All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at:
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PJ
D'n'M Part 6
From Chapter 3:
Thanks for that,' he thought as Senora Gomez brought the car to a stop outside a perfectly pleasant but very ordinary-looking house, similar to all the others he could see along the street. Milo noted several colourful shrubs of various sizes on either side of a neat, paved path leading up to the front door. Suddenly he was aware of a significant increase in his heart rate and he felt the sweat running down his back. Okay,' he thought, this is it. This is where life gets serious.' And if someone had, at that precise moment, asked him, on a scale of one to ten, just how prepared he was for the seriousness of becoming a lot more than simply Uncle Milo, he wasn't sure that he'd rate his chances as much higher than a 5. Possibly, he thought, with a following wind and the sun on his back, a 6. Would that be enough? Time will tell,' he said to himself as he opened the car door and swung his legs out. `Time will tell.'
Chapter 4:
If Nico had been in a movie, then, come award season, he would have been the undisputed winner of every possible prize for his absorbing and dramatic portrayal of silent resentment and supressed anger. Sitting on the stiff, upright chair that he had deliberately turned towards the corner of the room, his hidden face was a similarly rigid mask concealing the warring emotions that he was barely winning the battle to control. Never before had he felt so gut-rippingly angry. Even when his time at La Casa had been at its worst or when he was being beaten to near unconsciousness by Alvarez and his gang, even when yet another of his fat-bellied punters had refused to pay up or his mum had shouted at him for bringing her only low-grade stuff, even at those times, yes, he had been angry, but not like he felt now. Now he wanted to scream, to smash, to punch, and fuck to whatever consequences he might be threatened with by silly Isabella Gomez or the pathetic Señora Roja. What he wanted to know was how had the police found him and then brought him back to this prison-pretending-to-be-a-home? What right had they' got to take over his life? Didn't they know he was being taken out of the country to be abused and pimped out by his so-called real family'? Fuuuuck!! For the millionth time he asked himself why his stupid mum had to die, abandoning him to this out-of-control hell? As he sat, aggressively immobile on the hard chair, the boy's blue eyes were clouded by this whirlpool of unspoken and unanswered questions as he waited, as instructed by Señor Roja, to meet his pervert uncle.
But Milo saw nothing of this emotional shitstorm. What he did see, as he was shown into the lounge of their home by Señor and Señora Roja ("Domenico and Maria, please señor.") was Nico's back, the tension obvious as it travelled upwards into his neck and stone-still head. Milo had seen this dozens of times before, of course, in his consulting room, the angry, the frightened, the lonely, the confused, the resistant, the defiant children who were so damaged by all the shit that life had thrown at them that they'd rather keep an unbreakable hold on all that familiar hurt and negativity than run the risk of letting go, only then to find themselves falling down to an even darker, even more threatening unknown. More than anything, Milo wanted to rush forward and wrap this arms around the silent figure in the corner of the room, but experience had taught him that that was probably just about the worst thing he could do. He only had to look at Nico's frozen back and immobile head to know that. So he forced himself to sit down in the armchair he was being politely shown to by Maria Roja and take a look around the room.
And what a room. At first sight it looked like any one of thousands, millions probably, of rooms in ordinary, unassuming homes across the western world. On the shiny wooden floor were several colourful rugs (a Mexican design?) The still strong evening sunlight filtered in through shuttered windows, though it was bright enough for Milo to make out the floral pattern on the suite of over-stuffed furniture. Against one wall was a dark wood, open dresser with shelves above and a pair of cupboards below. Opposite, beside the door he had come through, stood a glass-fronted display cabinet and, in one corner, an ornate plant stand topped with a very large indoor fern in a highly-decorated ceramic pot. But above all, the most striking aspect of the room, was the presence of the babies. They were everywhere. Elaborately-framed photos of their eyes-still-closed, newborn little faces hung from every wall and stood on every horizontal surface. Casts of their unimaginably tiny feet and hands multiplied behind the glass of the display cabinet. Hand-stitched versions of their names were draped over the backs of the furniture. There was no escaping their silent presence.
`Creepy,' thought Milo and, for once, both halves of his usually-warring mind agreed. He'd entered this house determined to move on with the process of getting Nico back home as fast as possible, suddenly that determination had doubled. This, he instinctively knew, was no place for a bereaved and traumatised teenager. When the two halves both spoke up, telling him that Nico needed to be out of there as soon as possible and living somewhere normal, somewhere he could begin to make his own and start over, Milo told himself (and them) that they'd get no argument from him.
"Nico. This is your Uncle Milo," began Isabella Gomez. "Won't you turn around and say hello?"
Nico appeared not to move but what none of the adults could see was the tightening of his jaw and the clenching and unclenching of his fists.
