The Marshalls
by Kit
Chapter 11
It was already twilight as John and Mike were cycling home from school together on a Friday in the second half of October. When they slowed to turn into the street outside their house, John noticed a figure standing on the corner and apparently watching them. As they got closer, he could see that it was a young man wearing a long, heavy winter coat and a beanie hat. The figure briefly raised a hand, palm outward, but it never reached chest level.
By that point, Mike had also noticed the figure and screeched to a halt, surprising John, who carried on for a few metres before turning back to join the redhead. By that time, they were close enough to the young man to hear his voice, though he spoke quietly.
"Hi, Mike," he said, sounding hesitant and perhaps a little embarrassed.
"Carl?' Mike replied as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Yeah," the young man said with a brief nod of his head.
There was a long silence, during which Carl and Mike stared at each other and John looked from one to the other, trying to work out what was going on.
Mike got off his bike and began wheeling it toward the young man, then he turned back to his friend and said, "John, can you stay there a minute?"
"Erm, okay."
Mike went over to Carl, and they both moved a little further away from John. Then they began speaking quietly so that they couldn't be overheard.
"What're you doing here?" the redhead asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone.
"I just wanted to check that you're okay and to say 'sorry' and 'thanks'. I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but I felt I needed to say that."
Mike was so confused by the complex mess of his emotions that he couldn't speak. Carl nodded sadly and turned to go.
"Wait!" the redhead hissed. "Are you living up here now?"
"No. I just came to see you. I'll be getting the train back tomorrow afternoon."
"So where are you staying?"
"At the YMCA near the station."
"I don't know if I want to talk to you, and even if I did, I don't know if social services would like it."
"Yeah, I understand," Carl said and sighed. "But I'm glad I got to see you and say what I had to say."
"Look, I need to think about stuff," Mike said. After a brief pause, he added, "There's a cafe in the railway station. I might be there at about ten tomorrow. It's not a promise, and if I'm not there by eleven, then I'm not coming at all."
"Okay," Carl said before turning away and walking off into deepening darkness.
"Who was that?" John asked when Mike returned to him. Then, trying to make a joke of it, he added, "You know you shouldn't talk to strange men."
"We used to live together."
"Oh, okay. But if you wanted more private time, I could have gone back to the house while you talked more. Or maybe you could've invited him to tea. If he's someone you know, I'm sure Sarah wouldn't mind."
"No!" Mike exclaimed in alarm. "This has to stay a secret. You've got to promise me not to tell anybody. It's important you keep it secret, like what we say in the game."
John, assuming that the young man had been in a foster home with the redhead, couldn't see what all the fuss was about. However, as it was obviously so important to Mike, he promised not to mention it to anyone. In any case, he was distracted by the thought that he still needed to pack before Will came to collect him immediately after tea.
After a lot of thought and a restless night, Mike decided that he did want to speak with Carl. There were a lot of questions on his mind, and he wanted to know why Carl had made the effort and possibly taken a risk just to see him. So during breakfast, he told Sarah and David that he'd like to go into town and look around the shops. They asked if he'd be home for lunch, and when he confirmed that he would, they said that would be okay.
Mike arrived at the cafe at about ten fifteen and saw that Carl was standing outside. Unexpectedly, the redhead found that the young man was less recognisable in daylight than he had been in twilight, when some of the physical changes that five years had made to Carl had been less obvious. In the fading light, the clearest difference had been the height, but now Mike saw that Carl's increase in bulk wasn't just because of the large overcoat.
Nineteen-year-old Carl was more muscular than he'd been when Mike had last seen him in daylight. His features were sharper, his brown eyes were brighter, and his dark hair, no longer covered by the beanie hat, was now a great deal shorter. The timid boy had apparently become a confident young man. Neither of them offered a word of greeting but instead exchanged wary nods.
"Why're you out here?" Mike asked.
