Ruler of the Realm

Eleven

Henry missed his last bus home.

He lived nearly four miles outside town and when he called his mum in the hope she might collect him, all he got was the answering machine (Dad’s voice still on it, which was a real bummer). So now he was walking in the rain. Not that he noticed it much. All he could think of was five words out of Charlie’s mouth: ‘ I think maybe you are.’

Charlie was the sweetest, kindest girl he knew. If there was any way of letting him down gently, she’d have found it. But Charlie thought he was in trouble. Charlie thought – she’d put it very diplomatically – that he might need ‘help’. By which she meant psychiatric help, although she never actually said psychiatrist: she said ‘therapist’.

There was engine noise behind him and the approaching glow of headlights. Henry stepped on to the verge without looking round: he was wearing a light-coloured jacket so the car should have no trouble seeing him. Charlie never said ‘psychiatric problem’ either. She talked very gently about ‘emotional pressures’ and ‘strain’. Just the sort of thing he’d been thinking himself. She was calm and optimistic and reassuring, the way you were supposed to be with lunatics. But the bottom line was still the same. She thought he was nutty as a fruitcake.

The car sounded like it had slowed down, but didn’t seem to be passing. Henry glanced behind him.

There was a glowing silver disc hovering above the road.