"Nico, por favor," added Señora Roja. "Se ha tonado muchas molestias y ha recorrido un largo camino para verte."
That's right, thought Milo, he had gone to a lot of trouble and come a long way, but that wasn't why he wanted Nico to turn around. No, the reason was, well, however ridiculous it might sound to any of the other people in this very weird room, and considering the fact that 80% of what he knew about the boy was negative, and the other 20% was scary, the reason was that he loved the boy and he desperately wanted to demonstrate to him the genuine reality of that fact by being able to look him in the eye. Surely, then, Nico would see that this unexpected and unknown relative from thousands of miles away wanted nothing but the best for him and that he was there to give him whatever love and support and time he needed in order to start building a new life out of the carnage of the old. Surely he'd see that.
"Hi Nico," he began, his voice soft and neutral. "Hi. Yes, I'm your Uncle Milo. Your mum's kid brother. We saw each other the other day on the video call. Why don't you turn around so that we can properly say `Hello'?"
As before, Nico appeared not to move, although the clenching of the hands continued unseen by the adults behind him. But he was thinking, thinking about the voice he'd just heard. It was smooth and refined and sounded just like Su Excelensia, even though he couldn't remember ever hearing the bastard speak in English. But then, maybe, hopefully, the voice would be the only similarity between the two men -- between his real, actual uncle and the man who had viciously abused and humiliated him. Maybe. Maybe this Uncle Milo would be as kind and welcoming as he obviously wanted Nico to believe. Maybe. And so, just when Milo was beginning to think that he should have been more considerate and spoken his first proper words to Nico in Spanish, the boy turned around to face into the room and the four pairs of hopeful and expectant adult eyes that were fixed on him.
Nico's own eyes homed in on the least familiar face of the four, but as he scanned Milo's features a lump formed in his throat and it didn't take him long to realise why -- Milo's face wasn't unfamiliar, far from it, because it looked just like his mum's. For a moment the similarity took his breath away. During the video call that he'd just been reminded of he had deliberately and defiantly not looked directly at the screen but now, properly seeing Milo for the first time, there could be no doubt, this was a member of the family that his mum had bad-mouthed over and over for as long as he could remember.
He dropped his eyes to scan further down and ... Fuck! Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, here was the evidence that everything his mum had told him about his screwed-up family was true, along with his very worst fears for what was to become of him. This, so-called, Uncle' Milo was nothing more and nothing less than another version of that paedo, Su Excelensia. They could have been twins -- the pale suit, the linen shirt, the soft leather loafers. He even smelled the same. Oh fuck, this was bad. Worse, even, than he had been expecting. What he'd experienced at La Casa and on the shitty streets of the city was nothing to what was waiting for him once this man took him away, out of this house, out of the city, out of the country. In short, out of everything he had ever known and everywhere he had ever felt any sense of belonging, of home'.
Fuuuck! Suddenly Nico felt as if some sort of inner plug had been yanked out of his guts, allowing all his anger to drain away, immediately followed by his years of carefully constructed strength and defiance and belief in himself. They were gone. All gone. What could he, a teenage kid, do against all the forces which were now, very clearly, lined up against him -- Señora Gomez, the Rojas and everyone at the Secretaria Nacional and now, worse of all, so much worse, the family that his mum had told him would come and rescue him and take him somewhere safe, somewhere he could finally let down his defences and just be a normal, maybe even ordinary, teenage boy.
Hah! Wrong, again mum,' he thought. You should have stuck to the original story, that your whole family were a bunch of miserable shits who couldn't be trusted and who would be the first to dump on me if they ever found out I existed.'
His shoulders slumped, his back lost its rigidity and his head was no longer held high and defiant, all signs that the adults in the room misread as evidence that the boy was, finally, happy to give up his resistance and give himself over into the loving arms of his uncle and the rest of his waiting family. Milo stood up and walked across to where Nico sat. He gently lifted him to his feet and then wrapped him in his arms. The boy seemed to have no strength to resist and barely, even, to stand, allowing himself to be held upright, with his own arms hanging limply at his sides and his eyes lifeless and dull.
"Oh Nico," he heard his uncle say, "I can't wait to get you home so the rest of the family can meet you. Your grandpa is so impatient to see you, but he couldn't come with me `cause he's been ill."
`Heart attack,' he mouthed to the other adults in the room.
"And Dan is so happy you've been found. And his mum and dad too."
There was that name again -- Dan. Who was he?
"Dan, that's your husband, yes?" enquired Maria Roja.
