'Where have you been?'
'I'm at Turnpike Lane Underground station. I don't think I've got enough money for the fare back.'
'What happened to you?'
'I'm sorry, I will tell you, something awful happened. Is it all right for me to come back?'
'Yes. Get a taxi if you have to, I'll pay for it. Are you okay? Andrew was so worried about you yesterday.'
'Yes I'm okay, but could you ring my work to say I'm sick? I was supposed to go in this morning.' He refused to put me to the expense of paying for a taxi, and had enough money for one bus fare which would get him as far as Housmans Hotel. To avoid him having to walk from there I rang the manager and arranged for him to lend Darren the Underground fare home.
I rang the burger palace with the old excuse for absence of an upset stomach. Andrew, presumably still at the hospital, was not answering his mobile phone and I left messages on it, at the garden centre and on his answering machine at Biddulph Mansions, then rang Tom, who insisted on coming straight over. When he arrived he had worked himself into a temper and was talking about 'teaching that boy a lesson'. His annoyance was understandable, but we had yet to hear what had happened, and even if Darren was at fault sympathy and understanding were probably called for. Punishing him in some way for going missing might drive him away completely. 'And that's what you've come here to do, is it, teach him a lesson?'
'Andrew's got enough on his mind with the hospital. He's been worried sick about him. He's not going to get away with this.'
'We don't know what's happened yet. Why don't you leave it to me to sort this out? You coming in here making threats is not going to help.'
'Don't you accuse me of making fucking threats. What I said was teach him a lesson.'
'What's the difference?' For perhaps a minute we stood looking at each other, afraid of the angry exchange developing into a serious row. To end the stand-off I softly proffered a single syllable which could not be interpreted as antagonistic: 'Lunch?'
'What?'
'Should we have some lunch?'
'All right. Thanks,' he said with difficulty.
We were eating in grim silence when Darren arrived, deep shadows under his eyes and a bruise on his left cheek. Tom put down his knife and fork, looked at him angrily, but said nothing.
'What happened? Have you been fighting?'