The Unexpected Guest

 When John and Simon receive an urgent call at 3 AM, their lives are about to change forever. A ten-year-old boy named Robbo needs help, and this couple's first fostering experience becomes a baptism by fire.  "The Unexpected Guest" is a tender story about bridging divides, offering safety to the vulnerable, and how one night of compassion can become a lifeline for a child who desperately needs it. 

Transcript

The unexpected guest

As the phone rang, John was suddenly shaken out of his sleep. He pulled back the duvet and reached for his mobile. Veronica Stewart's name was flashing on the screen.

"Hi Veronica." His voice was raspy and heavy with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Hi John, I'm so sorry to call you like this, but it's an emergency. I have a ten-year-old boy at Benwell Police Station. His mother has been taken to the hospital after a suspected overdose, and I can't find a place for him." Veronica was working the night shift for Newcastle Social Services' Child Protection department.

"Stop. I'm going into the kitchen. I'm making myself a coffee. Call me back in ten."

The disembodied voice under the duvet muttered, "Who was that?"

"It's social services. Veronica. She's calling back in ten. Go back to sleep, Simon. I'll sort it."

In the kitchen, John popped a coffee pod into the machine and pressed the button. Within seconds, a small cup was filled with thick black espresso. His brain began to focus. He and Simon had been through the training for fostering and had agreed to be on the emergency list. This could be their first placement.

The phone rang again as Simon shuffled into the kitchen, hair dishevelled.

"Hi Veronica, you're on speaker and Simon is here as well."

"Hi boys." It always amused John that as a gay couple, people often referred to them as "the boys," even though both of them were rapidly approaching fifty.

"He's called Robert but prefers Robbo, ten years old. He's upset and frightened, and they had nowhere else to take him but to Byker Police Station. Have you got a room ready? Are you two ready for this? A bit of a baptism of fire, but that's how it goes. I tried everyone, and you're my last hope."

"None taken," Simon muttered in the background.

"I heard that," Veronica replied sharply. "Look, I wanted to ease you two in, but I'm desperate."

John looked at Simon, who gave him a tired but determined nod. "The room's ready, and Simon can get some food prepared."

“Good idea, I don't think he’s eaten much today.”

"I'll be at your place in twenty minutes. Thanks, boys."

***

Veronica's Prius pulled up outside John and Simon's house in the leafy streets of Gosforth. It was three in the morning, and the streets were deserted. Robbo sat silently in the passenger seat, staring out at the darkness. He had hardly said a word since they left the police station.

John watched from the window as the boy climbed out of the car. Robbo was smaller than he'd expected, thin in oversized clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in days. He stood on the pavement for a moment, craning his neck to look up at the Victorian terrace house with its bay windows and small front garden.

"It's nothing like wor house," Robbo said quietly as Veronica approached the front door.

The door opened before they could knock. John and Simon stepped out, trying to look welcoming despite the early hour.

"Robbo, how lovely to meet you. I'm John, this is my husband Simon," John said gently.

Simon crouched down slightly to Robbo's level and held out his hand. Robbo hesitated, then stepped forward and shook it with surprising firmness.

"I'm Robbo, and my Mam's bad and in hospital." His voice was matter-of-fact, but John caught the tremor underneath. "I'm very hungry. All I had to eat is a Kit Kat and a packet of crisps."

"Well, we can definitely fix that," Simon said, standing up. "Come on in, Robbo. How does pasta sound?"

"Sounds champion." For the first time, a genuine smile spread across Robbo's face.

***

In the warm kitchen, Robbo sat at the large wooden table while Simon busied himself at the stove. John poured coffee for Veronica, noting how Robbo's eyes darted around the room, taking in the granite countertops, the expensive coffee machine, the view into the back garden.

"There's a bag of clothes we managed to grab from home," Veronica said quietly to John, "but to be honest, I'd put them in the wash first. The house was... well, it wasn't in good condition. Poor kid."

She handed John a file of papers. "Sheelagh, his social worker, will be in touch tomorrow. He can take a day off school—if one of you can get the day off work. There's all his details here, plus a load of other information Sheelagh will go through with you. For now, just make sure he's fed and looked after."

"What about his mother?" John asked. "Won't he want to see her?"

Veronica's expression darkened. "Put him off for now. When he asks, just say the doctors need to look after her. We'll explain the situation properly once we know more, but for tonight, it's best he stays here. And John... thanks again. You're probably saving this kid's life."

Robbo looked up from his steaming bowl of pasta. "Bye, miss."

"Bye, Robbo. Be good for John and Simon "

After Veronica left, the kitchen fell into a comfortable quiet, broken only by the sound of Robbo eating. John marvelled at how the boy demolished the pasta, as if he hadn't eaten properly in days, which, John realised, he probably hadn't.

"How about you get a shower before bed?" John suggested. "And you don't have to go to school tomorrow. I'm taking the day off work, so you can sleep in as long as you want."