"The cafe was getting full, and I'd finished my drink. I thought you probably wouldn't come, and I didn't want to sit around looking like a plonker."
Although he wasn't sure what Carl would want to talk about, it was almost certainly something that neither of them would want to be overheard. Therefore, Mike decided that going into the busy cafe wouldn't be the best choice. He realised that on a Saturday morning, there were few indoor places in the town centre suitable for a private chat.
"Let's go for a walk along the canal," he said.
Carl had no idea where the canal was or why Mike would want to go there, but he picked up his backpack and followed the redhead's lead. The nearby canal, which had been a major source of transport during the Industrial Revolution, was now mainly used for recreational purposes. The part that was closest to the town centre was now in an important district for the town's nightlife. However, during the daytime, it was quiet and a good place to talk privately.
"We can talk now," Mike said when they got there. "I didn't think social services would tell you about me. How did you know where to find me?"
"I knew they'd never tell me, so I didn't even bother to ask. And I wasn't going to try to find out. Then last year, when I aged out of the system, I got in touch with a group that helps ex-foster kids. They help to find jobs, accommodation, stuff like that.
"Anyway, they arrange social meetings, and I got chatting with a guy who mentioned a kid he used to live with who was always angry. He said the kid had bright red hair and very pale blue eyes that looked sad. When he told me the kid's age, I thought it must be you."
"Was the guy called Rick?" Mike asked, thinking of a teenager who'd been living with Sarah and David when he'd first arrived there.
"Yeah. I guess you remember him, then."
"He left the year after I arrived, so how could he know I'd still be there?"
"Lots of ex-foster kids keep in touch with foster parents. References and stuff."
"Oh, right," the redhead said, thinking that he probably would, too. "So, why did you come looking for me?"
"I felt guilty, and I wondered if I was part of the reason you were angry and sad. For months, I couldn't stop thinking about it, and then I thought it wouldn't hurt just to check you were okay. And if you'd let me, I wanted to say sorry."
"Is that why you went to so much trouble to see me?"
"Like I said, I mainly wanted to say sorry for what I did with you. I know it was wrong."
"Some of it wasn't too bad. Sometimes I even enjoyed it," Mike replied hesitantly. "But you made up for it with all the times you were nice to me. Some days the only food I got was what you brought for me. When I was stuck in my room, you'd come and keep me company, even though you'd get in trouble if your dad caught you."
"Is that why you never told anyone about what I did? I also came to thank you for that. If you'd told on me, I'd have been locked up and not been in an ordinary foster home. So thanks."
"Yeah, but sometimes I still hate you," the redhead said, though there was no hint of hatred or even anger in his voice. "Not so much for what you did but because you never told anyone that your dad was beating me up and always being nasty to me. Well, you never said anything until after social services got involved."
"I feel bad about that, too," Carl said, his voice full of sadness and guilt. "I know that it's not an excuse, but I was scared, and I was still only a kid. Before he moved in with your mum, he used to treat me like that."
There was a prolonged silence as they continued walking along the towpath. Both of them were caught up in their own thoughts, memories, and tangled emotions. Eventually, Carl spoke.
"Did you know that your mum got out on parole a couple of months ago?"
"No, and I don't care."
"Neither do I, really, but it also means that my dad may be considered for parole soon."
"I don't care. He doesn't scare me anymore," Mike replied boldly, though he wasn't sure it was the absolute truth. "Why have you been keeping track of it?"
"Well, I'm scared, but I don't think you need to be. You're just the toy that was taken away from him. I'm the son who betrayed him by giving evidence against him. Anyway, I've decided to join the Navy. I won't be around if they let him out, and even if he finds me, I'll be part of something that even he wouldn't dare to mess with."
"Joining the Navy's a big commitment."
"That's what my girlfriend said when she dumped me, but I'm not doing it just to avoid my dad. It's something that I'd probably have done anyway."
