My Dad's a Policeman Read Online Free
Author: Cathy Glass
morning.
I lay on the bed again, watched the clock and waited. I wondered about the other foster kids who had slept in this room – the other kids she’d fostered. Why were they in care? It was 10.45 p.m. when I heard Libby come up the stairs, the landing light click off and her bedroom door close. I gave her another fifteen minutes; then I quietly slithered off the bed and put on my trainers.
I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, and I also felt strangely light-headed, probably from not having eaten all day. I took a couple of swigs of the water Libby had left for me, then began creeping slowly and quietly across the carpeted floor. I switched off the bedroom light before I opened the door. I paused and listened, my hand on the door ready to close it if I heard anything, but all was quiet. Fortunately Libby had left a night light on, so the landing and stairs weren’t completely dark.
I took one step on to the landing and paused and listened again. Still quiet; not a sound. I turned and slowly closed the bedroom door. I didn’t want anyone going to the bathroom in the night and discovering me missing. The longer I had to get away the better.
With my heart thumping and my mouth dry, I crept across the landing and began moving carefully down the stairs. Thank God Libby had carpet everywhere. You couldn’t have done this at my house – the lino would have given you away. There was still enough light coming from the landing to see the hall and front door. I saw the chain and the bolt on the front door, and then the lock with the key still in it. Someone was on my side and watching over me!
Very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, I crept up to the door and unhooked the chain. Then I knelt down and leant against the door with my shoulder, so that the bolt slid out of its barrel easily and noiselessly. There was just the key now. Libby was certainly one for security! Straightening, I took the key between my thumb and forefinger and slowly turned. It was stiff, but then it suddenly went with a loud click. I glanced up the stairs behind me as I pulled open the door. The cold night air rushed in.
Then I was on the path, quietly closing the door; then running like hell down the pavement. Down Stratford Road and left at the top. I felt the cold air catch my throat. First right and I was on the High Street, which was quiet at 11 p.m. on a weekday. I slowed to a walk; if a police patrol car saw a kid my age running along the street late at night they’d stop. I know this, as most of my mates have been picked up at one time or another late at night; some of them make a habit of it.
I arrived at the bus stop. I was the only person waiting, and I’d no idea how long it would be before a bus came. There’d been a timetable in a glass case fixed to the bus stop at some point, but it was long gone. The glass was broken and the case filled with rubbish – chewing gum and fag ends. The February night air was freezing and I only had on my old school jacket, no coat. I wondered if I should walk to the next stop to keep warm, but the bus might come when I was between stops, so I decided to wait. I drew up the collar on my jacket and pulled in my head. Cars passed every so often but no bus came. I knew the 247 was supposed to run every twenty minutes, so I decided I must have just missed one.
Another couple of minutes passed. Then a flashy silver car pulled into the kerb and the driver lowered his window. He was middle aged, fat, bald and slimy. I knew immediately what he was after.
‘You look cold, little boy,’ he said, leering. ‘Can I give you a lift?’
‘Na.’
‘I’d make it worth your while.’
I drew my head deeper into my jacket and turned away.
‘How does twenty quid sound and a lift to wherever you want to go?’
My blood boiled. I span round and kicked his car. ‘Piss off, you pervert! My dad’s a policeman.’ I kicked the car again. He made a V sign as his window rose and he sped away. That’s
I lay on the bed again, watched the clock and waited. I wondered about the other foster kids who had slept in this room – the other kids she’d fostered. Why were they in care? It was 10.45 p.m. when I heard Libby come up the stairs, the landing light click off and her bedroom door close. I gave her another fifteen minutes; then I quietly slithered off the bed and put on my trainers.
I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, and I also felt strangely light-headed, probably from not having eaten all day. I took a couple of swigs of the water Libby had left for me, then began creeping slowly and quietly across the carpeted floor. I switched off the bedroom light before I opened the door. I paused and listened, my hand on the door ready to close it if I heard anything, but all was quiet. Fortunately Libby had left a night light on, so the landing and stairs weren’t completely dark.
I took one step on to the landing and paused and listened again. Still quiet; not a sound. I turned and slowly closed the bedroom door. I didn’t want anyone going to the bathroom in the night and discovering me missing. The longer I had to get away the better.
With my heart thumping and my mouth dry, I crept across the landing and began moving carefully down the stairs. Thank God Libby had carpet everywhere. You couldn’t have done this at my house – the lino would have given you away. There was still enough light coming from the landing to see the hall and front door. I saw the chain and the bolt on the front door, and then the lock with the key still in it. Someone was on my side and watching over me!
Very carefully, hardly daring to breathe, I crept up to the door and unhooked the chain. Then I knelt down and leant against the door with my shoulder, so that the bolt slid out of its barrel easily and noiselessly. There was just the key now. Libby was certainly one for security! Straightening, I took the key between my thumb and forefinger and slowly turned. It was stiff, but then it suddenly went with a loud click. I glanced up the stairs behind me as I pulled open the door. The cold night air rushed in.
Then I was on the path, quietly closing the door; then running like hell down the pavement. Down Stratford Road and left at the top. I felt the cold air catch my throat. First right and I was on the High Street, which was quiet at 11 p.m. on a weekday. I slowed to a walk; if a police patrol car saw a kid my age running along the street late at night they’d stop. I know this, as most of my mates have been picked up at one time or another late at night; some of them make a habit of it.
I arrived at the bus stop. I was the only person waiting, and I’d no idea how long it would be before a bus came. There’d been a timetable in a glass case fixed to the bus stop at some point, but it was long gone. The glass was broken and the case filled with rubbish – chewing gum and fag ends. The February night air was freezing and I only had on my old school jacket, no coat. I wondered if I should walk to the next stop to keep warm, but the bus might come when I was between stops, so I decided to wait. I drew up the collar on my jacket and pulled in my head. Cars passed every so often but no bus came. I knew the 247 was supposed to run every twenty minutes, so I decided I must have just missed one.
Another couple of minutes passed. Then a flashy silver car pulled into the kerb and the driver lowered his window. He was middle aged, fat, bald and slimy. I knew immediately what he was after.
‘You look cold, little boy,’ he said, leering. ‘Can I give you a lift?’
‘Na.’
‘I’d make it worth your while.’
I drew my head deeper into my jacket and turned away.
‘How does twenty quid sound and a lift to wherever you want to go?’
My blood boiled. I span round and kicked his car. ‘Piss off, you pervert! My dad’s a policeman.’ I kicked the car again. He made a V sign as his window rose and he sped away. That’s
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