by Casey Watson
The fall, when it came, was spectacular. The downward trajectory started the very next day with a call from the police, and the news that, assuming it worked for us, they’d like to collect Adrianna at the beginning of the following week and take her to the Victim Support Unit, and take a full statement from her.
Though if I saw it as a fall, Adrianna was remarkably composed. ‘I will be safe there,’ she told me. ‘I know about such places. A friend of mine had to make a statement about a man who had done some bad things to her. She said it was a good thing. That they were kind. He went to prison.’
‘What friend?’ I asked, almost automatically, as was my way.
‘It’s history now, Casey. I don’t like to talk about this any more.’
And I didn’t push it. It wasn’t my job to, and my hunch was that it would be pointless anyway. Adrianna had her own way of processing the past and I had to respect that.
And it seemed she also had her own way of processing the present, because when she was returned to me, four hours after they’d come and collected her, she was again composed and sanguine, even smiling.
‘They were so nice,’ she said, as I planted a cup of tea between her hands. ‘So friendly. And I think I have been helpful. It feels as if I have made my heart lighter, you know?’
I said I did. ‘And did they ask you to look at any photographs?’
She shook her head. ‘They explained that would come later – another time, when they have made further investigations.’
‘So that’s good,’ I said. ‘But you’re okay, yes?’
She smiled. ‘I feel fine. It’s history now. So I don’t have to talk about it any more.’
Which I took to be her polite way of once more letting me know that she had no intention of talking about it any more. Which, again, I respected.
But if I had been impressed by the calm way she had coped with the trauma of doing her civic duty, what I hadn’t reckoned on was the effect of the news that it looked like Adrianna wouldn’t be able to see Ethan again for over a month.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jazz said, when she called round the following week, ‘but I don’t honestly see any way around it.’
She’d come to see Adrianna to tell her herself, bless her, and, prudently, we’d timed it so that we’d have a chance to talk before Lauren dropped her off after dance class. That had been one plus, at least – that Adrianna had been very keen to continue helping Lauren out; with no school to attend and the days needing filling, it was at least something to help occupy her time. But this really was a blow, because she was again counting the days.
I couldn’t see any way around it either.
‘They’re going on holiday,’ Jazz explained. ‘For a fortnight. And it can’t be fitted in before they go because I’m up to my eyes on the only days they can do, and that’s quite apart from whatever things you and Mike have going on.’ She sighed. ‘And I know it’ll hit her hard but, well, you know how it is.’
I said I did. Because I did. And there was little to be done about it. ‘What about him being transferred here?’
Jazz shook her head. ‘Not on the cards at this stage, I’m afraid. It’s obviously a big upheaval, and he’s settled where he is. I know it would make everything so much easier, but it’s not like we’ve got carers for babies queuing round the block – not ones who’d want to commit to something so full-on and open-ended.’
Open-ended was a word that didn’t inspire a lot of confidence. But, optimistic as I still was that Adrianna was going to get her baby back eventually, there was no telling how long that would take. It was all too easy to forget that, on top of everything else – not least that she was still an undocumented migrant – she was also a 16-year-old single mother entirely without relatives who could help support her. Which was no small thing for social services to have to take into account.
It was made worse by the fact that Adrianna had bounded in so joyfully, having seen Jazz’s car in the road when Lauren dropped her off. She was also full of the fact that Lauren had had to take my youngest grandaughter along to the class, her mum being full of cold, and had put Adrianna in charge of keeping her entertained.
‘She is so lovely,’ she enthused to Jazz. ‘Dee Dee calls me Addy. She’s so funny …’ And then, presumably seeing the expression on both our faces, she frowned. ‘Something has happened,’ she said. ‘What? Are the police going to make me do the mug shots?’
Jazz was quick to reassure her. ‘Nothing like that,’ she said. ‘It’s just your next visit to see Ethan. I’m afraid you are going to have to exercise a little patience.’
‘What?’ Adrianna said, all her joie de vivre forgotten.
