Free My Dad's a Policeman by Cathy Glass

who that can be at this time?’ Libby said, going to answer it. ‘Hello?’ she said, tentatively, then smiled: ‘Oh, hi, Joyce. How are you?’ So I guessed it was a friend of hers.
    It went quiet as Libby listened to what the caller was saying and I carefully scraped the last of the custard from the bowl and wondered if it would be rude to lick the bowl clean.
    ‘You don’t say!’ Libby exclaimed into the phone, her voice rising with astonishment. ‘Well, well! Now there’s something! Yes, I’m sure he would, Joyce. Just a minute. Ryan,’ Libby said, taking the phone from her ear and turning to me. She was smiling and looked very pleased with herself. ‘Did you say your best mate was called Wayne? Is it Wayne Andrews?’
    My mouth fell open in astonishment. ‘Yes. How did you know his second name?’
    She grinned. ‘You won’t have to phone him. He’s phoning you. Come on, he’s with Joyce.’
    ‘Wayne?’ I said, unable to understand exactly what Libby was telling me.
    ‘Yes, come on.’
    I stood and nearly tripped over the chair in my eagerness to get to the phone.
    ‘He’s here,’ Libby said into the phone, then passed it to me.
    ‘Wayne?’ I said.
    ‘Hey, man!’
    ‘Wayne, where are you?’
    ‘With a foster carer, called Joyce. I’m in care, man, same as you!’ Whereas I’d been angry and upset when I’d first been taken into care, Wayne sounded happy and very relieved. ‘All the foster carers know each other, man,’ he said. ‘So when I told Joyce about my mate Ryan, she guessed it was you who was staying at Libby’s.’
    I glanced at Libby, who was clearing the table, and gave her the thumbs-up sign.
    ‘But what happened?’ I asked Wayne. ‘How did you end up at Joyce’s? I saw you through your kitchen window.’
    ‘Yeah, man, I knew it was you banging on the window. I’d gone down to the kitchen about five minutes before, to warn you not to come in as the old man had thrown a sickie and wasn’t going in to work. But he was already down there, hitting the bottle. He grabbed me by the throat and laid into me. It’s not the first time, man. When you banged on the glass, he let go of me and I ran out the front door and up the road to a neighbour. She’s looked after me before, but when she saw my face she said it had gone too far. She called the social and the police, and they brought me here. I haven’t got any of my things, but Joyce says we will sort that out tomorrow. So how are you, man?’
    ‘OK,’ I said, and it was true.
    Wayne and I rabbited on for about twenty minutes. Wayne did most of the talking – about how good it was to be at Joyce’s. Then Libby said it was my bedtime and I had to finish on the phone. I was going to argue: I never went to bed at Mum’s before midnight and it was only 10.30, but I heard Joyce telling Wayne the same at the other end of the phone and he wound up.
    ‘Got to go, man,’ he said. ‘Joyce is making me a hot drink before bed. See you tomorrow at school?’
    ‘You bet!’
    I hung up, feeling maybe life wasn’t so bad after all. All I needed now was to persuade Libby to buy me a bigger bed so Tommy could come and live with us, and we’d be fine, until Mum got herself sorted out and could look after us again.
    ‘Bathroom for you, young man,’ Libby said, heading out of the dining room. I followed. ‘I’ve put clean pyjamas on your bed, and a toothbrush, toothpaste and soap with your towel in the bathroom. Even though it’s late, you’re having a shower tonight. You don’t look sparkling clean to me.’ She laughed.
    ‘I don’t feel it either,’ I admitted.
    I was about to go upstairs when suddenly I heard a noise from behind. I span round and stared at the front door, my senses on red alert.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Libby said. ‘That’ll be my hubby, Fynn, returning from the late shift. You haven’t met him yet, so say hi before you go up; then the two of you can get to know each other better at the weekend.’
    I