by Casey Watson
Taking their lead, I adopted the same expression as the officers. ‘Can somebody please tell us what’s been going on?’ I barked. It wasn’t hard to, looking at the trio. As always, when I felt let down by unnecessary shenanigans, I could very easily lose my temper.
‘I can do that,’ the officer at the table said, angling his chair, the better to speak to us. ‘We had a call earlier this evening to attend an incident at The Falls leisure complex. You know it?’
‘What?’ I said, glaring at Tyler. ‘What on earth were you doing all the way over there?’
The Falls was a huge complex on the far side of town, housing a cinema, a bowling arcade and various fast-food restaurants. It was also, of course, prime mooching territory for teens. But it was also the last place I’d expect them to go. Too expensive and too far from their ‘territory’ – especially as there was a perfectly good, albeit smaller, complex on our own side of town. Showing off, I thought again. So I’d been right, then.
‘Yes,’ I said pointedly. ‘I do know it.’
‘Good,’ said the officer, as if I’d got a test question right. ‘Well, as I say, the call came from a member of the public about a fight that had broken out. Nothing major,’ he added while Tyler hung his head, but as it involved several youths’ – he looked at Adrianna – ‘including a female, and had been going on for a while, we, of course, had to respond, particularly as it was taking place in a family restaurant, with families and children witnessing it.’
All three kids looked steadfastly at the floor as he went on to explain the fuller story he’d now established. And it seemed the fight – which had mostly involved Tyler and another boy – had broken out seemingly randomly but, actually, as it turned out, as a result of Tyler intervening in a scrap between the other boy and Adrianna.
I looked at her, genuinely shocked. So she’d been fighting? It crossed my mind that I must never forget where she’d come from. From captivity, from the streets, from a life of fear and necessary self-defence.
‘The other lad is known to us,’ the officer went on. ‘The lad scrapping with Adrianna here. We’d gone down originally assuming he was scrapping with your lad, Tyler here, but it seems it wasn’t quite so cut and dried. Tyler’s just been explaining it all,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you fill your mam in, eh, lad?’
‘He was saying all kinds of sh – erm, stuff to her, Mum. Taking the mickey with his mate. Impersonating Adrianna’s accent. Like, really trying to provoke us. Calling her an immigrant and a slag and that. And I tried to stay calm, honest. But I just couldn’t, because he just kept going on. And then she turned round and told them to stop it, and he was, like, “Oh, it speaks English!” and really taking the piss. And he was a big lad and he was, like, getting really, really lairy with her. And when she shouted back – ’cos she’s got to defend herself, hasn’t she? – he came round to our table and just spat in her chips. Like, proper spat in them. It was gross.’ He spread his hands. ‘And I just couldn’t stop myself, honest. He was asking for it, he really was. So Denver and I got up, and I pushed him, and told him to move it, and then he punched me in the face.’
Only belatedly did I notice the red mark on his far cheek. He was so red generally, from indignation – as were they all – I’d not seen it.
‘He is telling you the truth, Casey and Mike,’ Adrianna said, clutching at Tyler’s hand and squeezing it. ‘The man was a disgusting pig. And so big, too. Twice the size of Tyler and Denver. And he really hurt him. I heard the smack on his cheek, and I could do nothing. He was a pig!’
So Adrianna had given him a right hook as well, had she? Go her, then, I couldn’t help think, albeit privately, just in my own head.
‘He didn’t hurt me that bad,’ Tyler added quickly. This would of course be a question of pride. He then glanced at Adrianna, and I could see him trying hard to suppress a smile. ‘But I’m pretty sure Adrianna hurt him.’
Mike and I both looked at her. ‘I slapped him,’ she said defiantly. ‘Which he deserved. Then the policemen came …’
‘… and broke it up,’ added Denver, with an unmistakably wistful air.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ Tyler said. ‘I know how you feel about this stuff. Please don’t be angry. Like Adrianna said, he got exactly what he deserved.’
