ENSHROUDING LIGHT

THE JOB FOR TOM

CHAPTER 13

THE JOB FOR TOM

'We need to get him out of there!' Winston said, referring to Tom who, at just over three years of age, still sat in the ball pit alone. 'He's such a lonely kid.'

'He's fine!' Nevaeh looked at her overgrown son, now the size of an eight-year-old and with a mind to match, viewing the children around him with a strange interest. A polite spectator, he stood apart from the crowd, just outside of life.

It was Tracy's fault! How could she never bring Molly back after Tom's first birthday? Every Wednesday, for an entire year, he sat by the window and peered out longingly until giving up on his second birthday where he refused a party. He said if he couldn't have his friend there, then there was no point. Now, two years on from this loss, he just sat each day inside the comfort of the ball pit—his sanctuary—isolated from the world around him. He'd even refused a third birthday party, this time stating it was because he had nothing in common with usual three year olds, and if he invited kids that were around his mental age they wouldn't attend.

'He's got us! He adores the adults in his life.'

'I know, but Moderatos need to be doing something, man. They need to be of help or service, or they feel lost. The only time he enjoys himself is at closing when he can clean.'

'He enjoys reading the books Mark brings.'

'He knows them inside out, Nev! Can't we have him serve the customers or something? He'd enjoy it more on this side.'

'He's three! It doesn't matter how old he looks or acts, we still need to remember this!'

'He's a Moderator! He needs to feel useful. Let me try, and you'll see the difference.'

She grimaced.

'You want him to be happy, right?'

'Of course!'

Winston smiled at her then turned to the ball pit. 'Tom, come here a minute, man.'

Tom trudged through the balls to the entrance of the ball pit, twisted his huge frame to get out of the entrance door. He walked towards them, his beautiful eyes filled with intrigue and backed into Nevaeh's waiting hands. 'Yes?' He asked Winston as Nevaeh ran her fingers through his thick curls to even them out.

'We need some extra help on the café side. Me, Jack and your mum are getting too busy.' Winston paused and scratched his afro. 'Could you help us out?'

'I'd love to!' Tom said as though he'd been told he was going to Disneyland, elation plastered on his charming face.

'Thanks, man, you're a lifesaver!'

'What do I have to do?'

'You can start by taking those sandwiches for Jack.' Winston pointed to two plates that Jack was walking past with.

Jack spun back and passed them to Tom. 'Table eight, mate.'

Tom took the plates. 'That rhymes. I will take...to table eight...because I am your bestiest mate!'

'Yeah, man!' Winston shouted as he walked away.

Nevaeh turned to Winston, who stood, arms folded, with a smug grin. 'Okay, smarty pants!'

By the end of the week, Tom had iced a birthday cake, buttered bread, prepared salad and washed the pots. Taking cold food and drinks to tables meant he'd also received tips from customers, who for the first time in a long while responded well to him.