The admission floated around in the air awkwardly like an unwanted visitor, no-one in the room knowing what to say next. Connor stared anxiously at the dumbfounded headteacher, desperate for him to break the silence as the shock of finally telling someone other than his friends about the true events of that day had hit him. What happens in the next few moments could define his life forever; his freedom could be compromised, and the silence only created suspense.
"Connor, do you realise the seriousness of your confession?"
A single nod. Christine was called to the office, looking shaken. All day, the worry that Connor would actually confess had eaten away at her, only abated by the small hope that Imogen would talk him out of it. Mr Byrne asked a couple more neutral questions before explaining that due to school policy, the police would have to be called. A second nod, and everything happened quickly. A police car turned up; Connor told Christine he didn't want her to go to the station with him and was led away by two officers. The police station interview was the part he had been dreading the most. It was where he was undoubtedly going to break down when forced to answer the hard questions he had avoided answering when his own mother asked. Why do you it? Why fire?
...
A stony-faced police officer explained the formalities to a frightened Connor, who had been led into an interview room at the local station. An appropriate adult wasn't required as he was already 17, so the officer set up the tape straight away.
"My name is DCI Banks, the time is 15.35. State your name and age, please."
"Connor Mulgrew, 17 years old." He mumbled, pulling his cardigan securely over his hand.
"I'm going to be asking you some questions relating to your recent admission that you were responsible for the fire at Waterloo Road that resulted in the hospitalisation of yourself and Imogen Stewart. Do you understand?" A third nod. "Good. Can you explain your reasoning for committing arson at your school, Mr Mulgrew?"
"It's, er, a long story."
"Oh, we have time, I assure you." DCI Banks said, the unrelenting cockiness of a police officer becoming clear.
"It's what I do.. it's what I did," He corrected himself; fire was his past now. "Everything built up. It all got too much, and I couldn't deal with anything. I felt alone, scared, angry.. I know it must sound stupid to you, but fire was my escape. It started small, a pile of leaves in the garden or something. I was never meant to hurt anyone, you have to believe me."
Fighting back the stinging tears, Connor's words were genuinely heartfelt. DCI Banks sighed, she had been working in the police force long enough to know what was going on here; this wasn't a criminal, this was just a messed-up teenager. Her next questions, unbeknownst to Connor, were chosen tactfully. With each answer, the driving force behind this boys troubles were becoming clearer for the police officer - pyromania. It wasn't too common, but she had seen it before. After a while, she left the room briefly and returned with another woman.
"Mr Mulgrew, this is Robin. She's our psychologist, and she would like to ask you a few questions."
"Psychologist?"
"Don't be alarmed, that's just a posh name." Robin said, in a surprisingly soothing voice. "I just want a chat. It's in your best interests, Connor."
"Fine." He sighed. He couldn't exactly refuse, it was still a police matter after all. "What do you want to know?"
"Let's start of simply. Do you remember the first time you set a fire out of anger? Take your time."
...
At only fifteen years old, Connor Mulgrew had way too much to deal with. School was getting increasingly harder as the all important GCSE'S were coming up, but to be honest, he didn't mind school. It was a welcome distraction from his home life. The teachers never even batted an eyelid, never once became suspicious of what was going on behind closed doors, but then, why would they? Christine was good at keeping her secret. Ever since Connor could remember, his mother drank. Ever since he was old enough to understand the concept of alcoholism, Connor wanted her to stop. But she never did.
Things came to boiling point the day Connor decided to take it upon himself to make sure his mum wouldn't be able to drink, if only for a night. His decision stemmed from something that happened earlier that day, at school. In English, Christine was shaking. It was only noticeable to Connor, though, because he knew that she had slept in that morning and didn't have time to get to the off-license. A warning about lates had already been issued to the teacher and if there's one thing alcoholics hate, its unnecessary attention. The brief withdrawal must have become all too much, and Christine sunk to a new low. She pulled Connor out of the lesson, took him outside and told him to go to the shop for her. He refused; she turned on the manipulation and before he knew it, Connor was on the way to the local off-license, the one that was notorious for serving underage kids. All the way there and back he cooked up a clever story if he was caught truanting.. which, unluckily for him, he was. To Connor, sneaking in through the kitchens was a great idea; the cooks would have gone home, no-one one would find him. He didn't bank on the cleaners being there, though. One of the cleaners just happened to be the head-teachers wife, would you believe it? He was marched straight to the office, and Christine was furious.
"How could you be so stupid? I gave you a simple job, and you messed up. I can't trust you at all, can I?"
"Don't have a go at me!" Connor shouted, in the middle of an argument when they were home that night."You shouldn't have put me in that position!"
