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 5
From Chapter 10:
Nico turned his face towards the sea. The sun was rising behind him and the city was coming to life. Out in the bay was one of those huge container ships arriving from, well, who knew where? Maybe from wherever his unknown and unknowing family lived. And somewhere over to his right another siren. He stood with his feet on the bottom rail. All he had to do now was let his mind go free, free to score the dramatic, last-minute winning goal in the World Cup final. His mum would be proud. That would be a good ending.
Chapter 11:
Milo was not having a good morning. It hadn't started well, with Dan using most of the hot water for his shower, followed by there being no milk for his, Milo's, breakfast Cheerios. In Milo's view Dan was totally responsible for both offences and, as far as one half of his mind was concerned, fully deserved to get it from both barrels but, as he'd left shortly after daybreak for a site visit somewhere across the country, Milo had been forced to content himself with muttering half-serious and dark threats about payback being sweet. The other half kept trying to say that neither crime was such a big deal but saying it nowhere near loud enough to drown out the hang em and flog `em' side. Then, not long after he'd set off on his walk to work it began to rain so that by the time he arrived at the offices of Margelles and Associates, his hair, shoes and shoulders were wet through. Thankfully he always kept a spare pair of Vans under his desk and no-one would mind if he saw clients in just his shirt sleeves. In fact, he often did.
He'd spent much of the previous evening going over the case file of his only client of the morning, a twelve-year-old girl with such a wide range of diverse but inter-related fears, phobias and obsessions that an hour with her always left Milo in a state of near-total mental exhaustion. That was why today, as had been agreed by Shania Margelles herself, Eliza was the only child booked in for a session before lunch. When his p.a. buzzed through to say that the girl's parents had cancelled and were debating whether to continue with the therapy at all, the two halves went into overdrive. One was incensed that, after all of Milo's time and effort and investment of professional expertise, the parents could be so casually dismissive and inconsiderate. The other half, as usual, was focused on looking on the bright side. Not only was Milo spared yet another hour consisting of silence, followed by avoidance, leading to denial and ending with resentment, he also had an entire and unscheduled morning to catch up with the mountainous backlog of unfinished reports, unwritten letters and unreturned phone calls.
In an effort to drown out this mental cacophony, Milo was on his third cup of full strength Colombian blend when his phone rang. Had he glanced at the name of the caller when it appeared on the screen he might have been more polite when he answered. Unfortunately, he didn't with the result that he wasn't.
"Yes. Who is this and what do you want?"
There was a pause of several seconds before there was a reply.
"Good morning Mr. de Beer-Reed. It's Veronica Lamar from Children's Services here. I fear this is not a convenient moment." The tone was frosty. "Perhaps you could call me back when you are ... less preoccupied."
`Shit!' thought Milo. Ms. Lamar. She's the last person I need to piss off.'
"No, not at all. Please forgive me, Ms. Lamar. Don't hang up. I'm, er ... This isn't being a great morning. I'm really sorry." He was babbling. "How can I help? Do you want to arrange another HEA visit?"
"A meeting, yes. Another visit, no." Even by Ms. Lamar's standards this was an enigmatic reply.
Milo had an almost irresistible urge to tell her to simply get on with telling him whatever it was she wanted to say. Luckily he managed to control it and, instead, he said, "I'm not sure I entirely understand."
"Mr. de Beer-Reed, I'm phoning to tell you that a few minutes ago I received an email from my counterpart in Buenos Aires. It concerns Nico."
At the mention of Nico's name Milo was fully focused on what Ms. Lamar had to say. After so many months of delay and frustration he was desperate for any fresh item of news or information.
"What did it say? Will you forward it to me?"
"The contents of the message are such that I think a face-to-face conversation would be the most appropriate way for you to be informed."
"That sounds serious. Is something wrong? Is Nico okay?"
"As I say, Mr. de Beer-Reed, a face-to-face conversation would be best, preferably with your, er ... the other Mr. de Beer-Reed also in attendance. Would that be possible? Say, later today?"
Milo had thought he had come to terms with Ms. Lamar's professional manner, her tone of voice and her strangely old-fashioned style of speaking. Indeed, there were times he even appreciated her determinedly detached and unemotional approach. This was not one of them.
"Dan's away on a site visit and not expected back until quite late this evening. What is it that's so important that you need us both together? Has something happened to Nico?"
Ms. Lamar didn't answer that question. "Actually I was hoping that your father could also be present. What I have to say has a direct relevance to him as Nico's grandfather."