They continued walking in thoughtful silence for a couple of minutes, then Mike looked at his watch and said that he should be getting back to the foster home for lunch. By this time, they'd already started heading back in the direction of the station, which was also close to where he would be getting the bus. As they approached the point where their paths would diverge, Carl announced that there was just time for him to grab some lunch in the cafe before he caught his train.
"I hope that it's okay that I came," the young man added. "I hope I didn't upset you or make you feel bad."
"I think it's okay," Mike replied, looking up at Carl and tilting his head a little. After pausing for thought, he continued, "I think I'm glad you came."
"That's good," Carl said, feeling very relieved. He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. "Take care of yourself."
As he turned and started walking away, Mike felt torn. On the one hand, Carl represented a part of his past that he would be glad to put behind him. On the other hand, he was the only person who'd shown him any kindness in all the years before he'd been taken into care. He realised that in many ways, Carl was also a victim.
"Carl," he called out, "do you have a pen and paper?"
The young man turned and, with a puzzled frown, said that he did. He put down his pack, took a small notepad and pen from a side pocket, and handed them to Mike. The redhead scribbled on the last page of the pad and handed it back.
"That's my email address," he said.
"Really?" Carl said. "You really want to do this?"
"Well, yeah," Mike said, shrugging and looking a little sheepish. "When your dad gets out, it would be nice to know that you're okay."
"Don't your foster carers ever check your emails?"
"Not now, but anyway, this address is one I set up that doesn't store anything on my computer. But just in case, I guess you should be careful what you write."
"So now you're a computer whizz kid. When did that happen?"
"Don't ask, don't tell."
That sentiment, perhaps expressed in different words, perhaps unspoken, was shared by many children in care. Understanding that, Carl smiled, nodded a farewell, and set off toward the cafe.
On the bus home, Mike remembered Danny, an older boy in his previous foster home, who'd taught him a lot about computers. Thanks to him, Mike knew how to get around parental controls, encrypt drives, boot from thumb drives, and how to access the so-called dark web. Of course, the redhead never let anyone know that he had those skills, and he actually pretended that he wasn't very computer literate. In any case, there had been little opportunity to use his expertise until he recently had access to his own computer.
There had been six children in Mike's previous foster home, and although the carers were kind and sometimes even caring, they were not as vigilant as Sarah and David. When Mike had arrived there after a couple of months in a temporary home, he'd felt very intimidated, especially when some of the other lads made fun of his red hair. Danny, the oldest boy in the house, had taken Mike under his wing and made sure that the other kids knew it.
There was an immediate affinity between the two boys, possibly because they had survived similar backgrounds, though they weren't conscious of that because they never talked about it. However, though their interactions were friendly, they weren't friends. It was a transactional relationship, and what trust they had in each other was based on the concept of mutually assured destruction.
In return for certain favours, mainly of a sexual nature, Danny provided Mike with protection, security, and tutelage not only about computers but also in how to survive in the care system. When Danny aged out of the foster home, he didn't keep in touch with the younger boy, and Mike missed him for many reasons, not least because of the companionship.
A couple of months after Danny's departure, Mike was lonely, and, having become too complacent during his time with the older boy, he made the grave error of trusting someone. He approached another older boy in the house and hinted that he'd provide blow jobs in exchange for friendship. The other boy was not only uninterested, but he also claimed to be disgusted.
This time, there was no mutually assured destruction to maintain a pseudo-trust, and the older boy spread the information to everyone. The foster carers and social workers tried to be supportive, but the atmosphere in the home became very difficult. When rumours about him being a prostitute started spreading around his school, Mike had to move to a different home, and he asked for somewhere as far away as possible.
Mike had learned two lessons: don't trust anyone because they will probably betray you, and if you really have to trust someone, ensure that the possibility of mutually assured destruction will deter them from betrayal.
On the weekend when Mike met Carl, Will mentioned to his brother that he was going to start looking for a two-bedroom flat.