Actually, I was furious, but not at any of these three. No, it was at what I had just heard – which had repulsed me. There was a part of me that wanted to march straight to wherever the other lad was being interviewed – which I presumed must be the case – and give him a piece of my mind. There was something so abhorrent about what he’d done, and I wanted to make him see that. Because spitting, to me, was such a foul, aggressive act. It made such a powerful, unambiguous point about the way a person felt about another person. Exhibited so clearly the disgust in a person’s mind. And in this case, it was evidence of the worst kind of racism. Knee-jerk. Uncompromising. Taking no account of the human being before you. Treating a fellow human as sub-human.
So, yes, a huge part of me felt proud of Tyler and Denver coming to Adrianna’s defence. It showed their true colours. That they were not like that. And though I’d never condone them starting a fight, I could understand how angry they must have felt.
I turned to the officer again. ‘But you’re not bringing any charges? Is that still the case?’
He shook his head, ‘No. Under the circumstances, we’re satisfied that this little bunch are the ones who were being attacked. The other lad is already known to us for this sort of thing, Mrs Watson.’ He turned to the kids. ‘So as we’re about done, you’re all free to go.’
But he wasn’t quite done. There was always room for a little light reinforcement of the laws of the land. He narrowed his eyes and looked hard at the three of them once again. ‘Though you might want to reiterate to Tyler what we’ve already told him, Mr and Mrs Watson – about racist attacks and the best thing to do. Which is not to retaliate, however powerful the provocation, but to step away and telephone us. It’s a serious offence is this kind of racism, and scrapping’s not the answer. If we’re to clamp down on it properly it needs dealing with equally seriously. By the authorities. Not by fisticuffs. Clear?’
‘Oh, we’ll definitely be doing that,’ Mike assured the officer. And as he did so, I thought about the old ladies in my sister’s restaurant and how their own brand of idle, everyday, throwaway racism was what contributed to the attitudes of boys such as the one our three had unfortunately encountered tonight. Those old ladies who’d been so cruel to Adrianna probably all had families; kids and grandkids, nieces and nephews, who would also have friends, and the whole lot of them could come within the circle of ignorance. And the worst of it was that it was so insidious; their ill-informed gossip, about what they thought immigrants and foreigners were doing to their country, was probably transmitted to the next generation without anyone ever noticing – not thinking about it, or debating it, or discussing the facts, and so it went on. It was all just so depressing.
‘Well, Rocky Balboa,’ Mike said to Tyler as soon as we were back in the car. ‘That was your version of mooching then, was it? And what the hell were you doing all the way down at The Falls when we’ve got a perfectly good place to go round our way?’
Denver, who we were dropping home, was shuffling uncomfortably in the back seat. ‘Actually, Mike,’ he said quietly, ‘that was my fault. I’d gone to my gran’s for tea and couldn’t be bothered walking all the way back.’ Which made sense, I conceded, because his gran did live over that way. ‘I asked Ty and Adrianna to come meet me – my gran had given me a bit of money, like – so I said I’d buy the chips if they did.’
‘Well, you’re lucky you didn’t all get porridge for your breakfast too, by the sound of it!’ Mike said as he drove up Denver’s street. I could tell he felt pleased with himself, and we both had to hide our smiles, but when I turned around, all three of them looked at me blankly. I didn’t bother to elaborate.
‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ I s
aid, as Mike pulled up to let Denver out. ‘Let’s officially put this evening to one side and move on, eh?’ I glanced at Mike, and he nodded, then nodded at Denver. ‘As far as we’re concerned, this is the end of the matter,’ he said to him pointedly, meaning that there seemed no need for us to give his mum chapter and verse.
He smiled gratefully at us as he waved, then scooted into his house, and we headed home relieved that it had not been any worse. That we could put it to one side and forget all about it.
Or so I thought. But before the next 24 hours were out, we would be learning a very harsh lesson.
Chapter 18
By the Wednesday of the following week the incident had been relegated to its proper place in everyone’s lives; i.e. I had forgotten all about it, Adrianna wanted to forget all about it and Tyler wanted to milk it for all it was worth. Some things with teenage boys are almost universal.