Alarm bells were beginning to ring and Milo's levels of impatience and frustration were rising with every unanswered question and every second that passed, not helped by the three cups of coffee which were seriously beginning to kick in.
"If I could get Dan to cut his visit short, what is the latest you would be prep ... able to meet?" He hoped Ms. Lamar hadn't noticed the implied criticism in his question. She had.
"On this occasion, and given the importance of the information, I am prepared to call at your apartment at any time up until nine thirty this evening. If you are able to make this possible, perhaps you would be kind enough to leave a message with the departmental administrative assistant. My schedule for today is very full and I don't expect to be in a position to answer any but the most urgent phone calls."
The line went dead. Ms. Lamar was gone, no doubt having moved on to the next item in her very full schedule. Milo almost smiled. Almost. Instead he immediately began to replay the conversation in his head. What could be so important that she'd only tell him what it was about if Dan and his dad were there too? Although he'd asked her twice, she wouldn't say if Nico was all right. Did that mean something was wrong -- that he'd had an accident? Or maybe he'd got into some sort of trouble, or run away from the home. A whole panorama of possible scenarios suddenly opened up in front of him, none of them good. Oh, if only the boy wasn't so far away. If only the process of getting him home wasn't so long and complicated. If only ...
If only Dan were here, he'd know exactly what to say to put Milo's mind at ease. He punched in Dan's number. Ten minutes later he was speaking to his dad, telling him to be at the apartment by nine o'clock that evening because Ms. Lamar had something important to tell the three of them about Nico and, no, he didn't know any details so there was no point in pressing him for information that Milo simply didn't have.
Needless to say, by the end of his client-free morning the backlog of reports, letters and calls was no smaller. In fact, it was bigger because he'd cancelled both his afternoon appointments. There was no way he was in any state to help two distressed and suffering teenagers, so he signed himself out and went home. He didn't notice that it had stopped raining.
Dan arrived back at the apartment not long after 8. After he'd spoken to M on the phone he'd wrapped up his meeting with the project manager and site director and driven non-stop to get back home in plenty of time to hear whatever it was that Ms. Lamar had to tell them. Straightaway it had been obvious to him, just from the sound of M's voice over the phone, that her refusal to provide any detail about Nico when she spoke to him that morning had really rattled M.
In the weeks and months since that Friday evening and her first unexpected visit to the apartment, Dan had found Ms. Lamar to be more and more irritating. They weren't very far apart in age but it seemed to Dan that she saw herself as being superior in every way. The way she spoke, the fact that she would only be called Ms. Lamar, her insistence on being in control of all communication with the Argentine authorities, over time all of these things had really got under Dan's skin. Lately he'd even begun to think that her determination to maintain, what she called her `professional objectivity', was actually a way of hiding her disapproval of his and M's relationship. Basically, he'd come to the conclusion that she was fundamentally homophobic. Of course, he didn't share this belief with M. No, he was stressed enough as it was, he (and the two halves of his mind) didn't need anything else to be worried about.
As he opened the front door he was met with the ear-bashing sound of Led Zeppelin's Whole Lotta Love blasting through the apartment. This was bad news on two fronts. Firstly, because Led was M's go-to band whenever he was so pissed off with the two halves that he needed to drown them out and, secondly, because Dan absolutely hated their music, especially, as now, when M chose to `sing' along. Although Milo had many talents and positive attributes, singing was not among them. Dan quickly realised that he had underestimated M's level of stress. Clearly this was a case for a mid-week beer. Maybe two. When he walked into the kitchen and saw both the empty bottles on the counter top he immediately knew that M was way ahead of him.
"Hi, M," he shouted. Nothing. He tried again, louder, but got the same lack of response, so he walked across the room and tapped M on the shoulder. Milo immediately spun around, a very startled look on his face. But when he realised who the tapper was the look changed to one of mixed delight and relief. He reached out, grabbed Dan with both hands and pulled him in for the tightest of tight hugs, followed by the deepest of deep kisses.
"Oh, D. Thank fuck you're home." Yep, really, really stressed.
