The Society Of Dirty Hearts by Ben Cheetham Page B

with Joanne Butcher, it’s made me think, what’s the point?”
    “The point is that you’re learning to live independently,” said Robert.
    “No I’m not. Like you said, I’m just living off you in another place.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Christine. “What’s Joanne Butcher got to do with anything?”
    “Well, I suppose it’s made me realise that all I’m doing is wasting my time, delaying the inevitable.”
    “So what’re you going to do instead?” asked Robert. “Because if you think you’re going to hang around here, sleeping all day and partying all night, then you can think again.”
    “Oh, so you’d rather I did that at uni and flunked out at the end of the year, would you?”
    “I’d rather you knuckled down to some hard study. You don’t seem to realise how lucky you are, Julian. My parents couldn’t afford to send me to university. When I was your age, I was working two jobs-”
    Julian rolled his eyes, hissing out a breath. “Jesus, here we go again.”
    Before Robert could shoot back another angry retort, Christine asked, “What do you mean, delaying the inevitable?”
    “I mean that sooner or later, I’m going to end up working at the factory. So I was thinking I might as well start now.”
    Robert let out a harsh, almost mocking laugh. “What makes you think I’d employ a university dropout?” He turned to Christine, hands spread. “You see. This is what I was talking about, he’s had it so easy he doesn’t think he’s got to work for anything.”
    “But I am willing to work for it,” protested Julian. “I’ll work on the production line, sweep the floors, make cups of tea, whatever. I’ll do like you did, work my way up from the bottom.”
    Robert wrinkled his nose as if he’d sniffed something nasty. “You’re studying so you don’t have to do like I did. Do you really think I’ve worked so hard all these years so I can watch my son struggle like I had to?”
    “But you just said I’ve had it too easy.”
    “Don’t twist my words to your purpose, Julian.”
    “I’m not, I just want the chance to prove to you-”
    “No.” Robert made a cutting motion in the air. “I’m not discussing this anymore. Tomorrow you’re going back to university and you’re going to buckle down to hard work, and that’s all there is to it.”
    “And what if I refuse?”
    “Don’t push me, Julian. I’m warning you.”
    For a full thirty-seconds Julian faced his dad over the wheelchair, neither flinching from the other’s stare. Then he gave his mum an I’m sorry look and, keeping his head down, pushed his way past his dad. “Jul-” she started to say.
    “Leave him, Christine,” Robert cut her off.
    Julian didn’t get into his car. He needed to walk off the frustration that made him feel like pounding his fist into his face. Without thinking about it, his feet led him to the suburb where Mia lived. It was several miles’ walk to the semi-detached house, and he felt calmer by the time he got there, but anger bubbled not far beneath the surface of his mind. There was a car in drive and lights in the downstairs windows. He knocked and a tall man – presumably Mia’s foster father – came to the door. The man, Julian noted, looked nothing like Mr Ugly. Even so, there was something unpleasant about his face. A small brown moustache perched over a mouth pursed into firm, disapproving wrinkles. Pale, almost colourless eyes peered down at Julian as though he was an insect that needed removing.
    “Is Mia in?” asked Julian.
    “You’re the boy my daughter saw with Mia earlier today, aren’t you?” said the man.
    Julian remained silent, suddenly put on his guard by the man’s demeanour.
    “You do realise that statutory rape is a serious offence.”
    Eyes widening, Julian held up his hand, palm forward. “Whoa, hold on, you’ve got totally the wrong idea.”
    “Really. My daughter tells me Mia didn’t return to school after lunchtime. So what were you