‘It’s going to be a little while, that’s all. About a month.’
‘A month?’ Adrianna said, tears pooling in her eyes, reminding me just how close to the surface they always were currently. I had more than once had to go to her and console her in the night. And she hadn’t just been crying about missing Ethan either. It was as if a seed of deep sadness had been growing inside her – perhaps the knowledge that she might be able to form her own family had begun to worm away at the protective shell she’d built around her nightmare, reminding her of the family she used to have. I’d considered more than once asking John if we might try to investigate her wider family – or at least try to facilitate it by getting her a counsellor with whom she could explore the possibility of doing so. But I’d stopped short. She had quite enough to deal with already, what with the police involvement hanging over her, the ramifications of all that and the ever-present anxiety about the outcome with Ethan.
‘It can’t be helped, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘All these things need to be organised. And they’re going away –’
She looked stricken. ‘They can’t take my baby away!’
‘Not away away,’ I reassured her. ‘Just away for a holiday.’
‘But how can they, when they know I need to see him so much?’
The phrase ‘they have their own child to think about’ would have been highly inappropriate, so I parked it.‘A holiday they had booked,’ I said. ‘A long time ago. Before they had Ethan. And it’s not so long – the time will pass –’
‘But for my baby it is a huge time! He will forget me, and next time I see him he will not know me!’
‘Yes, he will,’ Jazz tried to soothe.
‘But he won’t! I know he won’t. I have read about it. He will become more and more attached to his foster mummy. I know. And it will make it all so much harder!’
Jazz caught my eye. Adrianna had indeed been reading books. She’d taken the baby-care book from my bookcase and devoured it, even though it wasn’t in her native language. She couldn’t have been more motivated to learn the words.
‘Sweetheart,’ I said gently, ‘there is nothing we can do here. Except reassure you that everything that can be done is being done. You have to be patient.’ I had a thought. ‘Tell you what. How about we go into town tomorrow and you can choose something for Ethan – a special present that he can take away with him? And you can write him a note, which Sarah can read to him, and …’
‘What is the point?’ she said, sobbing. ‘He is too young to know!’
She fled the kitchen just as Tyler, down from his bedroom, was walking into it, and, for a moment, they were engaged in an almost comic dance as they both tried to dodge each other but ended up going the same way. ‘Whoah,’ he said, finally coming in as she thundered upstairs. ‘What’s happened?’ He looked at us both in turn. ‘What have I missed?’
Once Jazz had gone, having promised to see if there was anything she could do to hurry things along, I started preparing tea, and gave Tyler the gist. ‘She needs to get out more, she does,’ was his considered opinion once I’d finished. ‘You know, get out as in go out a bit. She’s got no one her own age to chill with. Well, apart from me,’ he added, almost as if challenging me to comment that, actually, he wasn’t quite her age yet.
As if I would. She might hav
e been through a lot more than most girls her age, but he’d also been through a great deal. And, as a consequence, though he bore the scars – some of which might not have even began to itch yet – he also had wisdom beyond his years and a kindness about him that rarely failed to move me. I’d never urged him to include Adrianna in his social life, obviously, because that wouldn’t have been fair. And once the real picture emerged – both about her age and his crush – I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing so. ‘You know what?’ I said, touched. ‘You’re absolutely right. She needs to distract herself, doesn’t she? You’re a sweetheart, you know that?’ I made a move to give him a squeeze, to which he grudgingly submitted. ‘I’m sure it will help her feel better.’
And beyond the usual concerns any parent would have about youngsters going out, it never occurred to me that it might make things worse.
Though she’d only been with us a relatively short time, it still seemed strange, when I thought about it, that she and Tyler had never been out together up to now – not without the family, at least. Not on their own. I said so to Mike late that night, once we’d got into bed and I’d mentioned Tyler’s idea that they do so.
