Striving to Impress.
Mrs MacNamara looked up from her marking. She had kind eyes. The people he was living with, the ones he had to call Mam and Dad, barely looked at him, but this one teacher always noticed when something was wrong.
"What is it, Stephen?" she said.
He hated that name, the name of a dead child. Couldn't claim money in the name of a corpse, so they'd needed him.
"Can I put the books away, Miss?" he said. He wanted to avoid going home for as long as possible. They weren't cruel to him, they barely saw him.
"Your parents will be worried." she said, "Are you frightened to go home alone? Do you want me to walk with you?"
He shook his head quickly. He would be in trouble if they thought he was a burden to his teachers.
"Stephen, you have to tell me if something's wrong. I can help." she said.
"Nothing's wrong." he said.
Nothing was wrong. He was lucky. His temporary parents fed him well enough and didn't beat him. That was as close to paradise as his life ever got.
She handed him his maths test. "You got them all right. Do you want to take this home?"
He looked at it. The line of ticks looked like hope. He imagined showing it to them and making them see that he was worth something after all. He nodded and hurried out.
Simon Carter was complaining about the food when he got home, whining to Margaret, who told him he was a worthless fool and never happy. Stephen who never felt like a Stephen put the test on the table in front of Margaret. "I got all my sums right." he said, not daring to look up.
"What does he want, a medal?" said Simon, "You let me know when your sums tell me how to pay the rent. Right now, you're just another mouth costing me money."
He went to the garden and watched the trees become blurry and wondered why he could never get anything right. He'd never try again. He knew where getting it wrong led, a train and another new house where no-one cared.
Daniel jiggled the lockpick and tried the door again. "Damn!" he said.
"Can't do it?" said Harry.
"The lock's not the problem. Someone's set the deadbolt." said Daniel. It was raining and he was not a man who enjoyed getting soaked.
Harry looked up. One floor above, a small window was tantalisingly open. "Forget the door." he said.
Daniel followed his gaze. "No. Not in the wet. You could fall."
"I don't fall." Harry lied.
Daniel was about to object again, so Harry just began to climb, using all the handholds and supports helpfully supplied by the builders and the drainage system.
"Be careful." said Daniel.
Harry pretended not to care about the words. He'd never, even under torture, admit how good it felt to hear them, even if he might be just an investment to Daniel.
Getting to the window was hard work. Twice, he thought he would fall, but didn't and when he reached the window, getting in was comparatively easy. He went carefully but quickly downstairs and opened the door with a low bow.
Daniel slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him. "You may be the best I've ever worked with." he said.
Daniel had promised no-one that he would look after Harry. He had nothing to gain by saying nice things, which made his words all the more important.
"Harry?" said Daniel and he realised he had been in his own head for a little too long, replaying those words.
"Sorry." he said, "There's some good stuff upstairs."
"Lead the way." said Daniel.
"Ben Pearson is a lucky blighter." thought Steele, as he regarded the two very attractive women. There was no doubt that the one offering him tea would be a lot of fun, bright, charming and just the right side of available. The other was a detective - a detective! She was Sam Spade with all the charms of Brigid O'Shaughnessy and there was something very Mary Astor about her delicate features and something positively Hedy Lamarr about her intelligence. Stephen Carter would never have dared to look at her, Harry Chalmers would have looked and looked and looked.
He felt like an army of conflicting cowards, at one moment desperate to gain her approval, at another terrified of her disdain. He knew that she was not the type to suffer fools gladly and if he showed himself a fool, he had a feeling she would cut him down to size until he was five years old again, afraid to make eye contact with anyone. This was a woman who could eat men alive. The other one was so much safer.
But he had impressed Daniel Chalmers. He was, without unnecessary bragging, the best in London, possibly the best in Europe, definitely the best in Los Angeles, unless Steele turned out to be remarkable indeed. Yes, he had no doubt that her standards were high, but he'd been meeting very high standards for a very long time and he had already managed to make her smile.
That smile. It was Daniel's highest approval cubed in a single curve of some very nicely curving lips. It felt like passing every test with honours, like breaking into the Louvre and dancing out with the Mona Lisa shouting, "I have it! I have it!" It was being Thomas Crown. It was kissing Ingrid Bergman in monochrome, soft focus Paris.
Rejection still always kicked him in the chest. One harsh response on the wrong day could make him feel small and stupid and worthless. Fear of rejection was nearly as bad. It threatened to paralyse him at times. Good sense said to accept the tea and hope it led to breakfast, but good sense couldn't have been looking when Laura Holt P.I. had smiled at him.
The End.