And Adrianna really did want to forget all about it, and when she heard him bragging about it on his mobile, as he was coming in from school – and for the umpteenth time, too – she finally confronted him.
‘Tyler, I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ she said after he’d finished on the phone. ‘Telling everyone what happened. It makes me feel stupid.’
Tyler grinned and threw his jacket onto one of the coat pegs in the hall. ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘Why should you feel stupid? You did nothing wrong, it was that meathead that had a go at us, so he’s the one who’ll be feeling stupid.’ Or more likely aggrieved, I imagined, the constable having called us subsequently to say he had, in fact, been formally cautioned.
Tyler puffed himself up as he tugged down the waistband of his school hoodie. ‘And I’d do it again if I had to,’ he said proudly. ‘No one has the right to treat you like that.’
Seeing the way Adrianna looked at him, I decided to step in. ‘Tyler, less of that fighting talk, love, okay? Didn’t I say the other day that we should just all forget it?’
He looked like he was about to interrupt, so I held up my hand. ‘Enough. Let’s let it go now shall we?. I know you’re proud of having stood up for her, but Adrianna would just like to forget it now. Dad’ll be home any minute, so go on, go up and sort out your laundry, so I can get a wash on and crack on with your tea before the pizza’s burned.’
Since Tyler had strong opinions about the done-ness of his pizzas, it was enough to send him scooting, with a grin, up the stairs.
‘Don’t worry,’ I told Adrianna as she helped me dish out side salads. ‘Boys are like that. It makes them feel macho.’
‘Macho?’ she asked, confused. Not a word she was familiar with, obviously. I put down the pizza wheel and flexed my muscles, Popeye-style.
She grinned. ‘Big muscles, then?’
‘Big attitude.’
‘That’s funny,’ she said. ‘Tyler told me they were called bingo wings.’
‘Oh, did he now?’ I said. ‘Cheeky little tyke. For that I think I might just turn the oven up a notch while the pizza finishes off!’
I couldn’t help but smile, though. It was always the little things that got me, every time. I loved that Tyler teased me – felt secure enough to do so. He was no different now, in many ways, to how Kieron was at his age. And that spoke volumes, because Kieron had had such a different start in life. A childhood in which he was enveloped in love and a sense of security – not only our love, but the warm, enveloping blanket of his wider family, too. Tyler had been denied that, so cruelly, so any hint that he felt secure meant the world to me.
He’d come such a long way since coming to live with us – testament to the support of so many people, both in the family, and outside it, too – the support of John, his wonderful social worker, Will, the whole machinery of social services that really did have the power to transform lives, even if sometimes the tabloids did tear them to pieces.
I thought about Adrianna too, already 16 and having been through so much, and wondered if she was now too old to be given the same opportunities to similarly flourish. I really hoped she wasn’t. In an ideal world, social services would plan to get on board 100 per cent with her, facilitate as much contact with her baby as possible, move him closer to us in order to make all this possible. And then, finally, get her somewhere safe to live, and set about giving her baby back to her full time. I couldn’t have wished for that more.
But I was also a realist. Happy endings were few and far between in the world of fostering, and I knew as much as anyone that we didn’t live in an ideal world. Though, for all that, the one thing I wasn’t expecting was to have that spelled out to me quite so quickly.
We’d only just finished tea when my mobile rang. I was in the kitchen cleaning the pots and pans while everyone else was playing cards. Adrianna was rather good at cards, and had taught Mike and Tyler a couple of new games – one of the more positive aspects of her time living as a squatter, it turned out, where entertainment, when not of the chemical variety, was usually of the extremely cheap sort.
Seeing John’s name come up on the display, I quickly dried my hands and reached for it.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ he said, ‘but do you have a few minutes to talk in private?’