He disagreed. ‘Not so strange,’ he said. ‘Not when you think about it. She was ill at first, obviously, then everything blew up, and since then I think the age difference has made for a bit of distance. And it does make a difference; she’s almost 17. And a mum. And a girl. And he’s a 14-year-old boy. Which is not to say it’s not a good idea he’s had, bless him. But I remember being his age – a 17-year-old girl was like an alien from another planet!’
‘They’re not going on a date,’ I reminded him. ‘He’d be mortified to think she thought that. She’s just going along with him and Denver. And Sam, I think, too …’
‘Blimey, her own adoring retinue, then.’
The truth of his words wasn’t lost on me. And a part of me thought that perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. The fact that they were younger probably made them feel safe. In any event, when she came down, contrite and apologetic, and he’d suggested it to her, she agreed to the idea readily enough. It was only for a ‘mooch about’, after all. What could possibly go wrong?
I also thought it all rather sweet. ‘What’s a mooch about?’ she’d asked Tyler, it being a word she’d obviously not come across.
He’d grinned. ‘Just, like, mooching. You know, just hanging about,’ he said.
‘I sincerely hope not,’ I countered. ‘I hope you’ll find something more productive to do that that.’
‘Mum, you know,’ he said. ‘It’s like we don’t have a particular plan. We might see a film. Might just go for an ice-cream – we have the wickedest ice-cream parlour down the town centre. Bar none. Or we might go bowling.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ll just see when we get to it. Keep it loose.’
I had to bite my lip to keep myself from grinning.
In any event, it seemed to go some way in lifting Adrianna’s spirits, even to the extent of her asking me, on Friday afternoon before Tyler got home from school, what sort of thing she should wear to go mooching. We ended up settling on her skinny jeans, her black roll-neck jumper and her trainers. God only knew how many miles she’d be expected to trudge, after all. And after feeding them tea and giving them the usual nine-thirty home time, Mike and I waved them off with no more thought in our heads than the reflection that, for this not quite yet 17-year-old girl, this was a long-overdue return to innocence.
By nine thirty I was already fretting. Not because they were late yet, but because quarter of an hour earlier I had called Tyler and got no response. This was unlike him, not least because we’d put a lot of man hours into the business of making it clear that the one thing he must always, always do was respond if we texted or called him. All the freedoms he enjoyed, which were growing along with him, were dependent on this one element of trust. Adhere to that one golden rule – this had always been our mantra – and you will have far fewer other rules as a consequence.
And so far, in the main, it had worked. There’d been the one time when he’d been in the cinema and turned the sound on his mobile off, and, once corroborated, there was no more to be said. And the odd occasion when his battery had died. We weren’t naïve, there would be other times down the line – he wasn’t an angel. But we’d long ago learned that it was a rule worth enforcing, having seen and heard of too many fraught situations when children, hidebound by a plethora of rules and curfews, responded to the prospect of being commanded home and/or screamed at by simply ignoring their parents, and, as a consequence, potentially putting themselves in danger.
‘Perhaps he’s just having far too good a time,’ Mike chuckled, as I stood peering out through the curtains. He was, as yet, completely unconcerned.
‘And it’s not like he’s on his own,’ I conceded, letting the curtain fall again. ‘I’m sure they’re fine. I’m still going to have a word with him, though, if they’re not in by quarter to.’
‘Try his mobile again,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe he had it on vibrate. But, honestly, love, I’m quite sure you’re worrying about nothing. He’s –’
He didn’t finish, because my mobile began dancing on the coffee table. ‘There you go,’ he said, reaching for it. ‘Ah, maybe not.’
I was close enough to see the word ‘unknown’ on the display, and experienced that pit-of-the-stomach lurch every parent is familiar with, when a child is late home and a call comes.
Mike handed it to me and I swiped the screen to accept the call.
‘Casey Watson?’ It was a male voice. ‘This is PC Anderson from the town centre station. Now it’s nothing to be alarmed about,’ he added quickly. He was obviously used to making such calls. ‘But we have three youngsters down here who have been in a bit of an altercation.’