"One of the reasons Rose gave against you living here with me is that you wouldn't have your own bedroom. Another is that this place is too far away from your school," he said. "Remember, next year you're doing GCSEs, so I'd need to look for a place that was near your school but not too far from my work."
"So it could take a while to find a place," John replied.
"Yeah, probably. That's why I didn't know if I should tell you yet. I didn't want to get your hopes up, especially as I need to be able to find somewhere I can afford," Will said. "A decent two-bedroom flat is probably going to be at least as much as this flat, and if you're living there, I won't have a flatmate to help pay rent. The salary increase I got last month makes this place more affordable now, but I can't ask for another increase until April, and I'll need to pass some exams before then."
Will waited patiently, observing his brother's expression as he processed the information.
"You said it was just one of the reasons that social services won't let me live with you," John said, frowning in thought. "So even if you find a place, they still may not let me live there."
"There's no guarantee, but at least it would check a couple of their boxes."
John took time weighing up the options and possibilities before he replied. Will didn't understand why his brother was taking so long to consider the situation, but again he waited patiently.
"Maybe it's a lot of hassle to move to a new flat just now, especially if it's expensive," he said eventually, "and things aren't too bad now. I get to be here at weekends and holidays, and I see you a lot more now than when I lived with Dad. Anyway, in three years I'll be eighteen, and no one can stop me from living with you… if you want me."
"Of course I'd love you to live with me whenever you want and for as long as you want."
"Then there's no need to rush looking for a new flat," John said.
He didn't mention that the prospect of continuing to share a house with Mike had influenced his decision.
When Will returned his brother to the foster home in time for Sunday lunch, he stayed to eat with the family. As part of the general chat about what they'd been doing over the weekend, Sarah mentioned that Mike had spent Saturday morning looking around the shops in the town centre. That piqued John's curiosity because he thought that it wasn't the sort of thing that the redhead would normally do for fun.
At first, he considered the possibility that it might be related to the following weekend, when Paul was having a combined Halloween and Guy Fawkes party. However, it was not intended to be a costume party, and Mike hadn't mentioned the need for presents or any other planned preparations. Then John wondered if the redhead's trip into town might be related to the encounter with the strange young man on Friday evening.
After Will had gone, and as soon as he could speak with Mike privately in the games room, John addressed the question on his mind.
"So what happened on Saturday?"
"I went into town in the morning, I went for a run in the afternoon, and I phoned Connor after tea," the redhead replied, frowning. "Anyway, why is it your business?"
"It's not my business," John admitted. "I'm just interested in you and what you do."
"Well, now you know," Mike said dismissively.
John wasn't merely interested in Mike; he cared about him, but he didn't dare to say that openly. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to raise his concerns.
"Did the trip to the shops have anything to do with that strange guy you talked to on Friday night?"
"I told you that's secret!" Mike hissed, glancing around to ensure that no one was near the open doorway.
"Yeah, it is. I've not told anyone, and I never will, but I already saw you with him. It was a bit weird, and you seemed unhappy. And you said you didn't want anyone to find out, even though he used to share a house with you. So I was worried."
"Why would you be worried?"
"I don't know. Maybe he could be blackmailing you." John replied, saying the first thing that came into his head.
At first, Mike was startled, and then he started laughing quietly, making John feel that he was being mocked.
"No. Definitely not," the redhead said when he regained his composure. "He isn't blackmailing me."
During the following week, Mike spoke with Connor three times, and on two of those occasions, their chats were delayed until almost eight o'clock because the younger boy was busy doing homework. When Connor called Mike on the Wednesday evening, it was relatively early.
"I played footie for the school today," Connor announced as soon as they'd exchanged greetings. "I was on the under-thirteens team, and we won two-one."
"That's great. Did you score?"
"No, but the coach said I played very well. Actually, I can't chat for long cos I haven't finished my homework yet, but Paul said I could call you now cos of the news about the footie."
