Seven Bags

Your dad in? No. Good. I'm not here for him. I'm here for you. Stay there, you're fine. I'm not coming in.

You know who I am. You know my son. Isaac. Small, glasses, does the thing with his sleeves. You've been putting his bag in the bin by the bus shelter. Every day since the half term. He's been telling his mum he loses it. Seven bags. I've been buying bags, Callum. I've been buying them in packs.

I came round here to frighten you. I'll be honest about that. I sat in the van for twenty minutes working out what I'd say. I had a speech. It had a lot of words in it your mum wouldn't like.

Then I pointed at you just now, and you did that. With your arm. Up. Before I'd even finished pointing.

That's a fast arm, son. I know that arm. I had one. My dad was a big man in a small kitchen, and I had the fastest arm in our street. And every day at school I found somebody smaller than me and put his bag in a bin.

Not Isaac. Someone else, before you were born. Danny Moss. I think about Danny Moss more than I think about my dad.

So here's what I'm going to do. Nothing. I'm not telling the school, and I'm not telling your dad. I'm not telling your dad, Callum. You hear me?

But tomorrow, at the shelter, you pick his bag up, you hand it to him, and you say 'here'. One word. That's the whole job.

This is my number. You don't ring it about Isaac. You ring it if you ever need a van.