young person living in your house rather than the misfit kid at school, pierces you right between the ribs, making it almost impossible not to want to give them the kind of home they never had.
Jonah’s story was similar to ones we’d heard many times before. A mother with mental health issues, scraping by on benefits, an uninterested dad and an extended family who didn’t care. She’d muddled through until Jonah was nine, when she’d become embroiled with a violent man who got her pregnant. Another man soon replaced him, and a year after Ellis was born, she was pregnant again. Over the next few years Jonah and his siblings endured a nightmare roller coaster of abuse and neglect as various other men came and went, none of whom were interested in three children.
A week ago, instead of aiming at Jonah or his mother, her latest boyfriend left the imprint of an army boot on her daughter’s semi-emaciated back.
When their mother ran in the kitchen and found Jonah wrestling with her lover on the filthy linoleum, she called the police.
Jonah was not the one carted off in handcuffs that day, despite his mother’s protests.
And now, here we were, a random, ordinary little family in Bigley Bottom, having been offered the potential to change his whole life.
Mum blotted her eyes, gave each of us a grateful hug and called the social worker.