His husband? Wow, Nico wasn't expecting that. So his uncle was into boys. Again, just like Su Excelensia. For Nico that was the confirmation he both expected and dreaded. Not only was this man intending to pimp him out to be fucked by whoever was willing to pay, oh no, not just that, he was, himself, going to be the chief fucker. And his husband, this Dan guy, him too? And probably the grandfather. Shit! He should have done a better job of killing himself when he'd had the chance, `cause whatever sort of life was ahead of him now was gonna be not worth living. Worse, in fact, than anything his shitty fourteen years on Earth had already thrown at him. At least before he'd had his mum on his side, no matter how needy and dependent she'd been. But now even her pathetic attempt to love and care for him was gone, leaving him totally alone and powerless to prevent his life from descending into an unbearable and degrading nightmare. He screwed is eyes shut to try to stop the tears that were beginning to form behind his lids from falling down his face. He failed, but what Milo and the others saw were tears of relief (both Rojas), of acceptance (Isabella Gomez), even of happiness (Milo). They couldn't have been further off target.
And that, it seemed, was that. Nico's fate was sealed and there was nothing he could do about it. After a brief conversation among the adults, the boy having been asked' to go to his room for a few minutes', it was agreed that he would stay at least one more night with Domenico and Maria Roja, ("Very closely supervised," as Señor Roja assured both Milo and Señora Gomez), giving Milo time to visit both his embassy and the Secretaria Nacional in order to have his documentation authorised and to finalise all the legal paperwork, before arranging the earliest possible flights back home. Isabella Gomez was quick to point out how pleased the minister would be to have such a satisfactory resolution to the boy's, "Unhappy and unfortunate situation," and that the department would be more than happy to hand him over into Milo's custody as soon as all formalities had been completed. All three of the other adults were quick to read between the lines and to appreciate that everything was being expedited as quickly as possible in order to bring no further embarrassment or reputational damage, to the minister or, indeed, the government he represented.
Once Isabella Gomez had dropped Milo at his hotel he spent the hour or two before dinner mostly on his laptop. His first priority was to video call Dan.
"It looks like it's all coming together," he began. "Everyone here is falling over themselves to get the problem of Nico off their hands as fast as they can. Especially the minister who can see his career heading down the toilet with every hour he's still the responsibility of the ministry. I just know he's gonna make sure that any possible roadblocks are well and truly demolished."
"Yeah, yeah, that's great news," said Dan, a note of exasperation in his voice, "But what about Nico? How is he? Is he okay? What did he say when you finally got to meet him face to face?"
So typical of D, thought Milo, wanting to know about Nico rather than all the tedious legal stuff. It was just another example of why he loved the man so much. What a great family they were gonna make together, the three of them. Yes, he knew it wasn't gonna be an easy ride, all his training and experience with damaged kids told him that, but with D at his side there wasn't any obstacle they couldn't overcome, any trauma damage they couldn't help mend. And with his own dad and D's parents, not forgetting Tom and his family, they'd be a completely awesome and unbeatable team.
"Well, he was a bit distant at first -- no surprise there - but when I finally managed to give him the biggest hug, well, he just cried."
Milo saw the concerned look that instantly flashed across Dan's face and hurried to provide clarification.
"No, it wasn't what you're thinking, D. I'm sure they were tears of relief and happiness, knowing, finally, that all the crap he's had to live with his whole life is now 100% behind him. He's gonna be able to start a new life, D, with us and I can't wait for you to meet him. And for that new life to get started," he added as an afterthought.
Dan, duly reassured, asked, "So what happens next? And when do you think you'll be home here with us?"
Milo outlined the plan he had agreed with Isabella Gomez and the Rojas and added, "As soon as I hang up I'm going straight online to see what the flight situation is like. At such short notice we may not be able to fly direct but, whatever, we're gonna be outa here as soon as." Dan couldn't fail to notice the huge grin that spread across M's face. `Let's hope that smile doesn't get wiped off too soon,' he thought, reflecting the lack of optimism he'd felt about the whole Nico situation right from the start.
"How's everyone else doing?" asked Milo, interrupting Dan's negative thoughts. He was so happy that, finally, there was upbeat news to report.
"Well, your dad has been amazing, like he's suddenly twenty years younger. It's as if the prospect of having his grandson come to live here has made it seem like the heart attack never happened. He's been at it non-stop ever since you left. Somehow he's managed to persuade a local decorating company to drop all their other work so they can give the office, I mean Nico's room, a make-over. And he's arranged for new furniture to be delivered tomorrow, just the basics like a bed and a dresser. Anything else he needs, Nico can choose once he's had time to settle in. Of course he'll be able to use one of the desks that was in the room before and the internet line is already installed, so that's another problem solved. Gerry's even persuaded my mum to take some time off work to lend a hand with the bed linen and curtains and stuff. She played hard to get at first but, deep down, I think she's almost as excited as he is about the new addition to the family."
