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Authors: David McLeod
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Santa Monica exiting at South Western Ave. He circled the neighborhood a little before arriving in the Costello’s street.
‘I can see why the cops thought he’d run away,’ Taylor said as she looked at the rows of rundown houses and graffiti-covered fences. Garbage, wrecks of cars, and rusted whiteware littered the lawns, and with the addition of the usual assortment of dodgy looking youths hanging around on curb sides, it made for an area that could conservatively be described as rough.
Keeping their wits about them, both Taylor and Malone got out of the car and walked up to the Costello house. Malone rapped on the door and Taylor hopped nervously from foot to foot as she waited for the door to be answered. As Erin opened the door and invited them in, Malone took a look back at his blue Ford, half expecting it to be the last time he’d ever see it intact.
As they entered the house, Malone introduced Taylor to Erin.
‘Can I fix you a drink?’ she asked.
‘A coffee would be great,’ Malone replied, and Taylor nodded.
‘Sure. How do you take it?’
‘White with one for Taylor and straight black for me thanks — cowboy style,’ he joked.
Erin eyed him strangely before disappearing into the kitchen.
Taylor took a seat as Malone took a brief wander around the living room before sitting next to her on the couch.
The room was filled with an eclectic mix of what looked to be cheap pieces of furniture that made the place look more like a storage unit than a family home. Malone felt sure he wouldn’t have noticed such things, certainly not prior to Taylor moving into his house. But with her arrival, out had gone most of his — what she termed an archaic, mishmash of chattels, and in came her trendy/chic furnishings. Although he made a stand when she wanted to throw out his La-Z-Boy, telling her that if it went, he would go with it!
‘There you go,’ Erin said, handing them their steaming mugs of coffee with the Boston Celtics logo emblazoned on their sides. They both thanked her, and she took a seat opposite them.
‘Tell me more about young Joshua,’ Malone began.
‘What can I say? He’s just a normal young boy. Like I said before, he’s a little bit smaller than a lot of the boys of his age, but looking at his feet, I think he’s got a growth spurt ready to happen. Plus, he’s got the little lisp thing…’
‘You said that he’s tried to run away before.’
‘Aye, he’s tried it a few times. The first time was when he was around four or five. I’d told him off about something or other, or maybe he just didn’t get his own way about something — I can’t quite remember what — he yelled out that he was going to run away. So I said fine, go right ahead and off he stormed to his room. There was lots of crashing and banging and finally his bedroom door sprang open. Out he came, dragging one of my big suitcases behind him. It was quite a sight, I’ll tell you. The suitcase was bigger than he was…’ She broke off for a moment as she pictured the memory.
‘Anyway, I let him leave and trailed him as he made his way along the street. Fair play to him, he made it a couple of blocks before plonking himself down on a bench and giving up. Poor wee soul, he was so wound up that all he could do was sit there sobbing. I sat beside him, and after letting him calm down, I asked if he wanted to come home. ‘Yes please, mummy’ was all he said.’ A smile crossed her face.
‘Unpacking his case was a laugh, all he had managed to fit inside that great big case was three wee pairs of superhero undies.’
Malone smiled along with her.
‘Then, a year or so ago, we argued about him not getting good enough grades at school — he left for a few hours that time. I don’t know where he went, but he was back before dinner was served up.’
She got up from the sofa and moved to the sideboard, put down her coffee, and picked up a photo of her son. ‘The thing is, although he’s been in a bit of
‘I can see why the cops thought he’d run away,’ Taylor said as she looked at the rows of rundown houses and graffiti-covered fences. Garbage, wrecks of cars, and rusted whiteware littered the lawns, and with the addition of the usual assortment of dodgy looking youths hanging around on curb sides, it made for an area that could conservatively be described as rough.
Keeping their wits about them, both Taylor and Malone got out of the car and walked up to the Costello house. Malone rapped on the door and Taylor hopped nervously from foot to foot as she waited for the door to be answered. As Erin opened the door and invited them in, Malone took a look back at his blue Ford, half expecting it to be the last time he’d ever see it intact.
As they entered the house, Malone introduced Taylor to Erin.
‘Can I fix you a drink?’ she asked.
‘A coffee would be great,’ Malone replied, and Taylor nodded.
‘Sure. How do you take it?’
‘White with one for Taylor and straight black for me thanks — cowboy style,’ he joked.
Erin eyed him strangely before disappearing into the kitchen.
Taylor took a seat as Malone took a brief wander around the living room before sitting next to her on the couch.
The room was filled with an eclectic mix of what looked to be cheap pieces of furniture that made the place look more like a storage unit than a family home. Malone felt sure he wouldn’t have noticed such things, certainly not prior to Taylor moving into his house. But with her arrival, out had gone most of his — what she termed an archaic, mishmash of chattels, and in came her trendy/chic furnishings. Although he made a stand when she wanted to throw out his La-Z-Boy, telling her that if it went, he would go with it!
‘There you go,’ Erin said, handing them their steaming mugs of coffee with the Boston Celtics logo emblazoned on their sides. They both thanked her, and she took a seat opposite them.
‘Tell me more about young Joshua,’ Malone began.
‘What can I say? He’s just a normal young boy. Like I said before, he’s a little bit smaller than a lot of the boys of his age, but looking at his feet, I think he’s got a growth spurt ready to happen. Plus, he’s got the little lisp thing…’
‘You said that he’s tried to run away before.’
‘Aye, he’s tried it a few times. The first time was when he was around four or five. I’d told him off about something or other, or maybe he just didn’t get his own way about something — I can’t quite remember what — he yelled out that he was going to run away. So I said fine, go right ahead and off he stormed to his room. There was lots of crashing and banging and finally his bedroom door sprang open. Out he came, dragging one of my big suitcases behind him. It was quite a sight, I’ll tell you. The suitcase was bigger than he was…’ She broke off for a moment as she pictured the memory.
‘Anyway, I let him leave and trailed him as he made his way along the street. Fair play to him, he made it a couple of blocks before plonking himself down on a bench and giving up. Poor wee soul, he was so wound up that all he could do was sit there sobbing. I sat beside him, and after letting him calm down, I asked if he wanted to come home. ‘Yes please, mummy’ was all he said.’ A smile crossed her face.
‘Unpacking his case was a laugh, all he had managed to fit inside that great big case was three wee pairs of superhero undies.’
Malone smiled along with her.
‘Then, a year or so ago, we argued about him not getting good enough grades at school — he left for a few hours that time. I don’t know where he went, but he was back before dinner was served up.’
She got up from the sofa and moved to the sideboard, put down her coffee, and picked up a photo of her son. ‘The thing is, although he’s been in a bit of
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