20.

"Please tell me you're joking." Christine began, her brain going into overdrive as she tried to make sense of it all in her head. She vaguely remembered Connor storming out after an argument – the most important part of this memory being the smell; when he came back, he always smelt lightly of smoke. In her intoxicated state, she thought nothing of it. He was a teenager, probably going through a phase of smoking cigarettes with his mates, and as Christine smoked herself, she was well accustomed to the smell and hardly noticed it. All this mixed with the fact that, although she loved him dearly in her own way, she didn't really care what he got up to. Buying and drinking alcohol was her main interest during most of his life. On the odd occasion, she would catch him burning a few leaves in their back garden but after grounding him and taking the lighter away from him, she never again thought of it, until today – achingly sober in Connors hospital room.

Feeling pain in his stomach, Connor gently sat back down on his temporary bed. He couldn't bring himself to look at his mum, or Imogen. Guiltily, he looked at the floor, hoping someone else would speak to break the uneasy silence, but they never did, so summoning all his courage, he took it upon himself. "I'm sorry." He said, simply.

"You're sorry? Is that it? I actually came back to tell you that the police want to talk to you today, without argument, so whatever is going on… you need to tell me, now, both of you." Christine took a seat, waiting for a plausible explanation.

Connor was reluctant to tell his mum of his penchant for fire-starting. They had only just spoken about the rape thing, and to be honest, he was still trying to get his head around that. The last thing he wanted was to drop another bombshell on her; he knew she was struggling without the drink, and didn't want to be the reason she reached for a bottle. His constantly worsening feelings of disgust in himself were manifesting themselves daily into something that closely resembled depression – he couldn't go to jail because that might tip him over the edge, but he absolutely outright refused to lay his mistakes on Imogen's shoulders.

"After the whole thing with Joe… I was angry and confused and I didn't know what to do so I went back to school and started a fire in the art room. It was never meant to get as big as it did, though! I couldn't control it and I couldn't move; it was as if I was… sort of, frozen. The last thing I remember is waking up and wondering why Imogen was there, and then waking up here."

He stopped, feeling a lump in his throat. Christine exhaled, trying to process the information.

"And I think I've made the whole situation a whole lot worse." Imogen said, cryptically. Despite doing what she did for the best, she couldn't help but feel guilty – what if she had unwillingly cemented his fate? They might think he had forced her to lie, and be extra hard on him when sentencing him. Realising she was getting ahead of herself, she breathed out calmly, and carried on.

"I don't know how but I sort of realised that Connor did it halfway through my police interview. I panicked and said it was me, I'm not really sure if they believe me but if they do, then I'm getting charged with arson." Purposefully making eye-contact with Christine, she said, "I'm so sorry if I have made things worse, I really am, but you have got to believe me. I did it to protect him, not to get him into more trouble."

Christine could see Imogen's frightened anxiety, and gave her a reassuring nod of the head, accompanied by a little smile, before turning to Connor, giving him her best disappointed look.

"You are an actual idiot, do you know that?" He nodded. "Oh, for God's sake, what am I going to do with you? Why a fire, Connor? That's the bit I don't understand, why fire? If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's that starting fires is not a normal coping method, love."

She was trying to be understanding, but was oblivious to the effect that her words had had on her son – it was the one thing that Connor did not want; her to say that he wasn't normal. Without being dramatic, to hear that was like a knife right through his heart. He knew he wasn't like other teenagers, he knew that there was something wrong with him and it ate away at him. His biggest fear was being ostracised because of it; no-one could ever find out. Deep down, Connor knew she didn't mean anything by it, but the words were a catalyst for the overwhelming emotions he'd felt in the past couple of hours.

"Please, don't, not you of all people." He started; his voice thick from trying not to cry.

"Don't what?"

"Just… don't turn against me. Please." The desperation in his voice intensified; it was genuinely painful for Imogen to hear the boy she loved sound so small, so defeated and she just wanted to give him a hug, but Christine was too engrossed in his words. It was a rare occasion that Connor actually confided anything in her so when he did, she knew to grab it with both hands.

