Page 8 of The Angel Maker

“What’s he done now?”

“It’s not what he’s done,” she said. “It’s that Gareth has missed several days of school already this term, and he was absent again this morning.”

Mrs. Field blinked and then looked away to one side. Katie could almost see the calculations that were running through the woman’s head. She hadn’t been aware of what Katie had just told her, but she was also wondering how to make this new problem she’d been presented with go away as quickly and painlessly as possible. A moment later, she looked back at Katie.

“Yeah, that’s right. Gareth was off sick today.”

“Nobody called the office.”

Mrs. Field shrugged. “It was busy this morning.”

Katie was sure it had been, and that with everything else Mrs. Field had to deal with she was doing the best she could. But it was also clear the woman had no idea where her son had been today.

“I think it’s important,” Katie said. “I’m concerned about Gareth. He was already showing signs of falling behind the other students last year. If these absences continue, I’m worried he’s going to struggle. I really don’t want that to happen.”

Mrs. Field snorted slightly.

“Yeah, that would make the school look bad, right?”

“No, that’s not it at all. I’m thinking of your son.”

“Oh, so you’re saying I’m not?”

Katie started to reply but forced herself to stop. Deep down, she recognized that Mrs. Field was lashing out at her as a form of defense, and it was important not to respond in kind. Instead, she tried to picture what Mrs. Field was seeing right now: this smartly dressed, younger woman who had arrived on her doorstep, smiling, pretending to act friendly even as she stuck the knife in.

“That’s honestly not what I think at all,” Katie said. “I am absolutelysure you care very deeply about your son. But like I said, I’m concerned too. I don’t want him to slip through the cracks.”

“It’s always the same with you people, isn’t it? All targets. All box-ticking. It’s not like Gareth has ever done well at school anyway.”

Which was true, Katie thought. From his academic record, there was nothing exceptional about Gareth Field at all. In his own way, he was just as average as this house, this street, this whole area. But that was the point. It wasn’t the special kids you needed to hold a hand out to. It wasn’t the terrible kids either. It was whichever ones you saw falling.

“I know it’s hard,” Katie said. “I know what teenagers are like.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Field looked her up and down and then snorted again. Katie supposed it was understandable; she was in her early thirties and didn’t look old enough to have a child that age. But then she pictured Gareth Field in her mind’s eye—not a troublemaker; just a lonely boy, slight and timid, isolated from the other children in his class—and the image segued into memories of Chris back when he had been a teenager. The way she would see her brother walking along the school corridors by himself, always slightly hunched over, as though he were holding something close to his chest that other people might try to break.

And which someone eventually had.

“Yes,” Katie said again. “I really do.”

I know how people can be lost.

I know how people can get hurt if you let them.

But Mrs. Field didn’t reply.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Katie said. “Please.”

Then she turned and walked away. She had tried to do what she could. Maybe her words would make a difference—that was all she could hope for. But when she reached the car and glanced behind her, she saw the front door was already closed.

When Katie got back home, she was greeted by the sight of Siena, her three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, sitting on the couch, her little feet poking off the edge. As always, Siena was draped in her flag. The television was on, and she was so engrossed in whatever cartoon it was showing that she didn’t even glance up. Katie looked around the living room, then leaned on one foot and peered through into the kitchen.

Sam was nowhere to be seen.

She could hear the faint sound of music beating somewhere below her feet.

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