"You always seem to have tons of homework," the redhead complained. "It's a lot more than we get. Are you sorry you decided to go to that school?"
"No, I love it," Connor enthused. "It's a lot of work, but there's fun stuff, too, like the footie team. And in lessons, I'm better than a lot of the other kids. Like, we do French now, and I'm one of the best at it cos I can practise with Stephane."
"I was thinking of dropping French next year. It's hard, and I'm not very good."
"You can practise with me and Stephane and Liam if you want."
"Liam?" Mike asked in surprise. "I didn't know they did it at his primary school."
"They don't, at least not at his school, but he started joining in with me and Stephane, and he's getting good at it. He's a bit better than me at talking in French, maybe because he spends lots of time with Stephane doing gardening and guitar and stuff. But I'm better at writing it.
"Do you think that Stephane would help me?"
"Yeah, when he's not busy doing his homework," Connor replied. "He calls it studying, not homework. He says that's because he doesn't usually have to hand it in. But if you do it at home, then I think it's homework even if nobody makes you do it."
"Anyway," Mike said, eager to get away from the topic of homework, "is it still okay for me to stay over on Friday night?"
"Yeah, we'll pick you up after tea. Paul said to remind you to bring warm clothes cos it'll be cold watching the fireworks on Saturday night. Did David and Sarah decide if they're going?"
"They said it'll probably be too loud and scary for Susie, but they'll be going to your house in the afternoon and staying to eat with everyone before the rest of us go to see the fireworks."
"I never saw a real-life, proper, big display until Paul took us to one last year."
"Erm," Mike began hesitantly, "do you think that Paul will let us spend a night in a tent on Friday or Saturday?"
"I think it'll be too cold for that."
"We could keep warm," the redhead suggested with feigned innocence.
"Oh, you mean the tent game," Connor said, blushing. "Well, I don't think I want to keep on doing that."
"That's okay," Mike replied, trying to hide his disappointment. "It's just a game."
"But we'll still be friends, right?"
"Yeah, obviously."
"Are you playing the truth game with John?" Connor asked, wishing to divert the conversation.
"Yeah, but not much. It's not as much fun as playing it with you," Mike replied, both his voice and face indicating sadness.
"Have you got to any interesting questions yet?" the younger boy asked suggestively.
"You know I can't tell you that."
"Well, obviously, I know the questions and answers are secret," Connor said, frowning, "but is it secret just to say they were interesting?"
"I guess maybe not," Mike said thoughtfully. "Anyway, so far it's just been sort of interesting."
A couple of days later, while they were on the way to school, Connor told Oliver about Paul's plans for a party on the weekend between Halloween and Bonfire Night. He also said that Paul had given him permission to invite Oliver.
"A Halloween party?" Oliver asked doubtfully. "Aunt Bridget wouldn't let me go."
"Why not?"
"She says that celebrating Halloween is ungodly, and dressing up like ghosts, witches, and stuff like that is the work of Satan."
"Ungodly? What does that even mean?" Connor asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Anything that goes against the Bible is ungodly," Oliver replied, blushing with embarrassment. "And if people do it deliberately, it's evil."
"Aunt Anne and Uncle Geoffrey go to church, but they never say things like that. What church does your aunt go to?"
"She doesn't go to any church. She says everything that a good person needs to know is in the Bible. She said that she can read it for herself, and she doesn't need any priest or church to tell her what it means."
Connor was still puzzled, but he didn't really care about her religious views unless they interfered with their friendship. Then he had an idea.
"The party's not on Halloween, and no one is dressing up. You can say it's for Bonfire Night and that we'll be going to the firework display down by the river."
"That might work," Oliver said after taking a couple of seconds to consider the suggestion. With a frown of concern, he added, "Will there be lots of people?"
"Just family, really. That includes fosters."
"Fosters?"
