Page 132 of Maybe Tomorrow

After the press conference, Anthony didn’t want to go out for something to eat. He spent the majority of the afternoon standing at the window in the hotel suite looking out at an unfamiliar view. There was no sea, just concrete boxes and tower blocks. He didn’t like it.

Leo had spoken to the manager of the hotel. They were going to organise a special meal for the three of them– steak, chips and peas. For afters, a large apple pie with vanilla custard. Leo could sense the mood in the room was dark and thought it best to leave mother and son on their own for a while.

‘Anthony, can we talk about something?’ Pauline asked. She sat on the edge of a chair, knees clasped together, arms folded tightly across her chest.

He nodded.

‘Come away from the window, Anthony. I want to look at you.’

Reluctantly, Anthony tore himself away from the uninspiring view and perched on the edge of the bed. He looked at his mother and smiled. Only his lips moved. His face was unreadable. His eyes were sad and heavy.

‘I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I always knew you didn’t do anything to Alice. But, on the night she died, you came home, and you were soaking from the storm. I asked you to take your clothes off in the hallway and I’d run them through the washing machine. Do you remember?’

He nodded.

‘When I was sorting your clothes out, I saw there was a tear on the pocket of your trousers. When I looked at them closer, I saw… there was blood on them. Where did that blood come from?’

He maintained eye contact with Pauline but didn’t answer.

‘Was it your blood? Did you cut yourself?’

Slowly, he stood up from the bed, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his trousers.

Pauline’s eyes widened, wondering what was about to happen.

He lifted his jumper, turned to the side and showed her the top of his left thigh. It was covered in a criss-cross of old scars.

‘What are they?’

He pulled his trousers back up and sat back on the bed.

‘I had a knife,’ he said, quietly.

‘Why?’

‘People called me names. I was a monster. A big fat monster. A weirdo. A mummy’s boy. Did you ever wonder why I didn’t work at the library on Saturday for the children’s reading club?’

Pauline shook her head.

‘Because I scared the children.’

‘What?’

‘The parents didn’t want me near their children because I frightened them.’

‘Jane Wilkinson never said anything to me.’

‘She didn’t say anything to me either. I overheard them talking. A man at the council had had complaints. Mrs Wilkinson wouldn’t sack me, but said she wouldn’t let me have contact with the children.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It wasn’t just at the library. It was everywhere,’ he said, tears in his voice. ‘Everywhere I went, people looked at me funny or they crossed the road to avoid me. I was laughed at because of being big and weird-looking.’

‘You’re not weird-looking,’ Pauline said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue, wiping her eyes. ‘You can’t help being big.’

‘When I came home from work, sometimes I’d have to pass teenagers coming out of school. They’d throw things at me.’

‘They did that to you?’ She nodded towards the scars on his leg.