The Recruit

8. Birthday

Ash felt like he was floating through his life. Every day was the same. Get up, go to school, come back, play football or hang out with Rob Vaughn and his gang. Ash never got into bed before midnight: he knew if he was exhausted he wouldn't lie awake feeling miserable about Leaf and his mum.

The only time he'd seen Leaf in the three weeks since his mum died had been at the funeral. The telephone number on the bit of paper Giovanni had given him didn't work. Giovanni had told Ramos that Ash was a bad influence. He didn't want him near his daughter.

"You stink," Brock said. Ash sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes. He didn't need to get dressed because all he'd done the night before was kick off his trainers and climb into bed wearing his football shirt and tracksuit bottoms.

"You've had the same socks on for days," Brock said.

"You're not my mum, Brock."

"Your mum never had to sleep in a room that stinks of your BO." Ash looked down at the blackened bottoms of his socks. They reeked, but he'd got used to the smell.

"I'll have a shower," Ash said. Brock tossed a packet of Mars bars on to Ash's bed.

"Happy twelfth birthday," Brock said. "Should have got you deodorant." Ash was pleased Brock had remembered. It wasn't much of a gift, but five Mars' was quite expensive for someone on three quid a week.

"You'd better clean yourself up, anyway. You've got to go to the police station today." Ash looked at Brock. His hair was gelled in a spiky wave and his clothes was immaculate, with his shirt tucked in and his bottoms fitting perfectly around his waist. Ash looked at the black under his nails, ran his hand through his gluey tangle of hair and couldn't help laughing about the mess his life was in.

Madeline was in a mood. Her car was overheating, the traffic was awful and there was no space in the police station car park.

"I can't park, you'll have to go in by yourself. Have you got the bus fare to come back?"

"Yeah," Ash said. He got out of the car and walked up the steps of the police station. He'd dressed in chinos and his best fleece, even combed his hair back after the shower. Everyone said getting a police caution was no big deal, but it didn't feel that way as Ash walked up to the desk and said his name.

"Sit," the policewoman said, pointing at a row of chairs.

Ash waited for an hour. People came in and filled forms, mostly reporting stolen cars or mobiles.

"Ash Ryan." Ash stood up. A fit-looking cop reached out and gave him a crunching handshake.

"I'm Sergeant Peter Davies, juvenile liaison officer." They went upstairs to an interview room. The sergeant got an inkpad and a piece of card out of a filing cabinet.

"Relax your hand, Ash. Let me do all the work." He dabbed the tips of Ash's fingers in the ink, then rolled each tip firmly against the card. Ash wished they'd given him a copy because the fingerprints would look cool pinned on his bedroom wall.

"OK, Ash, this is the caution. Any questions?" Ash shrugged. Sergeant Davies began reading from a piece of paper:

"The Metropolitan Police have received information that on October 9th, while attending Holloway Dale School, you seriously assaulted one of your classmates, Ursula Dean. During the assault Miss Dean received a severe cut to her cheek, resulting in the need for eight stitches. During the same incident you also assaulted the class teacher Agatha Adams, who received injuries to her back. As this is the first criminal charge you have faced, the Metropolitan Police have decided to give you a formal caution if you admit to what you have done. Do you admit to the offences detailed above?"