"Yeah. Before we knew about Paul, and when we were in a foster family with Mike, the foster parents were Sarah and David. So Mike's our foster brother. Oh, and little Susie is our baby foster sister."
"So there will be lots of people," Oliver said, looking even more concerned.
"But you'll know lots of them, and Aunt Anne already likes you."
"She's never met me."
"But I told her all about you, and she said she's really happy that I'd already made such a good friend."
Oliver was tempted by the idea of watching a big firework display with his friend, and he was pretty sure that his aunt could be persuaded to allow it. Connor's brothers were nice, as was Stephane, who shared their interest in football. On the other hand, the idea of having to socialise with a large number of people, many of whom were strangers, was very intimidating.
"I don't know," he said.
"You already know Paul, Stephane, Liam, and Mike," Connor said gently, understanding how his friend was feeling. "Aunt Anne and Uncle Geoffrey are really nice and kind. David, Sarah, and Susie won't be staying for the fireworks, but I don't know about John and Will."
"John and Will? I thought you said just family," Oliver said.
"They're brothers, and John's a new foster kid with Sarah and David, so he's Mike's foster brother. That makes us all sort of a family."
Oliver, unconvinced by Connor's reasoning, was now even more unsure about what to do.
"Can I let you know later?" he asked apologetically.
"Sure," Connor replied, feeling a little disappointed. Trying to tempt his friend, he added, "We'll pick you up and take you home. And if you come, I'll make a pineapple chocolate cake."
That night, Oliver decided to accept the invitation, and his aunt raised no objections. Connor was very happy when he heard that his friend would be coming, and the extra cake was added to his list of things to do.
"We can pick you up in the middle of the afternoon," he said. "Then, you can help us with getting ready before everybody arrives."
Oliver didn't mind helping out, and he was made less nervous by the prospect of being there and settling in before the other guests arrived. Although he'd been intimidated by the size of the house on his first visit, he was now feeling more relaxed and almost at home there. Of course, the idea of going to the party was still scary, but he also began to look at it as an adventure.
As it turned out, Oliver discovered that his concerns had been unnecessary. He was there as everyone arrived in small groups, so he wasn't overwhelmed with new people all at once. In fact, he felt almost like one of the hosts. Everyone was kind, and although they were happy to include him in their interactions, they didn't make him feel pressured to do so.
Aunt Anne was the only person who asked him many questions, but she did it gently and only after she insisted that he call her 'Aunt Anne'. Connor kept a close eye on his friend, and before her questioning became too much, he was there to intervene. Even Mike, whom Oliver felt had given him hostile stares on previous occasions, now looked at him more with curiosity than hostility.
In the early evening, the main party started to break up. Sarah and David took Susie home, and a little later, Aunt Anne and Uncle Geoffrey went home, claiming that they were too old for fireworks. When it came time to go to the display, they needed to take two cars, and at first, there was a little tension because it was clear that Oliver, not Mike, would be sitting with Connor and Liam in Paul's car.
Connor sensed this and whispered to the redhead.
"Oliver doesn't really know John and Will. And anyway, you'll be staying over with us tonight, so we'll have lots of time together."
John could also tell that Mike wasn't very happy, and he tried to make him feel better by offering him the front passenger seat in Will's car. The redhead surprised him by saying that he'd rather share the rear seat with John.
During the week following the Halloween party, Mike invited John into his room to play the truth game. As usual, they eased into the game with inconsequential topics. John wanted to ask about the strange young man that had turned up near the foster home. However, he knew the redhead well enough to realise that would almost certainly bring about an abrupt end to the game. It was Mike who began the more intimate questions.
"You said you're gay and that you'd never had sex. Did you mean you've never done anything sexual, not even wanking with anyone?"
"I've never even seen anyone wanking. Well, not apart from watching myself in a mirror. Why did you ask about it?"
"It's hard to believe that a fifteen-year-old gay boy hasn't even wanked with another boy. Haven't you ever wanted to?"
