20th August 1995

He shouldn't be here. He is too young, too immature. It's not fair. He should be at home playing on his Nintendo or at school being the class clown or snogging round the back of the bike shed with Sally Langton. Until two weeks ago he was. Two weeks ago when everything came crashing down on top of him and he had to grow up overnight. His aunt is standing beside him, arms folded across her chest, grim expression on her face and whiskers sprouting from her chin. He's always hated her and he hates her even more now just because she's there. He would give anything, absolutely anything, for her to be the person that the Procurator Fiscal is discussing but she isn't. They're talking about his mother, his father and his sister. Not that there's much to discuss: the whole thing is over in what feels like a minute, an open and shut case. His aunt was probably right when she told him that there was no point in him coming but he is glad he did. For one thing he doesn't trust him aunt to tell him the truth about anything. For another, he's got nothing else to do. He hasn't been to school since it happened and he's too angry to concentrate on the TV or his video games. At least if he's here then he's not at home, barricading himself in his bedroom because every other room in the house makes him want to throw up.

'I told you that it would be quick' his aunt tells him gruffly, almost elbowing him out of the way in her hurry to leave the courtroom. She is his guardian now but he doesn't see the point in that. He is more than capable of taking care of himself and anyway, he thinks he'd almost rather be in care than have to live with her and her cats. 'Let's go home' she adds. Home: Something that, like his family and his ability to sleep at night, he doesn't have anymore.

ooooo

'For the last time, I don't need you to run me home' she grumbles as he pulls onto the ring road. She has been insisting that she can get herself home since they left the hospital fifteen minutes ago but he's not listening to her. For all her protestations of independence, the fact that she's fainted twice in the last ten days tells him that she needs more support than she is willing to admit and in the absence of anybody else willing to put themselves in her firing line, he is going to have to provide the support himself.

'I told you, it's on my way' he tells her, but it's a lie and she knows it. There is no reason on earth for him to be heading into the city centre when he lives on the outskirts, and in fact nobody in their right mind would go near the centre on a Friday night, which only serves to prove to her that he is putting himself out on her behalf.

'How is it on your way?' she demands.

'I'm going out in…' he trails off, racking his brain for anywhere that he might possibly be going in town. He never goes into town because it's too busy and too expensive. Far easier to go to Albie's and stagger home afterwards. '… I'm picking up a friend at the station'

'Well you can drop me there then. I'll get a cab' she offers but he ignores her. He has already decided that she isn't getting out of his car until they are parked on her drive. 'You can't take me home every night for the next six months'

'I'm not offering to' he replies 'And I hope you're not planning to keel over in theatre every day because if you are then probably best that you stop working now'

'Shut up Maconie' she mutters, not entirely affectionately. If there's one thing that she hates it's the insinuation that she might not be up to her job. He knows that – it's why he does it. Winding her up is half the fun. The other half comes in the making up after the inevitable argument.

'Look, we're nearly there now. I'll drop you home today and we'll play the next six months by ear, eh?'

'Fine' she huffs, staring out of the window in silence for the three minutes that it takes him to drive one junction of the ring road and negotiate two roads full of double parking before pulling onto her drive.

ooooo

As soon as he pulls up he senses that something isn't right. From the outside everything looks pretty normal but he notices that the light is on in the front room and he knows that it wasn't when she left that morning. For one thing she is even meaner with the electricity than he is – an artefact of growing up in a household where if you left the lights on there was no money for the electricity meter at the end of the week – and for another, the kitchen window is ajar. He knows that she didn't leave the window open when she left the house that morning because he had been with her after one of their impromptu, never spoken of, sleepovers.

'Somebody's been in the house' he mutters, leaping out of the car and breaking into a run. He doesn't know what he's going to do if he catches the intruder. He might simply cower but equally there is a chance that he'll release eighteen years of pent up grief onto some unsuspecting teenager looking to make off with Jac's telly. Of course the likelihood is that the intruder is long gone anyway but still he arms himself with a lamp, the closest thing to a weapon that he can find, and braces himself for a fight. Then he glances back and sees that Jac has followed him and he feels panic grip his chest. There is no way in hell that he's letting her come into the house with him. 'Wait in the car!' he yells. He knows that he sounds more panicked than the situation really demands – borderline hysterical in fact – and he can see from her face that she is alarmed, but he doesn't care. All he wants her to do is get back in the car, lock the doors and let him deal with this.