Dan knew of one guaranteed Milo de-stresser and two halves silencer. He fell to his knees, unfastened the button on the waistband of M's chinos and lowered the zip. He began to kiss the familiar bulge through the soft fabric of the dark grey CK's and felt the expected and predictable response. Two minutes later the chinos and the CK's were round M's ankles and Dan's lips and tongue were working their guaranteed magic. Milo's hands were on Dan's head, not aggressive or demanding but encouraging and grateful and his stiff seven inches were pouring out pre-cum. Dan's hands were on Milo's butt, conducting the pace and depth of his thrusting until, with maybe half a minute left before the inevitable explosion, he looked up, removed his mouth and asked where his man wanted to deposit his load. Having got his answer, Dan moved one hand to the rigid shaft and the other to the contracting ball-sac. Four or five up and down strokes later and Milo was exploding over Dan's face, coating his lips, his eyelids, his cheeks and chin.
Dan opened his jizz-covered eyes. "Can we turn the music off now?"
Milo nodded, a delighted grin spreading right across his face. "Good job Ms. Lamar didn't come early," he said.
"You mean like you just did?" teased Dan.
"What! I never cum early" Milo protested. "That was just my way of demonstrating just how pleased I am to see you."
"Yeah, and the rest." Dan stood. "I'll go and clean up while you serve dinner. What time will your dad be here?"
"He said round about nine," replied Milo, pulling up his clothing and following Dan into the bedroom, hoping to pay him back for what had just happened in the kitchen.
Dan turned and instantly read Milo's mind. "A nice idea, M, but, just at this moment, I need food more than I need a blow-job. Go get dinner sorted." Milo's face fell. Dan smiled. "There'll be time for payback later." Milo's face brightened.
It was a little before 9 when Dan opened the apartment door to M's dad. As soon as they got to the kitchen where Milo was finishing off the after-dinner clear-up, Gerry was straightaway into inquisition-mode -- When had Ms. Lamar first called? What, exactly, had she said? Why couldn't this meeting wait until tomorrow? Did they think it was bad news or might Nico be coming home soon? For a man who was still very much recovering from a serious heart attack he certainly seemed to be pretty hyper. Weeks of ever-increasing frustration at the continuing delay in finally getting to meet his only grandson were in danger of boiling over. So it was no surprise that his mood wasn't improved by Milo and Dan's inability to answer any of his questions. Milo began to be concerned that his dad's attitude to Ms. Lamar might be less than patient, but one half of his mind immediately chipped in that she was more than capable of handling a little impatience. Milo smiled. He had to agree.
When she did arrive at the apartment, on the dot of nine thirty, the look on Ms. Lamar's face gave nothing away. Dan led the way into the sitting room.
"Let me start by thanking you all for making it possible for us to meet here this evening," began Ms. Lamar. She was obviously about to continue but Gerry beat her to it.
"Let's not bother with the social niceties, just tell us what you know about Nico."
Although he'd been expecting something like this, Milo was still shocked at his dad's manner.
"Dad! There's no need to be rude." He felt the need to try to smooth things over in the hope that Ms. Lamar wouldn't take offence. She had too important a part to play in getting Nico home to risk alienating. He'd seen, first hand at work, just how influential a social worker could be. "It's very good of Ms. Lamar to give up her evening to be here."
For a moment it looked as if Gerry was about to respond by saying something he'd probably later regret. Instead he turned towards Ms. Lamar with an obviously insincere apologetic shrug.
She nodded at his attempt at an apology and then continued. "The reason I wanted to speak to you face-to-face rather than simply forwarding the email from Buenos Aires was because the message includes some distressing information."
The three men all looked straight at her, expressions of worry, shock and anxiety written, variously, across their faces.
"Before I begin, I understand you will have many questions but I ask you to allow me to finish all that I have to say, after which I will be very happy to provide you with all the answers that I can. I hope that is that acceptable?"
Dan and Milo looked at each other and then at Gerry. It was obvious that he wasn't happy with this request but, before he could say anything else to annoy Ms. Lamar and, maybe, cause her to refuse to continue, Milo turned to her and simply said, "Yes."
"Very well. As you all know, Nico has been living at the Our Lady of Flowers home ever since the unfortunate events which resulted in your daughter's sad passing." She looked straight at Gerry, almost expecting him to speak. Milo, sitting opposite him, gave a slight shake of the head, warning his father to stay quiet.
"My colleagues in Buenos Aires assured me, even before Nico arrived there, that the home was clean, well-maintained and, above all, safe."
"That's what my mum said too," interrupted Dan.
"D! We said we wouldn't interrupt." Milo was not impressed.
"Sorry M. Sorry Ms. Lamar. I promise to keep quiet from now on."
"Apology accepted," she said, in exactly the tone of voice that had come to irritate Dan so much. "As I was saying, the home has a good reputation and is well supported by its local community. Many of the children and young people who have lived there over the years have gone on to become well-respected members of that community."
