"Where were you last night, son?" Norton put his fork down and looked at his father. How many more times?
"The Tenements," His father nodded, pushing his own food around the plate. He would've eaten, if only to appease the wife, but the bright red sauce made him think of blood, which in turn made him think of the kid. How would he feel if it was Norton in a hospital bed instead of some nameless boy in a green jumper? Silently, the three returned to eating, not saying a word until half an hour later as Mrs. Williams grabbed up the plates and flitted into the kitchen, leaving the two males at the empty table.
"I won't be mad if you were somewhere else, you know"
"I wasn't,"
"Was it just you there?"
"Nah, Johnny and Peanut were there too," Three boys. Mr. Williams shook his head. He'd brought his boy up better. He'd seen too many old friends go to jail to let it happen to his kid. Imagine! Arresting Johnny's father had been bad enough with his colleagues snickering behind his back. Not that he'd been surprised- the idiot been hotheaded, young, thought he was indestructible. In short, exactly like his son, while the policeman had been calmer, more restrained, a trait he could only hope Norton had inherited.
"If you were anywhere else, then it's best to tell me now,"
"I wasn't," Norton replied slowly, his grip on the glass tightening.
"Mind your tone. Ray, will you stop badgering the boy? He's not a liar," The policeman's cynical glance flickered between his wife and son. "What's that look for?"
"Nothing," he insisted, shaking his head. Norton was a good boy, the one who kept the others on the straight and narrow. Then again... "Just thought I should say,"
"Why?"
"Something at work, you know how it is,"
"Enlighten me," The man took a deep breath.
"Some kid from his school's in hospital. Broken ribs, bruises, the works," He paused, taking a breath as the words seeped into his son's head.
"So you thought I did it?" The boy jumped up as though he'd been sitting on a hot stove.
"No, but... Listen, I'm not that old. I remember what teenage boys are like. Peer pressure an' all that,"
"It wasn't me! Ask the guys, if you want,"
"Will I find anything if I do?" Before Mr. Williams could reply, Norton stormed from the room, door creaking open behind him as he squeezed past his mother .
"What was all that about?" his wife enquired, raising a cup to her lips and gazing expectantly.
"Long story," the man muttered, before going into detail about the boy in the street, the bruises, the breaks, the bumps, the blood, the catalogue of brutality written on his body with angry red ink. "What if the boy had been dead?" he asked. "What if that had been our boy?" This was the question that haunted him perpetually at work. What if Norton had been beaten? What if Norton got into drugs? What if Norton mugged some old lady? Of course, fathers tend to know very well what their child isn't capable of, but- and this is true most of the time- that won't stop worry buzzing in a man's ear till he wants to bring his fist down on it.
Sarah listened, patient faced and still before she spoke.
"Norton wouldn't get involved with that, Ray," she soothed, her mouth a sweet "O" blowing on her coffee. "He's a sweet boy, and he's not dense enough to get pressured into anything." The dose of maternal sense didn't cure the man's insecurity.
"They said that about Tony. Do you remember what happened the last time we heard that?" The coffee cup clattered down, waves in the cup colliding and dripping over the side a few moments after the short drop from Sarah's grip to the table.
"Get that thought from your head right now, Ray Williams. Our son is no simple Tony Vincent. He's a good boy, and we both know it. You may not like the company he keeps- and don't even get me started on how hypocritical that is- but we raised a good boy, not a thug. Norton will be fine, Ray. He wouldn't do that, no matter what his friends said." The words were fierce, barely softer than the growl from a bear's throat. In sixteen years of marriage, he could count on one hand the number of times Sarah had raised her voice and have fingers to spare.
Wind was screeching outside. October darkness protected delinquents on the street, helped by the cold wind hassling the officers. A little bit less light, Ray mused, and there'd be a permanent eclipse. Perhaps had it been lighter, his mind would have eased. That way, he'd know the identities of the faceless culprits. He had his theories, of course- only kids drank in the street, not people with ID for bars. Hopefully, they had a chance if they were young, could still learn to know better. Then again, what kind of kids ganged up on another boy like a pack of wolves? Worse yet, if kids were capable of things like that, who wasn't?
Shaking his head, the policeman stood up, straight-backed and sturdy. Working too hard. That was it. Too much work was screwing with his head. His son wasn't responsible. Any other kid, sure, but not Norton. Not his baby boy.
"I hope you're right, Sarah. I truly do."