'This is my house, Jonny…' she begins to point out, preparing to list the reasons why she should be coming in with him, but he doesn't wait for her to finish. He grabs her roughly by the elbow and leads her back to the car. He knows that he is scaring her, if that is Jac does scared, but he doesn't care. He'd sooner scare her half to death than have her come face to face with the intruder, even if it is just some opportunistic sixteen year old.

'Stay there. Lock the doors. In fact, call the police'

'Police? Don't you think we should check before we waste their time?'

'No. Call them' he tells her, then slams the door and activates the central locking. Bugger the fact that it'll set off the alarms as soon as she moves to make the phone call: he is beyond caring about upsetting the neighbours.

ooooo

It doesn't take him long in the house to ascertain that whoever has been in is long gone, along with the telly, DVD player and half a dozen DVDs. It is clear that he is alone in the house, but even so he tears open every single cupboard, drawer and door just in case the little shit has found somewhere to hide. In his determination to ensure that the intruder has gone he creates far more mess than the intruder did in the first place, and he knows that Jac will be angry about it, but he doesn't care. He needs to be certain that there is nobody else in the house before he even considers letting her come in. He even gets out a ladder and checks the roof. Anywhere that a burglar could conceivably hide he trashes. He only stops when he hears somebody downstairs and his blood runs like ice for a second until the person calls out and he realises that it is the police.

'They've ransacked the place!' Jac looks around at the carnage in horror.

'No, that was me' he admits, sheepish because he knows that it's what she expects rather than because he is sorry. He isn't sorry: he knows that he would do exactly the same thing again without hesitation. 'I wanted to make sure that whoever it was had gone'

'You thought that the burglar might be able to fit in one of the kitchen drawers?' she asks, looking mildly bemused by what she considers to be his massive overreaction.

'Is there anything missing?' the policeman asks.

'The TV and the DVD player. I had my laptop and iPad at work with me' Jac replies, sinking down onto the sofa. She looks like she is in shock but he suspects that it has as much to do with the magnitude of his reaction as with the fact that somebody has nicked her telly.

'Right, well I'll just have a look around. See if there's any sign and make sure that they're not still around. Although I think your friend's done a good job of that himself'

ooooo

'You can't stay here tonight' he tells her as soon as the police officer is gone. He knows that she'll argue against him but he's not willing to hear it. He could give her and endless list of reasons why she can't stay here tonight and he's more than prepared to argue with her until she gives in.

'It's fine Jonny. You heard the police: there's an opportunistic thief who's been going around breaking in through sash windows in the area. He's gone now and he's hardly going to come back. He's taken everything worth taking…'

'How do you know he's not going to come back? Now he knows that your house isn't even slightly secure what's to say he won't chance his luck at there being something that he didn't find the first time around. That's if he hasn't already copied the keys so that next time he won't even have to bother himself with the sash window…'

'Well what's the alternative? I don't have anywhere else to go…'

'You'll stay at mine' he tells her in a tone that brooks no disagreement. 'You can stay at mine until you've got the locks and the windows replaced, and an alarm installed' he adds, wondering whether she would consider getting a couple of Rottweilers to roam the garden as well. Not an ideal pet for a newborn but at least they would see off any potential burglars.

'In the shoebox? Your bed is more spring than mattress…'

'Fine, we'll find you a hotel'

'I don't want to go to a hotel, Jonny. I just want to go to my own bed. I'll call a locksmith now to take a look at the locks on the front door…' she adds, a concession to common sense as much as to him.

'No point unless you get the windows changed. That's how he got in and the sash windows are never going to be that secure. You heard the police'

'Do you know how much it's going to cost to get the windows replaced?'

'It doesn't matter. You can't stay here until it's done, and you're not going to get it sorted tonight so you may as well let me take you back to mine'