‘What?’ I spluttered.
‘A Tyler, a Denver and – he paused – an Adrianna.’ Which he pronounced ‘Adriarrrna’. ‘They belong to you?’
‘Mostly,’ I said, my mind whirring as I explained who was who, knowing full well that Denver would be only too happy if we claimed him in this particular scenario as our own, having only just been released from a grounding. ‘But what’s happened?’ I pressed, as various scenarios suggested themselves. It was all so unbelievable. What could they have done?
‘Probably easiest if you just came down to the station,’ the constable said amiably. ‘We can explain it all to you while we finish taking their statements. But like I said, it’s nothing too bad, so don’t be worrying.’
‘Don’t you be worrying?’ I said to the phone once I’d checked I’d disconnected. ‘Don’t you be worrying? In my shoes? Fat chance!’
‘Go on, then,’ said Mike, taking his cue from my huffing and as a consequence not worrying one bit. ‘What’ve they done?’
I told the officer we’d be there in ten minutes, and Mike what little I knew as we sped the couple of miles to the central police station.
‘Honestly, I’ll bloody kill Tyler if he’s done something stupid just to show off to Adrianna,’ I fumed to Mike as we pulled up and parked as near as we could. ‘I bet that’s what’s happened. He’ll have been over-excited … showing her off to his mates. God, boys!’
‘Hold your horses, love,’ Mike responded – in his usual calm (not to mention irritating) fashion. ‘A) You don’t know that, and B) boys? That’s a bit sexist, isn’t it? What about girls? We’ve known a fair few that have led us a merry dance, our own darling daughter included. And hang on. There was this girl I once met … known for dancing on the tables …’
I thumped him before I got out of the car.
He was right, though. I shouldn’t make assumptions and go in there with all guns blazing, even if I knew there was a strong possibility Tyler would have been over-excited. Despite all Mike’s joking about it, there was a truth in what I’d said. ‘Mooching’ with your mates with a stunning 16-year-old on your arm? He’d have been odd it he hadn’t been showing off a bit, wouldn’t he?
; The officer on the desk, who was the one who had made the call to us, had the air of a man for whom this small, teenage fracas was just the opening scene in his usual Friday-night theatre. Which was to say he was cheerful that it was only a small altercation, as he put it, but resigned that his night could only get worse.
‘Follow me,’ he said, coming out from behind the counter and directing us. ‘I’ll take you to the interview room – my colleague is in there with the kids.’
‘Are any of them being charged with anything?’ Mike asked. ‘Have they done something illegal?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said the constable. ‘Nothing to worry about. Just a minor fracas. Here we are. My colleague will put you in the picture.’
We filed in. It was fair to say that it was the kids’ faces that were the picture. They were sitting in a row on the far side of a grey, formica-topped table that had some kind of recording equipment on top of it. On the near side was another uniformed officer.
The room was brightly lit, cramped and smelt mildly of disinfectant; just the sort of environment where hardened criminals were apt to crack.
The constable who’d shown us in took a seat in the corner, and the other one – the one charged with getting to the facts, presumably – swivelled in his seat and nodded a curt hello. I understood his dourness; I’d spent plenty of time with policemen and errant teenagers, and I knew the score. That they had to look fierce and, to that end, invariably stayed in character. I instantly felt reassured, however, that there was nothing terribly serious going down here.
I looked first at Tyler. His face begged to differ. And I realised it was a long time since he’d been in such a situation, and that the memory of previous times was filling his head. It was in this very police station that we had first met, and it wasn’t lost on either of us, I don’t think.
I certainly wouldn’t ever forget it. The first time I clapped eyes on that furious, sullen, tearful (though he hid that pretty well) pubescent, with all his attitude and language and sense of righteous unrepentance – and knew I was going to fight his corner with him. That our lives – Mike’s as well – would go on to be bound so inextricably I then didn’t know. But it wasn’t very long before I did.