Mouse locks the door from the outside and just as he slips the key into his pocket his two siblings bolt down the corridor. Safe. Gloriously in one piece and no blood, nothing broken; everything, miraculously, all right. You’re cracked like an egg into runniness and relief. The three of them burst into the room. Your two eldest are holding hands, won’t let go, can’t, as if it’s impossible to stop touching now that contact’s been made and their faces are incredulous because they’ve made it, they’re safe.
‘You little monkey’ Soli attacks Tidge with tickles on the bed. ‘You absolute little monkey. You are so dead, mate.’
He was starving. Of course. And he had a plan. He’d set out early because there’d be breakfast trays then and possibly, even, jam toast. He’d go to the top floor because the people up there would be richer and the women more afraid of getting fat, so more things would be left. Tidge let himself out of the room with its fidgety sky. Didn’t tell his sister because she’d just say no in her mother voice and didn’t tell his brother because nothing impresses him much. He climbed the fire stairs to a door with a six. A peek was promising. It felt like a very expensive shop that hardly anyone ever goes into. Someone almost saw him, a security guard, but he’d forgotten to place a bet so he told his friend the other guard who wanted a bet too and down they both went in the lift. And out Tidge stepped. His feet sank into carpet like it wanted to eat them but there was a tray at the end of the corridor and just as Tidge was plucking a raspberry from a pancake a voice behind him yelled out. He jumped. Spun, with a thudding heart.
It was a boy. A boy! A potential friend.
‘How did you get here?’
Tidge couldn’t speak, think.
‘Do … you … understand?’
‘Yes,’ your boy squeaked. ‘I got lost.’
‘Are you a guest?’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said. Then quickly asked a pressing question: ‘Marvel or D.C. heroes?’
‘D.C., what do you expect?’
‘Snap! Me too. Any comics?’
‘Ah, like, yeah. And maybe, even, a game or two.’
Tidge sucked in his breath in ecstasy. ‘Can I play?’
The boy sighed.
And in that adult response Tidge got the feeling the new person had rarely had a friend in his life. It was something about the shirt buttoned up to the neck and the careful face and the eyes shifting away from him, not looking at him straight. He willed him to say yes.
‘Okay,’ the boy said finally, warily. ‘But we’ll have to be quick. My dad doesn’t allow visitors.’
Your son laughed and slung his arm over the shoulders of his brand-new best mate. He never sees the colour of skin, never hears an accent, never notices difference; to him it’s always just a kid, a new playmate. And he noted as they walked down the corridor that this new boy walked differently. Without fear. Like he belonged.
So your little man had a go at walking like that. And back in their room gleefully demonstrated.
Just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs.