This is a story involving love between an adult man and a boy. There will be sexually explicit parts in places, though sex is not the central theme. It also explores themes that some may find disturbing. Nobody is forcing you to read anything that you dislike, or to continue reading about matters that upset you. While the story is complete fiction, it is not written in a vacuum.

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By villager@hushmail.me 

Abuse – Part 8

continued from part 7 ...

“I'm DC Bowers of the public protection unit,” the officer announced, showing his warrant card, “And this is Ruth Briars from social services. We have had a report that this child has injuries on his back consistent with serious child abuse.”

The woman had walked around behind Matthew, who had his top off for his chest injury to be treated and was now sitting up on the side of the treatment table. She looked at the marks on his back and nodded to the officer.

“I will be taking the boy into protective custody,” DC Bowers stated, “And I believe Ms Briars has a court document for an emergency care Order.”

Matthew's face screwed up in horror. “No, you can't!” he protested.

“Yes we can,” said the social worker nastily, “And anyone who tries to stop us will be arrested!”

“Don't be so ridiculous,” Joan spoke to the social worker, “May I see the court document?” Joan held out her hand, an impatient look on her face.

“Who are you?” Ms Briars snapped at Joan, ignoring her outstretched hand.

“Matthew is presently in the care of this gentleman and myself,” answered Joan glancing at John to indicate who she was talking about. “If you claim that you have a Care Order from a court, I need to see that document before we go any further.”

“You don't need to see anything,” Ms Briars sneered, “We are taking this child with us now. Come with me, boy.” The social worker grasped Matthew's upper arm.

Matthew, who was still sitting, spun round and pushed Ms Briars hard on her shoulder. “Get off me!” he shouted at her. “You're not taking me, I'm going with Auntie Joan and John.”

DC Bowers interjected, “Everyone calm down. Come here, Ruth.”

The social worker left Matthew and stood next to the police officer.

Joan finished her quiet phone conversation and replaced her mobile phone in her handbag. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding,” she said to the police officer. “A hospital staff member no doubt saw the injuries on Matthew's back and jumped to the wrong conclusion. Matthew is not at any risk whatsoever, and so protective custody is unnecessary. Furthermore I do not believe that any court Order exists because there has been insufficient time to obtain one.”

“Show her the Court Order,” the police officer instructed Ms Briars.

The social worker took a document from her bag and held it for Joan to see. It was a Court document headed “Care Order” and Joan could see Matthew's name written in ink. Ms. Briars was holding it so that her hand covered the lower section of the paper.

“Move your hand so I can see the Judge's signature,” commanded Joan.

The social worker ignored her and began to put the paper back in her bag. Joan's arm suddenly shot out and she snatched the paper from Ms. Briar's grasp.

The policeman moved toward Joan, and after glancing at the document, Joan held the paper out for him to take. “Read it,” she told the officer. “You will see that it is merely an application for a Care Order. It has no power whatsoever without the signature of a judge or magistrate.”

“When a child is at risk we obviously act first and complete the formalities later,” Ms. Briars stated, “We will take the child now and I'll get the Order signed in due course.”

“Ahem – err, may I have a word with you two?” Gareth had appeared at the curtain of the treatment booth dressed in surgical greens, and crooked his finger at Ms. Briars and DC Bowers. He led them a short distance away from the area.

Gareth introduced himself, stating his position in the hospital. DC Bowers examined the hospital identity card around Gareth's neck. “I must apologise on behalf of one of my rather over-cautious staff who seems to have made an erroneous diagnosis and wasted your time.” Gareth said to the pair, “That staff member should have consulted with a more senior person before calling the cavalry.” Gareth smiled. “In fact I have previously personally examined Matthew's earlier injuries, I am fully cognisant of the circumstances by which he came by them, and I can assure you that the child is not at the slightest risk of abuse or further injury.”

“Could you explain what those circumstances are?” asked the police officer.

“I'm sorry,” said Gareth, “That falls under patient-doctor confidentiality, and I am not permitted to disclose that information, though as I stated, the circumstances are such that it is quite certain that there is no need for any official intervention. If you need a second opinion, you may contact my colleague Bill White who is head of surgery at Edinburgh hospital for confirmation – he is also familiar with the situation regarding young Matthew. It is a medical issue, not one that concerns either the police or social services”

“That's not good enough!” Ms. Briars protested, “The boy has obviously been abused and I intend to take him into care until I know the circumstances.”

“If you attempt to take Matthew without a valid Court Order,” Gareth's voice had taken on a steely tone, “You will be forcefully removing a child against both his own wishes and those of his guardians - but more importantly from a legal perspective it will be against my medical advice, and I will ask this officer to arrest you for endangering a minor. I can excuse you for upsetting a patient who has just suffered a traumatic experience out of ignorance,” continued Gareth icily, “But I will not excuse you for upsetting a patient out of sheer bloody-mindedness!”

The social worker sniffed and turned to enter the booth. DC Bowers quickly moved in front of her, blocking her path. “I don't think there is anything further we need to do here,” he stated. As he ushered her to the exit, he said to her quietly, “I do not appreciate being lied to regarding fictitious Court Orders, and I will be reporting that matter to your head of department.”

Shortly after they left, the reporter, who had been crouched behind the curtain of the booth the whole time, slipped out after them.

Jake was dozing when Matthew, John and Joan arrived at his bedside, Matthew and Joan having just finished giving their statements to the police officer.

“No wonder you left me in a hurry,” Jake said to John after Matthew had excitedly told his father of the events. “I wish I wasn't stuck in this bed!”

“You won't be for much longer,” Gareth arrived to join the group, “You'll be ready for discharge tomorrow unless any of the tests say otherwise. I understand John will be picking you up and taking care of you for a while.”

“Yup,” confirmed John, “Matthew and I still have a bit of work to do on Jake's bedroom, but we should be ready to pick you up early afternoon if Gareth gives the go-ahead.”

Jake pulled John toward him with his good arm and patted John's back as they bid their farewells. Joan had no car (having delivered the people-carrier to John) so John drove her home before he and Matthew could go to John's place. Consequently it was very late indeed by the time John and Matthew tumbled into bed. John now had two sets of injuries on Matthew's body to avoid, and so they hugged each other carefully as they fell asleep.

The furniture was delivered early the following morning, and though they had been so late to bed, John and Matthew worked like slaves assembling the flatpacks and making the rooms habitable. Fortunately Matthew was capable enough to work pretty much unassisted.

“I didn't know it was an electric wheelchair,” Matthew said when John lowered the wheelchair from the vehicle on its special lift. “Can I drive it to Dad's bed?”

Ten minutes later after Matthew nearly crashed into his Dad's bed, Jake was struggling to get into the wheelchair, insisting on doing it by himself. “It's not that I don't want you or Matthew to help me,” he explained, “But the sooner I start trying, the sooner I'll learn how to cope with this bloody paralysis.”

“I don't know about you,” John said as they drove back, “But Matthew and I haven't eaten a proper meal since yesterday lunchtime, shall we stop off somewhere?”

“How about 'The Oak',“ Jake suggested a pub in the village, “It does some really nice food.”

After they had placed their food order they sat chatting around a table. Jake leant toward John and whispered, “Everyone seems to be staring at me, John, I hope I'm not going to get that all the time I'm a cripple.”

John looked around to see what Jake was talking about. “I'm not sure it's you they are staring at,” John said. They were sat by a window, and John turned to see whether anything was happening outside. It all appeared normal to him.

As one of the staff brought their desserts, John complimented them on a fine meal and asked for the bill.

“The landlord says its on the house,” the young waitress said, looking at Matthew with a strange expression. “We recognised you as soon as you came in.”

“Huh?” Matthew looked at her dumbfounded.

“From the paper,” the young lady explained.

“Huh?” Matthew uttered again.

The waitress went off and returned seconds later with that morning's popular tabloid newspaper, much noted for its sensationalist articles. On the front page was a photograph of a bandaged Matthew sitting on the hospital treatment table. The headline read, “Schoolboy hero saves OAP Aunt from murderer”

John placed the newspaper in front of Jake, and then he and Matthew moved to each side of the wheelchair so they could all read the article together.

Matthew read the article incredulously. “I never did that!” he exclaimed.

“Despite being seriously wounded by the knife-wielding thug,” John read out loud, “The plucky unarmed 12 year old vowed he would protect his frail 65 year old Aunt with his life, and used his own body as a human shield against the frenzied attacks until the police arrived. Vicious drug addict Jacob Newham of no fixed abode had earlier that same evening brutally murdered 30 year old Susan Mitchell in a similar unprovoked attack.”

“But I only punched him,” Matthew said, “And it didn't do much good, 'cos he slashed me with his knife. It was Auntie Joan who sprayed him in the eyes with that stuff and stopped him killing us.”

“So you only punched him, did you?” They hadn't noticed the landlord had been standing behind them as they read the newspaper. “This paper always exaggerates, but in this case they are quite right about you, lad, you're a hero alright.” He then noticed Matthew's father. “Jake!” he exclaimed, “What's happened to you?”

“I've just had a brain tumour removed, Steve.” Jake obviously knew the landlord. “I guess you could say that Matthew saved my life as well – though it was mainly John, who has done more for both of us than anyone could expect.”

Steve looked from Jake to Matthew. “He's not your son, is he?”

Jake nodded in confirmation.

“Well I never!” Steve said. John asked him to sit with them, and they chatted a while. As they left, Steve made them all promise to return soon. Matthew sat on his dad's lap as he drove the wheelchair to the car park.

As they approached John's house, they saw that the street was filled with vehicles. One was a large van with a satellite dish on its roof sporting the logo of “Sky”, the UK satellite TV company. As they pulled into John's driveway they were besieged by a dozen people wielding microphones and cameras. “Bloody heck,” John said, “Look, better not to say anything, I'll try to put them off.”

“Matthew and his father have only just got back from hospital, and they really aren't up to this right now,” John told the assembled reporters. They managed to get to the door, and John helped Jake's wheelchair over the small step.

“Whew,” Jake said once they were safely inside. “I never expected that!”

John's mobile rang. It was Joan. “Have you seen the news?” she asked.

“Umm – you could say that, Joan, I have reporters and cameras surrounding the house!”

“Oh dear,” Joan exclaimed, “I've had the same thing here. The problem is that it is exactly the sort of news that they want to report over the Christmas period, upbeat with a bit of drama. I think they are probably going to milk this one! I think it may be best to keep a dignified silence.”

“John,” Matthew called, “I've just logged on to my Facebook account, and everyone wants to be my “friend.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” John replied, “How many 'friend' requests are there?”

“Eleven thousand two hundred and thirteen.” Matthew closed down the screen.

Later that evening John switched off the Sky news channel after watching the third re-run of the three of them arriving home, and the short speech that Joan had given from her front door followed by a completely inaccurate account of the events that had occurred the previous day.

“It will all be forgotten by New Year,” predicted Jake.

“I hope so,” said Matthew.

“What did you say, Superman?” joked John.

“John,” said Matthew seriously, “Do you think you could teach me some of those things you learned in the army? They keep saying all those lies about me, but I was really pretty useless.”

“You weren't useless,” John said, “What you did gave Auntie Joan time to get her spray out, and you did risk your life to do it, so the news is not all that wrong about you. It's very unlikely that you'll ever be in that position again, so there's no need to worry about it”

“I can't see that learning self-defence could do any harm though, John,” Jake mused, “Could it?”

“Well no, I'm just saying it's not necessary – but if you really want to learn, I don't mind teaching you a few basics, Matthew, or you could enrol in self-defence classes, or take karate lessons or something.”

“No, I want you to teach me. Please?”

“OK”

Matthew hugged John and John lowered his head to give Matthew a kiss. At the last second, John remembered that Jake was present, and moved his lips to kiss Matthew's cheek. Jake frowned briefly.

“Right, now 'nurse John' must give you some physio, Jake, and you your ointment and change of dressing before bed, Matthew.”

“Before you do that,” Jake said, looking embarrassed, “Could you help me get on the loo? I expect I'll be OK by myself soon, but I just can't quite manage it yet.”

“I guess we're both going to have to get used to this situation,” John said, “C'mon, let's get it over with, the first time is going to be the worst!”

John and Jake both laughed to cover their mutual embarrassment.

After supervising Jake, who showed that he was capable of getting from the wheelchair to bed by himself, John performed some simple manipulations of his paralysed leg and arm that he had been instructed to carry out by a physiotherapist at the hospital. Matthew took off his top ready for John to treat his wounds. Jake frowned at the sight of the dressings covering the knife wound on Matthew's chest. Matthew turned to follow John out of the room. At the sight of Matthew's back, Jake turned his head into his pillow and sobbed silently.

Half an hour later, Matthew padded quietly from his room and snuggled into John's arms beneath his warm duvet. Shortly thereafter he was gasping breathlessly as John's increasingly practised lips and tongue brought him to a shuddering climax. What neither of them realised was that Jake had always had very sensitive ears, and the tumour had not affected his hearing one bit ...

To be continued …

Feedback appreciated villager@hushmail.me