"Of course I have, but it just never happened. From what you said, you've done stuff like that. How do you do it? I don't mean how do you wank, but how do you get someone to do sex stuff with you?"
"It just happens," Mike replied cryptically, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe you're just too picky. What sort of guys do you fancy?"
"I'm not too picky," John replied. Given that Mike had raised the subject, he decided to be bold and added, "I'm not sure I have a specific type, but I, erm, think redheads are cute. What sort of guys do you fancy?"
Mike had been expecting that the other boy would reflect the question back at him, and so he answered quickly. "I don't think I have a type, but there are some things that are important, like being clean. Most important is that I can trust them. Oh, and I tend to like boys a bit older than me."
Mike briefly looked into John's eyes and then abruptly looked away. Both of them remained silent, each lost in their own thoughts, and neither of them was eager to share those thoughts.
"You didn't ask a question," John said eventually.
"Do you fancy me?"
"Yes, but not just that," the older boy replied, deciding to be daring. "I mean, I do fancy you, but I also like you, and I enjoy being with you. And, well, I was maybe hoping you might someday feel the same about me."
"Are you crazy?" Mike exclaimed, trying hard not to raise his voice.
The truth game had clearly ended, and there were no more rules about alternating questions and answers.
"Crazy because I like you?" John said, feeling hurt.
"Well, that as well. But have you any idea what a shitstorm there'll be if anyone even suspects that?"
"What, because it's gay?" the older boy asked defiantly.
"No, because it sounds like a kid feeling romantic about another kid in the same foster home," Mike replied. After a brief pause, he added, "Actually, being gay might mean things wouldn't be quite so bad because they have to show that they weren't being prejudiced."
"So is it because we're not sixteen and doing stuff would be illegal?"
"Even if both kids were sixteen, there'd be tons of rules and regulations to stop them getting romantic. They could never be alone in the same room, and they'd have to go to loads of meetings. And there'd be reports to make sure we were both happy with things. They'd be lectured about appropriate behaviours. They'd be watched all the time, and they'd have to make sure that any romantic feelings didn't upset other kids in the house.""
"How do you know about all that?"
"Don't ask. Don't even think about asking," the redhead warned. "Let's just say I've been in three foster homes in five years, and leave it at that."
"All that just because two teens fall in love?" John asked in dismay.
"And it'd be even worse if one was under sixteen. Then one would probably have to move to a different foster home, and they could never meet in private. Even phone calls and emails would be monitored."
"What if they went to the same school?" John asked, thinking of their own situation.
"Maybe one of them would be moved too far away to go to the school. But even if they carried on going to the same school, it might be even worse because social services might get the school involved. And then what happens if other kids at the school find out?"
"A shitstorm," John conceded.
There was another prolonged silence before Mike spoke again.
"Before you came here, I bet you had lots of freedom, and probably not many people cared what you did. In foster care, people are paid to keep their eyes on you all the time. It's their job to make sure you're safe, and their idea of safe probably won't be the same as yours."
"I guess I can understand them not wanting the kids to do sex stuff, but surely falling in love isn't so bad."
"Actually, that's worse," Mike said, frustrated at John's apparent lack of understanding. "Two kids in the same house in love can really mess up the whole foster family. If they catch two kids just doing sexy things, it might not be too bad. If the kids just say it was an experiment and promise that they won't do it again, they'll just get told off, get some counselling, and be watched all the time.
"But if they think the kids are in love, they won't believe any promises, and they'll be worried about drama and upsets and all the emotional stuff. Anyway, it's easier to keep sex a secret. Two kids feeling all lovey-dovey can be spotted a mile away."
"So you're saying that I can't fall in love until I leave foster care," John said, sounding defeated and disappointed.
"At least that's not a problem for me," the redhead said with an air of smugness. "I'm not into soppy romantic stuff like boyfriends. You end up relying too much on one person. That's way too risky."
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[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
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