Chapter Thirty

Kevin Milne was deep in a dreamless sleep when the clanking of keys outside his room woke him. He jerked up in bed, flailing, and for a brief moment forgot where he was. The room in the secure unit was the nicest bedroom he’d ever slept in. It was clean–which was a novelty to him–and he had a bed to himself, which was unusual too. The staff had tried to make it homely. There were football posters on the wall and Ladybird books for age ten readers lined up neatly on the bookshelf. Of course, if they had really wanted him to feel at home, he would have slept on a urine-stained bare mattress on the floor with three other boys and a German shepherd dog lying on his feet. Enjoying the space and freedom of the bed, he turned over, pulling the covers with him. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the room, and he held his breath.

He waited.

The clock on the wall showed that it was 2 a.m., eight hours before the trial, eight hours in which to realize he had blown it. He screwed the bed covers up between his fingers and twisted them, hard. He should have been patient; patience certainly wasn’t something that he found easy, but he would have to learn.

Learn to wait.

The hours, the wasted hours he’d spent with that idiot, Dr Cornwell, came into his mind. A tear ran down his cheek, soon followed by another one. He was crying for himself–the tears were always for himself. The boy sucked in his breath as he thought of the psychiatrist. The muscles in his jaw became tight and he could feel hot pain shooting up into his head. Cornwell had looked like a pushover. He smiled easily at Kevin, showing off his even white teeth, but his eyes were cold and, unlike the other members of staff, he never invited Kevin to call him by his first name.