"Sound." Robbo looked up, tomato sauce around his mouth. "Are you guys puffs and that?"

John and Simon exchanged a quick glance. They'd heard worse versions of that question thousands of times, but from Robbo it came without malice—more like asking if they supported Newcastle United.

"Yes, but we prefer the word 'gay,'" John said calmly.

"Sound. He's your husband then?" Robbo pointed at Simon with his fork.

"Yes."

"Are you the wife then?"

"No, we're both husbands."

Robbo considered this for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. Whose pasta is this? It's proper mint."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

"Where'd you get it? Lidl or Aldi or something?"

"Neither. I made it from scratch."

Robbo's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Not out of a tin or a packet?"

"No, fresh pasta. I made the sauce too."

"Bloody hell." Robbo stared at Simon with new respect. "Can we see my Mam tomorrow?"

The casual way he changed subjects caught John off guard. "I'm not sure yet. Sheelagh is coming to talk to us. Do you know her?"

"Yeah, she's from the council. She helps me Mam sometimes, when things get bad." Robbo's voice became smaller. "They get bad a lot."

"What do you do to help your mom?" Simon asked gently, sitting down across from Robbo.

"I do jobs. Deliveries and that for her friend Bob. Bob says I'm mint at deliveries—just around the estate. I know all the streets, and Bob has regular customers, so I know where they all live." Robbo spoke with pride, unaware of the concerned look that passed between John and Simon.

"What sort of things do you deliver?" John asked carefully.

"Dunno. Just packages letters and that. Bob says I'm like the postie, but I don't have to wear shorts or ride a bike." Robbo's face fell slightly. "I had a bike once, but Mam sold it when she needed money."

Simon reached across and squeezed Robbo's shoulder. "Well, you don't need to worry about any of that right now. Do you have a job, by the way, John?"

John understood Simon was changing the subject. "Yes, I sell mobile phones."

"That sounds cool," Robbo said.

"It really isn't. It's quite boring, actually."

Robbo turned to Simon. "What about you?"

"I'm a lawyer."

Robbo's eyes widened. "I know about lawyers. My mom has one when she goes to court. Does he know me, Mam? She's there quite a lot."

"No, I deal with property—houses and buildings. All very boring, but it pays well."

"Is he minted then?" Robbo asked John conspiratorially.

"Minted?"

"Yeah, properly minted. Rich."

John glanced around their kitchen, seeing it suddenly through Robbo's eyes. "I suppose we're minted, yes."

Simon and Robbo chuckled at John saying “minted”.

"Thanks for the pasta. Can we get a McDonald's tomorrow? I love them. Mam gets them sometimes when she's flush." Robbo paused, his fork hovering over the last few pieces of pasta. "Do I have to do my jobs tomorrow?"

"No jobs," John said firmly. "Tomorrow we might light the fire pit in the garden and Simon can make burgers."

Robbo looked confused. "Like microwave burgers? I don't like them—they taste like paper."

"No, on a barbecue. Proper burgers."

"Bloody hell." Robbo sat back in his chair, overwhelmed. "This place is like those fancy houses you see on the telly, like on a cruise ship or something, only you don't have to fly anywhere. I've never been on a plane. Mam said we were going to Spain once—I think that's somewhere near London—but it didn't happen." His voice became very quiet. "Do you think she's going to die?"

The question hung in the air. John felt his stomach clench at the matter-of-fact way Robbo asked it, as if he'd been preparing for this possibility for a long time.

"She's getting really good care at the hospital," John said gently. "The doctors will do everything they can to help her."

"Right as rain," Robbo said with a sad smile. "That's what Mam always says when she's hung over or you know. 'I'll be right as rain, pet.' But there's nothing right about rain in Newcastle, is there?"

Simon cleared his throat. "Come on then, let's get you that shower. It's nearly four in the morning."

***

As Simon showed Robbo upstairs, explaining about the spare room and its en-suite bathroom, John sat alone at the kitchen table. He pulled out his phone and scrolled to his boss's number. His finger hovered over the keypad for a long moment, then he began typing.

The text was short and to the point: "Won't be in tomorrow. Sorry."

He hit send and switched off his phone. Some things were more important than selling mobile phone contracts.

From upstairs, he could hear Robbo's voice, bright with amazement: "A shower in me own room? And it's got one of them glass doors like in films?"

Simon's patient voice replied: "That's right. There are clean towels on the rail, and I've put some pyjamas on the bed."

"Pyjamas? I usually just sleep in me kecks."

"Well, tonight you get proper pyjamas."

“Now  get yourself ready and I’ll come back in 15 minutes and make sure everything is OK.

John smiled to himself and began clearing away the dinner plates. Tomorrow would bring social workers and difficult conversations and decisions about Robbo's future. But tonight, for the first time in who knew how long, a ten-year-old boy would go to sleep in a warm, safe bed, with a full belly and clean pyjamas.

It was a start.