"Oh, for fu ..." Gerry stopped himself just in time. He really was very near the end of his tether. "For heaven's sake, woman, we don't need the history of the place. We want to know about Nico."
`Well said,' thought Dan, wishing he'd had the guts to put Ms. Lamar right. Milo sat, silently fuming at both his husband and his father, increasingly worried that she would simply walk out in disgust or frustration and then go back to her office to write a damning report which would put an end to their hopes of getting Nico home.
Ms. Lamar sighed and said, "I was simply trying, Mr. de Beer, to provide some relevant background to the information I am about to share. May I continue?"
"Please, Ms. Lamar." This was Milo. "None of us is trying to be difficult or rude but you must understand, all three of us are desperate for any news you can give us about Nico. I think that, maybe, we're all more stressed than we had realised by the amount of time this whole process is taking."
Dan, and then Gerry, nodded in silent agreement.
Milo continued, using the diplomatic tone of voice he often had to adopt on behalf of his clients when dealing with difficult parents and local officials. He gave D and Gerry a hard stare. "I guarantee we won't say another word but, please, just tell us what you've found out."
"Very well. According to the information I recently received, in the early hours of the morning, the staff of Our Lady of Flowers contacted the police about an incident which had taken place at the home." Ms. Lamar paused and looked around. She had their full attention and, rather to her surprise, no-one looked about to speak. "It seems that, once everyone was in bed and after `lights out', Nico was the subject of a vicious attack -- an ambush by the other boys in his dorm room was how the staff described it to the police - as a result of which Nico absconded from the home."
Without being aware of it, Milo reached for D's hand and held it tight. Gerry had not been expecting such a turn of events and was instantly imagining several unpleasant scenarios, each one more horrible than the one before. Even though he had a dozen questions on his lips he forced himself to stay quiet. All he wanted was to listen to what Ms. Lamar had to say about whatever had next happened to Nico.
"I understand that Nico was quite badly beaten and, possibly, spent some time unconscious as a result. All of this was reported by one of the boys who'd been involved in the attack who, it seems, felt guilty about his involvement, couldn't sleep and, when he went over to try to apologise for his part in it, found Nico gone."
The tension in the room, which had been growing ever since Ms. Lamar had started using words like attack and ambush, was almost unbearable. She paused and turned to Milo. "I am very sorry, Mr. de Beer-Reed, but might I have some water?"
Milo released D's hand, went to the fridge and poured a glass of water which he handed to Ms. Lamar before sitting back down.
"And?" He knew he was reneging on his guarantee but Milo needed the account of what had happened to poor Nico to continue without unnecessary delay.
Ms. Lamar took a sip of the water and placed the glass on the coffee table before continuing.
"The staff questioned the boy who had discovered Nico's absence, realised the seriousness of what had happened and immediately began a search of the building. They quickly found an open door leading out onto a rear verandah. From there it was not more than a few steps out to the main gate and then into the city. It was increasingly obvious that, with no sign of the boy anywhere in the building, he must have run away. That's when the police were called."
Ms. Lamar paused to drink more water. Gerry couldn't stay quiet any longer.
"Did they find him? Is he okay?"
"Dad. Please."
"No, Mr. de Beer-Reed, I can quite understand your father's concerns. In his situation I would feel much the same."
I doubt that,' thought Dan. When have you ever had feelings?' He said nothing.
"Once they had been told a little of the circumstances behind Nico being placed at the home, his age and the details of the attack he had suffered, the police quickly saw that the situation was potentially serious. They organised a search, fanning out from the building using every available officer and police vehicle. Fortunately, although Nico had left the home in the very early hours of the morning, there were several people who remembered seeing him. If I recall correctly, they included the owner of a street news stand and a taxi driver waiting for a fare outside one of the city's big hotels. Both of these witnesses, apparently, remembered seeing a teenage boy, barefoot and dressed in an odd assortment of ill-fitting clothes limping in the direction of the river."
"Barefoot?!" This was Gerry.
"Limping?!" Even Milo couldn't hold back.
Ms. Lamar ignored the interruptions. She was relieved that neither of them had picked up on the reference to the river as Nico's apparent destination. "With that information the police focused all their resources on the roads leading towards the river and it wasn't long before Nico was spotted by one of the patrol cars."
"So he was okay? Thank fu .. goodness." There was a distinct air of relief in Gerry's tone of voice.
Again Ms. Lamar chose not to reply to the question. "When he was first seen, the boy was standing on the metal railings looking out to sea at a point where the river flows into the harbour."