The doors into the dining area of the living room were half closed. I knew I was probably safe enough in the kitchen. I pushed the door closed. ‘What?’ I said, anxious to know what it was we had to talk about in private, and feeling the familiar heart sink that it probably wasn’t great news. Another delay in the next contact visit, perhaps?
No. It was worse. Far, far worse. ‘It’s about the incident over at The Falls,’ he said.
‘Really?’ My heart sank even further. So what could have happened? I racked my brain, riffling through possibilities. Might the boy in question’s parents have made some sort of counter-claim? It seemed unlikely that they’d do that, especially if he already had previous. On what grounds? ‘What about it?’ I said.
John sighed. ‘Well, like you, I’d obviously put the whole episode to bed. Filed your report. Signed it off – such as it was, which seemed to be nothing. Job done. But I’m afraid the gods seem to have other plans for us.’
I was confused. ‘I don’t understand, John. What gods? What’s happened?’
‘There’s been a complaint.’
So was I right about the boy? Or someone else? ‘A complaint?’ I said. ‘What, by someone who was there and witnessed it? What kind of complaint?’
‘Someone who witnessed it, yes –’
‘But the police said it was something and nothing. That they were satisfied Tyler did nothing wrong. He was the one hit, for goodness’ sake. God, I wish I’d taken a photo of the bloody bruise now, so we could show it to them. John, I know he didn’t start anything. I know he’s not an angel, but …’
‘Casey,’ John said, almost sharply. ‘The complaint wasn’t about Tyler. It was about Adrianna.’
‘What?’ Now I was truly stunned. ‘What?’ I said again. ‘What on earth for? What could anyone possibly complain about with her?’
‘Not a lot, as far as I’m concerned, which is why I was as flabbergasted as you were. But then it struck me – the complaint was sent directly to my boss.’
‘Your boss? How would some random person …’ Now my mind was reeling. ‘What did they say about her anyway?’
‘Oh, that she was fighting and swearing and lots of other stuff like that. Most tellingly, that she wasn’t fit to be a mother.’
He emphasised that last word. ‘Go on,’ I said. ‘What’s the punchline to all this?
‘Casey, it was that Mr Kanski. Remember? The interpreter who came round with me when Adrianna was first with you.’
‘Good God,’ I said, truly stunned now. ‘Really?’
‘Really. As soon as I read it, I thought, “Hang on, what can this person possibly know about all of this stuff?” How would they even know she was in care, for one thing? So I turned it over to check who’d written it, expecting it to be anonymous – you know, signed by a “c
oncerned party”, that sort of thing. But not at all. No cloak and dagger stuff. No, he was obviously happy to put his name to it. He even added the bloody letters after it, too.’
What, his degree in inexplicable spite? I was fuming. ‘I don’t bloody believe this,’ I said, feeling the tendrils of gloom curling round me. I couldn’t make sense of it, I really couldn’t. I just felt really, really cross.
‘So he was there at the McDonald’s or wherever it was?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘Bloody hell, what an unfortunate flipping coincidence.’
‘Not really. It was a Friday evening. He lives over that way. It’s the place loads of families fetch up to start their weekends, isn’t it? Might have just come out of the pictures, or something …’
‘So if that’s so, and he recognised her, why the hell didn’t he step in and do something about it? Call the manager? Stop the lad terrorising her? Do the decent thing and help her out?’
Because that made no sense either. That he’d just stand by and let something like that happen. Even taking into account the fact that he was so grumpy and taciturn, he was an older man, and one who knew the straits Adrianna had been in before she’d come to us. And added to that was the fact that the lad had been hurling racial taunts at her, and Mr Kanski was Polish himself! Of all the people you’d think would come to her aid at such a time … It made no sense at all. I was flummoxed.
I said as much to John. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘both the boss and I are as well. But that’s what he’s done – and copied it to social services by all accounts. A very long and damning letter about her brawling and shouting and appearing to have no morals. I’ll show it to you when I see you. It’s poisonous, it really is. And it ends with the damaging recommendation, as I say, that in his professional opinion she isn’t fit to be a mother.’