“Thomas Manson?” They stood there, cold and rigid, staring at him.
“Yeah, that‘s me.” Tom stared back, uncertain.
“I’m afraid we have some…unfortunate news.” One of them, the taller one, stepped forward. “Do you have a seat by any chance? We could use one.”
One seat for two men? Tom shrugged and dragged a couple of rickety chairs from against the wall and brought them over. The taller one sat down first, quickly followed by the second man who was shorter. And rounder. He seemed to be in awe of the taller man, watching him closely and copying everything he did.
“My name is Geoffrey Hilton and this is Hugh Dawson. We work for the police, Special Investigations department.” The man called Hugh Dawson nodded and attempted a smile. It turned out to be more of a grimace.
Tom froze. Police. Special Investigations.
“Why’re you in normal clothes?” He tried to sound casual.
“Oh, these?” Geoffrey Hilton smiled stiffly. “We’re off duty today.”
“Then why’re you here?”
“Oh uh, we’re here to bring you some news. That is, some facts about a certain woman.”
“Mum. What about her?” Tom was losing patience. He knew they’d come to tell him something about his mother, but they seemed to like dawdling.
“Oh, you know about it? I wonder why Gillis sent us then.” Geoffrey Hilton glared at his colleague who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
“No. I don’t know about ‘it’. But I know you’ve come here to tell me something about Mum. That’s all anyone ever comes here for.” Tom said.
“I see. Well, your mother, Alice Manson, was found dead this morning. She was apparently staying in the local hospital when she died.”
There was a long, dreadful silence. Hugh Dawson coughed nervously and the sound echoed hollowly around the room.
“Where is she.” Tom‘s body was as straight and stiff as the wall he leant against. His eyes stared, seeing nothing at all except the face of his mother. From that moment on, her image was etched permanently in his memory. Alice Manson. The only person he’d ever loved. She was dead.
“The late Mrs. Manson is in the morgue at the moment, but they’ll be burying her tomorrow. You were the only relation we could find. In fact, you are her only relation. So there you are, those are the facts.”
“No, they aren’t.” Tom spoke with a hardness in his usually placid voice.
“I beg your pardon?” Geoffrey Hilton seemed offended, as did his partner.
“You didn’t tell me why she died. Or how she died. I want to know.”
The two men glanced at each other, almost sarcastically. “We don’t know for certain, but we think it was drug overdose. Anyway, that’s the most apparent cause so far.”
Tom Manson sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands. “I need to be alone.”
“Ah yes, but there is still the problem of where you will go and stay. You can’t stay in this shack by yourself right now.” Hilton sounded like he was talking to a kindergarten kid.
“I’m sixteen! Plus, I don’t care anyway. I just want to be alone.”
Hugh Dawson summed up enough courage to speak. “We have no proof of your age, therefore we cannot possibly leave you by yourself.” He took a breath, as if his sentence had been hard to deliver.
“Look, why would you care about me, when Mum’s been living in this stupid shack all her life? Why would you care? Just get lost.” Tom turned his back on them.
Geoffrey Hilton reddened. So did his companion.
For once in their lives, they actually experienced the feeling of shame.
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