Dan gasped quietly. He could see where this was going. He reached out and caught Milo's hand again.
"By the time the police reached the place where he'd been spotted, Nico was gone."
"You mean he'd run off when he saw the police were coming for him?" Gerry again.
"No," said Dan, very quietly. "She means he'd gone into the water."
"What, thrown himself in?" Dan nodded. Milo couldn't speak. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. Surely this couldn't be the end of all their hopes of bringing Nico home. Of giving him back his family. Of honouring Kate's final wish.
Ms. Lamar looked at the stricken faces opposite her and was instantly alarmed.
"No. No! It's not what you think. I'm so sorry if I've led you to believe the worst."
"Well, if it's not what we're all thinking, what you've made us believe," began Dan, pointedly, "What did happen to Nico?"
For one of the few times since they'd known her, Ms. Lamar looked flustered and at a loss. She realised now how her totally professional, deliberate and precise re-telling of the events described in the email from Buenos Aires had given Milo, Dan and Gerry (or the Misters de Beer-Reed and Mr. de Beer as she thought of them) completely the wrong idea of Nico's fate. She knew she had to put things right, and quickly.
"Please, let me explain," she began. Dan was clearly about to say something short, pointed and rude but Milo stopped him with a squeeze of the hand. "Once the police knew where he was headed they contacted the local coastguard who immediately alerted the in-shore rescue team. I understand that, at that point, the river current runs very strongly, and that anyone, even very strong swimmers, would struggle to survive for more than a few minutes. For that reason, the in-shore rescue boat station is very near where it was thought Nico had entered the water so it took very little time for it to arrive on the scene. A naval helicopter had also been scrambled and, between them, the boy was very soon located and, I am delighted to report, brought on board the rescue boat."
"Alive?" Gerry asked, very hesitantly.
"Alive. Just" repeated Ms. Lamar.
"What do you mean, just? How is he now?"
"Although the police think he had only been in the water for two or three minutes, he was, nevertheless, in a serious condition. He was still suffering the effects of the beating he had received at the home, he had been battered by a combination of the strong current and the detritus being carried downstream by the river and he had also swallowed a lot of not very clean water."
"So where is he now?" asked Milo, his tears having turned to ones of happiness.
"He was taken straight to the hospital -- fortunately not the one where his mother passed away so very recently -- and that is where he will stay until he is judged fit for discharge."
"And then?" asked Dan. "Surely not back to the home?" The very thought of it made his fists ball.
"Certainly not," replied Ms. Lamar firmly, anxious to reassure the three of them that things were back under the control of the Buenos Aires authorities. "He will be temporarily placed in the care of a foster family while awaiting relocation back to this country."
Gerry was quick to react to this item of news. "You mean he's coming home? For real?"
"Indeed, for real. And my Argentine colleagues have assured me that they will expedite the transfer as quickly as they possibly can."
"And then what?" asked Dan, irritated, yet again, by what he considered to be her pretentious and unnecessary use of language.
"Well, subject to my supervisor's approval, I think you can begin to prepare to have Nico living here with you in the very near future."
It was approaching midnight before Dan and Milo were able to fall into bed. Ms. Lamar had spent more than half an hour answering a barrage of questions about what, exactly, would happen in the coming days and, probably, weeks until Nico was safely installed in the apartment's second bedroom. And even once she had gone, Gerry was still buzzing with the news and keen to replay and pick over the key moments of what they had heard that evening. The suddenly real prospect of meeting his only grandson for the first time seemed somehow unreal and it was as if he needed to go over and over the details of Ms. Lamar's account in order to make it credible.
"And she's going to set up a video call," he said for the hundredth time, repeating her final announcement, a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon splitting his face. "I can't wait to actually see the boy."
"Try to set up a call, dad. She only said she'll try." Despite his words, Milo was as excited as his father at the prospect of seeing his nephew, Kate's son, soon to be his responsibility, his and Dan's of course.
So, lying together in bed, both exhausted, both silently thinking over the events of the evening, both (for their different reasons) uncertain about the prospect of living with a teenager, Dan and Milo had a great deal to talk about. But they weren't talking. They couldn't, because their lips and tongues were locked passionately together in the early stages of the payback they'd promised themselves. It wouldn't be long before those same lips and tongues were busy, each with a pulsating, purple dick-head to please in the special ways known only to each other. Yes, as Milo had told himself that morning (though for a very different reason), payback is sweet.
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