The Saint Maddox Odyssey

”Thank you, thank you so much, really...” In the car on the way to the station, Poppy’s mum didn’t stop thanking Saint the entire ride.

”Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Right as they pulled up to the station, the officer in the front seat suddenly spoke up.

Saint had actually noticed the man glancing back at him in the mirror the whole way there, but there wasn’t much to say about it, he hadn’t done anything wrong, though being watched that closely by a police officer still prickled slightly regardless.

”Don’t think so, spent most of the last year abroad, honestly,” Saint said.

”Sorry to ask, are you called Lee, by any chance?” the officer pressed.

”Er... I actually go by Saint these days, more than Lee,” Saint said.

”Bloody hell, it genuinely is you!” The officer’s whole face lit up.

That reaction caught the attention of everyone else in the car instantly, though fortunately they’d already pulled up outside the station by then.

Giving a statement turned out to be the easy part, answer what’s asked, recount what happened, done inside ten minutes. What actually ate up Saint’s time was the sheer enthusiasm of the officers themselves, several of whom turned out to be genuine Villa supporters.

By the time word of who exactly had just walked through their doors made the rounds, the station had turned into something close to an impromptu meet-and-greet, officers who’d never watched a Villa match in their lives suddenly queuing up for photos and autographs right alongside the genuine fans.

”Uncle...!” The moment Saint stepped back outside, Poppy came barrelling toward him, her mum beside her, and now her dad too.

”Mate... genuinely, thank you, more than I can say.” Her father offered his own round of thanks.

”Please, don’t, her mum’s already said it about fifteen times on the drive over,” Saint said, scooping Poppy up as she reached him.

”Poppy, down you get, don’t be a nuisance,” her mother said, a little embarrassed.

”Poppy, that’s your name, then?” Saint hadn’t actually caught it properly before.

”Poppy Linden, that’s my full name, uncle,” she said, with the kind of pride only a six-year-old can muster over her own name.

”Linden, huh, that’s a familiar name,” Saint said, half to himself, glancing at her a beat longer than he meant to.

”No, I want uncle,” Poppy protested, wriggling away as her mother reached for her again.

”It’s fine, genuinely. Out of everyone standing round that crowd, she picked me, must mean something,” Saint said, smiling at her mother.

”Are you free right now, by any chance? We’d love to buy you a proper meal, if you don’t mind,” her father offered.

”Only if you promise not to say thank you once more during it,” Saint said, looking between the two of them.

”Ha... deal,” her father said, laughing properly for the first time.

Given the offer, Saint simply brought them back to the restaurant, confident enough in his uncle’s cooking, and he’d been away from the place long enough as it was.

On the walk over, Saint got talking properly with Poppy’s dad, Mark. Turned out Mark was originally from the Midlands himself, though he’d been working down in London for years, this trip was purely a family holiday, visiting old friends.

Mark had been catching up with one of those old mates that afternoon while his wife took Poppy out for the day, and somewhere along the way, something had gone wrong without either of them realising it until it was already too late.

The rest filled itself in easily enough afterward: Poppy had been lured away near a public toilet with the promise of sweets, by someone working with the gang quietly scattered through the crowd, and the woman who’d snatched her had walked straight into Saint’s path entirely by accident.

In the end, Saint hadn’t just saved one child, he’d handed the police an entire trafficking ring in one afternoon, and there was no telling how many other families that single piece of luck had spared from the same fate.

”Cousin, you’re finally back!” The moment Saint walked through the restaurant door, Chloe came storming over, visibly put out.

In Chloe’s mind, Saint had clearly gone off enjoying himself somewhere without inviting her, a few days together, and the two of them had already fallen into a proper sibling rhythm.

”Not what happened, calm down, wasn’t off enjoying myself, I brought guests back instead,” Saint said.

”Ooh, and who’s this little cutie, then?” Chloe’s irritation evaporated the second she spotted Poppy.

”Thought I’d bring everyone somewhere proper, my uncle’s place, genuinely excellent food, well-known round here too,” Saint said, turning to Mark and his wife.

”Really appreciate you bringing us somewhere this good, Saint,” Mark said.

The meal had technically been Mark and his wife’s way of saying thank you, so Saint didn’t bother arguing the point further, and besides, years spent living abroad had quietly built a habit of letting other people pick up the bill occasionally without much fuss.

Once the orders went in, though, an uninvited guest showed up.

”Mr. Maddox, hello, I’m Callum Reid, Midlands Sports Gazette.” The stranger walked straight up to Saint’s table and produced a press card without preamble.

”Afternoon,” Saint said, extending a hand regardless.

”Wondering if you might have a few minutes for an interview?” Reid asked.

”Sorry, bit busy at the moment, mid-meal,” Saint said, declining pleasantly. Not that Reid looked remotely ready to give up and leave.

Not long after, a handful more reporters filtered in from outside, cameras already up and clicking away in Saint’s direction, which drew the attention of the whole restaurant almost instantly, even with the dinner rush only just starting to pick up.

”What on earth...” Derek, emerging from the kitchen, looked genuinely alarmed at the sudden commotion.

”Oi, what exactly d’you lot think you’re doing, crowding round my nephew?” Wherever Derek went, the press pack instinctively backed off, a man still holding a kitchen knife tends to have that effect.

”Sir, there’s no need for alarm, we’re not here to cause trouble, we’re journalists,” Reid said, holding his press card up toward Derek as well. ”We just want a word with your nephew.”

”Interview? My nephew?” Derek looked genuinely baffled by the whole thing.

”You really don’t know what your own nephew’s been up to this past year?” Reid, sharp enough to read the confusion on Derek’s face, clearly clocked that something about this family hadn’t been let in on the full picture.

”Course I know what my nephew’s been up to,” Derek said, bristling slightly, which only seemed to confirm Reid’s suspicion rather than dispel it.

”If you want a proper interview, give me a day or two and I’ll arrange it properly. Keep disrupting my family’s restaurant like this, though, and you’ll never get one at all,” Saint said, voice cooling considerably.

”Fair enough, I’ll leave you to your evening. Here’s my card, whenever you’re ready.” Reid backed off gracefully. He’d actually known exactly who Saint was before ever walking through that door, a mutual contact of his, someone he’d worked with on a story once, had made the introduction in advance and vouched for him as someone worth trusting.