"Don't be so dramatic, Connor, I only asked you to buy a bottle of vodka. It's what kids your age do every weekend! It's what you would be doing if you would relax and make some friends!" Her voice was awfully patronising, only serving to fuel Connor's anger further.
He noticed she had stocked up again; a large bottle of the strongest vodka you could buy was perched on the kitchen sideboard. It gave him an idea. A crazy idea, that would only make his mum mental, but it would be worth it. Glancing at the clock, it confirmed what he had thought - all the shops would be closed, so if his plan worked, she would have to go without for the night. Smiling, he looked Christine straight in the eye, clutched the bottle of alcohol, and casually dropped it onto the kitchen floor. The smash was piercing, but to Connor, satisfying.
"What the hell did you do that for?!" Christine shouted, looking desperately at the shards of glass lying on the floor.
"The shops will be shut, Mum. I suppose you'll just have to go without." He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice, but it was impossible. He was pretty proud of himself.
"You idiot!" All rational thoughts disappearing, the raging alcoholic grabbed her sons arm and dragged him towards the door. Opening it, she pushed him outside and hissed, "You don't get back in until you've got something I can drink. And when you do, you're grounded."
The door slammed. Connor was speechless; he knew his mum was borderline unhinged, but to actually throw him out? Well, it was safe to say his plan had not gone as intended. The most he expected was a screaming match and to be grounded.. but this, whoa. Once the initial shock had passed, the fury returned. She was still an awful human being and he was still stuck with her. As he had said, all the shops were shut, so there was nowhere for him to go to get her the alcohol she so desperately craved. Any other alcoholic would have bottles stashed everywhere, around the house and even in the car, but this was no normal alcoholic - this was Christine Mulgrew, and in Connor eyes, the most messed up woman in Scotland. Connor started to walk aimlessly around the estate they currently lived on, believing the fresh air would clear his head. He walked and walked and walked. He pulled out of a pair of headphones that were stuffed into his coat pocket, and as he was distractedly untangling them, Connor stumbled.. over a clean-looking disposable lighter. Having nothing better to do, he picked it up and automatically ran his thumb over the roller.
It was a strange feeling. It was as if the singular flame focused his concentration - at that moment, nothing else existed. No alcoholic mother, no wandering around the streets on a freezing cold November night. The feelings were so engulfing that he almost ignored his phone starting to ring; it was his mum.
"I'm sorry, son. Come home."
...
Robin, the psychologist, bombarded Connor with questions until the tears he had been fighting back managed to break through. Eventually, she stopped, and the dark interview room was silent but for the rustling of notes.
"It seems to me you display crucial symptoms of pyromania. It's an impulse control disorder. Have you heard of it?"
He nodded miserably; thanks to Google, he had known that's what he had for a while now, but didn't want to confront it. Sometimes, confrontation makes things scarily real.
"Connor, I'm going to recommend that, on top of your police sentencing, you attend regular sessions with a counsellor. Don't look so worried, I'll take the sessions if you feel that would be better for you."
He attempted a smile. Robin was actually quite an endearing character; she was the type of person you felt you could confide in without being judged, she was a listener, and that was obvious. It was time for him to ask his own question. "Am I going to prison?"
...
DCI Banks explained that they would be putting him on probation, and issuing him with a criminal record. He asked what would happen to Imogen, but they refused to answer due to confidentiality. The legalities were done, and Connor was released. He declined their offers of a lift home - in his emotional, confused state, Connor had an idea, which involved the one person who had catapulted him into this mess.
...
"Mum?" Connor said, as he entered the house later that night.
Christine appeared from the living room. "Oh, God, Connor, you've been hours!"
"In the middle of the interview, they brought this psychologist in so it took longer." Oddly, he was more upbeat than he should be, given what he had just been through. "I'm on probation and I've got a record. Oh, and I have to see a counsellor regularly apparently. They said they'd be in touch."
"Are you okay? You're acting strange." She asked, following her son as he walked through to the kitchen, pulling out a loaf of bread and sticking two slices into the toaster. She knew him well; normally, he would have broken down in tears after an ordeal like that.
Connor just grinned. "Remember that time you kicked me out because I smashed your bottle of vodka?"
"What? Oh, God." It all clicked into place. She had been teaching teenagers long enough to realise what was going on. "Empty your pockets."
"No."
"Empty your pockets, right now, or I'll do it for you." Christine walked up to him, getting a closer look at his eyes. "You're stoned."
He threw his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. "I love you, Mum."
"Yeah, well, I'll have to decide whether I still love you in the morning, you idiot."
ok so hello.. two things i'm not entirely sure on - the whole 'tripping over a lighter' thing (don't know whether it's realistic) and the getting stoned thing. i hope you don't think it's too out of character! anyway, let me know what you think and cheers for reading! x