"That all sounds great. Good old mum. (Don't tell her I called her old!) And what about school?" Milo had been worrying about Nico's education, knowing as he did from Kate's letter, that the boy hadn't had much in the way of formal schooling there in Buenos Aires. He couldn't help wondering what impact that would have in terms of him being accepted at Greenside High.
"My dad's been talking to the school quite a bit in the last couple of days. At first he got the very strong feeling that Ms. Ohura wasn't 100% sold on the idea of Nico being enrolled there, but then he reminded her how determined he and mum had been over what happened with that bastard Roberts, and suddenly she was falling over herself to be co-operative." Despite the trauma of Dan's abuse by the soccer coach all those years before, there was more than a hint of amusement in his voice as he thought about how the principal had caved in so completely once she was reminded just how difficult Roger Reed had made her life once before and how he would be happy to do so again -- if necessary.
"And," Dan continued, "We've got a new social worker lined up to do all the home assessment and suitability stuff. His name's Hamza and he's going to make his first visit tomorrow. It seems like you get very speedy service when you're paying for it."
"Any idea what he's gonna be looking for?" Following his experience of Ms. Lamar and her approach to her job, not to mention some of the others he had encountered in his time at Margelles and Associates, Milo was suspicious, verging on distrustful, of anyone who was entitled to hang a social worker lanyard around their neck. Although he did have to admit to himself that Isabella Gomez was okay. Hopefully this Hamza guy would be more like her than Veronica Lamar.
"Nothing very surprising, really. It looks like it's mostly a re-run of a lot of the stuff we've already been over with Ms. Lamar. Hamza told me that he didn't think there'd be any problems getting our application accepted. He even thought he'd be able to fast-track it through the system for us. I got the impression that he's `family'. He certainly didn't seem at all surprised by you and me being a couple or that we are wanting to bring up Nico together."
"Family, eh? Did he come on to you?" Milo teased.
"Of course," Dan teased back. "Don't you know I'm irresistible?"
"Yeah, I knew that. Why'd you think I've been in love with you forever? But seriously," Milo continued, drastically changing the mood, "You're sure there's no problem with this Hamza guy about the fact that we're two married men and Nico is classed as a vulnerable teenage boy?" This was an aspect of the whole process that had started niggling away at the back of his mind almost as soon as he and D had made the decision to provide Nico with a home, a worry that hadn't been helped by the two halves of his mind which chimed in on the subject whenever they got the chance.
"I asked him about that cause I knew you'd be fretting over it, and he said that the fact that you and Nico are blood related makes the whole process much more straightforward and, as far as the powers that be' are concerned, very much more acceptable. So you can stop worrying about all that shit and just concentrate on tying up all the loose ends over there and getting your sweet butt back home. I'm missing you. And it!"
Milo smiled. `And I'm missing having you take special care of it,' he thought.
"Yeah, being back home is gonna be so much fun."
For the next few minutes he and Dan talked over their plans for the next day or two in more detail before reluctantly clicking the FINISH button. They both knew, though didn't admit it to each other, that their right hands would be busy when they went to bed that night.
Nico didn't sleep, at least, not until the sun was almost up and he was finally worn out by the night's feverish wakefulness. The events of the day, especially Milo's resemblance to Su Excelencia and all that that implied, kept washing through his head in waves. He'd not been asleep more than an hour or so before Señor Roja came into his bedroom to announce that breakfast was ready -- tostada con mermelade -- and that he should get downstairs straightaway. What he really wanted to do was to stay exactly where he was and just let the rest of the day get on with itself without him, but Nico knew that there was nothing to be gained by pissing off the Rojas who were, he grudgingly conceded, doing their best in a situation which was probably almost as shitty for them as it was for him - almost. Sitting at the kitchen table, chewing his tostada, his mind was gloomily visualising, one miserable day after the next, his imagined vision of his future with his perverted, so-called, family. Nico wasn't surprised when his depressing thoughts were interrupted by Señor Roja telling him that he was to stay inside the house all day, no exceptions.
"No sabemos cuando nos va a llegar la noticia de que todo se ha aclarado para que tu tio venga a buscarte," his foster carer explained. He sounded sincere, but Nico wasn't going to be taken in.
Yeah, right,' he thought disdainfully. Don't try to pretend that it's got anything to do with when my pervert uncle will turn up to take me away to whatever hell-hole he's got planned for me. No, it's all about making sure I can't escape again from this prison you've got me trapped in.'
"Lo que sea!" he said as he pushed away his unfinished plate of food and left the room. He didn't turn back so didn't see the look of sadness on the face of Domenico Roja.
It was hours later, Nico had no idea how many, when Maria Roja pushed open his door to tell him it was time to gather together his few belongings. His uncle Milo was on his way to collect him. Tomorrow he'd be flying off to his new life. She thought that the silent tears she saw begin to slide down his face were tears of happiness. But what did she know? She wasn't his mum.
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