"I would never, Connor. I could never do that. I haven't been the best parent in the world, we both know that, but I can promise you that I will be there for you, no matter what. Just tell me, love. Tell me why you start fires." She glanced at the clock uneasily, conscious of the time as she knew the police would be arriving soon. "Once you tell me we can get this whole thing sorted and keep you both out of serious trouble."

It took all the strength in the world for Connor to open up to his mum and girlfriend; he had tried to compartmentalise it in his head, but articulating it suitably would be a challenge. He clutched awkwardly at the custom hospital shirt he'd been given, mentally cursing the designer for not making the sleeves long enough to pull over his hands; the only comfort he had now that the option of fire had been taken away.

"I don't know where to start, really. It's just my thing, you know? It happens every time I'm angry or upset and it's normally only little, it's never been a danger until now." He looked at Imogen, who took a sharp but quiet, unnoticeable intake of breath when she seen his sorrow-filled eyes. It killed her to see him like this, and she really couldn't deal with it. She suddenly felt awkward, as if she was intruding on a private mother/son moment, and tried to make her excuses to leave.

"I-I'm just going to head off… give you two a bit of, um, privacy." She mumbled, already making her way to the door.

"No, wait, you're not going anywhere." Christine said. "We still haven't decided what we're telling the police."

"It doesn't matter, does it? I've already told them it was me so as long as he sticks with that story then he's safe."

"I'm not letting you do that, Imogen."

Imogen couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Why would you care?" she said, a little too defensively.

"Because I'm not letting you take the blame for something Connor did, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want you to do that, either. Anyway, if the truth were to come out, we'd all be in trouble for lying to the police. There is no point in entangling ourselves in a mess."

Connor was listening to their conversation without much interest. He was convinced he was going to jail now, and as his mum and girlfriend quickly tried to find a believable solution, he was lost in regret. How he wished he could go back to his younger self, at the first click of his lighter and knock it out of his hands, make it start raining – anything, no matter how irrational, he would do anything to go back in time and stop himself from developing pyromania.

"Stop it, both of you. We just tell them it was me, end of." He said, feigning confidence.

Christine shook her head. "No, no way. I am not letting you go to jail for this. I've got an idea, but I'm not sure if it'll work."

The young couple looked at each other, holding eye contact for what felt like hours. Their feelings towards each other were so clear, and the majority of students at Waterloo Road were jealous of their 'perfect relationship.' Scout would tell Imogen how lucky she was to have Connor because he was so romantic and any idiot could see how much he loved her, and Kevin would say the same to Connor, choosing different words, but the underlying meaning was still there. If only they could see them now; hardly speaking to each other, unable to look each other in the eye and hopelessly trying to find a way to stay out of jail.

Christine stood up, focusing all her efforts on devising a plan. This whole situation should make her itch for alcohol, but it was basically the opposite – the stress and worry took her mind of the intense desire for a drink.

"I don't think you should change your statement, Imogen. Leave it as it is; let them think that you did it." Before Connor could protest, she carried on, turning to face her troubled son. "But, we let them think you did it, too. When they interview you, you tell them that you did it. If you both own up to it, they won't know what to do. They will have to search for evidence. There won't be any fingerprints because the whole room was practically obliterated, and there's no CCTV on the art corridor, thankfully."

Connor felt less than reassured, but Imogen now thought Christine was an absolute genius. She even allowed herself a little smile. "Do you really think that will work?"

"From my experience at different schools, police don't tend to prioritise these types of cases. They don't have much evidence for it to point to arson either, so hopefully they'll just drop it. I don't know if it will work, I really don't… but it's worth a shot."

AN: Let me know how long you would want this to go on for... I've got quite a few ideas for different story lines, but I'm not even sure if anyone is interested so yeah, let me know, and let me know where you want it to go, too. Thanks for reading :-)