Page 64 of Fruit
I get up from the swing and nod towards it as I look at Hugo. Hugo doesn’t hesitate to sit on it. Sebastián and I walk a few feet away, giving them space enough to talk if they want to. Sebastián takes the opportunity to call Hugo’s parents and give them an abridged version of why their son is not at the youth club. Hugo’s parents know Joshua and are reassured by the fact that we’re with them, and Sebastián agrees to call when they head back.
“What did Joshua’s mom say?” I ask Sebastián when he hangs up.
“She seemed surprised when I told her something had happened, even without giving her details. She’s on her way.”
“Okay. Good.”
We wait in silence, standing close together. Joshua and Hugo seem not to be talking as well, but their hands are clasped together, hanging between them.
I elbow Sebastián lightly on the ribs and nod towards where a thin black woman in scrubs is hurrying our way.
“That her?” I ask.
“Yep.” Sebastián steps closer to the woman. “Mrs. Hume, thanks for coming.”
“Thank you for calling me. Where’s—oh, my God.” Her eyes widen, face going slack in surprise as she spots Joshua. “Joshua!” she says, voice almost breaking, and rushes to him.
Hugo gets off the swing and steps aside as Joshua’s mom falls to her knees in front of her son. Joshua’s expression crumples, and suddenly, he looks like the boy of fourteen he is. Mrs. Hume takes his face lightly in her hands.
“What…” She looks at him. “Did Len do this?”
Joshua doesn’t say anything, looking down. His silence speaks for itself.
Joshua’s mom pulls him into a hug, and he goes willingly, letting himself be wrapped in his mother’s arms. I look at Sebastián, and he nods.
There’s no way she knew.
Sebastián motions Hugo over, and we give mother and son a few minutes, but eventually, Sebastián has to step closer.
“Mrs. Hume, I’m going to have to call the police and report this.”
“No,” Joshua starts to protest, but his mom cuts him off.
“If you don’t, I will,” she tells Sebastián, who nods before stepping away again.
Mrs. Hume shushes Joshua gently when he starts protesting again. “Joshua. I need you to tell me. Has this happened before?”
Joshua shakes his head vehemently. “Not like this.”
“What does that mean? Not like this?”
“Mom—”
“Honey, please. I love you. Please, tell me.”
“Dad. He…” Joshua chokes on his breath. Mrs. Hume wipes his tears away gently. “No. No, he’s…you know what he’s like. Dad—he thinks I’m…he says things and he’s grabbed me, a few times. Nothing, nothing—he just didn’t want me to go, today, and I told him to fuck off, I’m sorry—”
“It doesn’t matter what you did. I don’t care if you spit on his face. Nothing,nothingexcuses this. Do you hear me, Joshua? Not one bit of this is down to you. Not what you do, or who you are—nothing. This is on him. And it’s not happening again.”
Joshua doesn’t say anything, closing his eyes, but he nods jerkily once. His mom wraps him up in her arms again, and they stay like that, holding each other.
I try to keep Hugo to one side when the police arrive, but he goes over to Joshua and holds his hand as the police start questioning him.
It’s a long, stretched hour. The darkness swallows the day up as the police take statements, pictures, agree to go find Joshua’s dad. Mrs. Hume agrees she’ll go straight to her mother’s with Joshua, that she will call if anything happens, that she understands social services will have to be involved. They take our statements too, but we don’t have much to say.
Eventually, the police walk us to our cars.
“I’ll see you at the next art club, Joshua,” I tell him. “You still have to show C.C. that trick you do with the blow pen.”
